Typing Errors

Her beautifully manicured nails clicked on the keys of the old typewriter. Next to the typewriter lay a handwritten page, handwritten by him and now typed by her, his secretary. At the top of the pages it said: use typewriter.

When she had taken the piece of paper from her boss only minutes ago, he had smiled. His intentions were clear. She had closed the door to the hallway, and locked it, sat down, pushed the keyboard of her computer to the side and turned around to replace the typewriter from the file cabinet behind her to her desk. Sitting up straight, she started typing.

Click. Click. Click-click-click.

His frame gilled the door’s. She didn’t stop.

Click-click-click. Click. Click.

He now stood behind her. His labored breathing was right next to her ear. Her cleavage invited him, like it always did. His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed. She continued typing, not acknowledging the pain. His hands moved inside her top. He pulled her breasts from their confinement and expose them to the sterile office. Her nipples were hard; her crotch wet as she spread her legs.

Click. Click. Click-click-click.

He rolled and pinched her nipples. Soft at first, but harder still. She kept on typing, but the rhythm changed. The harder he pinched, the more irregular the clicking was. The tension between her legs built; the chair below her was damp. Occasionally a moan escaped herm mouth, but she kept on typing.

Click… click-click. Click… click.

She spread her legs more and tightened her thigh muscles. Words on the paper in front of her appeared incorrectly spelled as she mistyped. An especially mean twist of her nipple made her moan loud and grab at his hand.

“Type!”

With this word he slapped her hand away. His torturous fingers continued the onslaught on her tender flesh. Her legs parted more, as far as the chair would allow. She was almost there.

Click… click… … … click-click… cli…

An orgasm washed through her loins. Her fingers hovered above the keys. Her swollen flesh called for more. He turned her chair sideways. She stood up, pulled her skirt up to reveal her stockings and bare ass, and bent over the table, her legs spread and stretched, her cunt ready.

“Six mistakes this time, one less than last week.”

Six strokes with the cane followed, leaving bright red marks between the bluish green lines of the seven strikes from the week before. Tears formed in her eyes but weren’t shed, because finally he filled her up with himself, using her the way he promised he would when she started working for him, her husband.

© Rebel’s Notes

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6 thoughts on “Typing Errors

  1. A very sexy arrangement, with her needing to devote her attention to typing while he’s having fun. And the repetition of the typing was great to keep the rhythm… like a bed’s headboard thudding against the wall.

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