Being pregnant and submissive was a very strange experience.

Emily had wanted this for so very long, but was finding the experience of actually getting what she wanted to be rather unsettling. She was used to so much of her life being controlled and suddenly, there was so much that was outside of her Mistress' control.

Emily had been pregnant exactly once before, in very different circumstances. Irene had never been pregnant and she'd also never taken on a pregnant client. This was new to both of them. Neither of them liked the feeling.

Things had changed between the two of them after Emily got pregnant. Irene was much stricter with the rules and lighter in her beatings.

They'd played exactly once after her pregnancy test came back positive. Emily had bruised so severely that Irene lost her nerve for any kind of impact play.

Though she'd longed for a baby for years, part of her missed their old relationship. She missed being thoroughly beaten and left bruised and satisfied. Instead, Irene had become exceedingly lenient, even openly affectionate. Emily wasn't used to such open affection from her Mistress – Irene wasn't normally a very affectionate person. That was fine with Emily, who wasn't all that affectionate either. Or rather, their affection was unconventional, but filled their needs.

Emily still craved control in her life, in spite of the limitations of her pregnancy, so they'd had to adapt additional rules to give her that stimulation she required.

Every morning, Irene laid out the clothes Emily was to wear that day; they were always as form-fitting as possible, as Irene loved to show off Emily's belly so everyone knew that she'd been bred.

Irene especially loved showing Emily off in front of Clyde, knowing they'd slept together. It was like she'd succeeded where he'd failed – in knocking her up. (Not that he'd ever tried to actively get her pregnant, Irene just had a theory that all men secretly hoped to impregnate the women they slept with out of a carnal male desire to display their sexual prowess...and Clyde was more stereotypical caveman than most.)

Surprisingly, Emily didn't mind all that much being shown off for her burgeoning belly. In a bizarre way, it was like her Mistress had the ultimate control over her.

Aside from the clothing being tightly fitted, her Mistress was kind to her as far as her wardrobe went, with two very well-thought exceptions. One was that her outfit almost always included a skirt. The second was that her outfits never included panties. Both functioned so that she was open and ready to be fucked at any time...

"Good afternoon, Emily," Irene husked over the phone line in that voice that never failed to turn Emily on – especially lately with her abundance of raging hormones. "How's my bitch today?"

Emily sank her teeth into her bottom lip, eyes flicking over Clyde's impassive face. She knew what was coming; at any time of the day, Irene would call and demand Emily put her hand up her skirt and fuck herself while she listened over the phone to ensure she followed through.

And while, ordinarily, the exhibitionist nature of it, the risk of getting caught, had her absolutely trembling with anticipation, eager to follow through on every command, doing it with Clyde right there on the other side of the desk seemed a little too dangerous, even for her.

Her eyes darted about the office, looking for an excuse to end their meeting quickly before her Mistress turned their little game into a participatory sport as she'd proven she wasn't afraid to do... (She still couldn't look Derek in the eye during their Skype calls.)

"Are you alone?" Irene asked when Emily failed to respond.

"No, Ma'am," she answered, doing her best to keep her voice even to avoid rousing suspicion. "Can it wait?" While the idea of her fucking herself while Clyde sat five feet away, completely unaware, likely pleased her Mistress to no end, Emily didn't relish the thought quite as much as she did.

Clyde perked up a brow in question. She shook her head and silently begged him not to ask questions.

She could almost hear her Mistress' predatory smirk. "Even better," she purred.

Emily almost whimpered, knowing that tone. It sent heat coursing straight between her legs. At the last minute, she bit down on the sound before it could come spilling out and betray what she hoped was a collected facade. She couldn't believe how turned on she was purely from the unspoken promise of what was to come.

She nodded for Clyde to continue talking as she awaited her Mistress' command. If she let him, he'd get carried away with the sound of his own voice and hopefully wouldn't notice her decided lack of attention.

Emily hiked the edge of her skirt up higher on her thigh below the edge of her desk, awaiting her Mistress' demand that she touch herself.

Her Mistress had other ideas, though.

Irene proceeded to toy with Emily, without providing the permission she knew she needed.

With Emily's ever increasing sex drive, she'd repeatedly broken her Mistress' rule that she must be present any time Emily were to orgasm. Now, the rule had been amended that she must have explicit permission each and every time she wanted to touch herself, often requiring she beg and even then, there was no guarantee she'd get it. When she was feeling particularly cruel, her Mistress would grant her the permission, only to revoke it at the very last second before she climaxed and leave her on the edge for days at a time.

Emily balled one fist in the fabric of her skirt until her knuckles turned white and her hand cramped, trying to keep herself obedient as best she could, in spite of the wetness pooling between her thighs as her Mistress casually informed her of all the things she wanted to do to her. The list is long and imaginative and Emily wanted all of it.

By the time she finished describing, in excruciating detail every last punishment and beating and sexual act she was going to dole out, Emily was well and truly soaked and ready to beg for permission so she could ease the aching need between her legs. She also hadn't heard a word of what Clyde had been saying, but that was really a problem for future her.

Finally taking pity on her, her Mistress demanded, "Touch yourself."

And she was so ready...

Her Mistress knew her too well, knew she was ready to finger fuck herself to release the second the words crossed her lips. "Ah ah," she scolded before Emily's fingers could reach their target. "Nice and slow. And don't you dare touch your clit."

Emily nearly cried out in frustration. She instead let out a slow controlled breath as she edged her hand up her skirt, careful not to attract Clyde's attention with the movement. "Yes, Ma'am," she added at the last moment. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from making any sound as she slid two fingers into her dripping pussy and curled them, tickling her inner walls, sending them tightening around her fingers. She couldn't help the little whine that escaped.

"That's it, Emily, fuck yourself while he watches..." her Mistress encouraged, hearing the small sound and lavishing in it, in the complete control she had over the other woman.

Emily couldn't have stopped, even if she'd wanted to, she needed this too badly, needed to come. It had been days since her Mistress had taken pity on her and allowed her an orgasm.

She slowly withdrew her fingers inch by inch, to ram them back in to the knuckles, again and again. She fought the urge to buck her hips in time with the pumping of her fingers. With a whimper, she fought the urge to press her thumb against her clit, clamping her thighs tightly shut on her hand.

"Are you alright?" Clyde asked, "You seem distracted."

"I'm fine," she attempted to say, the fine high and warbled. Then, a second time, "I'm fi – ahh – fine."

She shook her head, when her vocabulary refused to cooperate. Part of her almost wanted him to find out what she was doing under the desk, found the risk to be almost as much of a turn on as her Mistress' voice husking over the phone.

He seemed to accept the answer and she was rather surprised he wasn't more suspicious, knowing her face was flushed bright red and her breathing coming in harsh gulps.

She scissored her fingers inside herself and groaned low in her throat, the thought leaving her mind just as quickly as it had entered.

"You like that, slut? You want your pussy on display for the whole office to see?" her Mistress asked, her voice taking on a raspy quality that Emily knew accompanied her touching herself and she almost broke down in a sob at the idea, the thought alone almost enough to make her come.

She wanted to beg, wanted permission to touch her throbbing clit, to go harder, to do something, but couldn't say the words without arousing Clyde's suspicion.

"What is it, Emily?" her Mistress asked with fake innocence, knowing she couldn't respond, "Do you need something? You can tell me..." The last word warbled a little and Emily knew she was on the brink of coming herself and she couldn't help but whimper at the unfairness of it.

Emily could barely stand it a second longer. She bit down hard on her thumb nail for something to mask the sounds bubbling up in spite of herself.

Her thighs were trembling and the heat was building in the pit of her stomach. These days it took almost no time for her to reach orgasm, as she was constantly horny and every little thing made her wet.

"Emily? Em?" Clyde was looking at her with a raised brow, clearly having asked her a question and she had absolutely no clue how to respond. He gave an exasperated little sigh when it became clear she wasn't paying attention and repeated himself. She nodded along as best she could while listening to the sounds of her Mistress' fingers slipping around in her juices.

She needed to come. Soon. But her Mistress had to give her permission first or she would be punished later and her pain signals were also on overdrive, so all punishments seemed particularly cruel these days.

"Now use three fingers," her Mistress demanded, "Really stretch yourself. And one on your clit."

Emily's sigh of relief was almost audible as she put the needed pressure on her clit. She rubbed it hard and fast, keeping herself on the edge, awaiting the command to let herself go, silently pleading.

"Are you ready, Emily? Do you need it?" Irene taunted.

"Yes, please," she said, her voice breaking, betraying her need.

"Too bad," she snarled. "You'll wait for me or you won't come at all."

"Yes, Ma'am," she nearly choked, torn between her own need and wanting to hear the sounds of her Mistress' pleasure.

She knew she was taking as long to come as possible, drawing out the torture, knowing how desperately Emily needed it. She listened for what seemed like hours as her Mistress moaned and panted and cried out, nearly in tears from how badly she needed release.

Finally, with a low throaty moan, Irene came, the sound alone nearly enough to bring Emily to orgasm. "Come for me, whore," she finally demanded, "Come now."

With a rattling breath, she plunged her fingers deep into herself, over and over, hips bucking up in time. She played with her clit faster and she reached her peak with a shudder, her whole body tensing. She bit down on a moan, stifling the sounds of pleasure she wanted so badly to let out.

She could hear Irene chuckle to herself. "That sounded absolutely beautiful," she cooed, "I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Agreed, Ma'am," she replied, hiding a smile behind her hand, Clyde still seemingly unaware of what had just gone on right under his nose.

She spent the rest of the meeting with stickiness drying on her fingers and between her thighs, unable to concentrate on a word Clyde said.