Clarice wakes up in a panic

You decide not to disturb Clarice and try to get some work done instead. You grab your laptop and settle into a guest chair by the door.

Meanwhile, the sexed-out nymph snoozes away. Her parted legs dangle off the desk. You can make out the glistening dew on the petals of her puffy pink womanhood. It’s a little distracting to say the least. Just as you begin to concentrate on last month’s numbers, you’re alerted by a startled gasp.

Clarice is awake now, and sliding off your desk onto her feet. Slimy rivulets of sperm slither down her belly and get trapped as pearls on her invisible blonde bush. But Clarice pays no mind, because she’s got other things to worry about.

“John? What’s going on? Where are my clothes?” Her head swivels frantically on her neck as she surveys the office, but in vain.

You rush to calm her before she starts a scene. Thinking quickly, you grab your suit jacket from the back of your chair and wrap it around her shoulders.

"As you could tell, Doe ruined her clothing and had to borrow yours."

Clarice's eyes widen like saucers as Doe's ulterior motives dawn on her. “Oh no, what am I going to do? I’m going to get fired!”

"No, no, I'm sure she doesn't mean to have you fired," you comfort her. "You make an excellent... secretary." You smile in spite of yourself.

Clarice meets your gaze desperately, and mewls pathetically, "You have to get me out of here. I can't go out there alone dressed like this!"

You nod in assent. "We'd better get you cleaned up." You can't have her messing up your jacket, after all.

You pick up Doe's ruined skirt off the ground. You use it to do your best mopping the runny mess off Clarice's belly. Your swift, confident motions seem to set Clarice at ease. You reach around and unclasp her soaked bra, and toss it into the trash with Doe's. You notice Clarice's ragged breath slow and deepen as you wrap your arms around her.

You realize this is the first time you've seen her breasts in their full glory, and glorious they are. You can't help yourself, and the next thing you know you have one in each hand. The soft young flesh just overflows the cups of your hands. The formerly prudish girl doesn't object, but instead sighs in satisfaction. You knead her firm tits in both hands, progressively less gently. You thumbs trace rough circles over her nipples, and Clarice lets out a low, agonized moan. Ravenously, you release her tit, and suck it into your mouth. Your free hand traces down her ribcage, over her hips, and brushes over her moist bush to her pussy. Your roughly press a thick index finger into her. To your delight, her pussy welcomes you in with a wet squelch.

She is yours, you realize with devilish satisfaction. But that will have to wait for tomorrow. You release her, and Clarice whimpers in disappointment.

Resuming your task, you secure the jacket firmly around her. Even with both buttons buttoned, the single-breasted jacket is ill-fitting and barely decent. The top button of the jacket clasps the lapels together just above her belly button, baring nearly her whole bosom. The perfectly curved undersides of her breasts are plainly visible. You cinch the jacket as tight as you can round her petite frame. As you do so, the Italian wool rubs roughly against her sensitive nipples, and Clarice gasps in surprise. Her nubbins rise, poking visibly through the fabric.

Clarice is quite a bit shorter than you, so the bottom of the jacket does manage to reach to an inch below her butt cheeks. But the slit in the back will flap dangerously when she walks. Worse yet, the jacket separates below the bottom button, leaving her thatched mound obscured in shadow, and little more.

Her voice quavering, Clarice asks in a low whisper, "Please take me home."

You stretch your hand towards her waist, and dip it into your suit pocket to fetch your car keys.