Polly go to her cubicle

Polly’s pulse hammered in her throat as she slipped into the hallway, her bare thighs brushing together with every hesitant step. The fluorescent lights glared down, exposing every inch of her exposed skin beneath the pitiful shield of her blazer. She ducked her head, strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead as she navigated the maze of cubicles—each workstation a potential landmine of prying eyes.

Polly’s breath came in shallow, silent gasps as she moved through the cubicle maze, her bare skin prickling under the fluorescent lights. The office hummed with its usual mid-morning rhythm—keyboard clatter, murmured phone calls, the occasional squeak of a chair—but no one turned. No one looked.

She ducked her head, her long hair falling forward to hide her face as she walked past row after row of cubicles. Each step felt like an eternity, the hem of her blazer riding up with every movement to expose the curve of her bare ass. The cool air from the vents brushed against her sensitive skin, sending shivers down her spine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Polly reached her cubicle. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to steady her breathing before forcing herself to sit down. Her heart was racing, her skin prickling with embarrassment as she tried to focus on her computer screen.

Polly’s fingers trembled over the keyboard, the spreadsheet glaring back at her in a blur of numbers. She barely had time to register the shadow falling across her desk before a familiar voice cut through her panic.

“Polly.”

She jerked upright, her bare thighs sticking to the leather chair as she twisted to face her boss. Michael stood just inches from her cubicle, his tie slightly askew from the morning rush, his brow furrowed. “I wanted to check on that Q3 projection spreadsheet—you were supposed to send it over an hour ago.”

Polly’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening on the edge of her desk. The air conditioning hummed against the back of her thighs, the open blazer doing nothing to shield her from the chill—or from Michael’s gaze if he glanced down. “I—I just need a few more minutes,” she stammered, her voice thin.

Michael raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Very well,” he said, his tone clipped. “But make sure it’s worth my wait.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Polly alone with her racing thoughts and the Q3 projection spreadsheet. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the numbers in front of her. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, filling in the blanks, adjusting the formulas. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity as she tried to block out the memory of her humiliating walk through the office.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Polly finished the spreadsheet. She took a moment to review her work, her heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of the past few minutes. Satisfied with her work, she saved the file and sent it to Michael's inbox.

As she sat back in her chair, she let out a shaky breath. Her skin was still prickling with embarrassment, the memory of her exposed body and the "Spank Me!" scrawled across her ass burning in her mind. She couldn't help but wonder what would happen next—if anyone else would find out about her humiliation.