Not yet

"No, I rather like you like this Meghan. This way I know you're not making any mistakes." You stroke her ass, gently kneading the soft white cheeks. She's staring at you, her eyes wide and uncertain. Your fingers stray down the crack of her ass, slipping down between her thighs. When you touch her pussy she squirms and gasps.

"Sir, what are you doing? Please don't touch me there." You ignore her, holding her down while your hand strokes her slit. Some moisture dribbles out, and you can feel the lips are swollen. She writhes more, struggling on your lap.

"Why are you doing that, Mr. Chandler? Please stop," she whimpers. Your fingers slide between her lips, feeling the heat and moisture of her cunt.

"Consider it executive privilege, Meghan. I have the privilege to do what I want."

"But I've done nothing wrong, I haven't," she pleads. You probe her pussy, impaling it with your forefinger, feeling it's tight wet warmth. She gives a gasping groan.

"Oh God John what are you doing to me, please stop," her body squirms, her ass rising and pressing against your hand.

"What's my name?" You ask her coldly, and press a second finger into her cunt.

"Oh God, I'm sorry Sir, please sir, I'm sorry, please don't spank me," she begs.

"There are many ways of disciplining you, girl," you tell her, thrusting your fingers into and out of her flowering cunt. She's more than moist now, her wetness soaking your hand. She arches her body, half struggling and half welcoming your invading fingers. Her face still looks up at you, uncertain and fearful.

"What are you going to do to me, Mr. Chandler?" she asks, her voice low and throaty.

"Whatever I choose," you answer.