Samantha Uncontrolled (Chs.26/27 - 7/1)

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[mcenf]

I curled up even more against the back of the sofa, trying to make myself as small as possible, as if shrinking until I disappeared could erase my entire existence. My knees dug into my chest, my arms wrapping around my legs with so much force that my nails sank into the skin of my thighs. I closed my eyes tightly, squeezing them until I saw red flashes under my eyelids. Don't look. Don't breathe. If I don't open them, maybe this isn't happening. My heart was pounding in my ears, so loud it almost drowned out the distant hum of the monitors. I felt every inch of my naked skin pressed against the fabric of the sofa: the curve of my buttocks against the seat, my back exposed to the air, my hardened nipples brushing against my forearms. A drop of cold sweat slid from the nape of my neck, down my spine and lost itself between my buttocks, making me shiver. The panic was a burning knot in my stomach, and that treacherous wetness between my legs only increased my self-loathing.

Then the footsteps arrived. Two pairs. One light, familiar —Amy's school shoes— and another firmer one, with low heels. They were approaching. I didn't know if they were coming from in front of the sofa or from behind. The sound bounced off the carpeted floor, ambiguous, cruel. In front? Behind? If they come from the front they'll see me head-on. If from behind… I pressed myself harder against the back, holding my breath until my lungs burned. The terror closed my throat.

The footsteps stopped right behind me. I heard the soft crunch of the carpet under the heels, then a stifled gasp —a short, feminine sound, full of disbelief— that could only be Marcela's. Immediately after, a soft laugh, almost inaudible, escaped from Amy. That sound pierced me like a knife. She brought her here. She's handed me over.

I couldn't move. My mind screamed at me to open my eyes, but the panic kept me paralyzed, curled up, naked, with my back and buttocks completely exposed to whoever was there. This can't be happening. Marcela knows me. If she sees me like this…

"Samantha…?", murmured Marcela, her voice faltering, as if she couldn't believe what her eyes were showing her. The tone was pure astonishment, almost an incredulous whisper. "My God… what… what is this?"

The silence that followed was worse than any scream. I felt their gazes fixed on me, burning the naked skin of my back, sliding down the curve of my buttocks, stopping at the separation between my thighs. The blush consumed me entirely, from my face to the tips of my toes. They're looking at me. They're seeing everything. My buttocks, my sex… all in the open. My heart was beating so hard it seemed like it wanted to jump out of my chest. Hot tears accumulated under my closed eyelids.

Finally, with a tremor that ran through my entire body, I opened my eyes. I turned my head just enough. There they were, standing right behind me. Amy with a big triumphant smile, her eyes shining with pure satisfaction. Marcela beside her, with her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide open in an expression of absolute surprise, as if she were seeing an impossible apparition. Their gazes were fixed on my exposed buttocks, on the way my thighs trembled slightly, on every detail of my naked and vulnerable body.

There was no escape. They had found me. And now, with Marcela looking at me like that, my whole world was collapsing in silence.

I tried to babble something, anything that could save me from Marcela's gaze. My voice came out broken, trembling, barely a faltering thread while I remained curled up against the back of the sofa, my buttocks exposed to the air and my entire body vibrating.

"No… it's not what it seems…", I murmured, the words stumbling over each other. "Marcela, please… this isn't… isn't…".

But she raised her hand immediately, cutting me off with a firm gesture. Her eyes were still wide open, the surprise now mixed with something harder, more incredulous.

"Not what it seems?", exclaimed Marcela, and her voice rose in tone, clear and cutting. "Samantha, you're completely naked at work. Aren't you ashamed? If building security sees you like this, they're going to call the police in less than a minute. What were you thinking?".

The panic hit me like an icy wave. My heart raced until it became a wild drum inside my chest, each beat so strong I felt it echoing in my throat and ears, almost drowning out everything else. A cold sweat immediately broke out all over my skin, sliding down my nape, down between my breasts and sticking my back to the sofa's backrest. Goosebumps raised every inch of my body, from my arms to the curve of my buttocks, and a violent shiver ran down my spine. My God, she's going to report me. She's going to scream louder and the whole floor will come. I'm naked. Completely naked. And she's there, dressed, talking as if this were a normal meeting. My mind spun in a spiral, full of images of security guards, handcuffs, my name dragged through the hallways, my career destroyed in a second. I couldn't breathe. The air caught in my throat and a new wave of treacherous wetness accumulated between my thighs, making me hate myself even more.

Amy let out a low, contained giggle right behind Marcela, enjoying every second, but I barely registered her. Marcela kept talking, her tone becoming more natural, as if she weren't addressing a naked woman curled up in the Relax Area in the middle of the workday, in broad daylight.

"And on top of that in the Relax Area, where anyone can walk in at any moment", continued Marcela, adjusting her black blouse with one hand while the other still partially covered her mouth. "I don't understand how you got here like this. Beatriz is going to hear about this, Samantha. This isn't a game".

The sound in my ears was deafening, a roar of blood and terror. I tried to sit up a little, just to beg her to lower her voice. My hands trembled against the sofa and I managed to lift my head, my body still hunched, my buttocks brushing the fabric as I tried to turn toward her.

"Please… lower your voice…", I whispered desperately, my voice broken.

But Marcela, instead of lowering her tone, raised it a little more, clearly upset.

"Lower my voice? You're naked on the eighth floor!", she insisted, and the volume of her words pierced me like a lash.

The panic multiplied. I trembled all over, a violent shiver that made me squeeze my thighs and hunch my shoulders. I curled up even more against the sofa, my knees against my chest, my hands covering myself as best I could, feeling how the blush burned my face and my entire chest.

Everyone is going to hear me. They're going to see me. I'm lost. Amy kept laughing softly beside her, and Marcela remained there, completely dressed, looking at me with that mixture of shock and reproach, as if my nudity was nothing more than an administrative problem that had to be resolved out loud. The terror consumed me, my heart pounding in my throat, the sweat running down my exposed skin, and I knew that any wrong move was going to end everything.

At that precise moment, heavy footsteps approached from the main hallway. My heart gave such a brutal jolt that I felt my breath stop. I sank even more against the back of the sofa, shrinking until my forehead touched my knees and my arms wrapped around me like a useless shield. No. Not now. Don't let him see me. Don't let him look this way. The cold sweat ran down my naked back, while goosebumps raised every pore on my body. My nipples hardened painfully against my forearms and a new wave of treacherous wetness moistened my thighs. The panic closed my throat; the roar of my own blood in my ears was deafening.

"Is everything okay over here?", asked a masculine voice, casual but alert, from the other side of the sofa.

Marcela turned quickly, completely blocking me with her body.

"Everything's perfect", she responded with a surprising calm, almost amused. "I'm just telling my cousin some things about school. You know how teenagers are".

The guy let out a short laugh and kept walking, his footsteps moving away down the hallway. He didn't look back. He didn't see anything. But I kept trembling, a violent shiver running from the nape of my neck to my bare feet, the muscles in my legs contracted and sore from the position. It was so close… so close…

Marcela turned toward me again. Her eyes fixed on mine and, without saying a word, she took her cell phone out of her pocket. She raised it and pointed it directly toward where I was curled up, the screen shining under the floor's light.

The terror exploded inside my chest. She's going to call security. She's going to take a photo and send it. It's all over. My heart was beating so hard that each thump was a punch in my ribs. The sweat soaked my forehead and the valley between my breasts, sliding down my flat belly. My hands trembled uncontrollably against my legs and a wave of nausea rose up my throat.

"Please", I begged in a desperate whisper, my voice broken and hoarse. "Marcela, don't call security… I'll do whatever you want, anything… but don't report me. Please…".

She didn't lower the phone. Instead, she touched the screen once. The sound of the shutter was like a gunshot in my ears. She took the photo with a serious, professional face, as if she were documenting a technical error. Then she looked at Amy and let out a loud, open laugh that echoed throughout the entire Relax Area.

"I can't believe it!", exclaimed Marcela, still laughing as she put away the phone. "Although I must admit it was a surprise to see you like this, Samantha. Megan had told me she was going to send her cousin up to the eighth floor naked. I didn't believe her for a second so we bet money… and now it turns out I have to pay her because of you".

The world shrank around me. Megan… all of this was planned. The panic transformed into something deeper, more viscous: pure humiliation that burned my chest and made me squeeze my thighs tightly. I felt every heartbeat in my throat, the cold sweat sticking my hair to the nape of my neck, the goosebumps covering my arms and my exposed breasts.

"Since now, because of you, I'll have to pay money to Megan", continued Marcela with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "you'll have to compensate me somehow. And much more if you don't want it to be known that you walk around the office completely naked in the middle of the workday, in broad daylight".

Amy, beside her, only smiled bigger, her eyes shining with pure delight, enjoying every second of my downfall. I stayed there, naked, trembling, curled up against the sofa, with my mind blank and my body betraying me once more. Marcela and Amy looked down at me from above, completely dressed, and I knew that the real humiliation had barely begun.

Marcela suddenly paused her laughter, but the smile didn't disappear. It stayed there, wide, curved at the corners like the Cheshire cat's, full of secret amusement and a touch of malice that froze my blood. Her eyes shone as she looked down at me from above, completely dressed, with that feigned calm that only worsened my humiliation.

"Relax, Samantha", she said in a lower tone, almost consoling, although the smile didn't falter even a millimeter. "Fortunately Megan had already talked to me before. If not, seeing you like this, so naked, would have given me such a big fright that I would have surely run out to tell the whole floor. But Megan convinced me to be more cautious… so as not to get her into trouble".

Her? The thought pierced me like a knife. She doesn't even worry about me. Only about not complicating Megan's life. The panic squeezed my chest harder. My nipples remained hardened against my forearms, treacherous, and a wave of humid heat between my thighs made me squeeze my knees with disgust toward myself. I'm here, exposed, trembling, and she talks as if she were only protecting my cousin.

Marcela tilted her head, that Cheshire smile still fixed on her face.

"Now tell me", she continued with an ironic laugh dancing in her voice, "what did you need to find with such urgency that you had to come up yourself, personally and without clothes, all the way to the eighth floor to find me?".

The world shrank around me. I turned my head toward Amy, my eyes wide open, pleading, silently asking her why she hadn't said anything. Amy just shrugged with an innocent smile, enjoying the moment. She didn't tell her anything. She left the humiliation of explaining it to me. The blush burned my chest and belly, spreading to the tips of my exposed breasts. My heart was beating so hard that each thump echoed in my ears, and a new shiver ran down my spine, raising the skin on my arms and buttocks.

I swallowed with difficulty, my throat dry and closed.

"It was… it was for the report", I whispered, my voice broken and trembling. "Megan sent me to get the urgent report you have for Beatriz. She said it was to give it to her mom and that… that I had to come myself. Please, Marcela… just give me the file and let me go back down. I can't… I can't be like this here".

The words burned as they left me. I felt how my entire body shrank even more against the sofa, my buttocks pressed against the fabric, my hands trembling as I tried to cover myself as little as I could. The panic didn't let me think clearly; I could only feel the warm air of the floor brushing against my exposed sex, the cold sweat running down my skin and the certainty that all of this had just become much, much worse.

Marcela listened to my words and her smile widened even more, that slow curve that wasn't kind. She tilted her head as if processing something absurd, and her eyes traveled over my naked body from top to bottom with deliberate slowness: from my hunched shoulders to the curve of my breasts, down my flat belly and stopping for a second on the dark triangle between my thighs before rising again. Then she looked at Amy, and finally checked her wristwatch with a casual gesture.

"A report?", she repeated with a low, incredulous laugh. "I can't believe you came all the way up here completely naked, risking getting caught… just for a report".

The panic squeezed my stomach like an invisible hand. I felt how my breathing became quick and shallow, making my breasts rise and fall visibly, my nipples hardened by the air conditioning and the shame. My hands trembled uncontrollably against my knees, and a treacherous heat spread through my belly, making my thighs squeeze involuntarily.

"Unfortunately you arrived at a bad time. I have an important presentation on the tenth floor with some clients. The report you need is on a USB drive that I already transferred to the laptop in the conference room. If you hurry, you can go right now, enter, take it out and take it to Megan".

The world fell on top of me. Go up to the tenth floor. Enter a conference room. Possibly with people. Naked. My heart slammed against my ribs with such force that I felt nauseous. My legs trembled, weak, and a shiver ran down my spine, raising the skin on my arms and the nape of my neck. No. I can't. They're going to see me. They're going to record me. My life ends here.

I looked at Amy, pleading, my eyes wide open.

"Amy… please… you do it", I begged in a broken whisper. "You go to the conference room. I'll stay here. I can't… I can't go up any more".

Amy crossed her arms over her white uniform shirt and shook her head, the smile growing on her face.

"No way", she responded lightly. "Megan ordered you to do it. I'm just accompanying you".

Marcela looked at me directly, that smile still fixed on her lips.

"You have to do it yourself, Samantha", she said firmly, although her tone remained loaded with amusement. "As Megan ordered. There's no other option".

The terror invaded me completely. I felt how my knees weakened and I had to lean more against the sofa so as not to fall. The air in the floor seemed denser, hotter against my exposed sex, and each beat of my heart echoed in my ears like a warning drum. Amy watched me with evident delight, and Marcela waited, completely dressed and in control of the situation, while I remained there, naked and broken, knowing that the next step would take me directly to the heart of the humiliation.

Marcela put away the phone with a fluid movement and looked at Amy as if the idea had just occurred to her.

"I'll accompany you", she said with that feline smile still curved on her lips. "We can take the elevator. It's faster".

The panic pierced me like an electric current. The elevator. Enclosed, with mirrors, full of people going up and down at this hour. I shook my head before the words came out, my body still curled up against the sofa, my knees trembling against my chest.

"No… please, not the elevator", I whispered, my voice broken and barely audible. "Anyone could…".
Amy let out a low giggle and looked at Marcela with complicity.

"Samantha is very cowardly about the elevator", she explained in a light, almost amused tone.

"She always prefers the stairs. She says that way she has more control. Right, Samantha?".

The blush burned my entire face. Coward. She says it like it's a joke, while I'm here naked, trembling, begging them not to force me. My hands closed into useless fists against my legs. I felt the warm air of the floor brushing against my exposed sex, the skin of my thighs sticky with nervous sweat, and each breath made my breasts move visibly, vulnerable, exposed. I couldn't believe this was happening. Marcela, completely dressed in her fitted black blouse and gray dress pants, and Amy in her school uniform —impeccable white shirt, gray pleated skirt that barely reached mid-thigh, black school shoes— looked at me as if my nudity were only an uncomfortable detail in their plan.

"Alright, stairs then", accepted Marcela with a shrug.

They turned around and started walking toward the stairs. I stood up with legs that barely held me, my hands instinctively crossed over my breasts and the triangle between my thighs, although I knew it was useless. The contrast was brutal: they walked naturally, fabric against skin, access cards hanging from Marcela's neck, pleated skirt swinging with each of Amy's steps. I went barefoot, completely naked, each silent and cold footstep against the carpeted floor, the air caressing my buttocks and back like invisible fingers. They are protected. I have nothing. Not a single garment.

We entered the stairwell and the cold concrete under my soles made me shudder. We started climbing with caution, Marcela in front, Amy in the middle, me bringing up the rear. Each step was a slow agony. My breasts swayed with the movement, my nipples brushing against my forearm every time I tried to cover myself. My heart beat in my throat, so hard I feared the echo would bounce through the entire stairwell. If someone comes down now… if someone comes up from the ninth… My thighs rubbed with each step, sending small jolts of shame and that treacherous heat that made me hate myself more. Sweat ran down my temples and neck, but it wasn't the same cold sweat as before; it was hot, sticky, the product of pure terror.

On the ninth floor landing we heard voices. Two men talking about a project, coming up from below. Marcela raised a hand and we stopped dead. I pressed myself against the wall, the rough concrete brushing my back and naked buttocks. I held my breath, my lungs burning, while the footsteps approached and then moved away down the ninth floor hallway. They were so close. If they had turned their heads… Amy looked at me over her shoulder and smiled, clearly enjoying my panic. Marcela just waited calmly, as if accompanying a naked woman through the stairs were something routine.

We continued climbing. The tenth floor felt eternal. Each step made my buttocks tense, the air brushing my intimacy with a cruel caress. My thoughts spiraled: My reputation. My career. If someone recognizes me… Carla's friend must be enjoying watching me on the cameras.

Finally we reached the tenth floor landing. Marcela climbed carefully and poked her head out. The hallway was lit with brighter, more corporate lights. We heard distant laughter and the murmur of a meeting. My stomach contracted. People. Clients. The conference room. Amy gave me a small push on my back, forcing me to move forward.

"Go ahead", she whispered. "Almost there".

I remained paralyzed at the door, my entire body trembling, my trembling hands trying to cover the impossible. The tenth floor opened before us, full of risk, and I knew that crossing that line meant exposing myself like never before. Marcela and Amy waited, dressed and secure, while I, naked and broken, felt the ground opening under my bare feet. One more step and everything could collapse.

Marcela stopped for a moment on the tenth floor landing and looked both ways down the central hallway carpeted in dark tones, her eyes carefully scanning the polarized glass doors that lined the corridor. The silence was relative, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation and some distant voice filtering from one of the training rooms. Satisfied, she advanced with a decisive step toward the nearest room: the Main Executive Room. She pushed the heavy glass door, which slid with a soft whisper, and poked her head in.

"It's empty now", she whispered, turning toward us. "Hurry. There's no one inside and the meeting hasn't started yet".

The panic paralyzed me at the threshold. My bare feet dug into the thick carpet, my knees trembling so much they barely held me. I can't go in there. It's the main room, the one for high-level meetings. If someone arrives… if they activate the glass from inside… I tried to cover myself with my arms, but the terror made me clumsy. Instead of walking, I dropped to my knees and started crawling, the palms of my hands sinking into the soft, warm carpet, my knees brushing the dense texture that reminded me with every inch how exposed I was.

Amy let out an impatient sigh. Without intending to hurt me, only to make me move forward, she extended her hand and grabbed a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck, closing her fingers firmly but without pulling hard. The tug was light, almost like a leash, and forced me to move faster.

"Come on, Samantha", she murmured, her voice low but urgent.

The wave of humiliation was so brutal that I felt nauseous. Crawling completely naked through the corporate hallway, being led by the hair like an animal by a girl in school uniform… My breasts hung heavy and exposed, swaying with each movement, my nipples brushing the cool air and hardening even more. The curve of my buttocks visibly tensed with each knee advance, and the air in the hallway caressed my open, vulnerable sex, sending small jolts of shame that mixed with that treacherous heat between my thighs. I'm crawling. Naked. On the conference floor. With Marcela and Amy completely dressed watching me like a dog. The blush burned my face and chest, spreading to my belly, and my hands trembled against the carpet. It was degrading, visceral, and yet… without Amy's firm tug on my hair, I knew I would have stayed frozen at the door, unable to take even one more step.

I dragged myself faster, my knees and palms sinking into the thick carpet as we crossed the threshold. The change in environment was immediate: the air inside the room was cooler, more controlled, laden with the faint aroma of polished wood and freshly brewed coffee from the reception bar. The oval conference table shone under the calibrated lights, the twenty black leather chairs waited in perfect order, and the 8K screens integrated into the walls reflected my naked body in distorted fragments. I felt every detail with painful intensity: the softer carpet under my knees, the subtle cold of the air conditioning kissing my back and the separation of my buttocks, the weight of my breasts swaying freely, the accelerated pulse beating between my legs. I'm inside. Naked. In the room where million-dollar deals are closed. And they brought me here as if it were nothing.

Amy finally released my hair and closed the door behind us with a soft click that echoed like a sentence. The room was sealed, private, but I remained on all fours, trembling, my heart pounding in my ears. The air conditioning maintained a controlled temperature, almost cold against my naked skin, and the faint hum of the turned-off screens seemed to amplify every beat of my heart. I stayed there, still on all fours on the thick carpet, my body trembling, my knees sunk into the soft fabric that contrasted cruelly with my total vulnerability. I'm inside. In the conference room. Naked.

Amy and Marcela exchanged a quick glance, and Amy let out a low giggle as she leaned against the oval conference table.

"What luck Samantha had, right?", commented Amy in a casual, almost admiring tone. "She made the whole way up without anyone seeing her. It could have been a disaster".

Marcela nodded, crossing her arms over her black blouse, that feline smile still curved on her lips.

"It's because some are so busy they haven't left their offices", she responded with a carefree shrug, as if she were commenting on the weather. "The people here live glued to their monitors. They don't even have time to look at the hallway".

The irony hit me like a punch in the stomach. Luck. They talk about luck while I'm here, completely naked, crawling like an animal through the corporate hallways, my body exposed to every possible gaze. I felt how the blush burned my face and descended down my neck to the upper curve of my breasts, spreading like liquid fire through my belly. My heart beat in my throat, so hard that each thump was a visceral reminder of my humiliation. My hands trembled against the carpet, my fingers digging into the dense texture, while a shiver ran down my spine and raised the skin on my arms and buttocks. The awareness of my body was overwhelming: my heavy and exposed breasts, swaying slightly with each agitated breath, my nipples hardened by the cold and the shame, the dark triangle between my thighs wet and throbbing despite the terror. My mind screams to cover myself, to flee, but my body… treacherous, hot, vulnerable. I wanted the earth to swallow me, for the floor of the room to open and hide me forever. It wasn't just physical exposure; it was the certainty that they, dressed and secure, controlled every second of my degradation.

Amy kept laughing softly, enjoying the moment, while Marcela adjusted her blouse naturally, as if nothing extraordinary were happening. I could only stay there, on all fours, the weight of their gaze burning my back and exposed buttocks, the panic growing with each second in which the door could open again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcela—I couldn't focus— take something out of her bag and examine it carefully, the object shining slightly under the room's calibrated light. I didn't know what it was. What is she doing? Why is she looking at me like that? Marcela held something in her hand, a small, rounded object that she manipulated between her fingers with deliberate slowness. I didn't know what it was. It looked like some kind of smooth egg, made of a soft and slightly flexible material, with a strange contour I had never seen before: it wasn't a phone, nor a keychain, nor anything I recognized. Its shape was organic and compact, with one wider end and another slightly pointed, and a surface that shone under the light as if made of a matte plastic or silicone.

Marcela spoke to Amy in a low, almost casual voice, but her gaze was fixed on me. It wasn't a normal look. It was a look of absolute power, from someone who had just discovered she had total control over the situation and planned to enjoy it to the end. Her eyes narrowed slightly, with a dark and calculating gleam, as if she were savoring every second of my humiliation, measuring my fear, knowing that now she could ask me for anything and I wouldn't be able to refuse. That feline smile curved more, slow and cruel, while her fingers turned the object between them, pressing it, testing its texture, as if she were already imagining where it was going to end up.

Amy laughed at something, unaware of the intensity of that gaze, but I felt it like a physical weight on my exposed body. My breasts hung heavy and vulnerable, my nipples hardened by the cold and the shame, brushing the air each time my breathing quickened. The blush burned my chest and belly, and a new wave of involuntary wetness accumulated between my thighs, betraying me while my mind screamed to cover myself, to flee, that this couldn't be happening. She has me. She has me in her hands. I'll do anything so she doesn't call security… but what does she want?

Marcela took one more step closer, without stopping talking to Amy about something trivial —the traffic in Medellín, the meeting the next day— but her eyes never left me. Then, without saying a word about what she was holding, she leaned slightly and extended the object to me. She placed it directly in the palm of my open hand, as if it were something completely normal. The material was warm from the contact with her fingers, soft to the touch, strange, unknown. I looked at it confused, not understanding what it was or why she was giving it to me. It weighed little, fit perfectly in my hand, and had a texture that invited squeezing it, although I could only tremble while holding it.

Marcela straightened up, that smile of absolute power still on her face, and looked me directly in the eyes.

"You have to insert it inside your vagina", she said in a calm, almost professional voice, as if she were giving me instructions for any ordinary task. "Now".

The world stopped. The object rested in my palm, small, smooth, incomprehensible, and Marcela's words echoed in my head like an impossible echo. My entire body tensed, my heart beating so hard I felt every thump in my throat. Inside me? This… thing? The panic and confusion mixed with a wave of heat rising up my neck and chest, while my hands trembled and the object seemed to burn my skin. I didn't understand what it was. I didn't understand why. I only knew that now, naked on all fours in the conference room, with them watching me, I had no option to refuse.

I tried to resist, although my voice came out weak and trembling.

"No… I can't", I murmured, holding the strange object in the palm of my hand as if it burned.

"Marcela, please… this doesn't… doesn't make sense".

She tilted her head slightly, that feline smile widening with deliberate slowness. Her gaze fixed on mine, dark and sure, full of a power that admitted no discussion. With just one step closer and a raised eyebrow, she broke any defense I tried to build.

"You can't?", repeated Marcela in an almost kind tone, although her eyes shone with contained cruelty. "Samantha, after making me lose the bet with Megan, you're going to have to compensate me somehow. Don't worry, it won't last long".

The mention of Megan hit me like a lash. All of this is because of my cousin. She planned it. And now I pay the consequences. I felt how the blush rose up my neck and spread across my naked chest, warming the skin of my exposed breasts. My hands trembled harder, and the small, smooth object seemed to weigh a ton in my palm. My heart beat so hard I felt it in my throat, each beat a reminder of my total helplessness. The air conditioning brushed my exposed sex, and although I tried to deny it, a treacherous wetness accumulated between my thighs, hot and slippery, making my body react in a way my mind rejected with all its strength.

I swallowed with difficulty and, after a moment of internal struggle, I moved slowly on the thick carpet. I positioned myself in a slightly more comfortable position, spreading my knees a little more and arching my back slightly, although every movement made my breasts sway heavily and my sex become even more exposed to their gaze. The object rested in my hand, small, rounded, with a soft texture I had never felt before. I didn't know what it was. I didn't understand why I had to insert it inside me. I only knew I had no choice.

With trembling fingers, I brought the object between my legs. I was a little lubricated —too much for my liking—, and the humid heat of my sex contrasted with the coldness of the unknown material. I began to press it slowly against my entrance, feeling how my body opened little by little around that strange and smooth shape. A shiver ran down my spine. They can't realize how wet I am… they can't. My thighs trembled, my hands sweated, and each centimeter I managed to insert made me feel fuller, more vulnerable, more lost. The object was firm but flexible, unknown, and as I pushed it in carefully, the blush burned my face and chest, mixing with a shame so deep it almost made me moan in desperation.

Marcela and Amy watched me in silence, and I could only keep pushing, centimeter by centimeter, my heart racing and my body betraying me with every involuntary pulse of heat.

The constant hum of the air conditioning filled the room like a mechanical whisper, breaking the silence only occasionally with the faint creak of a chair when Marcela changed position. Beyond the closed door, the distant murmur of a masculine voice in the hallway and the muffled sound of footsteps passing without stopping could be heard. Each of those noises made me tense my muscles, reminding me that we were on the conference floor, surrounded by people who were working, talking, who could enter at any moment.

My fingers trembled around the small, smooth object. I pressed it harder against my entrance, feeling how my wet folds yielded little by little around that strange and rounded shape. A shiver ran down my back. It's going in… God, it's going inside me and they're watching. The treacherous wetness accumulating between my thighs facilitated the sliding, but I tried not to think about it, about how my body opened by itself, betraying me with each centimeter I managed to insert. The object was firm but flexible, its smooth surface brushed my inner walls with an unknown, intimate, invasive sensation. I felt how my vagina stretched slowly, yielding around that strange curvature, how my internal muscles contracted first in resistance and then relaxed little by little, swallowing it deeper.

A soft, wet, almost inaudible sound accompanied the advance when I managed to push a little more. The object disappeared centimeter by centimeter inside me, and each time my body accepted it, a wave of heat rose from my belly to my chest. My breasts moved with each agitated breath, my nipples hard and sensitive brushing the cold air of the room. It's going in… it's going all the way in and I can't stop. The blush burned my face and descended down my neck, spreading across my exposed breasts while my fingers kept pressing, pushing with delicacy and desperation at the same time.

The object continued advancing, slow, inexorable. I felt how my inner walls opened around it, how they adjusted to its rounded shape, how they accepted it deeper. A faint wet sound was heard again when it almost disappeared completely, and then only a small end remained visible that my fingers still held. My thighs trembled, my hands sweated, and my heart beat so hard I felt it in my throat. The object was almost inside, lodged in my vagina, filling me in an unknown, strange, intimate way. Only one last gentle push was left, and then it would disappear completely inside me, swallowed by my own treacherous body while Marcela and Amy watched in silence, enjoying every second of my slow and humiliating surrender.

The object was already completely inside me. I felt its strange and rounded weight lodged deep in my vagina, filling me in a way I had never experienced. My inner walls adjusted around that smooth and unknown shape, now warm from contact with my body, and every small movement I made —even breathing— made me notice it more, like a constant reminder of what I had just done. I put it in. My God, I put it inside me at my workplace. In the conference room. And they saw everything.

Marcela and Amy let out a low, contained but unmistakable laugh. It wasn't a loud laugh, but something crueler, more intimate: giggles through their teeth that echoed in the silence of the room, loaded with disbelief and amusement. My face burned. The blush burned my chest and spread across my exposed breasts, while my thighs trembled and the object seemed to throb inside me with each accelerated beat of my heart. I can't believe I did it. That I put something inside me in front of them. That my body opened like that, so easily, so wet…

I was considering taking it out —my fingers already approaching trembling between my legs—, when a dry and clear knock resounded against the door of the room. The sound pierced me like lightning. Panic exploded in my chest. Without thinking, I lunged forward, crawling desperately under the huge oval conference table. The object moved inside me with the abrupt movement, brushing my sensitive walls, sending a wave of humid heat that made me bite my lip to keep from moaning. I hid between the legs of the black leather chairs, curled up, my knees against my chest, my hands covering what little I could of my naked body. My heart was beating so hard I felt it in my throat, in my ears, in every corner of my exposed skin.

The door opened with a soft click.

"Hi Marcela, did I arrive on time for the meeting?", asked a feminine voice, clear and professional, from the threshold. Footsteps were heard on the thick carpet as the girl entered.

Marcela responded calmly, as if nothing strange were happening under the table.

"Yes, you arrived just in time", she said naturally. "Come in and make yourself comfortable. We're going to start in a moment".

The girl's footsteps approached. I saw her black shoes and the hem of some gray pants moving near the chairs. She sat in one of them, the chair creaked slightly, and I felt how the air in the room changed with her presence. The object inside me seemed heavier now, more invasive, as if every foreign movement made it more noticeable. My vagina contracted involuntarily around it, hot, wet, treacherous. There's someone else here. A girl. She's sitting less than a meter from me and I'm naked under the table, with something inside me… The panic closed my throat. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe without fear of being heard. And meanwhile, Marcela and Amy knew exactly where I was, naked, hidden, and the object was still there, lodged deep inside, reminding me with every small beat how much control I had lost over my own body.

Little by little, the door to the Main Executive Room began to open and close softly. Low voices, footsteps on the thick carpet, the sound of black leather chairs being dragged. One by one, more people entered. Eight in total. Men and women in impeccable suits, leather briefcases, serious and professional expressions. Important people. They greeted each other with brief nods and courteous murmurs as they took their seats around the huge oval table. The air in the room changed: now it was laden with expensive perfume, the faint tinkling of luxury watches and the invisible weight of corporate hierarchies.

I remained frozen under the table, on all fours, my naked body trembling against the carpet. The object inside me —that smooth and rounded shape I still didn't understand— seemed heavier, more present, as if each new approaching step pushed it deeper. I have it inside. I put it in myself. And now there are people. Important people. And I'm here, under the table, completely naked. My mind had completely forgotten the idea of taking it out. I could only think about the situation: how exposed I was, how close all those dressed people were to me, how a single wrong movement would be enough for someone to lean down and discover me. My heart beat in my throat. I felt the object lodged in my vagina, my inner walls adjusting around it with each agitated breath, a warm and treacherous wetness that accumulated and made me squeeze my thighs in vain.

I heard greetings directed at Marcela and Amy. A feminine voice, clear and curious, asked:

"Is the girl in uniform with you, Marcela?"

Marcela responded naturally, almost with feigned warmth.

"Yes, she's a relative of mine. Is there any problem if she stays? I promise she won't interrupt".

There was a general murmur of acceptance.

"No problem", said a man with a deep voice. "As long as she doesn't interrupt the meeting. It's important".

Important. The word echoed in my head. And then I heard it: they mentioned a high executive, a direct colleague of my aunt Beatriz. A name I recognized from family conversations, from corporate events, from that professional sphere I was part of… until now. A knot formed in my throat. He's here. A colleague of Aunt Beatriz is in this meeting. If they discover me… if someone sees me like this… The panic closed my chest. My naked breasts brushed the carpet with each shallow breath, my nipples sensitive to the contact with the thick fabric. The object inside me seemed to throb with each accelerated beat of my heart.

When everyone was seated, I noticed how Amy and Marcela chose seats very close to where I was hiding. Their legs —dressed, protected— ended up dangerously close to my curled-up body. I tried to move with silent desperation, dodging every time a knee extended or a foot adjusted under the table. Don't touch me. Please, don't let anything fall. Don't let them have to bend down to look for something… The terror was absolute. I was naked, with an unknown object inside me, hidden under the table of an executive meeting while important people took seats just centimeters from my exposed skin. And the worst part was that, in the middle of the panic, my body kept betraying me: hot, wet, aware of every brush of the air conditioning against my sex and of how the object felt more invasive with each small movement I made to avoid being discovered.

The meeting began with the sound of a presentation activating on the 8K screens integrated into the walls. Serious and professional voices filled the room. They talked about the Technical Development Area, about a new strategic data integration system for high-level corporate alliances, about optimization algorithms that could change the way the company managed million-dollar projects with international clients. I heard fragments —"real-time interoperability", "executive-level data security", "growth projections for the next quarter"— but I couldn't see anything. I only saw dressed and shod legs under the table: gray and black suits, polished leather shoes, knees crossed with professional elegance. I tried not to move even a millimeter. Each small posture adjustment made the object inside me more noticeable, reminding me cruelly that it was there, lodged deep in my vagina, while important people discussed the future of the company.

I'm spying. Even if I don't want to, I'm listening to confidential information completely naked under the table. If they discover me… The thought oppressed my chest. I felt how the blush burned my face and descended down my neck to the curve of my breasts, which brushed the thick carpet with each shallow breath. My hands trembled against the floor, and the object —that smooth and unknown shape— seemed heavier, more present, as if my own body were squeezing it without permission. The contrast was unbearable: voices talking about cutting-edge technology, about high-level corporate strategies, while I was hidden like an animal, naked, with something inside me that I didn't fully understand.

As the meeting progressed, I began to notice a faint tingling deep in my vagina. At first I thought it was my imagination, the product of my nervousness and the wetness I couldn't control. But the tingling persisted, soft, constant, like a distant and vibrant hum that spread through my inner walls. What is this? Is the object moving? Or is it me? Am I so altered that my body is reacting on its own? I wasn't sure. The tingling wasn't strong, but it was enough for each small pulse to make me contract my muscles involuntarily, sending small waves of treacherous heat through my belly and thighs. I tried not to move, but the tingling seemed to synchronize with my breathing, becoming more noticeable every time I held my breath to avoid being discovered.

The legs around me moved from time to time: someone crossed their knees, another adjusted the position of their chair, and I had to dodge with silent desperation so that none would brush against me. The object vibrated —or whatever was happening— so subtly that no one else seemed to notice, but for me it was like an electric secret lodged in the most intimate part of my body. The panic and confusion mixed with a shame so deep it almost made me moan. I can't move. I can't make noise. And this… this doesn't stop. The tingling continued, soft but persistent, while the voices of the meeting kept talking about strategic data and I remained hidden under the table, completely naked, with an unknown object vibrating inside me and the certainty that any movement could betray me to people who should never see me like this.

The meeting continued its course with serious voices and the occasional sound of slides changing on the screens. I tried to focus on anything that wasn't what was happening inside my body, but it was impossible. The vibration had increased. It was no longer a soft tingling now; it was a constant, rhythmic hum that spread from deep inside my vagina. No. No. This can't be happening. Not here. Not now. I tried to push the sensation out of my mind, to focus on the voices talking about interoperability and growth projections, but my body had already started to react. I felt how the wetness increased, hot and slippery, facilitating every small movement of the object inside me. My thighs squeezed involuntarily, trying to contain the sensation, but it only made the hum feel more intense, deeper.

Little by little, the level rose again. The hum became stronger, more insistent, and then I understood with a clarity that froze and burned me at the same time: the object was really vibrating inside me. It wasn't my imagination. It wasn't my body reacting on its own. Someone —probably Marcela— was controlling it remotely, and each increase made me more aware of how my inner walls contracted around that smooth and vibrating shape, how the treacherous pleasure spread through my belly and up my spine. My breathing became faster and shallower, making my breasts move against the thick carpet. My nipples, already hard from the cold and the shame, brushed the fabric with each inhalation, sending small jolts that mixed with the constant hum between my legs. I felt how my clitoris began to throb in response, how the heat accumulated and spread, wet, inevitable, against my will. I'm getting aroused. In the middle of an executive meeting. With important people sitting centimeters from me. And I can't do anything to stop it.

I tried to look toward where Marcela and Amy were, searching for some sign, some explanation, but they didn't even look at me. They remained attentive to the presentation, with professional expressions, as if I didn't exist under the table. The abandonment hurt me almost as much as the vibration itself. They ignore me. They leave me here, alone with this inside me, while they talk about data and strategies as if nothing.

The hum continued, now constant enough that I started to hear it too: a faint wet and vibrating sound coming from inside my body. What if someone else hears it? What if the sound comes out? What if they notice something strange? The panic mixed with the growing arousal, creating an unbearable cocktail. My vagina contracted rhythmically around the object, each contraction sending a new wave of heat that made me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. The blush consumed my chest and belly, and I felt how my thighs began to tremble more strongly, betraying me with each small pulse of pleasure I didn't ask for and didn't want. The meeting continued its course above me, oblivious to the silent battle I was fighting under the table: my mind screaming to stop, to control myself, while my body surrendered little by little to the constant and merciless hum that someone controlled from outside.

I considered taking it out. My fingers trembled, approaching between my thighs with the desperate intention of removing that vibration that was no longer subtle. But as soon as I tried to move my hand, the vibration increased suddenly. A stronger, deeper hum that resonated directly against my inner walls and tore a small involuntary spasm from me. At the same time, several legs under the table moved: a knee extended, a foot adjusted, limiting even more the space I had to maneuver without touching anyone. I can't. If I move more, someone is going to brush against me. If I take it out now…

The thought paralyzed me. If I take it out, the sound will be heard louder. In here… my body is muffling it. Like a silencer. The idea emerged in the middle of the panic, absurd and desperate. If the object stayed inside, maybe the sound would remain trapped, muffled by my own flesh and by the wetness I couldn't control. But that same logic turned against me: by keeping it inside, the vibration felt more intense, more direct, as if my body were amplifying every pulse against my most sensitive spots. I felt how my walls contracted rhythmically around that vibrating shape, how the heat spread from my vagina toward my clitoris, swollen and throbbing, and how a new wave of wetness accumulated, slippery and treacherous.

No. I can't come. Not here. Not under the table with all these people. I tried to control myself, squeeze my thighs tightly, breathe through my nose slowly and deeply, but the hum kept increasing and my body responded without permission. Each internal contraction sent a jolt of pleasure that rose through my belly and made me arch my back slightly, brushing my breasts against the carpet. The blush burned my chest and neck. My nipples, hard and sensitive, brushed the thick fabric with each agitated breath. My heart beat so hard I felt it in my throat, and the fear that someone would hear the wet vibrating sound —or worse, hear an involuntary moan— kept me on the edge of the abyss.

I tried not to move, not to make noise, not to give myself away, but the vibration continued its implacable course, pushing me little by little toward an orgasm I didn't want and couldn't allow. Every time my walls contracted around the object, I felt how the pleasure accumulated, dense and hot, threatening to overflow. My thighs trembled. My fingers dug into the carpet. And above, the voices continued talking about data and strategies while I, naked and hidden, fought in silence against my own body that was surrendering to the growing and merciless hum.

The vibration continued increasing and my body responded without permission. I felt how my inner walls contracted rhythmically around the object, how the heat accumulated dense and wet between my thighs, and how my clitoris throbbed with each pulse that came from within. I tried to control myself, clench my teeth, breathe through my nose, but the forced pleasure grew mercilessly, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. My breasts brushed the carpet with each agitated breath, my sensitive nipples sending small jolts that added to the constant hum in my vagina.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amy discreetly lower her head, pretending to check something in her lap. A second later, the screen of a cell phone appeared in my field of vision. It was the interface of a control app: a dark background with electric blue wave lines, a large slider in the center and numbers from 1 to 10 on a horizontal bar. Below were intensity icons: “Low”, “Medium”, “High”, “Max”. The slider was at a medium-high level and, as I watched, I saw how Amy, with a small and cruel smile curved on her lips, dragged it upward without hesitation. It went from 6 to 7, then to 8, and finally stopped at 9 —the penultimate position before the absolute maximum—.

The change was immediate and brutal. The vibration became stronger, deeper, more insistent. A rhythmic and powerful hum that struck directly against my most sensitive spots, making my walls contract forcefully around the object. A small, stifled moan escaped from my throat before I could contain it —a sound between surprise and involuntary arousal— and I covered my mouth with both hands, my heart exploding in my chest. They heard me. Someone heard me. The panic mixed with the pleasure I could no longer deny: my vagina tightened and grew wetter with each pulse, my thighs trembled, and a wave of heat rose through my belly threatening to overflow. The blush burned my face and my entire chest.

Amy smiled more, satisfied, and turned the phone so that the rear camera pointed toward me. I imagined how she opened the camera app and started recording while she, without stopping smiling, filmed my naked body hidden under the table: my heavy hanging breasts, my squeezed thighs, my hand still covering my mouth, and the slight involuntary movement of my hips that I couldn't fully control. The meeting continued its course above us —voices talking about strategic data and projections—, oblivious to the fact that I was under the table, with a vibrator at almost maximum power, being filmed while I struggled not to come and not to be discovered. The fear that the wet and vibrating sound would become audible mixed with the shame of knowing that now there existed a recording of my most absolute humiliation. And Amy kept recording, enjoying every second.

The vibration at its highest level was implacable. I felt how the object vibrated with strong, rhythmic and deep force inside my vagina, each pulse striking directly against my inner walls and sending waves of heat that spread from my core toward my belly, my chest and my face. My body contracted around that smooth and vibrating shape without me being able to prevent it; each contraction was stronger, wetter, more treacherous. The heat accumulated dense between my thighs, slippery and growing, while my clitoris throbbed swollen and sensitive, barely brushing the air each time my hips moved a millimeter without permission.

[mcenf]

I swallowed with difficulty. My mouth was dry and at the same time too wet; my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I had to swallow twice in a row to be able to breathe. Little drops of sweat formed on my forehead, on my upper lip and in the hollow between my breasts; one of them slid slowly down my hot skin and fell onto the carpet. I felt the sweat also on the lower part of my back and on the curve of my buttocks, making my naked body stick slightly to the thick carpet every time I moved. My breathing was quick and shallow, almost panting; each inhalation made my heavy breasts move and brush the fabric, sending small jolts of pleasure that added to the constant hum inside me.

The surroundings began to blur. The voices of the meeting became distant, as if they arrived through a layer of water; the words lost meaning, becoming a constant and incomprehensible murmur. The dressed legs and polished shoes under the table were no longer sharp; they became blurry shapes that moved slowly, threatening but distant. Everything around me lost clarity: the edges of the chairs, the carpet, even Amy's hand holding the phone, everything became less defined while my attention focused completely on what was happening inside my body.

My heart beat so hard I felt it in my throat, in my ears, in every centimeter of exposed skin. My thighs trembled uncontrollably, my toes curled against the carpet and my hands opened and closed without being able to do anything. The object vibrated without rest, pushing me closer and closer to the edge, and I fought with all my strength not to moan, not to move my hips, not to come right there, under the table, while important people discussed corporate strategies just centimeters from my naked and treacherous body. Sweat ran down my temples, down my neck, down the valley between my breasts. Each breath was an effort. Each internal contraction brought me closer to the limit I couldn't allow myself to cross. And the world kept losing sharpness around me, reduced to a distant blur while my body surrendered, drop by drop, to the forced pleasure I could no longer stop.

The orgasm was approaching with a force I could no longer stop. I felt how my vagina contracted rhythmically around the vibrating object, how the heat accumulated dense and liquid in my core and spread toward my swollen clitoris, toward my belly, toward my breasts. Each pulse was more intense, deeper, more impossible to ignore. My breathing was faltering, almost panting; each inhalation made my heavy breasts brush the carpet and send new jolts of pleasure that added to the implacable vibration inside me. My thighs trembled without control, my fingers dug into the carpet and my hips moved in small involuntary spasms that I tried to contain with all my strength.

I was about to cry. Tears accumulated in my eyes, hot and humiliating, because the shame of being about to come under a conference table, surrounded by important people, was too great. But at the same time it was impossible to ignore the pleasure. My body surrendered completely: my inner walls squeezed tightly around the object, my clitoris throbbed with every vibration, and wave after wave of humid heat ran through me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I can't… I can't come here… but I can't stop…

Just when I was about to fall, when my body tensed entirely and the pleasure was one heartbeat away from overflowing, the vibration stopped completely. Suddenly. The silence inside me was overwhelming. The object remained still, lodged deep in my vagina, and my body continued contracting around it for several more seconds, seeking stimulation that no longer existed. A hot and frustrating emptiness invaded me. My clitoris kept throbbing, my inner walls kept squeezing uselessly, and the wetness I had accumulated slid slowly between my thighs. The orgasm I had been about to reach faded, leaving only a painful throb of unsatisfied need that made me want to cry for real.

With my vision still blurry from the contained tears, I turned my head just enough to see the cell phone. Now Marcela was holding it. She had it in her hand, the screen still on with the app interface, and she looked at me directly. Her smile was wide, satisfied, cruelly triumphant. It was evident that she had turned it off. That she had stopped it at the precise moment to interrupt my orgasm. That she had been controlling every second of my torment and had decided to deny it to me at the last instant.

A stifled sob got stuck in my throat. My body kept trembling, still on the edge, still needing, while the inert object inside me was now only a humiliating reminder of how close I had been and how completely they controlled my pleasure. The tears finally escaped from the corners of my eyes and fell onto the carpet. My vagina kept contracting in vain, empty of the vibration that had brought it to the limit, and I remained there, naked, hidden under the table, with my body burning with unsatisfied need and the certainty that Marcela had enjoyed every second of denying me the relief I had fought so hard not to want… and that I now desperately needed.

The fear kept pounding in my chest when I heard a sound that froze my blood. Someone dropped a pen. The metallic object rolled across the carpet with a faint tinkling and stopped right at the edge of the table, less than half a meter from where I was curled up. My heart gave such a violent jolt that I felt nauseous. No. No. If someone bends down to look for it… I tried to make myself smaller, pressing myself against the legs of a chair, but my movements were limited. The object inside me, although now still, kept reminding me of my state: naked, exposed, with my body still trembling from the orgasm they had denied me.

I saw how a leg moved. A man in a gray suit leaned slightly to one side, as if he were going to bend down. My breathing stopped completely. Sweat ran down my forehead and down the valley between my breasts. I felt how my vagina still contracted in residual spasms around the inert object, wet and sensitive, betraying me with each small throb of panic. They're going to see me. They're going to see me completely naked under the table in the middle of the meeting. The blush burned my face and chest. My hands trembled against the carpet and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making any sound.

Just when the man seemed willing to lean down more, another person —a woman with a deep voice— spoke from the other side of the table.

"Leave it, I'll pick it up later. Continue with the presentation, please."
The man straightened up with a murmur of thanks. The pen was left forgotten on the floor. The relief was so intense that I felt dizzy. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to catch my breath, my entire body trembling from the adrenaline. This time, luck had saved me. No one had looked under the table. No one had seen me.

But the relief lasted very little.

Suddenly, without warning, the vibration returned. And this time it was brutal. The object activated at maximum inside me, a strong, deep and constant hum that struck mercilessly against my already sensitive and overstimulated inner walls. A stifled moan escaped me before I could contain it and I covered my mouth with both hands, my entire body convulsing. The intensity was overwhelming. Each pulse was stronger than the previous one, more direct, more impossible to bear after having left me on the edge and then denying me the relief. My vagina contracted forcefully around the object, my clitoris throbbed uncontrollably and a new wave of hot wetness accumulated between my thighs while I fought desperately not to move, not to moan again, not to come right there under the table while the meeting continued its course and Marcela, with the cell phone in her hand, smiled satisfied from her seat.

The vibration at maximum was unbearable. Each deep and rhythmic pulse struck directly against my inner walls, making my vagina contract forcefully around the object, over and over, without me being able to stop it. I tried to fight. I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes tightly, tried to breathe in a controlled way, to squeeze my thighs, to think of anything that wasn't the dense heat accumulating in my core and spreading toward my swollen and throbbing clitoris. But my body no longer obeyed me. Each internal contraction was stronger, wetter, more treacherous. I felt how the wetness slid between my thighs, how my nipples brushed the carpet with each agitated breath and how small jolts of pleasure rose through my belly without permission. My thighs trembled uncontrollably. My fingers dug into the carpet. A stifled sob got stuck in my throat.

I was about to come. The orgasm was approaching with a force I could no longer stop. My vagina squeezed rhythmically around the vibrating object, my clitoris throbbed with each pulse and a wave of liquid heat rose from within me, threatening to overflow. No… I can't… not here… I tried to contain myself, but my body surrendered. The contractions became more intense, faster. The pleasure was so strong that tears filled my eyes again. I was at the limit, one heartbeat away from coming under the table while important people discussed corporate strategies just centimeters from my naked and treacherous body.

Just when the orgasm was about to explode, when my body tensed entirely and the pleasure was about to overflow, a deep and authoritative voice resounded in the room:

"Please, I remind you that cell phones should not be ringing or on vibrate during the meeting. If you have any activated, please put them on silent immediately."

At that same instant, the vibration stopped completely.

The silence inside me was brutal. My vagina continued contracting for several more seconds, while the orgasm I had been about to reach faded again, leaving only a painful throb of unsatisfied need that made me want to scream. My entire body trembled. Sweat ran down my forehead, down my neck and down the valley between my breasts. My thighs kept trembling. My clitoris throbbed uselessly. And then I turned my head and saw Marcela.

She was looking at me directly. She had the cell phone in her hand and, with a small and cruel smile, she brought her index finger to her lips in a clear gesture of “shhh”. Silence. Don't make noise.

A stifled sob escaped against my own hand. My body kept reacting: my inner walls contracted in residual spasms around the now inert object, my clitoris remained swollen and sensitive, and a new wave of hot wetness slid between my thighs. The orgasm they had denied me twice already hurt me physically. Tears fell down my cheeks while I tried to catch my breath without making a sound. Above me, the meeting continued as if nothing had happened, and under the table I remained naked, trembling, with my body still on the edge of the abyss and Marcela looking at me with that satisfied smile, reminding me with a single gesture that she controlled every second of my humiliation… and that I didn't even have permission to come.

The meeting continued and, after a few minutes, someone announced that they were going to play a corporate video with audio so everyone could see the details of the new technical development system. The lights in the room dimmed slightly and the first image appeared on the 8K screens. A voice-over began to explain the project's features while images of interfaces, graphs and strategic data paraded on the wall. The audio filled the room with a moderate but constant volume, enough to cover small noises… or at least that's what I hoped.

Just when the narration of the video began, the vibration returned. The object activated at maximum inside me and stayed there, constant, deep, implacable. A strong and rhythmic hum that struck directly against my already sensitive and overstimulated walls. I felt how my vagina contracted immediately around it, how the heat began to accumulate quickly again and how my clitoris responded with a strong and painful throb. No… not again… please…

I tried to focus on the video. The voice-over talked about interoperability, data security and growth projections. I tried to follow the words, to look at the blurry images I could see from my position under the table, but it was impossible. Each vibratory pulse spread through my interior like an electric current, making my internal muscles tighten again and again without control. The wetness increased rapidly, slippery and hot, facilitating the constant movement of the object inside me. My thighs trembled. My fingers dug into the carpet. Each breath was faster, shallower, and with each inhalation my heavy breasts brushed the thick fabric, sending new jolts that added to the constant hum between my legs.

The orgasm began to build again, slow but inexorable. I felt how the pleasure accumulated in waves, each one stronger than the previous. My clitoris throbbed forcefully, swollen and sensitive, and each internal contraction seemed to bring me one step closer to the edge. I tried to contain myself. I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, tried to think about the presentation, about the voices speaking above me, about anything that wasn't the dense heat growing in my belly and spreading through my chest. But my body no longer belonged to me. Each pulse of the vibrator pushed me closer. My walls contracted with more force, my wetness increased, and a faint wet sound —almost inaudible thanks to the video's audio— accompanied each contraction.

I was very close. The orgasm loomed over me like a wave about to break. My thighs trembled with more violence, my fingers opened and closed against the carpet, and I felt how the pleasure concentrated in a dense and hot point that threatened to explode at any second. The video continued its course, the voices kept talking about data and strategies, and I remained under the table, naked, with the vibrator working at maximum power inside me and fighting with all my strength not to come right there, in the middle of an executive meeting, while the sound of my own agitated breathing mixed with the corporate audio that tried, unsuccessfully, to keep me sane.

And then, the orgasm arrived inevitably. I felt how my vagina contracted forcefully around the vibrating object, a deep and rhythmic contraction that spread through my entire body like a wave I couldn't stop. My inner walls squeezed violently, over and over, sucking the object while the pleasure exploded from deep inside me. A dense and liquid heat overflowed within me, rising through my belly, through my chest, through my throat, until I could no longer contain it.

A moan escaped my lips. It was a low, hoarse sound, faltering with my broken breathing. I wasn't sure if it had mixed with the video's audio or if it had been clear enough for someone to hear it. At that moment it no longer mattered.

Each spasm was intense, hot, wet; my inner walls squeezed violently against the smooth and vibrating shape, sucking it, retaining that sensation of fullness and constant vibration while the pleasure exploded inside me. The heat accumulated dense in my core and expanded toward my belly, toward my hips, toward my thighs, making them tremble without control.

My abdomen tensed forcefully. The muscles of my stomach contracted involuntarily, arching my back slightly while my breasts rose and brushed the carpet. My nipples, hard and sensitive, sent electric jolts that added to the pleasure running through me. I felt how my clitoris throbbed with each internal contraction, swollen, exposed, barely brushing the air each time my hips moved in small spasms I could no longer contain. My thighs trembled violently, the muscles of my legs tensing and relaxing in waves, and my toes curled tightly against the thick carpet.

My breathing stopped completely for several seconds. The air caught in my throat while the orgasm ran through me in wave after wave. Each contraction sent a new jolt of pleasure that rose up my spine, up my nape, to the base of my skull. I felt how my entire body shook subtly but uncontrollably: my shoulders tense, my arms trembling, my chest rising and falling with short and faltering breaths when I finally managed to take in air. Sweat ran down my forehead, down my temples, down the valley between my breasts and down the lower part of my back, making my naked skin stick slightly to the carpet.

Inside me, the object kept vibrating at maximum while my vagina contracted around it in rhythmic and deep spasms. Each contraction squeezed the object with more force, intensifying the sensation of vibration against my already hypersensitive walls. The pleasure was so intense that it made me arch my back and open my mouth in a silent moan that stayed trapped in my throat. My eyes closed tightly. My entire being reduced to that point of heat and vibration that exploded again and again inside me, leaving me breathless, without control, completely surrendered to the climax that ran through me mercilessly.

My body only wanted to come. The contractions were so strong that I arched slightly, my breasts brushing the carpet, my sensitive nipples sending jolts that added to the pleasure running through me without control. My thighs trembled forcefully, my toes curled against the carpet and my hands opened and closed without being able to do anything. The moan repeated, longer this time, stifled against my own hand that tried to cover my mouth too late.

The pleasure ran through me in intense and successive waves. Each contraction of my vagina sent a new jolt that rose up my spine and made me arch my back. I felt how my clitoris throbbed forcefully, how the hot wetness slid between my thighs and how my entire body surrendered to the orgasm I had held back for so long. The blush burned my face, my neck and my chest, but I no longer cared. I no longer thought about the people sitting just centimeters from me, nor about the meeting, nor about the risk of being discovered. My mind had reduced to a single point: the pleasure running through me mercilessly, the deep and rhythmic contractions that made me moan again, lower, more desperate, against my own hand.

The orgasm seemed endless. Every time I thought it was starting to subside, another strong contraction ran through me, forcing me to bite my own hand to keep from moaning louder. My vagina kept squeezing the vibrating object, sucking it, retaining that intense and humiliating sensation while my body shook slightly under the table. Sweat ran down my forehead, down my neck and down the valley between my breasts. My thighs trembled without control. And although part of me remained terrified that someone had heard that first moan, the rest of my being only wanted to keep coming, to keep feeling those waves of pleasure that ran through me without permission and without shame. For a few seconds, nothing else existed. Only my naked body, hidden under the table, completely surrendered to the orgasm I could no longer —nor wanted to— stop.

The orgasm had barely begun to subside when I realized that the vibration had not stopped. It was still there, strong, constant, implacable inside me. My inner walls, still contracted in the residual spasms of the climax, kept squeezing the vibrating object that gave no respite. What seconds before had been intense and desired pleasure now became something too much. Too strong. Too direct. Too much.

I felt how every vibratory pulse brushed against my already hypersensitive walls, sending small jolts that spread through my interior like electricity. My vagina continued contracting involuntarily, as if my body didn't understand that it was already over, and each contraction only made the hum feel more intense against my sensitive flesh. An uncomfortable, almost painful heat accumulated in my core. My clitoris, still swollen and throbbing, responded to each vibration with small jolts that made me squeeze my thighs tightly, although that only made the sensation worse.

Too much… it's too much… I tried to move slightly, just a little, to try to relieve the pressure, but any movement made the object shift inside me and brush against areas that were now too sensitive. A violent shiver ran down my spine. Sweat ran down my forehead and down the valley between my breasts. My breathing was irregular, faltering, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning again. Each pulse of the vibrator sent a new wave of sensation that was no longer pure pleasure: it mixed with a sharp, almost painful discomfort that made me want to pull away, to take it out, but I couldn't move without the risk of being discovered.

My thighs trembled. My hands opened and closed against the carpet. I felt how my body kept reacting: small residual contractions that refused to disappear, how the hot wetness kept accumulating, how my clitoris throbbed with each vibration as if it were still in the middle of the orgasm. The blush burned my face and chest. I wanted to cry from frustration and relief at the same time. The orgasm had been intense, almost violent, and now my body was trapped in that constant vibration that no longer gave me pleasure, only an excessive sensitivity that made me feel exposed, raw, completely at the mercy of the object someone controlled from outside.

Above, the voices of the meeting continued their course. The video went on. And under the table I remained naked, trembling, with the vibrator still on at maximum power inside me, fighting not to move, not to moan, not to give myself away while my body, still in a post-orgasmic state of alert, refused to calm down.

The audio of the video ended. The voice-over faded and the screens went black. The silence that remained in the room was almost deafening after so many minutes of constant narration. And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the vibration inside me ceased completely. The object remained still, inert, lodged deep in my vagina. The sudden absence of that constant sensation was as intense as its presence had been. My body continued reacting for several more seconds: small residual contractions, a dull and hot throb between my thighs, and a strange feeling of emptiness that made me feel strangely hollow.

Above, the meeting had practically ended. I heard the sound of chairs being dragged, the murmur of courteous farewells, the tinkling of watches and briefcases closing. Little by little, the footsteps began to move away. One by one, the participants left the room. I heard their voices fading in the hallway: comments about the presentation, plans for the rest of the day, courteous laughs. Every time a chair moved or footsteps approached the table, my body tensed entirely. Don't let them look underneath. Don't let them think of bending down to look for anything. I stayed completely still, barely breathing, with the object still inside me and my body still sensitive, still wet, still trembling from everything that had happened.

Finally, the silence grew deeper. Only two pairs of footsteps remained inside the room. Two voices I knew too well.

—Everyone's gone —said Marcela, and her tone was no longer the professional one from minutes before. Now it sounded light, amused.
Amy let out a giggle.

—You can come out, Samantha. It's safe now.

I stayed still for one more second, as if I still couldn't believe it had really ended. Then, with slow and trembling movements, I began to come out from under the table. My knees hurt from having been in that position for so long. My thighs were wet. The object was still inside me, heavy and strange, reminding me with every small movement what I had done. When I finally stood up, naked, with my hair disheveled and my skin still flushed, Marcela and Amy looked at me from the other side of the table.

Both were smiling. Marcela with that feline smile, satisfied and cruel. Amy with an openly amused expression, almost childish in her malice. Neither of them said anything at first. They just looked at me, running their gazes over my naked body, enjoying the contrast between them, completely dressed and comfortable, and me, standing in front of them, trembling, with the object still lodged inside my vagina and the evidence of everything that had happened still visible on my reddened skin, on my still hard nipples, on the wet sheen between my thighs.

Marcela let out a low and amused laugh.

—Just look at how you've ended up —she said, and her tone was almost tender, which made it even more humiliating—. After everything you did under the table… and with all those people so close.

Amy covered her mouth to contain another giggle, her eyes shining with amusement.

—You couldn't even control yourself at the end —she added, and her voice was almost a playful whisper—. That little moan escaped you… do you think someone heard it?

I stayed there, standing, completely naked, not knowing what to do with my hands, not knowing where to look, while they watched me and laughed softly. The object was still inside me. The meeting had ended. And I was still there, exposed, trembling, and not knowing what else they were going to do to me now that there was no one else in the room.

I was still standing in front of Marcela and Amy, completely naked, with my hands trembling at my sides not knowing where to put them, when I heard the sound of the door opening behind me. The click of the latch was like a gunshot. My entire body tensed in a second. My heart gave such a violent jolt that I felt my breath stop. No. Not again. It can't be someone else. I don't have time to hide. The panic ran through me like an electric current. My legs suddenly felt weak, my hands instinctively rose toward my chest and my sex in a useless gesture of protection, and I took a step back, as if I could disappear against the wall. The blush burned my face and my entire chest. I was naked, exposed, with the evidence of everything that had happened still visible on my reddened skin, on my hard nipples, on the wet sheen between my thighs. And now someone else was entering.

But when I turned my head, the relief and the new terror arrived at the same time.

It was Valeria and Megan.

Valeria entered first, with that elegant and cold bearing that always characterized her. She wore an impeccable dark suit, her hair pulled back with precision, and that serious, almost imperceptible smile that curved barely at the corners of her lips. That smile that never quite became kind, that always seemed to contain a veiled threat, and that for years had set my nerves on edge every time I saw her. Behind her entered Megan, my cousin, still wearing her school uniform, the gray pleated skirt moving with each step and an expression that froze my blood.

Megan looked me up and down with deliberate slowness. Her eyes traveled over my naked body without hurry, from my flushed face with dried tears on my cheeks, down my exposed breasts, down my trembling belly, until stopping between my legs. Her smile was slow, satisfied, and had something sadistic in the way her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were savoring every detail of my humiliation. She didn't say anything at first. She just looked at me, enjoying the spectacle, with that expression of someone who has won and knows it.

Valeria, on the other hand, simply closed the door behind them with a soft click. Her serious smile remained in place, uncomfortable, calculating, and when her eyes settled on me, I felt the air in the room grow denser. That look had always affected me. It wasn't open like Megan's. It was cold, contained, and for that very reason more disturbing. As if she were evaluating how far she could push me without me breaking.

Megan let out a low laugh and took a step closer.

—Well, well… —she said, and her voice had a playful tone that fooled no one—. So everything's over. Tell me, Marcela. How was it? I want details. Did she get nervous when people started coming in?

Marcela let out a giggle and leaned back against the conference table, crossing her arms.

—More than you can imagine —she responded, amused—. She was about to be discovered a couple of times. And at the end… well, let's just say she couldn't control herself completely.

Megan looked at me again, and her smile widened.

Valeria didn't say anything. She just stood there, with that serious and cold smile, observing me as if she were measuring how far my shame went. Her silence was almost worse than Megan's direct questions. I felt her gaze like a physical weight on my naked skin, reminding me that she was my rival at work, that she knew my position, my reputation, and that now she also knew exactly how far I had fallen.

Megan took another step toward me, still with that sadistic and satisfied smile.

"Come on, cousin", she said, and her voice lowered a tone, almost intimate. "Tell us how it all was. Don't skip anything. I want to know exactly how you felt when you realized you had to put that object inside you… and then when it started vibrating harder. Did you come hard? Did your legs tremble? Did you feel like they were going to discover you at any moment?"

I stayed there, standing, completely naked, with my hands still trying to cover myself without success, while Megan bombarded me with questions and Valeria observed me with that serious smile that had always made me uncomfortable. The blush burned my entire body. My legs kept trembling. And although the vibrator was no longer on, I still felt the echo of everything that had happened inside me, like a constant reminder of how much control I had lost.

Megan leaned slightly forward, her eyes shining.

"Go ahead", she said, almost in a whisper. "Tell us everything."

I didn't respond directly. My words came out before I could think them through, my voice still hoarse and trembling.

"How… how did you know I had a vibrator inside?" I asked, looking at Megan. My voice sounded small, broken. "How did you know that I had… that I had come?"

Megan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my question. Before she could answer, Marcela let out a low laugh and stepped forward.

"Because all of this was Megan's idea", she said, with that light but malice-laden tone. "She was the one who planned for us to bring you up here, for you to get under the table during the meeting. She wanted to see you in that situation. But the vibrator… that was my idea. I told her by message before you arrived. I told her I was going to give it to you and that you were going to have to use it in front of everyone. And when she confirmed that you were inside, I activated it."

Megan let out a satisfied laugh, looking me up and down again with that sadistic expression that froze my blood.

"I wanted to see you break", she said simply, as if she were talking about the weather. Her gaze stopped between my legs, where the sheen of my own wetness was still visible. "And it worked better than I expected."

Before I could process what I had just heard, Amy moved to one side and raised her phone. The screen shone under the room's light.

"Besides… I recorded everything", she said with an innocent smile that fooled no one. She touched the screen a couple of times and came closer so we could all see.

The video began.

The image was from below, from the angle of someone crouched or sitting. It clearly showed under the conference table: my naked legs, my knees resting on the thick carpet, my thighs slightly apart. The camera moved a little, unsteady, and then stabilized. My exposed vagina was visible, shiny with wetness, and my trembling fingers holding the small smooth and rounded object. In the video I was seen pressing it against my entrance, pushing it little by little inside me. My breathing was audible, quick and faltering. The faint wet sound was heard when the object disappeared centimeter by centimeter inside my body. Then the camera rose a little and my face was partially visible: eyes tightly closed, mouth slightly open, the intense blush on my cheeks and neck. My breasts hung heavy and exposed, moving with each agitated breath.

The video advanced. The audio of the meeting could be heard above: voices talking, the sound of the corporate video. And below, I was seen, hidden, with one hand covering my mouth while my body tensed. The vibration was almost audible in the recording, a faint wet hum coming from between my legs. Then came the moment when the moan escaped me: a hoarse, stifled sound that cut off when I covered my mouth with more force. My body arched slightly, my thighs visibly trembled, and it was seen how my inner walls contracted around the object while the orgasm ran through me. My expression was one of pure surrender: eyes half-closed, mouth open in a silent moan, my body shaken by spasms I couldn't control.

The video ended with the image of me curled up, breathing with difficulty, still with the object inside, trying to catch my breath while the voices of the meeting continued above.

No one said anything for a few seconds. The silence in the room was heavy. I felt dizzy. I had just seen my own humiliation recorded from below: my naked body, my face losing control, the exact moment I came under the table while important people were sitting less than a meter away. The blush burned me entirely. My legs trembled. And although I wanted to look away, my eyes remained fixed on the screen, watching how my own body had betrayed itself in the most absolute way possible.

Megan let out a low, satisfied laugh.

"It looks so good," she said, and her voice had an almost tender tone. "Doesn't it, Samy? Do you like seeing yourself like this?"

Valeria remained silent, but her serious smile had curved a little more. And Amy was still holding the phone, as if she were ready to play it again if someone asked for it.

Marcela took the cell phone from Amy's hands and handed it to Megan with a smile.

"Try it yourself," she said. "So you can see how it works."

Megan didn't hesitate for a second. She grabbed the phone, looked at the screen for an instant and, with her thumb, dragged the slider all the way to the end. To the maximum.

The effect was immediate.

A brutal, deep, and constant buzzing exploded inside me. The object vibrated with a force that took my breath away. My knees buckled suddenly and I took a step back, bumping into the conference table. My hands flew instinctively between my legs, trying to press from the outside as if that could stop the vibration that was already destroying me from within. A long, muffled moan escaped my throat before I could bite it back. My body twisted violently: my back arched, my thighs clenched tightly and my hips moved forward in an involuntary spasm. I felt how the object vibrated mercilessly against my walls already sensitive and swollen after the orgasm, brushing against every point that was still throbbing.

I tried to stay on my feet, but my legs were shaking so much that I had to support myself with one hand on the table. The other remained pressed between my thighs, uselessly, while my vagina contracted again and again around the object in spasms that were no longer just from pleasure, but from an almost painful overstimulation. The blush burned my face and my entire chest. My nipples had hardened so much that they hurt, and every time my body shook, they brushed against the cold air of the room like small electric shocks. A new moan, louder this time, escaped me when the vibration hit directly against my clitoris from inside. My knees buckled and I had to put both hands on the table to keep from falling.

And then I heard it.

A laugh. Genuine. Strong. Cheerful.

Valeria.

I had never seen her laugh like that. Her laugh was clear, almost childish in its lack of restraint, and it mixed with an expression of pure amusement that I had never seen on her before. Her eyes sparkled as she watched me squirm, naked, trembling and moaning in front of all of them. That serious and cold smile that always made me uncomfortable had disappeared completely, replaced by something much worse: authentic happiness at seeing me destroyed. The contrast hit me like a slap. Valeria, my rival, the woman who had always looked at me with that calculating superiority, was now laughing openly, without disguise, as if this were the most entertaining thing she had seen in a long time.

My legs finally gave out and I let myself fall to my knees on the carpet, one hand still between my thighs trying to contain the vibration that was destroying me from within, the other braced on the floor so I wouldn't fall completely. The moan that escaped me this time was longer, more broken, and I couldn't help arching my back as my body shook uncontrollably. Tears filled my eyes again, this time from the mix of humiliation, forced pleasure, and the image of Valeria laughing at me like never before.

Megan let out a laugh too, looking at the cell phone and then at me.

"God, look how she squirms," she said, clearly delighted. "She can't even speak."

Marcela and Amy were laughing too, but it was Valeria's laugh that hurt me the most. Because it came from her. Because it was real. And because while I was on my knees, naked, with a vibrator vibrating at maximum power inside me and fighting not to come again in front of all of them, she seemed happier than ever.

The vibration was too much. Every deep and constant pulse pierced through me mercilessly, brushing against my walls already hypersensitive after the previous orgasm. I tried to resist. I squeezed my thighs with all my strength, bit my lower lip until I almost drew blood, and tried to think of anything other than the dense heat accumulating inside me. But my body no longer obeyed me. Every contraction was stronger than the previous one, wetter, more treacherous. I felt how my vagina tightened rhythmically around the vibrating object, sucking it in, retaining that intense sensation that made me arch my back without wanting to.

A long, muffled moan escaped me when the first wave hit me. My knees spread a little more on the carpet and my hips moved forward in an involuntary spasm. The pleasure built up with brutal speed, rising from the deepest part of my vagina like an electric current that spread through my belly, through my chest and through my arms. My nipples hardened so much that they hurt, brushing against the cold air every time my breathing became faster and shallower. I felt how the blush burned my face, my neck and my cleavage, and how small drops of sweat slid down my temples and through the valley between my breasts.

I couldn't contain it.

The orgasm tore through me with a force I had never felt before. My vagina contracted violently around the object, a series of deep and rhythmic spasms that made me let out a long, broken moan that echoed in the room. My entire body shook: my shoulders tensed, my back arched forcefully and my thighs trembled uncontrollably as the waves of pleasure ran through me one after another. I felt how the liquid heat overflowed inside me, how my clitoris throbbed with each contraction and how the hot moisture slid down my thighs. My hands dug into the carpet, fingers clenched, while another sharper moan escaped my throat.

It was stronger. Much stronger. The pleasure didn't subside in soft waves like before; it was a continuous explosion, intense, almost painful in its force. My vagina kept contracting violently around the vibrating object, as if my body was trying to hold onto that sensation until the very last second. My legs went completely limp and I ended up sitting on my heels, torso leaning forward, my heavy exposed breasts swaying with each shake of my body. The moan turned into a broken sob when the intensity left me breathless.

Upstairs, I heard laughter. Megan's, clear and amused. Amy's, more high-pitched. And Valeria's, genuine and carefree, as if she were watching something truly entertaining. But I could barely process their voices anymore. My mind had reduced itself to that point of heat and vibration that pierced through me mercilessly, to the contractions that kept shaking my insides and to the sensation of being completely lost in the pleasure that my body refused to stop.

When it finally began to subside, my muscles were still trembling. The object vibrated nonstop inside me, prolonging the last jolts of the orgasm until I let myself fall forward, placing my hands on the floor and ending up on all fours, panting, with sweat sliding down my back and along the curve of my buttocks. My inner walls continued contracting in residual spasms around the object, and every small movement sent a new surge of sensitivity that made me bite my lip to keep from moaning again.

I was shattered. And they kept looking at me.

Megan let out a low, amused laugh while looking at the cellphone screen. With a casual movement of her thumb, she dragged the slider all the way to the end and turned off the vibrator. The sudden silence inside me was almost as intense as the previous vibration. My vagina continued contracting for several more seconds in residual spasms, empty of that constant sensation that had shattered me. I panted, still on all fours on the carpet, with my entire body trembling and sweat sliding down my back and along the curve of my buttocks.

—Take it out —said Megan, and her voice had an almost childish tone of amusement—. And give it back to its owner.

I stayed still for a second, processing her words. My thighs were trembling. I felt how the hot moisture was accumulating and slowly sliding between my legs, and how my vagina, still sensitive after the orgasm, contracted emptily around the shape that no longer vibrated. I swallowed with difficulty and, with trembling hands, brought my fingers between my legs.

The object was deeply lodged inside. My fingers brushed my swollen and slippery folds, and a shiver ran through me when I touched the smooth base that barely peeked out. I began to pull carefully, feeling how my body resisted letting it go. My inner walls, still contracted and sensitive, clung to the object as I extracted it little by little. A wet and soft sound accompanied the movement when it finally started to come out. I felt how my muscles opened around that rounded shape, how the cold air of the room brushed my entrance as the object emerged centimeter by centimeter.

When I finally pulled it out completely, I held it in the palm of my hand with trembling fingers. It was completely covered in my fluids. It shone under the light of the room, slippery and glistening, with fine transparent threads of my excitement hanging from its smooth surface. The object, which before had seemed small and clean, now looked visibly used, marked by my body. The contrast was humiliating: what had entered almost dry now came out soaked, evident proof of how my body had surrendered again and again.

Marcela approached and extended her hand with an expression of mild disgust mixed with amusement.

—Put it in a bag —she said, nodding her head toward her purse that was on the table—. I don't want it to stain anything.

My hands were still trembling when I searched in the purse she indicated and pulled out a small transparent plastic bag. I put the vibrator inside, watching how the fluids spread a little against the plastic. The wet sound it made when going into the bag made me lower my gaze, ashamed. Then I handed it to Marcela, who took it with two fingers as if it were something dirty, closed it and put it in her purse without saying anything else.

The silence that followed was heavy. I was still on my knees on the floor, naked, with my hands now empty and still wet from my own fluids. My thighs continued trembling slightly and I felt how a last drop of moisture slid down my inner thigh. Marcela put the purse away calmly, as if she had just put away any everyday object. Megan continued smiling with that sadistic and satisfied expression. Amy watched everything with eyes shining with amusement. And Valeria… Valeria had that serious smile of hers as always, but now with a dark glint that I had never seen in her before.

No one said anything for a few seconds. I could only stay there, on my knees, feeling the echo of everything they had done to me and the evidence of my own excitement still visible on my thighs and on my hands that I didn't know where to put.

I stood in front of them, completely naked, and suddenly I became hyperconscious of every centimeter of my body. It wasn't just the exposure of being without clothes; it was something deeper, more raw. After the orgasms, my skin seemed more sensitive, thinner, as if I no longer had any protection. I felt the air conditioning brushing against my body as if it were touching me directly in every fold, in every curve. My breasts remained heavy and sensitive, the nipples still hard and slightly painful from the constant friction against the carpet. Between my thighs, the moisture that I hadn't been able to contain continued sliding slowly, warm and treacherous, reminding me with each drop how much my body had surrendered.

My hair was disheveled, some strands stuck to my forehead and the back of my neck from the dried sweat. I felt how some strands clung to my cheeks and nape, and how others fell in disorder over my shoulders. The sweat that had broken out during everything that had happened was now dry on my skin, leaving it taut and slightly sticky in some areas: in the hollow between my breasts, on the lower part of my back, on the inner curve of my thighs. Every time I breathed, I felt that fine dry layer over my body, like a second skin that reminded me of everything I had done.

And then the wave of vulnerability came.

I was completely naked from head to toe in my workplace. In the conference room where important deals were closed. Where dressed and professional people sat every day. And I was there, standing, with my hair disheveled, my skin marked by dried sweat, my thighs still glistening from my own excitement, and the echo of the object I had just removed still present in my sensitive and swollen vagina. I felt defenseless in a way I had never experienced before. As if I no longer had any barrier, any way to protect myself. They had seen everything. They had recorded me. They had made me come under the table while important people were sitting centimeters away. And now I was here, broken, sensitive, exposed, unable to hide anything.

The blush burned my face and chest, but it was no longer just shame. It was something deeper. A feeling of being completely stripped, not only of clothes, but of any control over myself. My body continued reacting: a slight persistent throb between my legs, an exaggerated sensitivity in my skin, a weakness in my legs that made me feel that at any moment I could fall to my knees again. And they were there, dressed, comfortable, looking at me as if I were a spectacle they themselves had created.

I felt small. Vulnerable. As if I could no longer hide behind anything. Neither my clothes, nor my professionalism, nor my pride. All of that had disappeared under the table, between contractions and moans I could not contain. And now, standing in front of all of them, with the dried sweat on my skin and my disheveled hair, I could only feel how exposed I was… and how little I had left to protect myself.

Megan turned toward Marcela as if I were not there, standing, completely naked in front of all of them.

"And the report?" she asked with naturalness, as if we had just finished any ordinary work meeting. "Can you give it to me now?"

Marcela nodded calmly and approached her bag. She took out a small black USB drive and handed it to Megan without further ceremony.

"Here you have it. It's already copied and ready. Just make sure to give it to Beatriz when you see her."

Megan took the memory and put it in the pocket of her pleated skirt with a casual movement.

"Perfect. Thanks."

The conversation flowed between them as if I did not exist. As if I were not there, naked, with my disheveled hair stuck to my forehead from the dried sweat, my thighs still glistening from my own moisture and my entire body still sensitive after having come twice under the table while important people were sitting centimeters away. They talked about the report, about when they would deliver it to my aunt Beatriz, about whether anything else was needed. Their voices were calm, almost bored. Neither of the two looked at me. Neither mentioned what had just happened. It was as if my nakedness, my humiliation and everything they had done to me had no importance whatsoever.

I felt something breaking inside me.

My voice came out before I could contain it, low, broken, almost pleading.

"Please…" I said, and the words cost me effort. "Please, let me get dressed. I… I can't take it anymore. Everything you've done to me today… the museum, the street, the vibrator thing, getting under the table, coming with all those people up there… I can't take it anymore. Please. Just let me put something on. Anything. I don't want to continue like this."

My voice broke at the end. I felt the tears burning my eyes again. My entire body trembled, not only from the cold, but from that vulnerability that pierced me after the orgasms. My skin seemed more sensitive, more exposed. Every centimeter of me was uncovered: my breasts still heavy and sensitive, my nipples hard from the shame and the air conditioning, the triangle between my thighs still wet and throbbing, the dried sweat tight on my back and on the curve of my buttocks. I felt broken. As if I no longer had the strength to keep pretending that I could endure more. The fact that they continued talking about the report as if I were not there, naked and begging, only made the humiliation sink deeper.

Megan looked at me at last, with that sadistic smile that did not quite become completely cruel, but enough to make me feel small.

"Calm down, cousin," she said with a light tone. "We're done."

Megan crouched down and took out a large black fabric bag that I had not noticed until now. She opened it in front of me and, for a second, I stood looking without fully processing what I saw.

Inside was my clothes. My complete office outfit. The white silk blouse I had worn that morning, now somewhat wrinkled. The fitted gray blazer. The black dress pants. My panties and bra. And my black leather heels. Everything jumbled inside the bag. Amy approached and handed me my access card with a small smile.

"Here you have it," she said with a light tone. "So you can put it on again."

My hands trembled when I took the bag. I felt a lump in my throat upon seeing my own garments. I dressed with urgency, almost with desperation. First the panties, feeling how the fabric stuck slightly to my still wet and sensitive skin between my legs. Then the bra, which was difficult to fasten with my clumsy fingers. The silk blouse slipped over my flushed and still warm skin; the brush of the soft fabric against my sensitive nipples made me suppress a shiver. I put on the black dress pants, pulling them up over my still trembling thighs. The fitted gray blazer I placed over my shoulders in a hurry. Finally the black leather heels, which took me a bit to put on because my fingers still did not respond completely.

When I finished, I felt… different. Not normal, but less exposed. Less broken. Although my body continued to betray me: the skin of my cleavage and neck still flushed, a slight persistent sensitivity between my legs, and the disheveled hair that I had not been able to fix completely. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I wanted to leave. I wanted to get out of that room and get as far away as possible from all of them.

I turned toward the door without looking at anyone. I lowered my head, fixing my gaze on the floor. My heels echoed on the carpet as I walked toward the exit. I could not lift my gaze. I could not look at Megan, nor at Marcela, nor at Amy, nor at Valeria. Every step I took made me feel small, as if I were still naked under the clothes. The heat of shame rose up my neck again. I knew my face was still red, that my hair was messy, that it was probably noticeable that something had happened to me. And they knew it too.

I reached the door, opened it and left without saying a word. I did not say goodbye. I did not look back. I just walked down the hallway on the tenth floor with my head down, feeling how the access card hit against my chest with every step. Behind me, I heard low laughs. I did not know if they were from all of them or just some. I did not want to know. I only wanted to get away as quickly as possible from that room, from them, from everything that had happened. Every step I took reminded me that, although I was already dressed with my silk blouse, my gray blazer, my black pants and my heels, inside I still felt completely naked and exposed.

[Hooked6]

ABSOLUTELY AMAZING! I was thrilled with the way you handled Marcela's discovery of subsequent control over Sam. Her vulnerability was palpable and erotic. The unexpected high-level meeting in the conference was an unexpected surprise especially with the vaginal remote-controlled vibrator being operated alternately between Amy and Marcella. Very arousing to say the least.

I seriously enjoy your imaginative writing and Samantha Uncontrolled is one of my all-time favorite stories. These latest chapters exceeded all my expectations. Kudos!

I can hardly wait to see what happens next!!!

Hooked6

..

[Debbifan]

Excellent as ever. I note that you promise us three more chapters and while it is bittersweet to see that chapter 30 will be the finale, it is probably sensible to eventually bring the curtain down rather than plough on indefinitely with a sense of diminishing returns.

My hope is still for many more humiliations and embarrassments for Samantha yet but that also the saga does not end with her total destruction. But you obviously have a plan mapped up and I trust your judgement.

[Hooked6]

Excellent as ever. I note that you promise us three more chapters and while it is bittersweet to see that chapter 30 will be the finale.

DAMN! I missed the post where he said that. I went from an all-time high to teetering on despair all in one day. To say that this is "terrible news" is an understatement. There is so much potential for plot lines left to this story and I hope he reconsiders this decision.

While I totally understand the author wishing to bring this story to a logical conclusion (it is his story after all and I respect his creative judgement on the matter) this is his most popular and the most successful story of the material that he posts at Chyoa, this forum and at Deviantart.com. I am sure there are many fans of his work that hope for more.

Here's clinging to the hope that the future will bring more creative ideas to his mind for a longer continuation before he shelves this most excellent story.

Hooked6

..

[Debbifan]

Looking forward to the upcoming chapter, since this previous episode has now concluded and we will have a new day, a new attempt from Samantha to appear calm, composed and business like and a new way to get her naked and exposed ! I hope publication is imminent.