Temptation of the Office Intern

The bathroom was a humid haven, the floor still damp from Johnny's recent shower.

In this unfamiliar environment, heavy with masculine energy, I slowly disrobed.

Although the door was securely locked, I remained vigilant, washing myself while keeping an ear out for any sounds from outside. I was terrified that Johnny might suddenly barge in.

Thankfully, my fears were unfounded, and I finished my shower in peace.

But then, a new problem arose. My dress was soaked with sweat and unwearable. How was I supposed to leave the bathroom?

After much hesitation, I bit my lip and cracked open the bathroom door, calling out in a soft voice, "Johnny, are you there?"

"What is it?" he responded quickly, causing me to hastily shut the door again in surprise.

"Um... do you have any clothes I could borrow?" I asked.

"I've hung some clothes on the hook behind the door. Can you see them?" he replied.

I looked towards the door and sure enough, there hung a crisp white shirt, presumably Johnny's, given its size. The shirt was clean and carried the fresh scent of laundry detergent.

I slipped it on in silence. The shirt was rather large for me, hanging loose and just long enough to cover my hips. Even with the top button fastened, a generous expanse of skin was visible below my neck.

Opening the door, I tiptoed towards the bedroom, my heart pounding harder with each step, my legs trembling uncontrollably.

Johnny was leaning against the headboard, engrossed in a stack of papers.

Curiosity piqued, I asked, "What's that?"

He looked up at me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes filled with admiration. "I'm studying the content of your writing."

My heart skipped a beat. When had he printed out my entire book?

I felt my legs give way beneath me.

He reacted swiftly, catching me before I fell and gently laying me on the bed.

His long fingers leisurely unbuttoned the shirt I was wearing. His eyes, heavy with desire, glowed faintly red as he huskily suggested, "Let's start from the first chapter."

I couldn't recall what I had written in the first chapter. I only remembered that I had intentionally made the opening extravagant and outrageous to attract readers. But that was purely for survival, and now I felt like crying.

"Is this how it goes?" he asked, his voice low and close to my ear. "Am I doing it right? Do you like it?"

Faced with Johnny's whispered questions, I was unable to respond, nor did I have the mental capacity to do so. I felt completely under his control, swept up in a whirlwind of passion, utterly lost.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped. He cradled my panting form in his arms and gently patted my back.

As I was drifting off to sleep, the desk lamp suddenly switched on, and he picked up the manuscript again.

"Why are you reading again?" I asked, confused.

"The first chapter isn't over yet. I can't remember the rest, so I'm revising it," he explained.

I was horrified. "No... it can't be... it can't be unfinished."

"Didn't you write it yourself?" he asked innocently, reading aloud from the manuscript. "After their intimate encounter, they still felt unsatisfied, so they decided to change locations and try something new..."

"Stop!" I screamed, covering his mouth, tears welling up in my eyes. "Please, let's stop for today."

He chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He kissed the hand I had used to cover his mouth and affectionately ruffled my hair. "How can we stop now? Wouldn't that make me seem incompetent?"

I thought he was going to let me off the hook, but to my surprise, he lifted me up by my hips. "I remember you like strawberries, don't you?"

Strawberries? A chill ran down my spine as I recalled a risqué scene I had written involving strawberries. The female protagonist was naked, blindfolded, and bound in the kitchen, her body covered in strawberries. The male protagonist patiently fed her the strawberries one by one.

My God... how perverted was I to have come up with such a scenario?

"Wait," I stammered, trembling as I grabbed his hand. "Don't..."

But he didn't allow me to refuse. He carried me into the kitchen and placed me on the cold countertop. The cold jolted through me.

I shivered as he lifted my ankles.

"Stop!" I cried out in fear, only to see a ripe, red strawberry in his hand.

"You said to eat it with... that," he said, pushing the strawberry towards me...