Fic: Soundtrack From Secretary Ch. 7
Title: Soundtrack From Secretary
Author: dragynflies and houseketeer
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 1530
Summary: House leaves Cameron behind when he travels to a conference.
Be A Good Girl
Cameron lies naked on the cold, hard floor. He allowed her blankets, but it’s sexier to go full out. She imagines eventually she’ll get cold and pull a sheet over herself.
Maybe.
She lies on her back, one finger curled through the D ring of her collar and her other hand inching down her stomach. Her fingers push into her slippery pussy. She closes her eyes and remembers her instructions.
. . .
Cameron kneels next to House as he sits on the sofa. “I’ll be gone until Sunday. Be a good girl and wear your collar.” He pauses, and runs his hand through her hair. Then, catching his index finger in the ring of her collar, he pulls her head up and says, “Only your collar. All weekend.”
Her eyes widen, and she nods silently, waiting for further instruction.
“When I’m here, you sleep in the bed for my pleasure, but when I’m gone you may as well sleep on the floor. At the foot of the bed-as many blankets as you need.”
She nods again, with the glimmer of a hidden smile.
“And you’re not to come unless you have my express permission. Touch yourself all you want.”
Her eyes shut, and she exhales shakily.
“No phone calls, unless it’s me on the caller id. Do you understand?”
She’s almost too aroused to answer, but when he tugs on her collar she whimpers, “Yes.”
. . .
She has followed these instructions to the letter, with one exception. It’s impossible to touch herself ’all she likes’ without coming. So she fucks herself as hard as she dares, keeps herself tantalizingly close, and begs the phone to ring. She grinds against her palm as she shoves three fingers deep inside; actually yells, “Please. Please you have to call NOW.”
The phone rings.
Cameron scrambles on her knees to the cordless on the bedside table. After checking the caller id, she presses talk and holds it to her ear.
“Are you behaving yourself?”
“Yes,” she pants. Her desperation is obvious in her voice.
“Good girl.” His voice is so calm that for a second she thinks he’s not even going to ask, not going to give her permission for anything.
Seconds tick by before she caves. “Please?” she begs, her hand still moving between her legs, her thumb pressing against her aching clit.
“Please,” he repeats, and now she can hear the smirk in his voice.
“House,” she pleads, gasping out the word between moans.
“If you must,” he says, and she pauses.
That was permission, really.
She whimpers his name again; she wants real permission, wants to feel like she’s listening to what he wants, “I want to be good,” she stammers, and her hand falls motionless, fingers still inside of her.
He laughs. “Very good. You can come, Cameron.” She hears a click; he’s hung up on her.
Cameron drops the phone and crawls back to her place at the foot of the bed. She moves furiously now, writhing on her side, rubbing herself against her hand, forcing her fingers in as deep as she can, again and again. Her long-delayed orgasm builds instantly, and she feels her body clutch tightly around her fingers as she babbles his name to the hardwood floor, over and over.
Hours later, she wakes up cold and stiff; she must have passed out. She stretches, arching her back before standing up. Her legs feel shaky and she stumbles to the bathroom. She starts the shower and steps in, the hot water soothing her muscles.
It is Saturday morning, and she has no plans for the entire day. She can stay here until the hot water runs out, if it ever does. Her hands slide over her soapy body, and she hears his words repeat in her mind. “You’re not to come unless you have my express permission. Touch yourself all you want.”
She wishes he was here to touch her; he would be rougher than she can be. She palms her breasts and squeezes them hard as she can, then pinches and twists her nipples. She moans his name as she does this; it’s all for him.
Her hand slips down, and the pads of her fingers rub circles around her clit. She moans; it’s too dangerous-too good-she’s too close. Instead she rubs harder, too rough so she can’t get off. She torments herself for him.
Even though she’s not trying to get off, she starts to feel it coming: that feeling that makes you burst out, “I’m gonna come,” just before the crucial moment. She immediately pulls her hands away and raises them in the air. She waits for the feeling to subside, then rinses off.
Dressed in her collar alone, she mills about the apartment, looking for an activity. Being naked like this, walking around in the daylight, feels lewd, dirty. This attire is only suitable for fucking.
Standing at the foot of the bed, she steals a glance at the silent phone; cups herself and brushes her finger over her wet clit. She has an idea: it’s quite difficult to come standing up.
She touches herself expertly; if she was lying down she’d be screaming inside of two minutes. As it is, she’s still at it twenty minutes later when she starts to feel incredibly dizzy. Her knees buckle, and she collapses gently to the floor.
She wakes up in the dark to the ringing telephone. After crawling stiffly to it, she pushes talk and immediately crawls back to the foot of the bed.
“Sleeping were you?”
She mumbles sleepily, “Mmm, how did you know?”
“It went to voicemail the first time.”
Her eyes close in pleasure. He wanted to talk to her so bad he called until she woke her.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks.
The sound of his voice, combined with the multiple missed orgasms from the day, has her trembling already, “Mmhmm,” she answers, half sleepy and half aroused, “I miss you. How’s the conference going?”
“It would be better if I’d brought you with,” he tells her, “Could have kept you in my hotel room instead of my apartment.”
She manages a little breathy moan, and he takes his cue to continue, “Would be nice to come back to you after a day of mind-numbing talks, all curled up on the floor here.”
She’s lying at the foot of his bed, but now all she can picture is the same position in a hotel room, waiting for him, and the image is hotter than she’d anticipated.
“You should have,” Cameron sasses, her voice dropping an octave, “I could have waited for you while you worked…I’m not wearing anything, you know.”
“You’d better not be,” he warns her.
“I’m not. And I wouldn’t be if I were there, either.” Now she’s on a roll, and she’s curious to see how far she can take this before he shuts her down. “I’d wait for you, and when you came into the room I’d be kneeling by the door. I’d miss you even if I were there, so I’d already be wet for you. But first you’d go over to the bed and I’d unzip your pants…I bet you didn’t dress up, not even for your talk today, so you’d be wearing your jeans.”
He gulps and he’s sure she heard. She’s being awfully forward; he thought he’d taken care of that behavior already.
“So I’d tug down your jeans, and your boxers,” she continues, “and I’d -“
“Someone doesn’t want to come anymore tonight, apparently,” he interrupts, his voice hard.
She stops immediately, and the line goes silent. He can hear her breathing though; she wouldn’t hang up on him.
“Well?” he asks, waiting to hear what she’ll say.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and he can almost see her curled up on the floor.
“Better. Now lets revisit your little…dialogue, so you’ll know what to do tomorrow night.”
Now she’s the one swallowing, her mouth dry as he continues.
“I want you waiting by the door when I get home. I’ll be home after six, so you’ll have plenty of time to be ready. When I open the door, I’m going to drag you, crawling, to the foot of the bed where you belong, pull down my pants, and fuck your mouth.” He can hear her panting on the other end; he knows she’s touching herself. “Cameron, did you behave today?”
“Yes,” she moans.
He waits, testing to see if she’ll beg or if she’s learned her lesson. He hears nothing but her labored breathing. “Cameron, I want you to come now, one hand in your cunt and one hand in your mouth, imagining I’m fucking you. On your knees at the end of the bed.”
“The phone…”
“Set it on the bed.”
He hears it drop; hears her muffled groan as she follows his instructions
Her scream is stifled by her fingers in her mouth, his name sounds more like a shout than any real word. He gives her a minute to recover, then hears her pick the phone back up.
“Good girl,” he says, his hand already moving on his cock, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ch. 8: This
Author: dragynflies and houseketeer
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 1530
Summary: House leaves Cameron behind when he travels to a conference.
Be A Good Girl
Cameron lies naked on the cold, hard floor. He allowed her blankets, but it’s sexier to go full out. She imagines eventually she’ll get cold and pull a sheet over herself.
Maybe.
She lies on her back, one finger curled through the D ring of her collar and her other hand inching down her stomach. Her fingers push into her slippery pussy. She closes her eyes and remembers her instructions.
. . .
Cameron kneels next to House as he sits on the sofa. “I’ll be gone until Sunday. Be a good girl and wear your collar.” He pauses, and runs his hand through her hair. Then, catching his index finger in the ring of her collar, he pulls her head up and says, “Only your collar. All weekend.”
Her eyes widen, and she nods silently, waiting for further instruction.
“When I’m here, you sleep in the bed for my pleasure, but when I’m gone you may as well sleep on the floor. At the foot of the bed-as many blankets as you need.”
She nods again, with the glimmer of a hidden smile.
“And you’re not to come unless you have my express permission. Touch yourself all you want.”
Her eyes shut, and she exhales shakily.
“No phone calls, unless it’s me on the caller id. Do you understand?”
She’s almost too aroused to answer, but when he tugs on her collar she whimpers, “Yes.”
. . .
She has followed these instructions to the letter, with one exception. It’s impossible to touch herself ’all she likes’ without coming. So she fucks herself as hard as she dares, keeps herself tantalizingly close, and begs the phone to ring. She grinds against her palm as she shoves three fingers deep inside; actually yells, “Please. Please you have to call NOW.”
The phone rings.
Cameron scrambles on her knees to the cordless on the bedside table. After checking the caller id, she presses talk and holds it to her ear.
“Are you behaving yourself?”
“Yes,” she pants. Her desperation is obvious in her voice.
“Good girl.” His voice is so calm that for a second she thinks he’s not even going to ask, not going to give her permission for anything.
Seconds tick by before she caves. “Please?” she begs, her hand still moving between her legs, her thumb pressing against her aching clit.
“Please,” he repeats, and now she can hear the smirk in his voice.
“House,” she pleads, gasping out the word between moans.
“If you must,” he says, and she pauses.
That was permission, really.
She whimpers his name again; she wants real permission, wants to feel like she’s listening to what he wants, “I want to be good,” she stammers, and her hand falls motionless, fingers still inside of her.
He laughs. “Very good. You can come, Cameron.” She hears a click; he’s hung up on her.
Cameron drops the phone and crawls back to her place at the foot of the bed. She moves furiously now, writhing on her side, rubbing herself against her hand, forcing her fingers in as deep as she can, again and again. Her long-delayed orgasm builds instantly, and she feels her body clutch tightly around her fingers as she babbles his name to the hardwood floor, over and over.
Hours later, she wakes up cold and stiff; she must have passed out. She stretches, arching her back before standing up. Her legs feel shaky and she stumbles to the bathroom. She starts the shower and steps in, the hot water soothing her muscles.
It is Saturday morning, and she has no plans for the entire day. She can stay here until the hot water runs out, if it ever does. Her hands slide over her soapy body, and she hears his words repeat in her mind. “You’re not to come unless you have my express permission. Touch yourself all you want.”
She wishes he was here to touch her; he would be rougher than she can be. She palms her breasts and squeezes them hard as she can, then pinches and twists her nipples. She moans his name as she does this; it’s all for him.
Her hand slips down, and the pads of her fingers rub circles around her clit. She moans; it’s too dangerous-too good-she’s too close. Instead she rubs harder, too rough so she can’t get off. She torments herself for him.
Even though she’s not trying to get off, she starts to feel it coming: that feeling that makes you burst out, “I’m gonna come,” just before the crucial moment. She immediately pulls her hands away and raises them in the air. She waits for the feeling to subside, then rinses off.
Dressed in her collar alone, she mills about the apartment, looking for an activity. Being naked like this, walking around in the daylight, feels lewd, dirty. This attire is only suitable for fucking.
Standing at the foot of the bed, she steals a glance at the silent phone; cups herself and brushes her finger over her wet clit. She has an idea: it’s quite difficult to come standing up.
She touches herself expertly; if she was lying down she’d be screaming inside of two minutes. As it is, she’s still at it twenty minutes later when she starts to feel incredibly dizzy. Her knees buckle, and she collapses gently to the floor.
She wakes up in the dark to the ringing telephone. After crawling stiffly to it, she pushes talk and immediately crawls back to the foot of the bed.
“Sleeping were you?”
She mumbles sleepily, “Mmm, how did you know?”
“It went to voicemail the first time.”
Her eyes close in pleasure. He wanted to talk to her so bad he called until she woke her.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks.
The sound of his voice, combined with the multiple missed orgasms from the day, has her trembling already, “Mmhmm,” she answers, half sleepy and half aroused, “I miss you. How’s the conference going?”
“It would be better if I’d brought you with,” he tells her, “Could have kept you in my hotel room instead of my apartment.”
She manages a little breathy moan, and he takes his cue to continue, “Would be nice to come back to you after a day of mind-numbing talks, all curled up on the floor here.”
She’s lying at the foot of his bed, but now all she can picture is the same position in a hotel room, waiting for him, and the image is hotter than she’d anticipated.
“You should have,” Cameron sasses, her voice dropping an octave, “I could have waited for you while you worked…I’m not wearing anything, you know.”
“You’d better not be,” he warns her.
“I’m not. And I wouldn’t be if I were there, either.” Now she’s on a roll, and she’s curious to see how far she can take this before he shuts her down. “I’d wait for you, and when you came into the room I’d be kneeling by the door. I’d miss you even if I were there, so I’d already be wet for you. But first you’d go over to the bed and I’d unzip your pants…I bet you didn’t dress up, not even for your talk today, so you’d be wearing your jeans.”
He gulps and he’s sure she heard. She’s being awfully forward; he thought he’d taken care of that behavior already.
“So I’d tug down your jeans, and your boxers,” she continues, “and I’d -“
“Someone doesn’t want to come anymore tonight, apparently,” he interrupts, his voice hard.
She stops immediately, and the line goes silent. He can hear her breathing though; she wouldn’t hang up on him.
“Well?” he asks, waiting to hear what she’ll say.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and he can almost see her curled up on the floor.
“Better. Now lets revisit your little…dialogue, so you’ll know what to do tomorrow night.”
Now she’s the one swallowing, her mouth dry as he continues.
“I want you waiting by the door when I get home. I’ll be home after six, so you’ll have plenty of time to be ready. When I open the door, I’m going to drag you, crawling, to the foot of the bed where you belong, pull down my pants, and fuck your mouth.” He can hear her panting on the other end; he knows she’s touching herself. “Cameron, did you behave today?”
“Yes,” she moans.
He waits, testing to see if she’ll beg or if she’s learned her lesson. He hears nothing but her labored breathing. “Cameron, I want you to come now, one hand in your cunt and one hand in your mouth, imagining I’m fucking you. On your knees at the end of the bed.”
“The phone…”
“Set it on the bed.”
He hears it drop; hears her muffled groan as she follows his instructions
Her scream is stifled by her fingers in her mouth, his name sounds more like a shout than any real word. He gives her a minute to recover, then hears her pick the phone back up.
“Good girl,” he says, his hand already moving on his cock, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ch. 8: This