Chapter 5: After the Event

Warning - Explicit Content Ahead!

By: EtherealNarrator

The gala ended with the usual polite exchanges, forced smiles, and a quiet trickle of bureaucrats exiting the grand ballroom. The inventor had stayed longer than she had intended, her nerves stretched thin from the constant hum of activity and, of course, the knowledge that Morgan was there, watching her, silently assessing. Even now, as the crowd thinned, the inventor's heart pounded in her chest, her palms clammy with the memory of Morgan's brief, knowing glances throughout the evening.

She took a deep breath, grateful for the cool night air as she stepped out of the building and onto the empty street, the towering, spotless structures of the Bureaucracy casting long, sterile shadows across the pavement. She clutched her coat tighter around her shoulders, her mind spinning. She couldn't stop thinking about Morgan—about the way her presence had lingered, about the way that small smile had made her knees go weak.

And then, as if summoned by the very thoughts that plagued her, she heard the unmistakable click of heels behind her. Her breath hitched, and before she could even turn around, she knew.

Morgan was following her.

The inventor stopped in her tracks, her heart racing as she heard the steady, measured footsteps draw closer. There was a moment of silence, heavy with tension, before Morgan's voice, sharp and cool, cut through the air.

"Leaving so soon?"

The inventor swallowed hard, her throat dry. She turned slowly, her eyes flickering upward to meet Morgan's gaze. The senior bureaucrat stood before her, her expression as composed and immaculate as ever, but there was something else now—a glint of curiosity, or perhaps amusement, that danced behind her cold, gold-rimmed glasses.

"I… I didn't think you'd notice," the inventor stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into that same small, knowing smile that had haunted the inventor all night. "I notice everything."

The inventor's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening as Morgan took a step closer, her presence overwhelming, commanding. She had expected Morgan to disappear after the event, to return to her world of discipline and order, but instead, here she was, standing in front of her, as though she had no intention of letting her go.

"I… I wasn't sure if you'd… be interested, but…" The words tumbled out before the inventor could stop them, her voice trembling. "Maybe… maybe you could come back to my office. Just to… ensure I'm doing everything right."

For a moment, there was silence. The inventor's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. What had she just said? Why had she invited Morgan back? But even as panic flooded her thoughts, she couldn't deny the thrill of anticipation that followed.

Morgan tilted her head slightly, studying her with that same sharp, calculating gaze. "An inspection?" she asked, her tone measured, but there was a hint of intrigue in her voice. "At this hour?"

The inventor nodded quickly, her breath hitching. "Yes. Just to make sure I'm following the rules… properly."

Morgan's smile widened, a flicker of interest lighting her eyes. This was new. Unusual. Morgan was used to being in control, used to others submitting to her discipline without question. And yet, here was the inventor, offering herself up for another inspection, asking for Morgan's guidance.

The silence stretched for a moment longer before Morgan took another step forward, her gloved hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from the inventor's face. "Very well," she murmured, her voice low but commanding. "Lead the way."

The inventor's heart skipped a beat, her knees almost buckling beneath her as she turned, her body moving on autopilot as she led Morgan down the dimly lit street and back toward her office. The walk was silent, but the tension between them was palpable, thick enough to cut through.

When they reached the small building, the inventor fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking as she unlocked the door. She stepped inside first, her pulse quickening as Morgan followed, the door clicking shut behind them with an almost deafening finality.

The inventor's office was just as she had left it—clean, organized, but still carrying the faint scent of oil and metal that clung to everything she worked on. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do next. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she felt the weight of Morgan's gaze on her back.

"Well," Morgan said, her voice smooth and unhurried, "let's see how much progress you've made."

The inventor turned slowly, her heart racing as she watched Morgan step forward, her eyes sweeping over the room with that same sharp, critical gaze she had seen countless times during inspections. But there was something different this time—something more deliberate, more personal in the way Morgan moved, the way her eyes flickered over every detail.

"I've… tried to follow your instructions," the inventor said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've made sure everything is in order."

Morgan hummed softly in response, her fingers brushing lightly over the surface of the workbench, tracing the lines of the tools that had been neatly arranged. "It does seem that way," she murmured, her voice thoughtful. "But you invited me here. I assume you want something more."

The inventor's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at the weight of Morgan's words. She had invited her. She had asked for this.

"I do," she whispered, her voice trembling as she took a small, hesitant step forward. "I want to… try something."

Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. "Oh?" she asked, her tone cool but intrigued. "And what exactly do you want to try?"

The inventor swallowed hard, her body trembling as she dropped her gaze to the floor, her fingers twisting nervously at the hem of her jacket. This was it. She had thought about this for days, had replayed the moment over and over in her mind, but now that the opportunity was in front of her, the weight of it felt overwhelming.

Still, she couldn't stop herself.

With a shaky breath, the inventor slowly sank to her knees, her legs trembling beneath her as she knelt in front of Morgan, her eyes downcast, her entire body tense with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Morgan's eyebrows arched in surprise, but she didn't move. Instead, she stood still, watching as the inventor knelt before her, the air between them thick with tension. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The inventor's breath was ragged, her hands trembling as they hovered just above her knees, unsure of what to do next.

Morgan tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "You want to try something?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with authority. "And what exactly would that be?"

The inventor's breath hitched, her fingers twitching as she reached for the hem of Morgan's coat, her hands trembling as she tried to find the words. "I… I want to…"

Her voice faltered, the weight of the moment crashing over her like a tidal wave. She had thought she could do this, had thought she was ready. But now, kneeling before Morgan, the reality of it was almost too much to bear.

Morgan's hand moved slowly, her gloved fingers brushing lightly against the inventor's chin, tilting her head up so that their eyes met. "Speak," Morgan commanded softly, her voice a quiet, authoritative purr.

The inventor swallowed hard, her entire body trembling as she looked up into Morgan's eyes, her breath shaky and uneven. "I want to… please you," she whispered, the words barely audible.

For a moment, Morgan said nothing, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the inventor's face. There was a flicker of something behind her gaze—something dark, something intrigued.

"You want to please me," Morgan repeated slowly, her voice soft but dangerous.

The inventor nodded quickly, her heart racing, her body shaking with the weight of her own admission. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "Please, I want to—"

Morgan's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, and for the first time, there was a flicker of surprise in her eyes. This was new territory—territory she hadn't expected. She was used to being in control, used to enforcing discipline. But now, here was the inventor, offering herself up, trembling and submissive, wanting to please her.

Morgan's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, her eyes narrowing as she considered the scene unfolding before her. The inventor was shaking, her body tense with both fear and anticipation, her breath coming in shallow bursts. It was clear this was something she had agonized over, something she had worked herself up to with great difficulty. And now, here she was, on her knees, offering herself up to the woman who had commanded her in every other aspect of her life.

Morgan could feel the power thrumming between them, thick and tangible in the air. It was intoxicating, watching the inventor so eager to serve, to follow her every command. The thought sent a thrill through her, but Morgan's face remained composed, her expression cool and detached, as if this were just another routine inspection.

"Stand up," Morgan commanded softly, her voice smooth but authoritative.

The inventor's body jerked slightly at the command, her breath hitching as she quickly scrambled to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her. She stood there, awkward and unsure, her eyes flicking nervously between Morgan's face and the floor.

Morgan stepped closer, her eyes locking onto the inventor's. "Remove my clothing," she ordered, her tone sharp and precise. "And do it carefully. I won't tolerate carelessness."

The inventor's hands shook as she reached out, her fingers fumbling at the buttons of Morgan's pristine jacket. Her movements were slow and hesitant, as though she were afraid of making a mistake, of doing something that would displease the senior bureaucrat. But Morgan remained still, her gaze fixed on the inventor's face, watching every movement with a sharp, critical eye.

Slowly, the jacket came undone, and the inventor peeled it off Morgan's shoulders, her breath shallow and uneven as she folded it neatly and set it aside. Next came the blouse, trousers, and undergarments the soft fabric sliding through her trembling fingers as she unbuttoned it, her eyes fixed on the task at hand, too nervous to meet Morgan's gaze.

When she was finished, Morgan stood naked only in her gloves, her posture immaculate, her expression unchanged. She looked down at the inventor, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "Now," she said softly, her voice like a razor's edge, "return to your knees."

The inventor's breath hitched as she obeyed, her legs shaking as she sank back down in front of Morgan, her knees pressing against the cold, hard floor. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do next, her body trembling with both fear and desire.

Morgan's lips curled into a faint smirk as she looked down at her, the power dynamic between them clearer than ever. "Spread my thighs," Morgan commanded, her voice smooth and controlled. "Slowly."

The inventor's fingers twitched, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she reached up, her hands carefully parting Morgan's thighs, exposing the soft, pale skin beneath. Her touch was hesitant, almost reverent, as though she were afraid of doing something wrong, of displeasing the woman who stood over her.

Morgan's gaze was cold and calculating as she looked down at the inventor, her posture stiff, her hands resting lightly at her sides. "Good," she murmured softly. "Now, listen very carefully."

The inventor's body tensed, her breath hitching as she waited, her entire being focused on Morgan's next command.

"I want you to use your tongue," Morgan said, her voice low but commanding. "Start at my clit. Be slow. Be precise. And don't stop until I tell you."

The inventor's pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as she nodded quickly, her breath coming in shaky, uneven bursts. Her hands moved to Morgan's hips, her fingers trembling as they gripped her lightly, and then, with a soft, hesitant breath, the inventor leaned in, her lips brushing against Morgan's inner thigh.

Morgan's breath was steady, measured, as she watched the inventor's every move, her body still and composed as though she were merely waiting for the outcome of another routine task. But inside, there was a dark thrill, a sense of control that sent a spark of pleasure through her veins.

The inventor's tongue flicked out, tentative at first, barely grazing Morgan's clit, her breath shaky and uneven as she tried to follow the command she had been given. But Morgan wasn't interested in hesitation.

"Don't tease," Morgan said sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Do it properly. Now."

The inventor swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she obeyed, her tongue pressing more firmly against Morgan's clit, her movements slow and deliberate, just as she had been instructed. She could feel the tension in the air, the weight of Morgan's expectations, and the pressure to get it right—to be good, to follow the rules exactly as they had been laid out for her.

Morgan's body remained still, her breath steady and controlled as she watched the inventor work, her gloved fingers resting lightly at her sides. There was no visible sign of pleasure, no outward reaction that suggested Morgan was affected by what was happening. But the inventor knew better. She could feel it, in the way Morgan's muscles tensed ever so slightly beneath her touch, in the way her breath hitched for just a fraction of a second before returning to its measured pace.

Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips parting just enough for a soft, measured exhale to escape. She could feel the slow build of pleasure, but it was a quiet, controlled sensation—something she allowed herself only in small doses. This wasn't about indulgence. This wasn't about losing control. It was about reinforcing her dominance, about showing the inventor exactly what was expected.

"Faster," Morgan said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the command was clear.

The inventor obeyed instantly, her tongue moving faster now, more insistent, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as she tried to keep up with the rhythm Morgan demanded. Her hands gripped Morgan's thighs, her fingers digging into the soft skin as she worked, her body trembling with both exertion and the overwhelming need to please.

Morgan's breath quickened, just slightly, her body responding to the inventor's eager tongue with the same measured restraint she applied to every aspect of her life. Her hand moved to the back of the inventor's head, her gloved fingers tangling in the woman's hair as she guided her, pushing her just a little harder, just a little faster.

"Good," Morgan murmured, her voice low and controlled. "Just like that."

The inventor's body trembled, her entire focus consumed by the task at hand. She could feel the tension building, the way Morgan's body responded to her touch, and it spurred her on, made her want to push harder, to give more, to be perfect.

Morgan's breath hitched again, a soft, barely audible sound that sent a jolt of excitement through the inventor's body. She could feel Morgan's muscles tensing beneath her hands, the way her thighs quivered ever so slightly, and she knew she was close.

"Don't stop," Morgan commanded, her voice sharp and commanding. "Finish what you started."

The inventor's tongue moved faster now, more insistent, her breath coming in quick, desperate gasps as she worked, her entire body trembling with the effort to keep up. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, as Morgan's body neared its climax.

And then, with a sharp intake of breath, Morgan's body tensed, her fingers tightening in the inventor's hair as she reached her climax. The sound that escaped her lips was soft, measured—just a quick, controlled moan that barely broke the air. It was as though Morgan had allotted herself only the barest fraction of pleasure, just enough to acknowledge the act but nothing more.

Her grip on the inventor's hair loosened as her body relaxed, her breath steadying almost immediately, her composure returning with the same swift precision as before. Morgan stepped back slightly, her sharp eyes observing the inventor, who was still on her knees, breathless, her lips parted, trembling from the effort and the intensity of the moment.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Morgan's eyes swept over the inventor's disheveled form, her body still flushed from the task she had so eagerly performed. The inventor looked up, her breath shallow and uneven, her heart racing as she searched Morgan's face for any sign of approval or disappointment.

"You performed adequately," Morgan said finally, her voice as sharp and measured as ever. There was no warmth in her words, no indication of pleasure or satisfaction beyond the simple acknowledgment of the inventor's effort. "But you still have much to learn."

The inventor's heart sank, her body still trembling as she remained on her knees, unsure of how to respond. She had given everything, had pushed herself to the edge to please Morgan, and yet it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

"I'll… I'll do better," she whispered, her voice shaky with both exhaustion and a desperate need to please. "I'll follow the rules. I'll… try harder."

Morgan's lips curled into a faint, almost condescending smile. "You'll need to," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of both expectation and command. "I don't tolerate mediocrity."

The inventor swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she nodded quickly, her mind spinning with a mixture of shame and desire. She wanted to do better, to prove herself, to show Morgan that she could be the perfect, obedient worker that she demanded.

Morgan took a step back, her posture as composed as ever, her gaze cold and assessing as she looked down at the inventor. "Stand up," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The inventor scrambled to her feet, her legs shaky and unsteady beneath her as she stood in front of Morgan, her heart still racing. She could feel the weight of Morgan's gaze on her, sharp and unrelenting, as though every movement, every breath was being scrutinized for even the slightest imperfection.

Morgan reached out, her gloved hand brushing against the inventor's cheek with surprising gentleness, a contrast to the sharp authority in her voice. "You've made progress," she said quietly, her eyes locking onto the inventor's with an intensity that made her breath catch. "But you're still far from perfect."

The inventor's lips parted, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Morgan's fingers lingered on her skin for just a moment longer before withdrawing. The touch, though brief, sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder of the power Morgan held over her.

"I expect nothing less than perfection," Morgan continued, her voice smooth and controlled as she stepped away, adjusting the final pieces of her clothing. "Anything short of that will result in consequences. Do you understand?"

The inventor nodded quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes… I understand."

Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips curling into that same small, knowing smile that had haunted the inventor all night. "Good," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "Then you'll continue to improve. And perhaps, if you prove yourself worthy, there will be more rewards."