She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother

Chapter 460: Peeping Tom(1)

Ayla Thompson sat stiffly on the wooden bench just outside Dr. Brennan’s office, her back pressed against the cool wall. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, legs pressed together as if trying to disappear into herself.

Her face was still burning.

That old dog, Dr. Brennan, had dragged her here again today under the excuse of "filing important documents." One thing led to another, and before she knew it, she was bent over his desk with her skirt around her waist.

"Fucking bastard..." she muttered under her breath, cursing the Vice President for the hundredth time. "This old pervert just never listened."

She had clearly told him earlier that today wasn’t a good day.

She had a mountain of work waiting for her and a bad feeling gnawing at her gut since morning... a strong instinct that something was going to go wrong. But he didn’t care. He had dragged her into his office anyway, like always.

And of course, it happened.

They got caught. And it wasn’t just by some random staff member or a nosy colleague.

It was Natalia Steele.

Ayla’s heart still raced just thinking about it. The moment Natalia had walked in and caught them, she had thought her life was over. She had expected disgust, blackmail, or even immediate ruin.

Instead, Natalia had looked at her... and recognized her.

For someone like Ayla, who had admired Natalia Steele from afar for years, that single moment of acknowledgment had been electrifying.

Natalia was everything Ayla wanted to be... powerful, charismatic, authoritative, elegant, and feared. A woman who bent the world to her will instead of spreading her legs for pathetic old men just to survive.

A soft, conflicted smile tugged at Elena’s lips despite everything.

’She knew who I was... She actually knew me.’

The thought made her chest feel strangely warm, even as fresh shame burned her cheeks.

But then the strange ideas started creeping in.

"Why had Natalia cleared the entire area? Why had she ordered Ayla to stand guard outside this random office? And why had she brought that young student, Alexander Hale, here?"

Ayla shook her head quickly, trying to push those thoughts away.

"No. Stop it."

"This is Natalia Steele we’re talking about. Not some random woman. How can I even think something so dirty about my ideal?"

She cursed herself silently, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Maybe she’s sponsoring that boy. Or perhaps she just wanted a private meeting with him before the exams. Yes... that must be it."

"Nothing inappropriate. Nothing like what my filthy mind is imagining."

Ayla took a deep breath, feeling slightly satisfied with her own explanation. She leaned back against the wall, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

Natalia Steele was a respectable, powerful woman. Whatever was happening inside, it was surely professional. Nothing more.

Then it came.

A loud, unmistakable feminine moan echoed through the door.

Ayla froze.

’Wait... moan?’ Her ears twitched. ’Did I hear that wrong?’

She sat perfectly still, straining to listen. The office was supposed to be soundproof... one of the few perks of being the Vice President’s private space. No one should be able to hear anything from inside.

But then it came again.

A long, throaty, shameless moan... raw and dripping with pleasure.

"Ahh—!"

Ayla’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her eyes widened in pure shock. Beads of cold sweat began forming on her forehead as the reality slowly sank in.

’No... that can’t be...’

She leaned forward instinctively, pressing her ear against the cool wooden door. Her breathing turned shallow and fast. Another moan slipped through... louder this time, almost desperate.

"Oh god... yes...!"

Ayla’s face burned crimson. Her hands trembled in her lap as she stayed glued to the door, unable to pull away. Confusion, disbelief, and a strange, unwelcome heat spread through her body.

’That voice... that’s Natalia Steele?’

The elegant, authoritative woman she had admired for years was inside that office... moaning like that?

Ayla’s mind spun. Her throat felt dry. She kept her ear pressed firmly to the door, listening with growing disbelief as more sounds started filtering through... the rhythmic creaking of the desk, wet slapping sounds, and Natalia’s broken, ecstatic voice.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

For a long moment, Ayla’s thoughts spiraled.

This couldn’t be real. Not her. Not Natalia Steele.

But the sounds kept coming. The rhythmic creaking of the desk. The wet, obscene slapping of skin against skin. The broken, desperate cries that were unmistakably Natalia’s voice.

Slowly, the disbelief began to crack.

Ayla pulled back slightly, staring at the closed door with wide eyes. Her cheeks were burning. She swallowed hard, trying to process everything.

’She’s... a woman too.’

The thought hit her like a revelation. Natalia Steele, no matter how powerful and charismatic she was, was still a woman. She had desires. Fantasies. Needs. Maybe she wanted to play out some teacher-student fantasy with that handsome young boy. Maybe that was why she had chosen this private office... to have complete control, away from prying eyes.

Ayla let out a shaky breath.

’Yes... If I can have secret affairs with that disgusting old man just to survive, why can’t she?’

It was her own dirty mind that was the problem, not Natalia. Who was she to judge? If anything, this made Natalia feel more... human. More real.

A strange warmth spread through Ayla’s chest.

She leaned back against the wall, biting her lower lip as her imagination began to run wild.

She pictured it... Natalia dominating that young student, teasing him, riding him, making him beg. The powerful woman she admired taking control in the most sinful way possible.

A soft, conflicted sigh escaped her lips.

’God... I wish I could see it with my own eyes.’

She quickly shook her head, trying to clear the dangerous thoughts.

’What am I thinking...? This is none of my business.’

But even as she scolded herself, Ayla couldn’t stop her ears from straining toward the door, listening to every moan, every wet sound, every filthy word that slipped through.

And deep down, a small, secret part of her desperately wished she could open that door and watch.

***

The moans didn’t stop.

They kept coming... constant, shameless, and growing louder. Each broken cry of pleasure from Natalia Steele pierced straight through the door and into Ayla’s ears like a drug.

"Ahh...! Yes... deeper—!"

Ayla’s breathing grew shallow. She pressed her thighs together tightly on the bench, but it only made the growing heat between her legs worse.

’Why didn’t I think of this?’ The thought hit her like lightning. ’Using a young, strong boy like that... someone full of energy, someone who could actually satisfy her instead of that pathetic old man.’

The image was thrilling. Forbidden. Natalia... elegant, powerful, authoritative... riding a young student, using him for her pleasure, making him moan her name.

The contrast between her refined image and this raw, animalistic act made Ayla’s pulse race.

Her hand moved almost on its own.

It slid up her thigh, brushing over her skirt before pressing lightly against her stomach. She bit her lower lip hard as another loud, throaty moan slipped through the door.

"Mmmph—! Fuck—! Just like that—!"

Ayla’s fingers trembled. The heat between her legs had become unbearable.

Slowly, almost guiltily, her hand slipped lower, pressing between her thighs over her skirt.

She rubbed herself gently at first, then with more pressure, feeling the dampness already soaking through her panties.

’God... what am I doing?’ she thought, shame burning her cheeks.

But she didn’t stop.

The constant moans, the creaking of the desk, the wet slapping sounds... they were driving her insane.

Her fingers moved faster, rubbing her swollen clit through the fabric as she imagined Natalia dominating that boy, riding him mercilessly, using his young, strong body for her own satisfaction.

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped Ayla’s lips.

Her hand slipped under her skirt, pushing her panties aside. The moment her fingers touched her soaked folds, she let out a shaky breath. She was dripping.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip harder as she slid two fingers inside herself, matching the rhythm of the moans coming from inside the office.

’Just this once...’ she told herself, lost in the heat of the moment. ’No one will know...’

"Ahh—! Yes... deeper—! Fuck me harder—!"

The words hit Ayla like sparks. Her thighs trembled violently. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stay quiet, but a broken whimper still escaped her as her orgasm crashed over her without warning.

Her pussy clenched hard around her fingers, a sudden gush of warm juices flooding out and soaking her panties and the inside of her skirt.

Her entire body shuddered as she came... hard, messy, and completely unexpected.

She leaned forward, forehead pressed against the cool wall, breathing raggedly as waves of guilty pleasure rolled through her.

For a few long seconds, she just sat there, dazed.

Then reality hit her like a slap.

She was sitting in the middle of the university hallway, fingers still buried inside herself, skirt hiked up, panties ruined, and a visible wet spot darkening the fabric between her legs.

Ayla’s face turned deathly pale.

’Oh my god... what the hell am I doing?!’

She frantically pulled her hand out, quickly adjusting her skirt and pressing her thighs together.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked left and right down the empty corridor, terrified that someone might have walked by and seen her like this... fingering herself shamelessly while listening to Natalia Steele getting fucked.

’If anyone saw me... I’m finished.’

She wiped her soaked fingers on the inside of her skirt, cheeks burning with humiliation. The sounds from inside the office continued without pause... wet slapping, creaking desk, and Natalia’s broken, ecstatic moans.

Ayla took several deep, shaky breaths, trying to compose herself.

She stayed glued to the bench, legs pressed tightly together, still feeling the aftershocks of her own shameful orgasm and the constant, filthy symphony coming from behind the door.