Otto glanced at the time in the corner of his screen. Another Friday evening working late, but he had told his boss he would have this ready before he left. One more data set to pull, a half hour of spreadsheet work and he’d be wrapped, he’d be out by 8:30. He could email it before he left and Vince, his VP, would see it on his blackberry. A little obvious, but brownie points were brownie points, and Vince was on his way up, and if Otto could ride that wagon he’d move up with him. At thirty-two he was already Senior Group Leader in Vince’s division, ahead of guys with much more seniority. But they didn’t have Otto’s work ethic and drive. So he missed a couple of wild Friday nights drinking and whoring. That had been fun and fulfilling in the carefree college days, but frankly, they’d left him flat in the last five years. Hung over and mostly dissatisfied, always with a yearning for…something else. Something more.

He considered that as he waited for the data mining program to return his results. It finished quickly; it always did this late at night with fewer users on the system. Hell, he might be the only one left in the building, although he’d seen one other car still outside the last time he’d looked out the window. Someone else putting in the time. He dumped the data into a spreadsheet and started plugging in formulas, but in the back of his mind floated his evaluation of why he would rather work than go out on a Friday night.

It wasn’t really the last five years, he knew, he just told himself that to keep from becoming bitter. Since college, when he’d landed his first position, before coming here, he’d grown dissatisfied with the girls and the pickups. The one-nighters were fun, and he still went out when he wanted to dip his wick, but the encounters became less fulfilling and ended up leaving him more frustrated than sated. He typed in the last logic statement, then copied the formulas down, re-sorted the data, and began the top-line summaries.

And his phone rang. He checked the display. Lizette Walsh.

She was still here? She was a VP for chrissake! He picked up the receiver.

“Otto,” he said.

“Otto. Walsh here. Could you stop by my office?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, but the line went dead as the phone display went blank. He rolled his chair back and made his way through the bees nest of cubicles to the main hallway and hit the stairs up. Lizette was a VP, just like Vince, but in another division. Different group of products. She had her own stable of Group Leaders. What could she want with him?

He walked the empty offices, long abandoned even by the cleaning crew that had started at five-thirty. The lights down this end were off, and only the emergency lights shone, save one lighted office at the end of the run. He wondered what Lizette could need him for. There was stiff competition between the divisions, and Vince had had many a harsh word about Lizette in the last five years, bemoaning her political savvy and conniving manipulations. Stealing personnel from other divisions was not unheard of. Maybe she was going to try to steal Vince’s best boy? It would be an office coup, for sure. They’d talk about it for years. In his mind, he listed his demands. Could be an opportunity.

We walked in through her open door. She was looking intently at her monitor, a big twenty-five inch flat screen. She glanced up.

“Have a seat,” she motioned with her chin, and returned to what she was doing. Clicked a few times, typed something, clicked again. The printer behind her started churning, and she turned to face him.

“So, burning the midnight oil for Vince again?” she asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I promised him that - ”

“Good,” she cut off. “I like that in you. Diligence, Devotion. Obedience.” Her voice sounded like she was ticking off fingers, but her hands remained on the desk. “You make Vince look smarter and more capable than he really is,” she said with just a hint. “That’s what a good man does; what he’s told, takes no credit above his boss, makes the top guy look good.”

“Well, I - ”

“Do you know what I did before coming here?”

The question took him by surprise. Really out of the blue. “No.”

“I was EVP of Systems Information at a top five accounting firm,” she told him, sitting back in her chair almost haughtily, as if reliving the glory of being at the top of her game. “second in command to the Chief Information Officer.” She shook her head wistfully. “Now I’m forty-two and I’m a VP, here.” Her lips tightened ruefully and she raised her eyebrows. “But not for long, Otto. I’m moving up. I know your boss has his eyes on the Senior VP spot, but I’m telling you now, that’s my position, before this year is over.”

Otto felt suddenly uncomfortable being here. Was she drunk or something? Why was she telling him this?

“There were some improprieties alleged in my last position, Otto. They canned my boss and most of his department; cleaned house. I got swept out in the purge,” she said. I need to move up here, soon, or go somewhere else.” She suddenly sat up and leaned her elbows on the desk. “I’m getting too old to start over, Otto, and I need to get this spot. And I will.” She cast a sharply focused gaze at him. “And do you know why I will get it?”

Otto shrugged, was about to start “I don’t know,” when she dropped the bomb.

“Because you are going to help me.”

Oh, Christ, he thought. She WAS going to try to steal him from Vince!

“Not like that,” she said with a smirk, seeing the thought cross his face and reading him like an open book. “Too obvious. No,” she said, turning and pulling a stack of printed papers from the print tray behind her. She dropped them on the desk. “You’re going to help me by telling me everything Vince is going to do before he does it,” she explained. “You’re going to alter his reports for me, hold information from him and feed it to me. You’re going to help me make him look more like the lackluster middle manager he really is.” She cocked her head. “You do know that he’s using you, right? That the only reason the fourth floor notices him is because of you. Yes?”

She made it sound so crude. “I don’t know if - ”

“Well, it’s true. But now you’re going to be working for me.”

“Why would I do that?”

She lifted the stack of print. “Because I’m going to do you a big favor, Otto. Do you know what this is?” He shrugged. “It’s a copy of your employment contract. I downloaded it from the HR files.”

He creased his brows. “But those are confidential,” he protested

She snickered, but there was no humor in it. “IT background, remember?” She flipped through the pages, found what she was looking for, and pulled one page out. “Recognize this?”

He eyed the page, saw his signature, skimmed the text. “It’s the Information Technology Agreement.” No way, he thought to himself. But a cold sweat broke out under his shirt.

“Right you are, Otto,” she smirked. She picked up a red permanent marker and leaned over the desk. “And this clause?”

He scanned it, and his heart skipped a beat as his eyes scanned the words. Company bandwidth. Corporate resources. Misuse. Violation of Policy. His armpits heated and moistened as his heart pounded. She couldn’t know. No one could know, he was careful. Her IT background.

“Yes, Otto, I found your trail. I found the sites you browse and the chat room you join in.” She leaned up out of her chair, her longish brunette hair dangling down the side of her face, the shadows making her look almost sinister, and he cowered a little. “See this?” she pointed with the marker. The Words.

Immediate Termination of Employment. He cringed and his head lowered. Those websites, and those chat rooms. He’d been discreet, careful, almost always at home, long hours spent, chatting, seeing the images. But at home, only at home…until recently, and the lure of them, the long nights here, working. Waiting for data to download. The not-so-innocent diversions. He felt his hands shaking.

“But you can’t…” he began, and his mind worked furiously, latching on to a defense. “You’re not permitted to - ”

She snorted a small laugh through her nose disdainfully. “Don’t be stupid. You think I don’t have friends in IT here? Remember all those people who lost their jobs when I did?” He looked up at her arched eyebrows, saw the truth there. “You think I didn’t take care of my own?” Her head slid forwards, elongating her neck. Her face was determined, her jaw set. The tendons in her neck stretched the smooth skin. Something about her power was intoxicating. He blinked, flustered, and tried to focus.

“One word from me in the right ear and you’re done here.” He swallowed hard. He felt incredibly warm and his breath was short.

“Now watch this,” she ordered, and he watched the permanent marker strike out The Words. The pen made that small squeaky sound as she dragged it across The Words slowly. Above it she wrote in perfect flowing script ‘punished’. Then she initialed it and extended her hand, offering him the pen. “Now you.”

With a shaking hand he took the pen, unsure if he was relieved or terrified. He initialed the change, capped the pen, and returned it. She discarded it into a cup on the desk where it sat, the red cap glowering at him for long minutes as she re-sorted the pages and stuffed them away into a desk drawer.

“Okay,” she said with some finality. “So, I won’t tell, and neither will you, and if someone finds out I’ll come to your rescue,” she stated, clearly entertained. “Provided you do what I want. Everything will be fine. We’ll be a team. Vince will start to lose his veneer of competence, I’ll look great. When I move up, I’ll take you with me. Settled?”

Otto lifted his hanging head and looked up at her. Her shoulders were back and she sat erect with the pride of accomplishment. He felt crushed, manipulated, trapped and defeated. He had made a deal with the devil, and she was Lizette Walsh.

“Not much choice, is there?” he asked with resignation.

“Nope, not much,” she replied smugly. Otto heaved himself out of the chair and started for the door. As he turned to leave, she called, “What are you doing?”

He stopped, turned back. There was a tinge of expectation in her voice, couched in surprise. “I was going back to finish…”

Once again she stepped on the end of his sentence. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He blinked at her in confusion, his mind scrambling for what the hell she wanted from him. She’d taken his soul, would make him betray his boss. She knew his secrets, his vulnerability, and would use it against him. He wracked his brain thinking of the right answer, came up with, “Thank you?”

She snorted another laugh, louder this time, but almost with pity. “Well, that’s a good thought, Otto. And you’re welcome. But no,” she added, and stood from behind her desk, came around to him, slowly. He was reminded of a cat circling a bird. She took his arm and her fingers felt like talons above his elbow. She walked him to the loveseat at the far end of her spacious office as she spoke.

“I wasn’t referring to your gratitude. I was referring to your punishment.” She released his arm, leaving him standing at the end of the loveseat, stunned by the words. She sat, her skirt riding up as she posed there, her long elegant stocking clad legs held together, heeled feet planted firmly on the floor. She looked up sideways at him, and he looked down, frightened and confused.

“But,” he managed, arms at his sides, palms up, plaintive. “you made me sign… we made a deal!” His mouth opened and closed. “Punishment?”

“You misused company assets. Violated Policy. You could have been fired. I saved you from that,” she stated, impatience growing in her voice. “In exchange for my salvation, you help me. THAT’s our deal, Otto.” Her head cocked at him quizzically. “But you are still caught. And you agreed to punishment instead of termination.”

He felt his face twitch and the sweat broke out across his body again, making him shiver inside his clothes. It can’t be, it can’t be, he told himself, over and over, but he fell short of conviction. His eyes, downcast and unable to meet hers, settled onto her fingers, drumming lightly on her smooth kneecap. The fingers lifted and fell on her knee in succession, tap-tap-tap-tap. Her hand, strong and elegant, signs of her years and experience evident here where demeanor and presentation disguised it elsewhere. In a moment of clarity he understood that she was older than he was, as though it were important and he didn’t know why. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Mesmerizing. Her palm on her exposed thigh, smooth and muscular. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Her knee, her shapely calf, her heels. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

It can’t be, he told himself again, but it was no longer disbelief. Tap-tap-tap-tap. He was afraid to hope, for fear not of what might happen, but that it might not.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

“What- what type of punishment?” he squeaked.

“You broke the rules. You did naughty things with company assets.” Her voice struck him like a honeyed slap, harsh and sweet, thick and syrupy. “The punishment should fit the crime, don’t you think?”

Tap-tap-tap-tap. He trembled. He forced his eyes from her hand, made it travel up her chest, saw her posture; erect, shoulders back, head up, neck stretched elegantly.

“And I think we have dawdled long enough, now, Otto,” Her fingers stopped the drumming, and her palms smoothed the unwrinkled skirt across her upper thighs. “Come here, now,” she commanded. “I think a good spanking fits the bill.” The words hung in the air a few seconds, before sucking the breath from his lungs. “Now drop those pants and get over here.” Her last sentence was lower in tone but still crystal clear, the words sharp-edged and stern.

As if his body was trapped in a cocoon of molasses, he struggled to move. His hands, without conscious thought, struggled at his belt, the muscles weak, limbs heavy, fingers thick and uncooperative. He felt cooler air touch the skin on his legs. He struggled for breath, heard nothing but his pounding heart as he shuffled an ungainly few steps to her. He heard her voice say something, felt her hands on his boxer briefs, felt himself exposed and shame swept him, wrenching his stomach into a knot that settled tightly into his bowels. He felt her hands guiding him as he bent, and lowered, and settled, feeling the welcomed support of her lap under his stomach, followed her direction as she adjusted him forward. His knees didn’t reach the floor and they dangled awkwardly. His shoulders and head rested on the empty section of the loveseat. The smell of leather filled his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. The scent touched him inside, and his mind cleared enough to understand her words as they drifted though his fog.

“…will be perfect…going to enjoy…relax…over soon…that’s right, little Otto…” the scraps of her words muddled through to him. He felt her fingernails grazing across his bare flesh and his face flushed. His breath caught as they scraped lightly across his ass cheeks and down the backs of his thighs. He felt the fingernails leave and then there was no contact but her knees and the leather until a palm pressed firmly into the small of his back.

He inhaled and held it.

The pain preceded the sound by a heartbeat. It sent an electric charge though him, deep with humiliation and shame and elation. Then another, in the same place, heating the spot with lingering sensation. Another, and another. He felt the flare of inflamed flesh burning, felt the heat echoed in his face. He exhaled with relief. The next series fell on the other cheek, and he trembled, short moans coming unbidden and oddly comforting, soothing him. Another series, across the backs of his thighs. Then higher on his cheeks, alternating between then, and the sounds matched his grunting responses. The knot inside him loosened and gave way and his body relaxed, tension flowing out of his limbs as he took the blows, not pausing any longer, an incessant rain of strikes that seared his flesh and shot bolts of shame through him.

And pressed between her thighs, his cock stiffened.

And still the blows came, striking new places, renewing already heated places, and he took each one, embraced it and owned it, feeling the heat in his face as his humiliation wrapped him in comforting arms. The sounds of flesh striking flesh stroked his ears as a mother’s soothing whisper, and he sighed softly.

The hands stopped. The palm on his lower back lifted. A hand pressed against his inflamed upper thigh, gripping tightly. And then the blows resumed, a different angle, and he realized she had changed hands. The pause had panicked him, but the resumption returned his elation and his cock stiffened again. Instinctively he pulsed his hips, and the blows stopped. He felt her thighs clamp his cock tightly.

“Yes, I thought so,” he heard her words, soft and confident victory in the sounds. He closed his eyes in his shame. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you, Otto?” He bit his own lip, afraid to answer, afraid to admit even to himself that she had filled the void in him that had tormented him for so long. Fingertips trailed slowly from his thighs up his cheeks, torturing and enticing the inflamed flesh. “But it’s not just the pain, is it, little Otto? No,” she hissed to him, lowering her head to the back of his, the other hand playing in his hair, then gripping hard, pulling his head back. “It’s not the pain that makes your cock so hard,” she whispered, squeezing his erect member between her legs. “Is it?”

Unceremoniously she pushed him off her legs, stronger than she seemed. He fell in a pile on the floor, legs tangled in the pants at his ankles. “On your knees, boy!” she barked, and he struggled to get himself upright, his pants turning inside out, around his shoes. “Knees apart! Now!” He scrambled to obey, felt his shirttails tickling his hard cock, jutting up from his crotch, advertising his shame and desire. He looked up at her, felt her hand across his face and saw stars.

“Don’t you look at me, boy!” she spat. “Don’t you put your filthy eyes on me!” He lowered his head, face afire, eyes focused on her feet, encased in her high heels, blurry through the tears. He gasped a shuddering breath. “You! You worthless piece of shit! Fucking hard as a rock from this? You like this?” he concentrated on the shoes, afraid to move, terrified and excited at being exposed, not just physically, but emotionally stripped bare, his desire and shame obvious, his vulnerability and need known to her, hers to take from him.

“Jerk your cock for me,” she ordered. “Now,” but his hand was already there, stroking his member, the familiar sensation a vibrant consummation of the pale sessions he engaged in at home alone, now fulfilled. Jerking himself in front of her, he felt whole, essential. Inside him, the empty place filled with his humiliation, and he groaned with the comforting lack of void.

“That’s good, boy, stroke you cock for me. Show me how much you want this.”

He sighed loudly in response, and she laughed at him. The derision chilled and warmed him. He watched her feet move, change position, adjust her weight. He heard the rustling of clothing above his eyesight, mingling with the sound of his hand stroking his pre-cum over his cock. One foot lifted from his view, then returned as the other was suddenly draped in a cloth anklet; a black lace front thong dangled from the ankle, an accent piece to the heeled shoe. He moaned as they stepped to him, parted. He kept stroking his cock slowly as the approached, his eyes darting from one to the other as they moved to either side.

A hand gripped his hair. “Don’t you stop, boy,” came the domineering tone. “And don’t you cum until after I do.” The words brought him closer and he edged himself, as he had done so many times at home, the well practiced strokes slowing and extending his torment. Unable to see her feet he looked at his own cock, red and angry head swollen, the single eye looking into his own, weeping his desire, his want.

She pulled his head without speaking and his mouth opened, accepting her silent command, his tongue slipping out to greet the shaved heaven that pressed into his face. She grunted above him, pulsing her hips into his mouth. His tongue accepted the pleasure of her juices, his mouth watering at the invasion. He felt her labia part, surround his mouth, owning his face. Her erect nub pressed against his nose as his tongue delved, worshipping her velvet tunnel. He heard a long, guttural groan, felt her hands pulling his hair, pressing his face tighter. He resisted momentarily, took a deep breath and allowed himself to be pulled in.

She sealed her wonder to his face, cutting off his air, and he stroked his thick member, squeezing the shaft, forcing his pre-cum to ooze from the tip. He pushed his tongue inside, pressed his nose against her clit, allowed her to fuck his face, wanting her to, accepting her gift to him. He groaned into her cunt as she humped him, hearing her grunts, feeling the force of her flesh against his. The need for oxygen began to boil in his chest and still he pressed into her, servicing her desire with his need, gratefully. Her grunts became cries, then barks, and then a long, sharp keening and her juices flooded as he felt her quivering hips jerking into his face, filling his mouth, splashing out the sides, coating his face in her soaking reward.

Her climax brought him back to the edge and he eased his grip, slowing his rise, hoping for permission. She suddenly threw his face back and he fell back onto his heels, tipping over as he gasped for breath, landing half on his back in his tangled pants legs. He adjusted, lifting his knees, spreading them wide, and rolling onto his back. He looked at her, saw her dropping her skirt and averted his eyes, but she saw him.

“Worthless shit, don’t you look at me!” He looked instead at his cock, wrapped tightly in his fist. “That’s right, look at yourself, you shit. Look at your needy cock!” she barked. “Get a good look! See yourself for what you are,” she sneered, “a worthless slave!” His hand continued to slide up and down, and he heard her breathing over his own as he brought himself back to the edge, looked into the abyss, and backed away again.

“You want it, now, don’t you.” He nodded inside himself, admitting, finally, that this was what he needed, this was his place. He felt the shame well up inside, felt his arousal rise with it, and felt whole. “You want it so bad, don’t you?” He felt her hands on his knees, pushing them to his chest. “Have it, then,” she derided, and pressed his knees to his head and down, curling his hips up off the floor. Feeling her guidance he assisted, tensing his abs and curling up over himself until his ass was pointing up at her. He kept his eyes on the purple head of his cock as it rose above his face and pointed straight down at him, his grip forcing the head to swell and ache.

She straddled him, extending her legs on either side, pressing her wetness against his upturned and exposed ass. She laughed, and his heart leapt at her amusement. “Next time I will have a strap-on, and fuck your asshole, boy,” she promised. “Now look at me.”
 He lifted his eyes from his cock and met hers, wide and fiery, nearly as wet as his opening. “Cum for me, boy, make yourself cum. Look at me as you do it, and don’t you close your eyes for even a second.”

He heard a moan, felt his insides grip, then loosen as he stroked, felt his balls tighten and clench, and pulse, and he held her gaze, seeing the wonder and victory in her eyes as his first spurt shot from his cock and splashed into his own face, and his mouth opened involuntarily. He heard her gasp, felt his relief at her appreciation for his effort to humiliate himself further for her, and his climax came, hard and strong, stronger than ever before, more total, more complete. His cum rained down on him, coating his tongue, his face, shooting hard, splashing into his eyes. But he kept them open, felt the heaviness of his cream on his eyelids, forcing them to stay open as his mouth filled and watered, his nose filled with the scent of his cum, his face coated and dripping. The spurts softened, became oozing drips as he completed, and the tension left him, and still he held her wild eyes as they stared into his debased and coated face.

He was breathing heavily, still looking up at her, feeling appreciated and valuable to her even as her look of wonder slipped into a sneer. Her eyes narrowed. Her lips were moving, and he concentrated to hear.

“Fucking cum slut, a cum eating worthless slut, I should fuck your ass, make you suck cocks while I fuck you…” her almost silent words caressed his ears, stroked his psyche and touched his heart, filling him with a renewed need to serve, to submit, to…love? “Fucking whore, fucking worthless cum whore, oh, what I am going to do with you…” She wanted him, wanted to use him, and he sighed with his sense of belonging; here, on his back, softening cock still dribbling from his hand, face coated with his own cooling cum, feeling the swelling in his eyes, tasting himself, licking his lips.

And looking at her.

“Enough,” she said suddenly. “I’m done with you,” she spat, and stood. “For tonight. Get out.” She stepped back, allowed him to stand. He struggled to his feet, bent to pull his pants up. “What the fuck are you doing?” she screamed. “Out! I said get out! Now get the fuck out of my office!”

With a leap of his heart, he shuffled, feet stuck in his inverted pants as they trailed behind him, useless used cock dangling from under his shirt. Face coated in his own cum, he shuffled to the door. “Close it on the way out,” she added, and he silently pulled it closed.

Once outside in the darkened hallway, he released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and fell against the wall, naked from the waist down, cum dripping from his face onto his shirt, eyes closed. He took several deep breaths, settled his nerves, then bent to straighten out his tangled boxer briefs and pants, pulling them back up. He glanced at his watch. Almost nine. He considered his project, his promise to have it complete, then watched a long web of dripping cum dangle from his face and land on the commercial carpet.

Fuck Vince, he thought, and smiled. I got a new boss, now.

END

(thanks again to inkedmami for the chat that inspired this thought)