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“Yes, sir.”
I sat beside him as we rode back to the office, with Susan following in her car.
We rode in silence for a time, until my curiosity got the better of me, and timidly asked, “So you have no interest in Susan?”
“Interested in Susan? No. She’s no more than a friend. Oh, we tried once, but the relationship was pretty laughable.” He looked toward me, chuckling softly, “But then she was certainly good for baiting you. I couldn’t have planned the whole incident better if I’d tried.”
“No, I suppose he couldn’t.”
“Handle your jealousy, Skye.”
“Yes, sir.”
When me dropped me off, I rushed into the building, while Susan parked in the company garage and took my place next to Preston.
Chapter Twelve
Shortly after my punishment in the half-built house, Preston moved my desk out of research into an office adjoining his. I became his personal assistant and they hired a new girl for my research position. This new job assignment shocked me, since I never had any aspirations for working outside of my perfectly comfortable, anonymous niche. All this was done without my being consulted. And yet, by that time, I was letting things happen to me, rather than making them happen.
This was obviously a behavior new for me. I mindlessly gave up any thought of free will, unable to shake the indisputable hold my master had on my behavior and my thoughts. This all seemed perfectly rational, not at all silly, or insane.
The new working arrangement brought me to his side hourly, not daily, as I assisted him in a hundred tasks, none of which allowed me the freedom of my research position. Within days, I became fully entangled in his issues, his job, his intentions for the agency, knowing his schedule by heart and doing everything I was told in order to make his day go smoothly.
While we were working, he rarely made mention of our private relationship, and yet it hung at the periphery like a ghost, hauntingly intruding in the tone of his voice, the brush of his hand against my body and the way he dominated every minute with his needs. I stopped short of asking permission to go to the bathroom, but otherwise I was his to use, order, command and instruct.
Although our private world was rarely acknowledged during our hours in the office, it still had an uncanny way of coloring every moment with sexual tension enough to make my belly quake with lust, my pussy wet in anticipation, and my heart leap with the joy of a woman in love. The fact that we were so physically close so often sometimes drove me crazy… and I found myself wanting to flee from him, go back to the safety of my cubicle and hibernate. After a day or two of little but his cool detachment, a territorial hand deliberately grazing my ass cheek had orgasmic powers.
He’d ignore me for days and I’d start to wonder what happened to our personal relationship. Then, suddenly, in the midst of preparing some report, some letter, or compiling facts, figures, whatever the task, he’d say, “Come here.” My body would instantly tremble and I’d move to his side. “Put your hands on the desk.” I’d do as he asked, which meant I would be posed in a right angle to his desk with my ass stuck out. Preston would lift my very short skirt and fool in some intimate way with my genitals, always with a degree of pain, which required me to contain a reckless flood of sexual energy. Sometimes, I orgasmed, if he allowed me to, sometimes not. He commonly ended the brief scenes, giving me a quick spank on the behind, while sending me on my way as if I were a child.
This
wasn’t unlike the many times before, when masturbating in the office was a regular event I surrendered to. However, those occasions were distinctive intrusions in my otherwise busy schedule at the research desk, apt reminders of my role as his submissive. Once my job changed, I needed no occasional reminder of my status. The shift in proximity alone was enough to reminded me of his ownership every minute of my day.
One afternoon, I was crazed with pent-up sexual energy to the point that my raw nerves made me edgy and short. I screwed up a letter, failed to make an important appointment for him, and stumbled through a presentation of information before a small meeting of the associates.
“It doesn’t sound like you prepared for this, Skye,” he quipped at me curtly, when I was unable to answer several questions, and got confused by a question from Ellington Lloyd. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, I think we’d better send Skye back to the drawing board on this one.” Men in their position didn’t like wasting time, and even the normally congenial Ellington left with a less than cordial glance at me.
“I’ll need the information by tomorrow,” he reminded Preston, his voice tinged with a frosty edge as he left the office.
“She’ll have it.”
“I’m sure she will,” his stare was telling. I suppose he remembered the time he found me getting punished in Preston’s office.
Seconds after the last agent left, Preston put me on the floor.
“You want to tell me what caused this sudden lapse?”
“I don’t know, sir,” I answered, my speech sounding muffled and distant. I was in a full crouch bent over with my face in the carpet so far that I was practically eating the dusty nap.
With a sharp movement he flipped my skirt up, exposing my naked buttocks. With a whippy little baton in his fist, he whapped my bottom several dozen times.
“Bad answer, Skye.”
“I wish I had a better one.”
Preston didn’t take the comment as I meant it: sincerely.
He thwacked me hard, with that thin bamboo cutting deeply into my behind. I jumped each time the cane hit, and buried my exclamations in the thick pile at my mouth.
