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CTO, Trial Run Software Group.
She didn’t dally around, at my door within the minute, leaving me just enough time to close the window blinds. She rapped, faster than usual, slipping inside before I’d even had time to react. She closed the door behind her, then stared at me, keeping her distance.
“James, look, about what I said...”
“What happens to bad girls, Lydia?” She raised her eyebrows, floundering for words. I raised myself from my seat, grabbing my dick through my trousers. “Look what you’ve done to me, Miss Marsh. I think this requires a disciplinary.” I threw her the key to my door, and she caught it in nimble fingers. “Lock it.” She did as instructed, and I caught her hands shaking. It sent a shiver down my spine. “Come here,” I hissed. “I want you over my desk.”
She approached without hesitation, placing herself between me and the desk. I pushed her down by her shoulders, slamming her flat into the desk top. My pens went skidding away, order scattered.
“The noise,” she wheezed. “This is a mistake.”
I pressed into her ass. “It’s certainly a mistake, Lydia, certainly.”
She sucked in her breath as I hitched her skirt, yanking it roughly around her waist. She was wearing white panties, cute little things with a lacy trim. I slid them down around her thighs, groaning as I saw the results of the weekend. Big, dark circles of bruising, one on each ass cheek. The middles were still a beautiful park purple, rimmed with black and green.
“I bruised well this time, didn’t I?” she whispered.
“You should have done. I hit you hard enough.” She rocked back against my fingers as I prodded her. Her flesh still felt ridged, the bruises hard to the touch.
“That feels good,” she breathed.
“You will stay fucking silent, Lydia. Do you understand me?” I growled. She nodded, reaching forward to grip at the edge of the desk. I raised my metal ruler, trailing the cold edge down the crack of her ass. She flinched. “This will hurt.”
I slapped the ruler hard against her thighs and she lurched forward. Still she was silent, only the raspy sound of her agitated breathing loud in the room. I kept an ear out for noise in the corridor. Frank was out golfing, I knew that much, and Vanessa downstairs for the support team meeting with any luck. Just us on the floor. I didn’t share my knowledge with Lydia.
The next blow was harder, in exactly the same position. She was still jiggling around on her toes when I hit her again. I landed short, sharp thwacks over the purple heart of her bruises, and her hand came up behind her, instinct breaking through her discipline. I pressed the swell of my cock against her bare ass. “Hands on the desk, Lydia. You move again and I swear you’ll regret it.”
“Sorry, sir,” she rasped.
Three more blows and I paused, soaking in her ragged breathing. “You deserve this, Miss Marsh, for trying my patience.”
“Yes, sir.”
I landed another five without hesitation, and her body pressed flat to the desk, white knuckles gripping tight. “Cry for me, Cat, show me how sorry you are.”
She didn’t even whimper, and frustration flared in my nostrils. I’d been pushing her as hard as I dared, weeks of testing her limits, but still she wouldn’t fucking cry for me. She’d go quiet, shaky, pale as a sheet with chattering teeth, high on adrenaline and right on the edge, but she wouldn’t fucking cry. It vexed her as much as it did me, I knew that, but still the beast raged on. “Cry for me, Cat, let me taste your beautiful fucking tears.”
I gave her three in one spot, so hard she lifted her feet from the floor. “Thank you, sir,” she whimpered.
Her ass was bright red, the tiniest fleck of blood where one corner had caught her particularly viciously. I gave her another for good measure and watched the blood pool darker. “Why won’t you cry for me, Cat? Why won’t you fucking cry for me?” Five more and she was shaking, her forehead tight to the table.
I could hardly hear her answer. “I can’t, sir. I’m sorry, I don’t know how.”
My dick strained for release. I pressed down onto her, my mouth in her ear. “You have to break to cry, Cat, and you won’t break. What are you holding onto?”
“I don’t know, sir, I promise.”
“So much pain, Cat, and still you won’t break for me.”
“I’m trying, sir.”
“Not hard enough.” I raised myself back to standing. “On your back, spread your legs.”
She did as I asked, shimmying out of her panties and laying her whole weight on my desk. She looked so beautiful there, presented so pretty for my viewing. I changed position, retreating to the opposite side of my desk where I yanked her forwards until her head lolled over the edge. I unbuckled my belt, sliding down my zipper. “Look what you’ve done to my cock, Cat.” I rubbed the swollen head over her mouth, and she opened wide to let me in, gagging as I pushed all the way into her throat. She kept it down like a good girl, cheeks straining. This time I didn’t even attempt to fuck her face, I kept still, enjoying the tension of her gag reflex. “Hold your knees, legs spread wide.”
She pulled her thighs up to her chest. She’d taken to shaving her pussy, but our encounter today was completely unplanned. I rubbed my fingers over her sweet little mound, catching the tiniest graze of stubble. Delicious. “It pains me to do this to such a pretty cunt, Lydia, but your insubordination leaves me no choice.” She registered my intention and began to shake. Perfect. “I’m sure I don’t need to point out that my cock is in your mouth, Cat. Please fucking mind your teeth.”
God, how I smacked her cunt. She jerked like a fish, coughing against the meat in her throat. Her thighs clamped tight shut, her hands flailing in the air. I pulled her knees back open, and for a moment she fought me. “Give me your fucking pussy,” I hissed.
