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“Yes, Sir?”
“I need the file, still. The actual file. The one you were supposed to send last night.”
My face flamed, a new wave of embarrassment rising up through my body. “Yes, Sir.”
I sent it as soon as I got to my desk, and I waited for him to call out a thank you, or poke his head out and call me a good girl, but nothing happened.
I went to work, but my eyes were on the clock. Each moment until he left for court felt like a hundred. If I’d thought there was sexual tension in the office before this, it was a thousand times worse now. It took up all the space in the room, crowding my lungs until I felt like I couldn't even breathe.
Finally, at half past eleven, he emerged from his office, pulling the door closed behind him. He’d changed his tie, to a bright red one I referred to as his power tie. His sleeves were rolled back down, hidden, but probably wrinkly beneath his suit jacket unless he’d changed his shirt.
He looked straight at me and my heart stopped beating. Our eyes met, and the scene in his office flashed through my mind at warp speed. Fast forward. Rewind. Repeat.
I wondered if the same thing happened to him when he looked at me.
He cleared his throat. “Dinner tonight at eight.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “Where should I make the reservation?”
“I already took care of it.”
“But, Sir… I make all your reservations.”
“Not this one. Not tonight. Tonight, you let me take care of you.”
His simple statement took my breath away. Before I could answer, he stepped onto the elevator and I was left alone with my questions. Where was he taking me? Was there a dress code? It was obviously someplace fancy enough for us to need a reservation. Did I have anything to wear? Would we just go to dinner and … talk, or would there be more after? Would he touch me? Would he invite me to his place? Would I call him Daddy? Would he make me scream like a bad girl or pleasure me like a good girl? Or both?
I could have driven myself crazy, wasting half the day obsessing over all these questions and more, but there was no way I was showing up to dinner not having all my work done and everything he needed taken care of so I forced myself to focus.
At two pm, the dress came. Special delivery from a paid courier service. A large white box with a fancy white bow. A card with my name written in a fancy scrawl I knew wasn’t his.
I trembled as I pried off the lid to reveal a sexy black dress nestled in tissue. Designer, it probably cost as much as I made in a week. There was a matching clutch, also designer, and high -end lingerie to wear underneath. A sexy black peekaboo bra and g-string panty with garter belts and stockings.
He’d picked out my clothes. Everything but shoes. The feminist in me wanted to scream, but the submissive in me melted. I fingered the soft, silky fabric, wishing that work was over so I could go home and try it on. Somehow I managed to put the lid back on the box and set it aside, delving back into my to do list.
At four pm, my phone buzzed with a text.
Lock up and go home. Do not work late. Have a glass of wine, take a bath, wash your hair, pamper yourself.
I was still reeling from being told exactly what to do when the second text came through.
Don’t forget to shave your pretty little pussy. Daddy wants you bare. And yes, I will be checking.
Heat rose in my veins and I slammed my laptop shut without saving the document I’d been working on. I cleaned up, locked up, grabbed my coat and purse, and the box with the clothing he’d sent me to wear and hurried home, images of him inspecting my pussy to make sure I’d followed his instructions filling my brain.
I’d always read the dirty books with the unforgiving, commanding doms, who inflicted pain with the same ease they granted pleasure, and all my fantasies hinged on a man commanding every inch of my body, treating me as if I were the most precious gem on the planet and a plaything to be used up and thrown away all at the same time.
Was this what that felt like? Was that what having a Daddy would be like? I couldn’t wait to find out.
Chapter 6
Archer
After court, I had an appointment with Zoe. I knew she’d be getting a spanking because she always seemed to earn one. Her issue was time management and keeping up with her home and workload. The pressures of being a college professor were getting to her.
When she met me at the front door, I could see the eagerness on her face, but it wasn’t the desperate overeagerness that some of my other clients exhibited. “How was your time management this week? I asked, watching her face carefully.
“Not the greatest,” she admitted. “I have a whole host of things on my to do list that didn’t get done.”
