Enslaved by the Boss Pt. 01

My first employee interview in the new company

After the stressful business studies, I found my first job as a sales manager at Graf GmbH.

Basically the job was really easy and luckily I had a sales team that did a really good job and also looked pretty good. Now you have to know that the sales team consisted exclusively of attractive, young women. Of course, the work was twice as much fun, although understandably it was sometimes a difficult task when it came to concentration. It was also clear that of course the rule was: just look, don't touch.

To stimulate my imagination a little, I started to browse various sites on the Internet from time to time. The women were always dressed sexy and had a dominant demeanor over the men. In short, they shamelessly exploit their feminine charms. Well, sometimes I forgot the deadlines for the monthly reporting, and sometimes also the dates for special evaluations that went directly to senior management, namely Ms. Graf, the owner and sole managing director.

It wasn't a problem for a while, I thought, as I had no complaints and the numbers looked very positive and trending upward.

Overall, things were going smoothly and our department was making more and more sales, so I didn't think anything of it when one day I got the call from Ms. Graf's secretary. I thought I would definitely get a raise since we were doing a really great job and were constantly setting new sales records for the company.

So I made my way to Ms. Graf in good time, eagerly awaiting what she wanted from me.

In the anteroom the secretary asked me to take a seat because Ms. Graf was still in a telephone conference that apparently lasted a little longer than planned. So I made myself comfortable in an armchair opposite the desk and was able to pass the waiting time because I had an unobstructed view of the pretty lady's beautiful legs, which thankfully also ended in pumps with 4'' heels. Since the lady was very busy, I was able to watch her undisturbed. I didn't even notice that the phone rang, whereupon she got up and went into Ms. Graf's office. It was only when she stood up that she snapped me out of my trance, and as I walked into the next office she gave me a knowing smile.

On the one hand, that was of course embarrassing, but if I had interpreted the smile correctly, she probably didn't find it unpleasant because her smile was quite friendly.

When she came back out of the office a short time later, she held the door open for me and asked me to come in. As I walked through the door, she asked me if I wanted a drink, which I happily accepted. Ms. Graf's voice came from the back saying that she was taking one too.

When I entered, Ms. Graf asked me to sit at the small conference table in a corner of the office because she had to take a quick note.

I took a seat at the round glass table and had a view of Ms. Graf's desk. Here, too, I treated myself to a look at the lower region and noticed that Ms. Graf's legs were also in stiletto pumps. But in black nylons. I could also see that she was wearing a skirt. However, I couldn't see how long it was from this angle. Ms. Graf also wore a tight, white silk blouse that created an inviting cleavage and it was easy to see my boss's impressive bust. Of course, I tried to be as discreet as possible because I didn't want to make the same mistake again. Especially with the boss.

In the meantime, the secretary came with the coffee and smiled meaningfully at me again. I thanked her politely and Ms. Graf stated that she was almost ready.

A short time later, Ms. Graf was finished, got up from behind the desk and came towards me. This gave me the opportunity to have an unobstruvted look at Ms. Graf in her entirety. Her pumps had a pointed toe and were at least 5' high. The skirt reached just above her knees and, like the blouse, was cut tightly.

I stood up and Ms. Graf held out her hand to me, which I then shook. I noticed that Ms. Graf had a pretty strong handshake when she sat down opposite me.

Then she started the conversation by telling me how happy she was with the numbers and my work. Looking at the documents again and again, she said: "Mr. Müller. These are really great figures. Graf GmbH has never had such a strong year in terms of sales, and we owe that to you and your team."

I replied, "Thank you, Ms. Graf, for mentioning that. We work really well together in this team, and not only have a strong team spirit, but also very innovative ideas about how we offer our customers the service they really need. That seems to be catching on and we have our books full of orders for the rest of the year."

"That indeed seems to be the case. And I would like to personally thank you for your great effort. I really appreciate it, but that's not the only reason why I asked you to come to me. Because even though you're doing a great job in the interests of the company's success, I noticed that your management leaves a little to be desired."

Ms. Graf let the statement hang in the air and watched me, trying to read the effect of her words on my face. And I felt that there would be something to read, because I suddenly felt very warm and I had the feeling that the whole world was watching me.

"What do you mean, Ms. Graf?" was my extremely lame answer to the question that wasn't asked.

"Well, you see, I've noticed lately that your reports are rarely, if ever, available on the requested date, and I've been wondering why that would be."

"Well, I invest a lot of time in operational work and can't always meet the deadlines for reporting," I replied.

Whereupon Ms. Graf fiddled with her documents and took a closer look at a piece of paper.

"I figured you'd bring that up, but I also did some research.

There are some very interesting visits to certain websites under your IP address... during working hours, mind you."

Well, I turned red faced, probably enough to illuminate the city center at night completely.

"Well. I'm assuming that the late reports probably have more to do with these side hustles than with the intensity of the operational business. Really very interesting what you're looking for and what things you're obviously interested in. Let's see: Well... we often have "High Heel Office", "Strap-On Boss", "The Aunties Yellow Uncle", "Boss in Boots", etc.".

So I would say that's pretty obvious. What do you think?"

Well, what could I say... Either I was making a fuss about data protection or something. But then I would definitely be rid of this dream job immediately. Or I would give in and apologize and vow to improve.

I chose the latter. With lowered eyes and a shaky voice, I admitted the mistake and apologized. I was looking at Ms. Graf's shoes. And that didn't go unnoticed.

"Well. Apparently you like my shoes too," she said. "You can hardly keep your eyes off them."

Despite all the fascination with her really beautiful shoes, I didn't miss the change from the formal 'you' to the personal 'you'. In retrospect, I think she knew full well that she had me at the point where I could no longer escape.

"Don't you want to take a closer look at them?" Ms. Graf asked me. I then leaned forward. Ms. Graf now placed her legs on the glass table so that her shoes were within reach of my hands. "Now come on," she encouraged me. "Come closer." Even closer? Then I would have had to get on my knees and they would be right in front of my face. And that was exactly her intention. "Don't be so shy. Come closer. They don't bite. I know how much that turns you on."

Her encouragement found widespread support and she increasingly tore down my inner defensive bulwark.

Finally I slid from the chair to my knees, with her shoes right in front of my eyes.

"Well, don't they smell wonderfully of leather?" she asked, and I have to admit that the smell bewitched me. "It's different than looking at pictures on the internet, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ms. Graf. The smell is fantastic."

"Well then, don't be shy. Smell it and rub your cheek on it too. The texture is so wonderful. Beautiful, smooth, soft leather. There is nothing better."

I could only confirm that. But all that came out of me was a dreamy "Hmmhmm," which caused Ms. Graf to laugh back. She let me indulge in the pleasure for a while, until she asked: "Have you ever tasted leather?" Of course I hadn't yet, and so I answered the question accordingly.

"Then it's about time," she remarked dryly, taking her legs off the table and placing them on the floor in front of me.

"What are you waiting for? Kiss it!"

To do this I had to bend down on the floor in front of her, and since there was very little space between the chairs and the table, I had to work hard to get there. I awkwardly start to bend over.

"Well, that looks strange. But the shirt and pants are in the way. What do you think about getting rid of your things? "That would have meant the fall of the last barrier of my dignity, and that's probably why my brain took a little longer to process the request.

"Take off your clothes. It's much more convenient that way," remarked Ms. Graf, and my clouded mind found the information useful and logical.

Without any inhibition, I began to unbutton my shirt. When the shirt finally hung over the chair, I wanted to go back to the ground when one of her shoes came towards me and stopped me.

"Pants down!"

That was more of an order than a request. But my resistance had long since been broken and I fiddled with shoes and pants and soon I was standing in front of my boss in her office in my underpants and socks. On the one hand, it looked pretty ridiculous in socks and underpants, and on the other hand, I was painfully aware of the big bulge in my pants. And Mrs. Graf too.

"Put your hands to your sides," she instructed me, and then stroked the bulge in my pants with her red-painted fingers. The sensation went through every fiber of my body.

With the words "Well, still uncomfortable, right? And pretty wet too," she hooked her fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled them down. "Well, get rid of it. And the socks too. That looks ridiculous."

So I lost the last of my clothes and stood stark naked in front of my boss. In her office! With a flagpole of epic proportions. Ms. Graf took this as an opportunity to let her red nails wander over my mast as light as a feather. Her fingers tickled like butterflies, and at the same time I felt a whole swarm of them in my stomach.

"Didn't you actually want to taste the leather of the shoes?" asked Ms. Graf with a grin.

And with that I went diving and started kissing her shoes. At first I only dared to kiss the shoes gently. I smelled the leather and felt the texture of the leather. More intense than before with the cheek.

"Use your tongue," she ordered. "You won't taste anything like that."

I was more than happy to comply with the request, and then I felt the bitter taste of the leather on my tongue for the first time. At that moment I was probably already in the tunnel, but later, when I tried to remember, I have to admit that the first taste took some getting used to, but then I grew to like it more and more. I think the excitement that had been pent up up to that point probably did the rest.

When the first shoe, including the heel, was finished, I started on the second when asked. Ms. Graf didn't miss the opportunity to place the first shoe on my neck and play with the heel. She stroked it almost gently over my back, then pressed it into my flesh hard. At some point she began to talk about the further course of our relationship. Both the very near future and beyond.

"Well Frank. Now that we have manifested our business and private relationship, I will tell you how I think this is going to work from now on:

First of all, of course, the transgressions must be punished accordingly. That will happen immediately afterwards. Then it is of course completely clear that your behavior will change radically, and from now on any further misconduct will be punished by me personally. I will keep a record of your achievements, mistakes and decisions. Mistakes and bad decisions are punished, and good performance and decisions are rewarded as I see fit.

Do you understand that?"

Of course I answered: "Yes, Ms. Graf. Of course!"

"That's what I thought. So, are you finished with the shoe?". I answered yes. "Good. Then on with you. Go over to the armchair in the corner and put it in the middle of the room."

With that, Ms. Graf also got up and went to her desk. She dug something out of a drawer. With 4 leather cuffs with a matching number of ropes, she then came to me and pressed 2 cuffs into my hand.

"Put them on your wrists. I'll put the ankle cuffs on you in the meantime."

No sooner said than done, and in no time the cuffs were on. Ms. Graf checked the fit of the wrist cuffs and was probably satisfied.

"You now bend over the back of the chair. Head on the seat. Arms on the armrest."

I followed her instructions immediately, only to find that the backrest was so high that I could only stand on tiptoes. Immediately afterwards, Ms. Graf pushed my legs apart a little more so that I had to stretch even more. The legs were then attached to the chair with the ropes, and the same was done with the arms to the armrests. I was firmly tied to the chair.

Ms. Graf walked around the armchair and only then did I see the umbrella stand, which contained anything but umbrellas. Whips, canes, and other equipment in different lengths and thicknesses. Ms. Graf chose 2... a cane about 3 feet long, and a riding crop that was significantly longer and ended in a string. She placed this on the seat of the armchair in front of me.

Then she walked out of my sight again and I could hear the creak of leather as she came back. Standing in front of me, I noticed the black gloves that she had probably put on in the meantime.

"So. The last three reports," she began, "were late. One was a day late, the others were 6 hours after I actually expected them. That's 36 hours in total, according to my calculations, and that's what brings us then to the number of strokes you now receive.".

36 strokes, I thought. That seemed like a lot to me, although of course I couldn't estimate the extent of it, as they would be the very first blows of my life.

"You will count each one and thank me after each one for the lenient punishment. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ms. Graf. Thank you for your lenient punishment," I thought was clever to throw in.

"Well, we'll see," she replied ominously.

With that she picked up the crop and disappeared from my field of vision again.

The next thing I felt was her obviously taking measurements with the crop, and I heard the soft clicking of her heels as she adjusted her position. Then a few more light, targeted slaps, and then I heard a hissing noise, which then immediately resulted in a burning pain on my bottom. I was so shocked that my breath stopped, so that the air was squeezed out of me and I couldn't get anything sensible out of it. Incidentally, the sudden shock had practically paralyzed me, and even if I could have said something, I had forgotten it anyway.

Mrs. Graf probably knew what was happening to me because she asked: "So? I'm listening?"

Luckily my brain had clicked into place again and I said: "One, thank you Ms. Graf for the lenient punishment."

At the same time, I suddenly became aware of what was coming to me. 35 more? Oh man. That was far from any gentleness. But then number 2 followed. This time I was better prepared. "Two, thank you Ms. Graf for the lenient punishment."

As if by a miracle I survived the first 12 lashes without any fuss and Madame gave herself and me a little break.

"Now you can think about how you will use my resources in the future."

"Yes, Ms. Graf. I understand and will improve."

"Well I hope so too. Enough chatter. I don't have all day."

So it was off to the second set and I got through both that and the third without any mistakes. You could even say that I became more proficient with each shot. Even though the pain slowly began to build up and the blows sometimes overlapped another, I still managed to count correctly and thank her accordingly.

With the final blow, Madame announced the end of the punishment for the delays and felt my glowing bottom.

"Hmm. Nicely preheated," she said laconically.

'Preheated?' I thought. 'For what?' I asked myself.

"So. Now let's take care of the shameless staring at my legs earlier. And of course also at Ms. Meyer's in the office. You probably thought we hadn't noticed that, right?

There are 5 more with the cane for each."

I groaned and tried to change her mind. No chance. The crop was put aside and the cane was picked up. Then the same game followed. Take measure. Correct distance. And boom. The whistle of the cane and the explosion on my bottom.

Shocked, I tried to count, but all that came out was incomprehensible stuff.

"You don't have to count. I'll do that."

And thwack, the next one came. The remaining 8 quickly followed and I was in nothing but pain.

And then it was over. Ms. Graf let her leather clad hand stroke my bottom for some time. That actually felt really good. It was pleasantly cool on the skin.

But that was over too soon and I was cut loose. To my surprise, I was still aroused. This didn't go unnoticed by Ms. Graf either. And with a satisfied smile she just said: "I thought so. A natural slave."

There was the word. "Slave". Yes, apparently I am. And although my limbs hurt, I was also a little proud to have endured it.

"Get dressed. And then go back to work," said Ms. Graf and sat back down at her desk as if nothing had happened.

I then stood in front of her dressed and wanted to apologize again. But she immediately brushed me off and simply said:

The report with the sales plan figures. This evening at my house at 8 p.m. On time and no errors."

I was about to protest, but one look was enough to silence me.

You will receive the address from Ms. Meyer. And apologize to her. Otherwise she will give you the wrong one.

Laughing, she sent me on my way, and I could only imagine what would await me in the future.

But this is another story.

PS.: As I stood in the open door, she called after me, still laughing:

"And don't you dare play around with yourself!

Well... Ms. Meyer grinned... and I glowed. My face and ass had just entered into a colour competition.