In less than three hours, she'd gone from being an office temp to holding the whip hand over the company president. A bizarre turn of life-events led Paula -- utilizing her knowledge of certain men's needs to submit and of their fetish-related obsessions -- to turn her life around as she approached her mid-thirties. And now, as she worked the relatively menial job in these new surroundings, she was about to increase her prestige and power markedly.
Paula's temporary jobs weren't unusual since she didn't want or need a Monday-to-Friday position. Her weekday hours were often reserved for her prime interest; the male toys who visited her apartment to be tormented, teased, whipped and humiliated. Her stable of slaves however, was not so large that she could rely upon their monetary tributes to earn a comfortable living. That's why she often made herself available to the temp agency for a day or two during the week.
She'd been working for over two hours this particular Monday morning when the corporation president walked through the department. Paula had already heard that this fellow was an intellectual bully; a person who delighted in causing his underlings grief. As he approached, she smiled in recognition. He was a slave who'd sought out her services for the first time over a year ago and had seen her regularly in the interim.
Drawing even with her desk, he stopped and looked at the beautiful Paula, looked again, and couldn't determine where he'd met this woman. She was dressed appropriately enough for the office environment and, perhaps, that's where the confusion arose. She was out of context. This fellow, you see, had only known her as Mistress Paula -- the woman in black leather and spiked boots. And when he saw her, she always held a whip as he knelt naked before her. He didn't recognize her in the relatively conservative clothing until he curtly asked, "Have we met?"
She smiled, looking down past her tight skirt and black stockings to the higher-than-usual black patent spikes on her feet. His eyes followed hers. There was no mistaking his immediate blush and his awkward, "Oh, yes, of course. Well, welcome to DynaGlo. Please drop by my office at noon."
When he'd moved on, the regular staff looked at Paula in awe, all anxious to know why he would be so civil to her and why they'd never been on the receiving end of an invitation to his office. She did her best to be evasive, offering only that they'd met socially. Silently, Paula reveled at the fact that this corporate tyrant would soon be anything but when she paid her visit to the corporate wing.
Just before 12, Paula picked up her briefcase and headed for the ladies room for a quick make-up inspection. Satisfied that her lip gloss and eyeliner were exactly as she wanted, she made her way to the president's office, announcing herself to his personal secretary. Paula received a quick, "Go right in... He's expecting you."
She opened the door, closed it, posed for a moment to emphasize the curves within her tight sweater and allowed him to gawk at her long legs, short skirt and high-heeled shoes before pushing the dead bolt into place. He sat watching, speechless, as she walked toward him, briefcase in hand, past the side of the huge oak work table until he had to turn in his swivel chair to face her. Paula snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor. He stood and sank to his knees as she took his place in the executive chair. Pulling the briefcase onto her lap, Paula crossed a leg and extended her foot, saying, "Kiss and lick, slave, and don't forget the heel. Suck."
Wordlessly, he paid homage to her shoe, foot and high heel. Paula, meanwhile, dialed the combination locks on her briefcase and opened it. She didn't need a briefcase for her work but never left home without a few of her special toys. One never knew what might happen and today proved the point. Paula lived by the boy scout motto, Be Prepared. Reaching inside, she withdrew a black leather dog collar, put it around his neck and fastened it tightly. Next came the leash. Paula held him, allowing no slack, as he continued his shoe and foot worship.
"My new friends here in the office tell me you're quite the guy, slave. They say you've never given anyone an even break if you could help it. Is that right?"
"Well, not exactly," he began, "but they have to know that this company runs on discipline."
She drew her small whip from the briefcase and slashed his back. "When you speak to me, it's to answer, "Yes, Mistress" or "No, Mistress." Nothing else, slave. Do you give your people a hard time or don't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," he responded.
"Take your clothes off. Fold them neatly and put them on the floor. Now!" she ordered.
He moved quickly, removing his suit, shirt, socks, shoes and underwear -- all the time under the constriction of the leash held firmly in Mistress Paula's hand. Erection prominent, he moved back into the kneeling position before her. Paula had allowed her skirt to rise, showing a fleshy expanse of thigh above her stocking tops. She sat looking down at him as she alternately pulled his leash even tauter and played with her whip. Raising her leg so it pointed straight out, she put the sole of her shoe directly above his nose and aimed her heel at his open mouth. She simultaneously pushed his head away with her foot while pulling his neck toward her with the leash. His sucking noises on the heel and the push-pull effect made him work all the harder to keep the heel in his mouth. At the same time, she removed a pair of black leather gloves from her briefcase and alternately smoothed them on, exchanging whip and leash hands as she did.
Paula dropped her foot from his face, ordered him to extend his hands and, with slow, exaggerated and precise motions, slipped a pair of manacles around his wrists, connecting them. Pausing, Mistress Paula looked deep into her slave's eyes, then drew her gloved hand back and slapped his cheek with full force. The surprise of it, combined with the sting of the blow, brought a tear to his eye. Her hand remained near his face as he heard her say, "Kiss it, kiss the hem of my skirt, then lick my leg, slave... And beg me to punish you some more."
She watched as he obeyed, kissing her leathered hand, the hem of her skirt and as he began licking her leg. His passion and the ardor he displayed as he licked her stocking reinforced Paula's belief that an immediate dose of pain, such as a severe slap, only served to enhance a slave's submission. The proof was in his enthusiastic worship.
She let him use his tongue for an extended period even as she stroked his head, giving him the mixed pain/pleasure message that if he wanted to serve her and be appreciated by her, he must also endure her small tortures. Paula knew her signals -- patting his head while he knelt before her, worshiping at her direction -- reinforced her position; made him even more dependent upon her.
"That's a good slave," she said. "I love having you nude and on your knees, watching you follow my orders. And if you disobey me or don't do the kind of job I want, I can just tug the leash I've put onto your slave collar and whip you, can't I?"
"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress," he said.
"But now it's time for something a little more severe before you take me out to lunch."
Ordering him to stay on his knees, Paula led the president to the door of his private washroom. She had him stand as she brought the leash over the door itself so she was able to loop it to the handle on the other side. He was forced to stand on tip toes facing the door, held in place by the collar and leash. Ankle manacles quickly followed. Standing back, she allowed him to watch as she slowly drew her sweater over her head, exposing her black bra and heavy breasts spilling over the cups. She posed for a moment, giving him the eroticism he needed, before moving her hand to the middle of her back to draw down the skirt's zipper.
"Are you ready to be whipped, slave, really whipped?" she seductively whispered.
"Yes, Mistress Paula."
"That's good, slave, because for the rest of this day any appointments you had are now canceled. You and I are going to spend the afternoon in behavior modification therapy."
Mistress Paula reached between his legs and fondled his balls. "Is your cock up nice and hard for me? Are you getting the door wet with your precum?"
"Spread your legs, slave," she commanded.
Paula pulled his balls as far back as she could and, using a long, leather thong, tied and separated them. Drawing the remaining end upwards, She wrapped it around the back of his collar, tightly.
"I want your balls exposed back here because they deserve the chance to feel the leather of my whip, too, don't they, slave?"
He whimpered a "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress".
His testicles now seemed to be a lower appendage of his ass in the form of two small balloons. Paula smiled as she took in at the tableau she'd created. Grasping the whip in her right hand and moving to his left, Mistress Paula lashed his buttocks, the whip landing well above his exposed balls. Still, though, she could see him tense every time she drew her arm back and she knew he was mentally exhausting himself worrying over whether or not this would be the lash that struck his sensitive jewels. Pausing for a moment, Paula let the ends of her cat'o nine tails dangle over the president's testicles.
She teased him by saying, "So far, these little devils have escaped punishment. What do you think, slave? Shall I whip them for a while, too, or do you have any other suggestions? You may speak freely."
"Thank you, Mistress. Please, Mistress, please don't whip my balls. Let me serve you in any other way, Mistress. Please."
"What did you have in mind, slave" she asked.
"I don't know, Mistress. Just anything except whipping my balls."
Mistress Paula began putting her skirt and sweater back on, saying, "Since you leave the choice up to me, slave, I'm going to make it."
She released him from the door handle, removed the shackles from his legs and wrists, and freed his balls from being tied to his slave collar. However, Mistress Paula left the thong tied to his bag and told him to get dressed, that they were going out for lunch. She said he could remove all of the bondage gear except the thong. Telling him she'd meet him in the parking lot in ten minutes, Paula unbolted the office door and left.
On her way out, Paula almost bumped into the president's secretary. The lady held a finger to her mouth begging Paula to be quiet and led her into a nearby hallway. Once there, the secretary said, "I couldn't help but overhear and, frankly, for years I've been looking for a way to get beyond his tough veneer. You see, I've always had a thing about him despite the fact he can be a bastard most of the time. I had no idea he could possibly be into bondage and discipline."
Paula smiled, now knowing exactly how he'd make up for not getting his balls whipped. Whispering, she told the secretary that if she truly felt this man could become more to her than simply her boss, that if she was willing to be an active participant in fulfilling his slavish desires, then a most interesting scenario could be put into play that very afternoon.
Nodding eagerly, the secretary said she'd do anything Paula asked. Paula explained what she had in mind. Saying it was worth it to be out a little cash, the secretary grabbed her purse and went shopping.
Paula went to the washroom, then out to the president's car. He was already there awaiting her. During lunch, as they were seated side by side in a banquette, Paula had him unzip his trousers and hand her the end of the thong. Throughout their meal she had tormented him by pulling his balls and alternately fondling his penis. When they were about to leave, he asked for a moment to allow his erect cock to go flaccid. Mistress Paula refused and she made sure that as they walked the length of the restaurant, he preceded her with the front of his pants looking as though they concealed a tent-pole.
Back at his office, Paula immediately returned to his chair and sat, crossing her legs. She ordered that he strip, put his slave collar back on, drop to his knees and then crawl to her. Taking the leash in her hand, she pointed to her shoe and ordered he press his lips to the black leather while he listened to her plans.
"First of all, slave, I haven't forgotten about what punishment will substitute for my not whipping your balls. After we're through here today, you're going to have a constant reminder of what that substitute will be. Bring me the shackles, you're going back into bondage."
This time, she led him to the floor area at the center of his office and made him stay on his knees as she shackled his right wrist to his right ankle and the left wrist to the left ankle. The president couldn't get off his knees now even if she'd ordered it. Once more, she provocatively removed her sweater and skirt so she stood before him in black bra, black panties, garter belt, dark stockings and her black leather high heels. Opening the briefcase, she took out her whip and her leather gloves. Putting the gloves on, and after shaking out the cat'o nine tails, she had him kiss the whip and her hand.
"Instead of punishing you myself, slave, I've arranged for someone far more eager to take care of that special pleasure. At least, it will be for her."
So saying, Paula walked to the private bathroom door, opened it and said, "Mistress, I've just wrapped up a present for you. It's on the floor and I know you'll enjoy playing with it."
The president couldn't believe his eyes as he saw, emerging through the doorway, his long-time personal secretary dressed only in a black corset, shoulder-length velvet gloves, seamed stockings attached to the garters, black panties ... and knee-reaching boots with the highest stiletto heels he'd ever seen. Her lipstick and mascara were far more pronounced than they'd been that morning. In her hand she held a black riding crop.
"Thank you, Mistress Paula," said the secretary. "I know I'm going to enjoy my new toy."
Addressing the president, she said, "Well, slave. You've got a lot to make up for. First on your list of transgressions was keeping your slave status a secret from me. A good executive tells his personal secretary everything . . . and I do mean everything."
Taking his leash into her hand and holding her leg up slightly, she said, "Lick my boot, dog, and know that from now on you'll be licking my footwear every morning."
Humiliated beyond belief, the president excitedly said, "Now, look here. I can't have you behave in this manner with m....."
The riding crop, aimed for his shoulder and brought down forcefully, cut off the remainder of his remarks. He cried out.
"Not only will you tolerate my behavior, slave. You'll be looking forward to it. But, if you think serving me would be more embarrassing than having the entire company know about what went on here this afternoon, that's okay with me. Mistress Paula, you'll find the Polaroid camera on the wash basin. I'd love some shots of me holding this whip over my collared and bound slave."
"Certainly, my dear," Paula responded, and went to get the camera.
She turned back to her boss and asked, "What's it going to be, slave, licking my boots and being my slave or having me leave while everyone in the company laughs at you?"
His unspoken answer was to extend his tongue and to begin laving the boot. Paula used the camera, the flashbulb catching him as he licked upward along his secretary's shiny leather boot.
"Do I assume, slave, that your licking my boot means you agree to my conditions?"
"Yes, yes," he replied.
"Yes what, slave?"
"Yes, Mistress," he capitulated.
Paula took another photo of the secretary holding her boss by the leash and stroking his arm with the crop. Then she put the camera down and joined in the action.
"I know you didn't go out at noon to get yourself ready for this only to have your boot licked. Would you like to borrow my whip or do you want to punish him with the crop?"
The secretary, emboldened by the president's submission to her, said, "I'd love to use your whip but I'm also going to work him over with this lovely riding crop. And, one more thing. Since you promised him that you wouldn't whip his balls if he agreed to something else -- and since I happen to be that something else -- there are no restrictions on what I can do to him. This slave is going to get his balls worked over."
"Oh no, Mistress. Please don't hurt me there. Please," he begged.
"Shut up, slave, and know that I'm not about to take one more suggestion of any of your nonsense," the dominant secretary shouted. "Now crawl in the fastest way you can over to the bathroom door. I've got some fun in mind."
Still shackled wrists to ankles, the president made his way across the office with his secretary leading him by the leash. Mistress Paula stood off to the side amused. The secretary reached between his legs, took the length of thong still hanging from his testicles, and tied it to the door knob. In this position the president had to thrust his hips forward even as the rest of his body was forced backward.
She prodded, stroked and fondled his bound genitals with her black riding crop. One moment she was gentle, the next she wasn't. "If you learn to obey me properly, slave, I'll make a point of coming in here at least once every day to spank or whip you. Tell me, honestly, wouldn't you love to be my personal whipping boy? My slave? Wouldn't you love to know that the shoes or boots you've seen my pretty feet in every day for the past seven years, the shoes and boots you've been secretly drooling over, will be in here regularly for you to kneel before, to kiss, to lick and to worship?"
"Oh yes, Mistress," he responded eagerly.
"You'll have it all, slave, and I'll be looking forward to having you regularly collared and leashed as you kneel naked in front of me ... suffering whatever torments I have in mind to impose on you."
The president's secretary gave his leash a powerful pull, yanking him into an even more upright position than he was already forced to be in. She raised her crop and, standing beside his shoulders, aimed the punishment instrument between his bound wrists and ankles as she beat him over his buttocks. After ten blows from the whip, the president began squirming.
His secretary said, "That's just a preliminary, slave. As each day comes and goes, you'll be finding your punishment increasing so you'll be able to withstand the kind of whipping I have in mind for you. Understand?"
"Good boy. Now, I'll just give you a little slack from the door so you can prostrate yourself before Mistress Paula and me while we have a good talk about you. Crawl behind me."
She led her boss to the office couch were she and Paula made themselves comfortable. The president was on all fours as the dominating ladies rested their feet on his back. Not for a moment did she give him any slack on her grip of the leash.
Paula opened the serious side of their conversation by saying the secretary had exhibited far more poise and had more natural dominant abilities than she had originally thought she had. Paula asked if she'd had any other experience.
The response Paula received was surprising. The lady said she'd once been in a Mistress/slave relationship many years ago and that, at the time, she couldn't handle the psychological implications of a woman physically and mentally -- and so outrageously -- taking sexual charge of a male slave. She said her old live-in had introduced her to this method of relating and that she had given it a good go, learning a great deal about fetishism and how to torment a man. But, she said, when her girlfriends talked about the kinds of problems they had with the guys they were going out with she longed for what, at the time, seemed like normalcy. In the years since, she said, she learned that the alleged normalcy enjoyed by her friends was, for her, frightfully dull.