In the Hallway

"The Internet," he said. He shrugged.

With that reply he turned away and walked back to his office. When he had left the atrium of the building, he pulled the panties out of his pocket and looked at them.

For a conservative-looking girl you wear hot panties, Janna, he thought. He caressed the gusset of the thong between his thumb and finger. It was slightly moist. He put it to his nose and inhaled. He caught the faint scent of her sex, and wondered at the thought that just moments before the fabric he was sniffing had sculpted her lips. He wondered what they looked like. He wondered if she kept hair on her pussy, or if she shaved it off. I want to find out, he thought.

He looked down and noticed he had grown hard, and that a noticeable bulge was forming at the front of his pants. He could not go back to his office like that. Instead, he walked by the office door, left the building and walked outside. There was a small patio with a lunch table to the right, and he walked to it and sat at the table.

He stuffed the slightly damp panties in his right pocket.

He had to collect himself and think a moment. He could not believe how this was happening. He had given instructions to a pretty girl at the other end of the building and she had done everything he had told - not asked, but told - her to do. Can it be this easy? he wondered. The funny thing about it was that Janna did not seem at all the type he thought would play the submissive game this way. She seemed too self-possessed, too professional. For goodness sake, she worked for an accounting firm.

Yet here she was, and here he was, playing a game he had started with him as the master and her as the submissive. Now it was time for him to make another move. He had never played this role and he was enjoying every minute of it.

"Janna," he texted.

Janna, back at her own cubicle, saw his message. She had managed to stash the rose behind a stack of papers to keep it out of sight of more nosy coworkers. She was grateful Dateless Dale was nowhere in sight.

"Yes, Sir?" she replied.

"I have another errand for you," he texted.

Janna thought she needed to put up a little resistance, for appearances if for nothing else.

"What makes you think I want to do another errand?" she asked in return. "I have work to do today. Sir."

He texted back immediately.

"What makes me think that is the bright blue lacy panties I'm holding in my hand right now, and the damp patch on them. I think you are waiting for another errand. I won't disappoint you. I know you won't disappoint me.

"I want you to go to the mailroom. When you get there, close the door behind you, stand with your back to the door, and press your hands against the mailboxes. Then wait."

She stared at his text. A cautionary voice rose inside her telling her it was imprudent even to think about doing this. But she knew she was going to do it whether it was prudent or not.

"Are you going to be there this time?" she inquired.

"Yes," he wrote. "I will arrive after you. But wait for me, and don't turn around when you hear the door open behind you."

"Go do it now," he texted.

"Yes, Sir," she replied.

With that, Janna got up from her desk, leaving the rose behind, and left her office once again to obey the kinky orders of a man she had just met and still barely knew.

The mailroom was down the corridor, just this side of the foyer. She closed the distance to it quickly. Before she entered she looked forward and then backward down the hallway to see if anyone was coming. No one was.

When she entered, she was the only person in the room. It was small and claustrophobic. She was nervous immediately. The mail usually arrived earlier in the day, so it was unlikely she would be interrupted by the mailman or by anyone making a last-minute delivery for pickup. But it was a big building, and people dropped off mail throughout the day. Someone could come by any minute and enter. How would she explain standing by herself in the room turned away from the door with her hands pressed against the mailboxes? And how could she do so in a short skirt that in that position would be riding up her thighs? She had no idea, especially because Tom had told her not to turn around if she heard someone enter.

Despite her nervousness, Janna stepped forward toward the mailboxes that covered the entire wall opposite the door. She pushed a plastic mail tray on the floor to the side with her foot. She pressed her hands against the cool gray metal, about a foot and a half apart. She found herself spreading her feet apart the same distance. She could have sworn a chilly breeze had somehow started on the floor of the small room and was now swirling up her thighs and under her skirt, where it now teased and tickled her between her legs.

As she stood there she wondered why he wanted her to do things that made her uncomfortable. She also wondered why, if these things were so uncomfortable, she was so eager to do them. She did not know why, but she could not doubt the thrill it gave her.

She stood there and waited for him.

Tom walked from the foyer to the door of the mailroom ahead. He stopped, looked around and did not see anybody. He went to the door.

When Janna heard the door open quietly but suddenly behind her she nearly let out a squeal of fright but caught it in her throat. She did not say anything. For a few seconds she could not be certain that the person that had opened the door was Tom. She felt relief when she heard his voice, at last.

"Janna," Tom said simply.

He paused. He looked at her closely. He thought he saw a slight tremor move over her body.

I have you, he thought. He checked himself. He had never thought that way about any woman he had ever been with. Ever.

After a few more seconds he spoke.

"Good girl, Janna," he said. It took an effort to make his voice sound strong. His eyes focused on her brown hair and the way it fell about her neck and lightly draped over her shoulders.

Tom was almost overcome with excitement and nervousness. He had long since crossed the boundaries of his comfort and confidence. He was standing looking at the back of a pretty, trim, young woman he barely knew, who, for reasons he could not fathom and beyond his wildest hopes and dreams was waiting to obey his next words. To say he was sailing in waters unexplored and uncharted was an understatement.

He moved toward her. He reached his hands out and placed them lightly on her hips. His fingertips felt the movement of her body with her breathing. He moved his hands down and pressed them lightly against her thighs, the fingers of each hand lightly grazing the skin below the hem of her skirt.

"Keep your hands against the mailboxes," he told her.

The touch of Tom's fingertips sent a shudder through Janna's body. She had to try to stop her body from convulsing and to stay upright. Her breathing was quick and urgent. Since she could not see Tom, all her attention was focused on the sound of his voice, and the feel of his fingers on her. She did not know what the fingers were going to do. A voice in her head told her to push them away, to walk away, and to never talk to this man again. But another voice, a louder and more persuasive voice, wanted Tom's hands on her, wanted them to run over her, wanted them to take her and possess her without asking for permission.

Tom wanted Janna, too. He moved close behind her. He moved his hands down, only his fingertips touching the skin of her thighs. Then he moved them up. They caught on the hem of her skirt and started to pull it up. Janna thought he was going to pull it all the way up and expose her, but he did not. Instead, he let the hem drop away and his hands kept moving up her body, slowly, along her hips, and then along her sides. Then he moved both hands forward and he cupped her breasts. He felt her body tense, but she did not move away. He squeezed them, lightly at first and then less lightly.

He knew he was taking a chance. She might think he had gone too far, and leave him, or even turn around and slap him. He would not have been surprised if she had. But she did not. Instead, Janna gasped and pressed her upper body forward into his hands.

Her nipples were hard under the thin fabric of her blouse and bra. Tom took each one between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it gently.

Then, Tom moved his right hand down from her breast over her belly. His left hand remained on her breast and gently kneaded it. It took all of Janna's concentration to keep her hands on the mailboxes and to hold her body up on unsteady legs. She willed her breast and belly forward to meet Tom's probing hand. Tom's fingers continued to trace the swell of her nipple under the thin fabric of her blouse and bra.

He bent his head to her and pressed his lips against the base of her neck.

Janna struggled with the urge to turn around and mash her lips against his, but she did not move. She held still, submitting to the touch of his hands on her breast and on her belly.

Yes, she thought. She had said yes to everything he had told her to do. She wondered what he would tell her to do next and how far she would go. Whatever might happen later, she did not want to stop now.

Tom stroked Janna's belly softly with his right hand, and then he moved the hand down to the hem of her skirt again and cupped his fingers underneath it. Then he began slowly pulling it up and moved his hand under the skirt to the inner thigh of her right leg. He brought the hand up until he knew it was next to her pussy. He let it rest there, his fingers moving up and down against her soft but taut skin.

Janna had read descriptions of a woman's body being on fire, and had always thought it a cliché. She had never felt that way. But she did now. Her body was aflame with lust and desire and the need to surrender to Tom's touch. She felt the contrast between the cool metal under the palms of her hands and the warmth of Tom's hand on her thigh.

She felt his fingers pressed between her legs, no more than a half inch from her labia. She was glad she had shaved, and that he would know from the feel of her that she was bare. She wanted to feel his fingers move and touch her pussy.

But he did not move them any closer. His left hand remained on her firm breast, and the right to the side and back and away from her pussy, until it was on her ass. He squeezed hard and at the same time kissed her again at the base of her neck. His lips sucked gently at her skin. She moved her head to the side to offer it to him. His kissed her, over and over. Janna found herself pressing her neck against his mouth and simultaneously pushing her ass against his hand. She spread her legs a bit wider, hoping his fingers would slip between the cleft in her cheeks and toward the lips of her pussy. But he kept his hand where it was.

He moved the hand on her butt to the side and pressed himself against her. He was hard, and she could feel his hardness, and she pressed her ass back against it so she could feel it better.

Janna felt that her body was a different thing, something that did not fully belong to her. She had given it to someone else, this strange man. A small voice inside Janna reminded her that someone, even someone she knew, could enter the mailroom at any moment without warning and see her. But she did not care. She was enjoying Tom's hands and her acquiescence to their demands far too much.

Tom's body surged with his desire for Janna. He wanted to strip her clothes off, even there in the mailroom. The shifting of her body under his hands told him she would not stop him if he did. But it was not time for that. Not yet. There was something else to be done first, and a better place to do it.

He pulled his hand back. He stepped back from her. Her ass was still rocking slowly.

Janna let out a gasp when he moved away from her. She kept her hands on the mailboxes, as he had asked her, but she looked back over her shoulder at him, wondering. Her eyes were wide and shining at him with desire.

Tom paused and looked at her. It was agony not to reach for the wetness between her legs, but he stopped himself and lightly held her hips instead. He knew he wanted to take this to yet another step in their role play, but he still had to script the next chapter. He had an idea what he wanted her to do, but and he was nervous and uncertain how she would respond. But uncertain or not, he decided to press forward.

"It's not quite time for that," he said quietly, concentrating on making his voice sound firm and steady.

Janna still looked at him. She could not believe he had stopped. She had been just seconds away from orgasm and her body was still quivering with need. She could not believe his self-control. She had lost all of hers, having given it away to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands.

"Why not?" she asked.

Tom paused again for just a moment. He was making this up as he went along but knew he needed to preserve the illusion of control.

"I want you to do something else for me," he said. "But first we're going to leave this room and go back to our offices. In a very short time I will text you what to do next."

Janna kept looking at him, her jaw dropping and her mouth forming an unbelieving "O." "You want me to go back to my office now? Like this? I'm not sure I can make it. I must be a mess."

Her hand rose to her face and traced a light dew of sweat on her skin.

Tom replied. "You'll do fine. Just wait for about 10 minutes. I will text you." He paused and added, "Be a good girl and wait for my text."

Then he backed up, opened the door, and walked out.

7. No Need To Ask.

Janna, after a few seconds, pulled the hem of her skirt down, straightened up, and exited the mail room as well. Tom already was gone.

She stopped by the bathroom to see if her blouse was intact and to see if her hair was decent. She felt exposed, and thought anyone looking closely at her would think she had had sex. Her pussy still throbbed with the memory of Tom's fingers pressed close to it. She felt a drop of moisture trailing down her inner thigh. She had wanted him to touch her there but he had not. She wondered why.

She left the bathroom and walked back to her office on unsteady legs.

As she walked to her cubicle she almost bumped into Marie, a colleague.

"Janna, are you OK?" Marie asked. "You look a little . . . flustered."

Marie's eyes held no hint of accusation or suspicion but Janna was certain, just the same, that her body was betraying what she had just done in the mailroom. She was acutely aware that her vulva was moister than ever and still uncovered under her short skirt. "Can she smell me?" Janna wondered.

"I'm fine, Marie," Janna managed to reply. "Just heading back to my desk."

"Was Roger being an asshole? Up to his power trips again?" Marie kept looking at Janna, trying to coax something out of her.

It wasn't Roger's power trips that had gotten to her, Janna thought. But she was in no mood to talk to Marie about it, and she could not imagine how to explain what had just happened even if she had been.

"No, no, it's nothing," she told Marie, doing her best to look her steadily in the eye.

Marie looked uncertainly at Janna but then, seemingly satisfied, said, "OK. We'll chat later."

Free of Marie's gaze, Janna staggered back to her desk. Sitting was a relief. She looked at her computer screen. Maybe she had gone too far, Janna thought. This was way beyond anything she had ever done, or even thought about doing. She still did not even know him. She would never have guessed he could have done this to her. When she had looked back at him in the mailroom she had noticed that his face had had an open and guileless quality that belied the firmness in the tone of his voice and the kinkiness in the directions he was giving her. He was a contradiction, and somehow she had let him take mastery over her body in the mailroom.

Was he going to text again? And if he did, should she put a stop to this, and say no? What would he ask her to do next? What they had done in the mailroom had been very risky. The prospect of being caught by her boss with her skirt up around her waist and a strange man's finger in her pussy was frightening. As Janna came down from the high of her encounter with Tom she wondered if she should stop. She was not at home, or at a club. She was at work. In her office. A professional person did not do things like this, did she?

No, she thought. But a professional person doesn't feel what I just felt. What I feel now. A woman does, though. A woman who says "yes", she added to her thought.

Whatever her reservations, Janna knew what she was going to say the next time Tom texted.

Tom did not go back to his office. He wanted to take this game with Janna to the next step and he could not take the risk someone would call him away on a work project. He continued walking past the office door, out the building and back to the patio table. He was grateful no one else was using it.

Why had he withdrawn from Janna? He asked himself. She had given her body to him. He wanted her. But the mailroom was not the place to consummate their brief relationship. They had gone as far as they could go in that room. And as much as he wanted the feel of her body against his, there was something he wanted more, a desire that had grown ever since he had told her to say her name in the hallway.

He wanted control of her. He wanted her to submit to him, and he wanted to orchestrate her submission.

Tom did not just want Janna's body. He wanted her to surrender it to him - all of it, without reservation. After months of fruitless and frustrated searching for a woman, he had found one - young, beautiful, and eager. She had said yes to everything he had told her to do. He wanted her body, badly. But he wanted her to give it to him in a way he dictated, in a way that would push her comfort to its limit, and beyond.

After a few more minutes thinking it through, he texted her.

Janna sat at her cubicle, staring with unfocused eyes at the screensaver on her computer monitor. She was unable to concentrate on work but trying hard not to show it to her coworkers. Suddenly she heard the familiar ping on her phone. She swiped the screen to pull it up. Tom's text was there.

"Go to suite no. 217 on the second floor," Tom's text read. "Open the door and go inside. It is empty. Go to the conference room and sit on it facing the door. Sit on the table and text me and wait for my instructions."

Janna was up and walking out the door before she even thought about how to reply.

"On my way," she texted back.

She bypassed the closed elevator doors and headed to the stairs instead, bounding up them with excitement. In a minute, she was at the door to suite 217. She had never been in this suite before. The nameplate to the side of the door was blank, indicating that, as Tom had said, the suite was empty.

She went inside. It was a small office suite, with an entrance, two offices, and a small conference room. It stood completely empty, devoid of furniture, equipment, or decoration. The gray carpet had not yet been cleaned, so it must not have been vacated long ago.

Janna walked to the conference room as Tom had instructed her and opened the door.

The conference room was bare, except for the long, sturdy table that sat in the middle of it, surrounded by a few chairs. A faintly tinted window spanned the length of the room. The blinds were open and revealed the parking lot below.

Janna walked to the table. She turned and hopped up on it, her face to the door and back to the window.

She texted, "I'm here."

A moment later she saw a text in reply.

"Take a photo of yourself and text it to me."

Before taking the photo, Janna decided to do something else. She undid the top three buttons of her blouse and pulled it open a few inches. The lacy edges of her bra and her cleavage and some of the skin of her torso as well were on display. She held her phone as far from her as she could and took the photo. She selected it and texted it to Tom.