Internal, Company Mandated, Punishment

The cab pulled up to the curb in front of my office building, a skyscraper in the middle of the financial district. For the last five years, I had worked for a large sales company as a mid-level associate and sold security software. Or tried to sell at least. As with everything else in my life, I was never motivated enough to put in a full effort, just enough to get by. But what my job lacked in motivation or excitement, it made up for with loads of downtime.

I stepped out the cab, paid the driver and stared up at the building, my stomach doing flips. It was 7:35 on an October night and cold. I did poorly in cold weather and yearned for the warmth of the lobby in front of me, but I didn't go in. Instead, I walked over to a nearby planter on the edge of the sidewalk and lit a cigarette, reflecting on my last few months.

I was always content to take home my commission check and live relatively comfortably in my one bedroom apartment. I had no aspirations. I didn't want power or status, I only wanted to please those whom I answered too, in order to get paid, so I could spend my free time however I wanted.

My free time was always the most important thing to me, and the hobbies I chose to spend that time doing were what truly made me feel alive, securing my sanity in a way no career ever could. I had, of course, always been able to hold down a normal job throughout my adult life, but always needed to balance that normalcy with extracurriculars.

Most of the time, I chose to act that urge out through petty crime. Everything from gum and candy when I when was a child, to my college years selling weed, making fake ids, supplying kegs for parties, etcetera. Really anything that required some danger, but never enough to really make the stakes high. Years of consuming Hollywood's interpretation of crime and punishment had made prison a serious phobia of mine, so I was always careful to keep things small. There was never a drive to turn criminality into a sustainable source of income, I just needed some sort of adrenaline rush and abnormality in my life.

A Mercedes pulled slowly past me before driving a little ways further down and pulling into the building parking lot. My phone read 7:40. I dragged my cigarette and continued spacing out.

Currently it was stimulants. An old college friend had visited a few months ago and during a particularly drunken night revealed he had a line on some (A LOT as it were) and forced me to accept three bottles free of charge. I didn't particularly enjoy stimulants, but ever since I graduated, my opportunities for 'side work' were few and far between and I had grown tedious of my day to day. I couldn't help myself and decided to head down to the local community college to see what I could get for them, which I continued to do after I let my friend know how fast they went and how much I enjoyed the break in the monotony of my average day.

However, I hadn't anticipated my ensuing popularity and two months later I found myself with too much cash on hand and a ballooning customer base. I had never known what to do with all the extra income. I didn't have a consistent social life, no hobbies that required extra money and nothing I was driven to buy, but I was feeling confident and wanted to do something a little more fun and a little more dangerous. Dealing pills to college students was enjoyable and all, but as I grew older I started to notice the thrill of selling stimulated me less and less, in the same way that the more of a drug you take, the less it affects you. I needed something fresh.

I had heard about a promotion at work through a company email and thought this extra money presented a fun opportunity to boost my sales number and snake my way into corporate. A 'make your own hours' job sounded like a fun goal to strive for. I looked at the email and shrugged my shoulders. "Sure why not," I remember thinking to myself.

So I purchased some of our company software from a few dummy email accounts, wrote up a couple of fake sales receipts and in three months rose to the top of the sales floor. I was garnering interest for the promotion and enjoying the unearned praises of my peers, all while silently laughing to myself, feeding off of the energy that doing something morally questionable gave me.

And then, last Friday, Kevin called me into his office.

Kevin was a partial owner who had taken over for his father about a year ago. Nobody saw much of him but everyone knew he was well built and good looking with an intimidating presence about him whenever he made himself visible. He seemed to take the divide between corporate and associate quite seriously as nobody I can recall ever seemed to have a friendly or cordial interaction with him. But nothing seemed special about him, he was just another hedge fund prick as far as I was concerned.

Nobody enjoyed being called into his office, but with my recent "performance" I figured it could only be good news. "Easy street here I come," I thought to myself on the elevator ride up.

I strode confidently into his corner office on the 82nd floor, the north and east walls made of glass windows, opening up a stunning view of the skyline. I took a moment to admire the view before turning my attention to his desk and noticing a bottle of pills sitting in the center. My heart dropped into my stomach and I froze.

"Care to explain?" he said looking up from some forms he was reading, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. I could feel myself starting to sweat but I walked forward and sat down slowly, trying to come up with any excuse I could think of. I didn't know how much he knew and felt it best to keep the truth to myself for the time being.

"I... well actually it's interesting, my grandmothe-," I tried to explain but was immediately cut off.

"Don't even try. I've had a private investigator following you for a month now," he said, nonchalantly shutting down my lie before I could even begin. "You don't really think a nobody sales associate suddenly breaking sales records, with a promotion in the works, would really go unnoticed did you? How stupid are you?"

I bristled at his tone but pushed my anger aside, his question a legitimate one. I was so wrapped up in how easy it was to fool everyone, I hadn't realized how far I was taking things. Breaking sales records was definitely not part of my plan and it was embarrassingly stupid of me to let my fake sales get to that point.

"Okay," I began with a defeated sigh, "So my sales numbers aren't exactly legitimate which you seem to know already," I confessed. "I guess this means I'm fired so if you want me to collect my things I'll do that right now and be out of here before lunch. I'm very sorry Kevin," I said as I scrambled to leave before he could respond. I half jogged to the door hoping to escape before he decided to get the authorities involved, thinking if I ran out of the building fast enough this would all go away. I threw open the door only to find a security guard on the other side, blocking the entire frame.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kevin asked from behind me. The security guard pushed my shoulder to back me into the room while he reached in and closed the door. I hung my head and slowly waked back to his desk, slumping in the chair.

"Fired?" he continued sounding ammused, "your in way deeper than that idiot. Your looking at jail time," he told me, confirming my worst fears, before turning to the window and saying to himself, "Well, that is of course IF I decide to report it."

He paused, leaned back, and looked out at the city as if deep in thought. I waited a few moments before speaking up. "If?" I asked trying not to sound too impatient, becoming more than a little annoyed with his demeanor towards the matter. Picturing myself in prison sent a wave of anxiety through me, putting me on edge, and I was eager to hear if he had any alternatives. But he ignored me and continued to stare out at the city. He seemed to be using my anxiety to toy with me, holding my future in his hands and dangling it in my face to make sure he had my undivided attention. Finally he looked back in my direction and I leaned forward to let him know he did indeed have my attention.

"I could report this," he mused, "or I could subject you to an internal, company mandated, punishment. It all depends on what your freedom is worth to you," he shrugged.

I could've spent my entire life trying to come up with an answer to that question, before I saw him pick up the phone and say, "5 seconds."

"Anything," I answered. He gave a short laugh and looked ammused, but disbelieving. I instantly regretted answering so quickly, but felt cornered and decided it was better to hear what he had in mind, though deep within my subconscious I already knew.

"Anything? Really?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, looking for reaffirmation.

I stared back at him and almost took it back, but I looked again at the bottle of pills on his desk and pictured myself in an orange jump suit being walked into a jail cell.

"Y... yes. Anything," I confirmed with a slight nod, holding out hope that by 'internal punishment' he meant a fine or a demotion, but feeling more sinister intentions behind his words.

He stood up, walked in front of me and leaned on his desk. I couldn't meet his stare so I looked out the window, hoping this was all just a bad dream.

"I want you to understand that when you say 'anything' to me, you better fucking mean it. Look at me bitch," he said authoritatively. Anger flared in me and but I quelled it once again, not wanting to make matters worse. I clenched my jaw and looked up into his eyes. "Do. You. Mean. It?" he asked enunciating every syllable, challenging me.

I looked at the ground and nodded. His brown dress shoes stepped forward and I felt him gently grab my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting my head upwards so I was looking him in the eyes again. He had a stern look on his face and kept his hold making sure I only looked where he wanted.

"Yes... yes I mean it," I said quietly. He shook my chin and looked at me expectantly. "Sir," I finished before he released me.

"Okay then. Keep an eye on your email," he said as he waved me off and returned to his seat, "Remember though," he stopped me as I was rising from the chair, "try and run and I will fucking FIND you," he threatened. I got up and walked out, trying to come to terms with what I had just agreed to.

That weekend I drank as if I were I given a death sentence. My stomach was doing flips, and I couldn't eat or sleep, so beer was my only salvation. "He couldn't," I kept saying to myself over and over, half expecting the police to knock on my door at any time. The anxiety of not knowing what he had planned was causing me severe paranoia. My body would not stay still and my mind wouldn't stop playing out every potential scenario Kevin could be thinking up. All I could do was pound beers and and pass out drunk, waiting for his instructions.

Then, on Monday morning, an email alert from a 'masterkev' confirmed what I knew deep down. My hand was shaking as I clicked it open and began reading:

Good job staying put bitch. Well it goes without saying that your current position in this company is no longer required however I do have an exciting new position I think you'll be a perfect fit for.

I scrolled down and there was a picture of, what I assumed to be, his fully erect penis.

I think you get my meaning. If you want to keep your useless ass out of jail then you are going to be outside on the curb at 7 40 this Friday night and be in my office at 8 on the dot. Follow every single order your given and you go free. Try to back out of this and it's bye bye. Memorize the attachment, it's your confession.

The ensuing week was a continuation of my weekend. I did nothing at work and slept very little. I tried to picture myself on my knees sucking his dick but couldn't for more than a few moments without cringing and burning bright red. More than once I had picked up the phone, ready to call it off and turn myself in to the authorities, but always lacked the courage to go through with it in the end.

"Just do it you coward!" I would yell at myself. But I couldn't do it. In fact, the more I thought about it, the less fair prison seemed in context to what Kevin was offering me. I paid taxes, wasn't robbing anyone and considered myself an upstanding member of my community. Furthermore, who was I to kink shame? If this was what Kevin got off too, why not just play along? I just could not equate an arrest record to sucking a man's dick for an hour. "Maybe I'll even enjoy it," I told myself in an attempt to hype myself up as the week wore on.

The clock on my phone read 7:51. I flicked my cigarette and took a deep breath before walking into the lobby and taking the elevator up to Kevin's office. My hands were shaking and I thought I might throw up, but I knocked on the door and was told to enter.

I meekly took a couple steps into his office and saw him and a women I didn't recognize, who I assumed was his wife. She was sitting on the desk with her legs crossed, wearing athletic tights with white tennis shoes and a black long sleeve shirt. A sly grin was on her face and I heard her stifle a laugh when I made eye contact with her. He was next to her, leaning on the desk with his arms folded, looking victorious and powerful in a navy suit. I closed the door behind me, keeping my gaze downward and feeling very small with both of them staring at me.

"Down," he ordered. I hesitated for a split second before I sank to my knees.

His wife pushed herself off the desk and walked up to me so that her shoes were in my line of sight. I heard her begin clearing her throat, as she worked upbwhat sounded like a decent amount of phlegm, before she let go of a large amount of spit directly in between her shoes and onto the carpet. I groaned inwardly but kept my disgust to myself. She turned on her heel as I heard Kevin begin to walk forward into the spot previously occupied by her.

I felt him grab a fist full of my hair and pull my head to the ground, into the wad of spit that was seeping into the carpet. "I said doooooown," he explained as if I misunderstood him. He let go of my hair and I felt his shoe press into the side of my head, grinding my temple into the saliva, spreading it on the opposite side of my face. He stopped grinding but left his shoe pressing on my head. "You here for your punishment?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I answered, inwardly worrying that sucking his dick might be the least humiliating thing happening that night. Perhaps I had underestimated how depraved Kevin actually was.

"Good," he said, increasing the pressure on my head. "You have been quite dismissive of this companies reputation and that really pisses me off. So I'm going to show you how that type of attitude is rewarded around here. With me so far idiot?" As he finished speaking he moved the toe of his shoe so that he was pressing my cheeks into the ground making it harder to speak.

"Yesh shir," I struggled to say. He released the pressure off of my face and moved the toe of his patent leathers so it was underneath my chin and tilted my head upward. I followed his shoe as it lifted my head off the ground and left me on my hands and knees looking up at him. He had his phone in his hand and was pointing it at me.

He worked up a wad spit of his own and spat it onto my forehead where it slowly trailed down my nose and onto the carpet next to his wife's.

"I hate subhumans like you," he went on as I stared at the camera lens. "Things like you are made to work for the wealthy and powerful, like me. So when I see one of MY workers cutting corners like that, its my responsibility to straighten that little maggot out." I remained expressionless but continued to listen, finding his speech ridiculous and inwardly rolling my eyes.

"Now, since you are too much of a wuss to face the consequences like a normal human being, it's up to me to determine your penance," he went on, testing my patience. "I'll give you a chance to make yourself useful and if you sufficiently entertain me and my wife, then I may just let you continue to live out your sad existence in my world." I was dumbfounded that anyone could actually find that line of thinking logical, but I wasn't in any position to disagree, his spit still trailing down my face. "Now, did you have anything you wanted to confess too?" he asked, prompting me to recite the attachment on his email.

"I was caught by a much smarter and better looking male who I shall now refer to as Master or sir," I said, my face turning red with shame. "Master has evidence of me selling drugs and faking sales receipts in order to make myself look more productive and successful at work when in reality I am a loser and a failure. Since Master is better than me in everyway, I will pay for my crimes by submitting myself to his glorious power and serving him in whatever way he wishes. I am truly lucky for this opportunity." I had never felt degradation like this, but I remained deadpan, trying to subtly let him know I found all of this absurd.

"Strip," his wife said. I cringed, but stayed on my knees and began unbuttoning my shirt. I removed it, as well as my shoes, dress pants, and underwear and placed them to the side. I put my hands back on the ground so I was on all fours again and tried to sink into the carpet.

"Pffft," I heard Heather laugh. "I didn't think you would be such a small loser," she said. "How pathetic can one person be?" she asked Kevin.

"Yeah he's a disgrace," he responded, his phone still recording. "Well loser, that wasn't too bad. I kinda believed you to be honest. Maybe we should test you though, just to make sure you were telling the truth huh?" He handed his phone to his wife and moved over to the floor length windows that made up the wall behind his desk. "Crawl over here like a dog."

I moved over on my hands and knees past his wife, who kept the camera trained on me, turned around his desk and stopped as I reached his shoes. I glanced at Kevin's crotch and could see a bulge beginning to form through his navy dress pants. My stomach lurched.

His wife crouched next to me with Kevin's phone directly in my face. "Bow your head idiot," she grabbed my hair and forced my head to the floor before pulling up, and forcing me down again. "You show respect to superiors right?" she half asked, half ordered. I winced but began raising and lowering my head obediently.

"Yes you're right," I answered her question as deadpan as I could, wincing as she continued yanking on my follicles.

"Are you sure? I don't feel respected," she cocked her head, "I reeeeally want to hear it in your voice." She wrenched my hair as if she were going to pull it out and I let out a yelp of pain. "Tell us how much better we are than you!" she yelled rag-dolling my head before releasing my hair.

I understood her cue but my mind was drawing a blank. I had to say something fast but I couldn't force any words out. The whole scenario had me feeling ridiculous, their instance that I was lesser than made no sense to me whatsoever. "Whatever. Just say anything goddam-" I was in the middle of thinking before a searing pain suddenly shot through me. All the air rushed out of my body and I collapsed into the fetal position. His wife had kicked me, at what felt like full force, directly in my balls. I found myself gasping for breath with tears forming in my eyes. My hands went instinctively to my testicles to try and soothe them but she quickly kicked my hands away and used her foot to push me over so I was lying on my back, whimpering at the pain.

"No touching," she said as she threateningly placed her shoe onto my now aching balls and left it there, "I could just end this right now if you're going to act like you still have any say in your miserable life? You do what we tell you to do. NOW BEG FOR FORGIVENESS BEFORE I CRUSH YOUR BALLS!"