Pretentious

Her boss was infuriatingly pretentious, which was perhaps why she found herself becoming increasingly snarky in her dealings with him. Mr. Sinclair's office had a "lord of the manor" style, complete with a giant desk and antique telephone. She understood that he had taken over the firm after his uncle passed, but that was long enough ago that he could redecorate. However, there was a formality to him that fit his surroundings. Even more irritating was the fact that he was undeniably handsome. Beneath the pretentious demeanor, there was a steeliness that she found very attractive. This attraction was one reason why she constantly challenged him and used her sarcasm to maintain a mutual dislike.

Sheila Roberts was considered to be warm and vivacious - with everyone but Mr. Sinclair. Granted, he had pulled his formality around him like armor against his instant and highly inappropriate attraction to her, rarely showing her the consideration given to other employees. Few people challenged him, and if he was honest with himself, their sparring was enjoyable. She simply tended to cross the line. This, in turn, sent him crossing many lines in his imagination. Sheila was a hard worker but volatile and required discipline. That Friday, they'd had several run-ins, including one after a meeting with some of the management team. He'd had enough.

At 4 pm, Sheila received an email instructing her to come to Mr. Sinclair's office before she left for the weekend. Dread mixed with inexplicable excitement. She knew she'd gone too far after the last meeting, but they had been tripping each other's triggers all day. Sheila tried to reign it in, but every time she broke through his control to see a response, she felt triumphant, even if it was anger. The clock registered 4:45; she could delay no longer. Purse and coat in hand, she made her way to his office, surprised to find his admin and most of the staff already gone. His door was open.

Sheila entered Mr. Sinclair's office with a sigh, setting her bag and coat on the sofa, and moved toward the chair in front of his desk. Halting in her tracks, she realized there was no chair. Looking around, she found it off to the side. There was also no Mr. Sinclair. Suddenly two sounds echoed loudly in the room: the door closing and the soft snick of the lock. When he spoke, his voice had a resonance that she had never heard from him. Sheila shivered even as a curl of heat unfurled low in her belly.

"You will remain standing unless I command you otherwise, Ms. Roberts. You will not speak unless given permission."

Sheila immediately opened her mouth to protest but snapped her mouth closed when he continued to speak.

"You have received verbal warnings regarding your attitude. There are two choices after today's incident. Option one: we proceed with formal disciplinary processes with HR on Monday. This will include a written warning and observation. Option two: you submit to my discipline this evening and gas needed should your behavior continue."

At his words, her body erupted in goosebumps as chills swept through her body, followed swiftly by heat. His discipline? Did he mean what she thought he meant? She was no innocent. She'd been intrigued by BDSM, had even experimented, and would be a liar if she didn't admit to fantasizing just a teeny bit about Mr. Sinclair. He finally moved into view, leaning against his desk. His ordinarily cool green eyes were heated. Sheila's gaze flitted over his stern features and fit body, reacquainting herself with just why those fantasies persisted. She couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his trousers, informing her that the heat in his gaze was not from anger alone. He made no attempt to hide it. Clearly, there was more at work than simple discipline. Her pussy clenched in response; arousal coated her panties.

Under Mr. Sinclair's returned her perusal, Sheila stood taller, unconsciously arching her back. Her nipples peaked behind her bra, evident through the thin fabric of her blouse. The pencil skirt drove him to distraction. The way it accentuated her full hips and arse should be illegal. Soft hair, sensual lips, and captivating eyes completed the package. He wanted her. He thought she wanted him, despite herself. He committed to himself that anything that happened beyond discipline would be at her express request. He met her gaze, waiting for her response.

Sheila cleared her throat. Her throat was dry, yet her mouth was watering. How did that work?

"What precisely do you mean by 'Your discipline,' Mr. Sinclair?"

"We will begin with you fully clothed. Bent over my desk. I will start with my hand over your skirt, and if that does not prove effective, you will remove it. I will begin again, with my hand, spanking you over your panties. If that is still not effective, you will require deeper vulnerability. You will remove your blouse. You will bend over my desk again, legs parted. You will feel my crop. I will be astonished if you do not feel thoroughly chastened at that point. If you need me to stop for any reason at all, you will say 'Red.' Do you understand and consent to my discipline, Ms. Roberts?"

Sheila trembled. She wanted this; she couldn't believe how much. Taking a deep breath, she agreed.

"Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I understand and consent to your discipline."

Triumph and desire filled his eyes. He stepped forward, hand lightly trailing over Sheila's ass, squeezing it as he has always wanted to. She gasped when his hand slid up into her hair to grip at the base of her skull. He leaned in close as if to kiss her; instead, he took in the scent of her perfume and desire. Lips brushing the shell of her ear, he whispered,

"Stand in front of my desk, legs as far apart as that skirt will allow, and bend forward. Extend your arms to the sides. I will not bind you this time."

A squeak slipped from her throat. This time?! She moved to stand before the center of his desk. If she was going to do this, she'd make a show of it. Sheila unbuttoned a few buttons of her blouse and shifted her hips deliberately as she widened her stance. The pencil skirt did not allow for much movement. Slowly, she bent at the hips, laying her body flat on the desk, arms extended, face to the side. The desk was welcomingly cool against her flushed skin.

Avidly he watched her performance, for that is what it was, and it was effective. He could feel the precum as it leaked into his boxer briefs. Standing beside her, his fingertips lightly caressed her back, then lower, over her plump bottom. Before she knew what was happening, his hand rose and fell firmly on her left buttock. Her skirt muffled the sound and the sensation, but she still gasped in surprise. Again, on her right cheek. Each time, a little harder. He watched her hands grip the edge of his desk and her legs tense. Eight hard spanks in, and to his delight, he could tell this would not be enough.

Sheila was dazed, panting. She roused from her reverie when Mr. Sinclair growled his command for her to stand. Her blouse shifted, exposing her breasts and bra to his greedy gaze. "Remove your skirt."

Her breath shook as she stood up and reached back to unzip. Undaunted, she quickly reclaimed her composure and again put on a show. Sinuously, she wiggled the skirt over her hips. Slowly, she bent forward to guide the garment down her legs. She stepped free of it and stood proudly in her skimpy panties and hold-up stockings. Mr. Sinclair's sharp breath upon seeing her lingerie was loud in the quiet room. Sheila dared a glance over her shoulder, allowed herself a small smile, and drew her blouse over her head.

Mr. Sinclair growled. "Shoes off. Spread your legs. Wider. High on your toes. That's it. Now across my desk, Ms. Roberts. I want you stretched, so your head is as close to the edge as can be."

His desk was narrower than she thought as she rested her cheek just at the end of his desk. The chill air against the heat between her legs emphasized the wetness of her ruined panties. Sheila could not believe how aroused she was. It would not take much for her to orgasm, but with her legs apart like this, she could get no friction. She smiled to herself, thinking what a display she must make. All creamy curves and black lingerie. The French cut panties slipped between her cheeks; not quite a thong but certainly didn't provide much protection from his ministrations.

Mr. Sinclair took in the vision before him. He couldn't remember a time when his cock had been harder. The stockings had been a surprise. One that was nearly his undoing -- that is until she took her blouse off. The minx had to push him. He had his clamps in his gear bag as well, but no. Not this time. He stepped forward, squatted behind her. She started to shift a little Hearing her indrawn breath, he knew she was going to speak. In a flash, his hand landed hard on the bare skin of her ass, making her yelp.

"You have not been given permission to speak, Ms. Roberts. I am inspecting the effects of your first round of punishment. Your ass definitely requires more attention, and my oh my, your panties are gleaming. In fact, I bet you would love attention elsewhere, wouldn't you? That is a rhetorical question, do not answer. I can almost taste your need."

Each word puffed air against her sensitive skin. She felt the last spank glowing brighter. While he spoke, a fingertip lightly trailed up her thigh, to the crease of her bum, so very close to her panties. She whimpered in desire and a bit of embarrassment at being so exposed to his view. Did she imagine the barest brush against her panties? Mr. Sinclair stood once again, briefly pressing his erection against her hip, a silent acknowledgment that he was not unaffected by their game.

His hand landed with a loud crack. This time, the red handprint bloomed beautifully against her pale skin. Her gasps morphed into yelps and cries as he rained a flurry of spanks upon her. Mr. Sinclair was nothing if not thorough. He made sure the bottom curve of her cheeks to the top of her buttocks all received his attention. He paused to appreciate the light sheen of sweat on her skin. Dragging his nails lightly along her spine, he watched as she moved into his touch with a purr. A purr that turned into a hiss when his nails continued down over her well-spanked ass. He turned his hand to a soothing caress, smiled slightly when she sighed, melting into his desk. He had just decided that his handprints should last at least a day which would be enough punishment when Sheila spoke.

"Is that all you got, Mr. Sinclair?"

Sheila couldn't believe she just said that. What was she THINKING? Sheila knew what was running through her mind: she was thinking about how badly she wanted to experience the crop. How badly she wanted to taste him. How could she get him to fuck her?

Mr. Sinclair could not hold back his grin as he moved into her line of sight. She'd never seen him smile unabashedly, but this was not a smile given to just anyone. It was darkly delighted and borderline diabolical.

He chuckled, "You just can't help yourself, can you, Ms. Roberts? I thought I had disciplined you enough today, but apparently not."

He stood, moved to a bag on the floor. The sounds of his rummaging were very intriguing to Shelia's untrained ears. Finally, he moved behind his desk, standing near her head, his hips at desk level. She kept her face to the side, not looking, but she felt his heat and caught his scent. He briefly rested the crop's tongue on the top of her hand before giving her the lightest of taps. She jumped. He laughed. Slowly he trailed and tapped the end of the crop up her arm. He spoke again, this time, his voice deep with desire and dark with his dominance.

"I admit, I have thought often of seeing my leather against your flesh. My hand marking you. Seeing how the red and pink would blossom. How your skin would rise, slightly welted. I've often thought of other things that we might do together. Ways in which I can control that impudent mouth of yours. I think you've had similar ideas, haven't you? You may answer, Ms. Roberts."

Sheila's voice was hesitant, considering. "I... I... yes, I have had fantasies, not this. Thoughts of breaking your control, and where that might lead."

Mr. Sinclair shifted deliberately. The tent in his trousers was so close, she tilted her head slightly but continued to watch the leather crop's movement.

"Excellent, Ms. Roberts. And now, what thoughts do you have? Do you want to feel my leather crop? My hands spanking, and so much more?"

Sheila's voice was a bare whisper, "Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I would like to feel the leather."

The crop disappeared from view, and it landed with a sting, drawing a high-pitched yelp from Sheila's mouth. It was so very different than the broad impact of his hands. The crop landed again, and her leg kicked out in reflexively to the sharp pain.

"I did not hear you, Ms. Roberts. You normally have no problems making yourself heard. And maintain your position."

She cleared her throat, replying more loudly, "Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I want to feel your leather, your hands. I want to know more."

With a quick caress as a reward for her honesty, he shifted position again. She thought she felt his bulge brush the top of her head as he leaned forward. She expected him to move behind her again, but these thoughts shattered as the leather crop met her right cheek in a fire-burst of stinging pain. Her leg kicked up again, but she swiftly lowered it back to position. The left cheek. The flank of her hips. Sharp smacks over and over that made her yelp and cry. Sheila's bottom burned with pain, but she had never been so aroused in her life. This time, she was sure she felt his cock pressing against her as he leaned forward. The crop delivered her punishment to the tops of her thighs before it slipped between them, pressing briefly against her panties.

At this touch, she shifted, trying to get more pressure against her needy pussy, and turned her head to nuzzle his cock. Her brain fogged with endorphins; she was barely coherent in her whimpered pleas. Opening her mouth, breath hot and moist against the fabric, Sheila moved as if to fit her lips around him through his trousers. He backed away and delivered two swift volleys with the crop.

"Ms. Roberts, what exactly are you attempting? I did not give you permission to move, let alone touch me in such a manner. You may speak. Tell me what you want."

Casting her lustful eyes up to his, she wanted there to be no doubts as to what she wanted.

"I want to taste you, Mr. Sinclair. I want your cock in my mouth and down my throat."

Carefully, he placed the crop on her back, along her spine. Her gasp caught as if to prevent the crop from rolling off. Very good, he thought. Next, he removed his jacket and placed it neatly over the back of his chair. He saw the impatience building in her; it was simply too much fun to toy with. Deliberately, he rolled up his sleeves. There seemed to be something about rolled-up sleeves that drove women wild. The sound that just escaped Sheila's throat lent credence to the assessment. Finally, he gripped his cock through his trousers, thumbed the tab open, and slowly drew down the zipper. He couldn't help a sigh of relief as he freed himself and gave a long slow stroke.

Fuck, he had a beautiful cock. Thick, long enough to be a challenge... Sheila shifted forward, so eager to taste him, but he kept stroking, kept himself out of reach. She was so focused on him she didn't notice when he lifted the crop from her back -- at least not until it slapped down on her reddened ass. Even still, her hunger kept her transfixed on his strong hand stroking his gorgeous cock. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly as the crop landed. Every bit of her attention was focused on this moment; she had given herself entirely to his power. Her arousal had defeated her panties, slicking her thighs. Her clit pulsed with the throbbing of her abused ass. He stroked harder, collecting his precum on his thumb, and held it before her lips. Only when they silently formed the word please did he granted her a taste. She sucked his thumb hungrily; she had never felt so cock-starved.

He removed his thumb, stepped back. "Do you want to suck this cock, Ms. Roberts?" he asked as he gripped it firmly.

"Yes, Mr. Sinclair very much. Plea-"

He cut her off. "Do you feel sufficiently punished for today's infractions?"

"Ummm, yes? I mean, if you think so, Mr. Sinclair. My butt is very sore, and I think it will be tomorrow."

"Yes, you did better than I expected, actually," his tone was almost disdainful. Still, the throbbing of his cock belied his pleasure.

"Would you like me to fuck you, Ms. Roberts?"

"Ohhh fuck, yes! Please, Mr. Sinclair!"

"Too bad, you have not earned that privilege yet," He grinned evilly at the desperate sound she made. He continued, "If I choose to gift you with my release, will you swallow every drop?"

"Gladly, Mr. Sinclair, please? May I?"

"Being cock drunk and needy has made you much more respectful. Unless that was a result of the spanks and the crop. We will see which proves to be a better incentive to good behavior. Open your mouth. Mmmm, so wet. You are positively drooling in anticipation. What a needy girl."

With that, he slowly slid his cock deep into her mouth, enjoying the vibration of her moan. He paused when he felt the head nudge the entrance of her throat. She sucked hard, tongue moving, learning his ridges and taste. Mr. Sinclair leaned forward, pushing a bit deeper just as his hands gripped her ass hard. Her groan was exquisite. Dragging his nails over the redness and the welts, incoherent sounds of pleasure and pain rumbled around his buried shaft. Finally, he began to move, fucking her mouth. Saliva seeped from the corners of her mouth. Such a good cocksucker. Pushing further, just into her throat, he brought his hand down in a sharp spank to her ass. She choked deliciously around him. He pulled out, cock dripping, and allowed her to catch her breath.

This time, he slid deep, past her gag reflex, into her throat. Her hands grappled with the edges of the desk; his hands gripped her ass for leverage and pulled himself into her throat. His cock throbbed and flexed, making her gag. Fuck he loved that feeling. He would not last much longer. Groaning, he fucked her mouth with purpose. The wet sucking noises, the sluicing of saliva hot around his cock, her greedy moans that made his balls tighten and pushed him ever closer to the edge. Next time he'd make sure her ass could handle more, he wanted to belt it while he buried himself down her throat. This thought was his undoing. With a groan, he plunged belly to her nose, holding her there as the first jets released. Rocking back, he coated her tongue and filled her mouth. His voice was a rasp as he commanded her to swallow it all, to not lose a drop. It was an order that she gladly obeyed.

Spent, but not done, he caressed her hair in silent praise. Having fixed his trousers, he moved behind her once again. His hands were gentle on her back this time, lightly skimming over her ass, down her thighs, back up. He chuckled to find that her panties were absolutely soaked to the point that the tops of her stockings were sticky with her arousal. He blew a soft breath of air over her damp skin, chuckling again at her shiver. Finally, he drew her hips back, so her feet were flat to the floor, making her more comfortable.

"You may move your arms to a comfortable position. You did very well. However, I am not quite done. Tell me, Ms. Roberts. Do you want me to touch your pussy?"

Sheila's groan of relief at moving her arms turned into a babbling rush of words, "OH MY GOD YES PLEASE. Please, please touch my pussy, Mr. Sinclair!"

He hummed a response and tickled his fingers along her thighs, dragging one along the gusset of her underwear, feeling her swollen clit beneath the fabric. Continuing his tease, he tugged at the edges of her black lace panties, pulling the material away and releasing it to snap back. It was as if he was undecided as to whether he should remove them or not. Letting his lips brush the deep red welt on her ass, he closed his teeth around her flesh, pressing lightly but firmly enough to leave faint indentations of his teeth. All the while, his thumb rubbed so softly over her clit through the lace. She shifted, trying to increase the pressure but was promptly reminded of her place with a sharp slap on her thigh.