Ellie is working out in the office gym, transitioning slowly from a handstand back to a planche position, when her phone chimes. She spends almost all of her free time working on her body now, and a lot of her notifications arrive during exercise. Normally she ignores them until she's at least finished with her current set. But this is the special chime. It means the message is from her domme.
Nothing is more important. She drops gracefully out of the handstand and stands up, then snatches up her phone.
The message says, "Get naked. Send me a photo as proof."
At this late hour, Ellie is the only person using the office gym. So, she removes her sports bra, trainers and dolphin shorts, and takes the photo of herself in the gym mirror. She is over six feet tall and her body is bursting at the seams with hard, hard-earned muscle. She takes the photo with her lower body turned sideways, showing off the curve of her butt and the highly defined musculature of her thigh and calf, while her torso twists to present her eight-pack, her obliques, and her proud breasts. Her skin is deeply tanned, and she is glistening all over with fresh sweat. It is, she admits to herself with some quiet pride, a really hot picture.
A minute passes.
She receives another message.
"You know where my office is. Get up here, right now. You have sixty seconds."
Ellie gulps, and almost drops her phone. Sixty seconds is, she guesses, just barely enough time to sprint all the way up the building to Miriam's office on the fourth floor. That's if she leaves immediately, and doesn't stop to put on clothes.
It's very late in the evening. Usually there's not a soul left in the building at this hour, other than her and Miriam. Usually. What if someone sees her? How could she explain herself?
She looks at her pile of abandoned gym wear. Part of her brain yells at the rest of her, "Too late! You've wasted five seconds already! Ma'am will be furious with you! GO!"
She runs.
The corridors outside of the gym are cold and dimly lit after hours, and it's bizarre to be sprinting down them nude and barefoot. She ignores the elevators and rushes to the stairwell, and wrenches the door open, almost stubbing a toe. She sprints up flight after flight of stairs, taking them three at a time. Another heavy door. Then left and then right and down a long corridor to the executive suites. Miriam's office is at the end of the hallway, at the corner of the building.
The office door is closed. Ellie knocks urgently, then stands back. She isn't out of breath, not after a trivial run like that. Her heart rate hasn't risen by more than a few beats per minute. Perhaps if Miriam's office were on the twentieth floor, this might have qualified as exercise.
She wasn't seen on the way, so that's something. Well, she didn't see anyone on the way...
Miriam opens the door for her. She is wearing a hands-free headset and microphone. She puts her finger to her lips, indicating that Ellie should be quiet, because she is on a call.
"Gross margins were essentially flat this quarter," she says. "Operating expenses are up almost fifty percent over the same quarter last financial year; that's because we've been investing heavily in our corporate infrastructure..."
As she says this, she leads Ellie into her office, and over to the rug between the couches. Here, she shows Ellie her own phone, where there is a stopwatch, stopped at one minute and eleven seconds.
Ellie gasps sharply, then covers her mouth. She drops to her knees in the center of the rug, and bows her head, ashamed.
This seems to be the appropriate move. Miriam bends down behind her, and pulls both of her hands behind her back. Ellie is still clutching her phone, having brought it all the way up here with her; Miriam takes it away. Then Ellie feels her fingers being guided into some kind of leather glove. A single glove, with room for both of her hands, palm against palm and finger against finger. The fit is very snug and comfortable.
While this happens, Miriam is still delivering her earnings report. "Marketing expenses are up a double-digit percentage compared with last year, as are our legal expenses and insurance expenses. All of these figures are positive reflections of our excellent rate of growth."
She tightens some kind of loop around Ellie's wrists, fastening her into the glove. The lacing continues, soft leather binding Ellie's arms together from the forearms upwards. Ellie doesn't resist. She feels as if her head is empty.
The glove turns out to be much longer than Ellie thought at first. Soon, her forearms are fully encased and bound together, and her elbows are being tightened together with what feels like a fat buckled strap. As Miriam tightens the strap, Ellie's powerful shoulders are pulled back and toward one another, compressing her back muscles into deep folds.
There are extra straps designed to go around the shoulders and chest, to make it impossible to wriggle out of the binder, but Miriam leaves them aside. The buckles at Ellie's wrists and just below her elbows are tight enough, in Miriam's opinion, and Ellie's large forearm muscles help too. She gives the binder a good hard tug, just to be sure. Yes. This one isn't getting out.
"These earnings targets were aggressive, reflecting our expectations of both growth and efficiency improvements. I was extremely pleased to see that we beat them easily. I consider that a reflection of my team's commitment."
As Miriam stands up again, Ellie tests her range of movement, shoulders and wrists straining. She can't get her hands around in front of her, or even get a good look at the arm binder she's wearing. She finds she's forced to stick her chest out. Her nipples are standing out. She bites her lip, fretting about what Miriam is about to do to her. She was late. She knows she deserves to be disciplined because of her lateness. But at the same time, she feels a sort of calm, because she knows Miriam is in control. She doesn't need to worry. Miriam will give her what she needs.
Ellie, head still bowed, feels something press beneath her chin. She looks up.
Miriam generally dresses for power, and power is certainly what Ellie feels, kneeling at her feet. A sharp black pant suit, three-quarter sleeves on the jacket. A tight, professional black top and a silver necklace. Miriam's hair is drawn back into an elaborate pony tail. She has a fierce, calculating expression. She is holding a long, flexible black rod, with the end held against the underside of Ellie's chin. It feels like a flat paddle on the end. Ellie doesn't recognise the implement immediately, but after a second she realises that it is a riding crop.
"Other than a few asterisks," Miriam says, "I would characterize this as a positive result across the whole balance sheet. With that, I'm open to questions from the room."
She presses a finger to her lips, again. She raises her riding crop and swats Ellie hard, directly on the nipple.
Ellie hisses, quietly. She bites her tongue.
"Thank you," Miriam says, to someone Ellie can't hear.
She strikes Ellie again, on the other nipple. She is a terrific shot. Ellie's nipple is a small target, but she swats it perfectly, completely avoiding Ellie's areola or the flesh of her breast. Ellie stiffens up but manages to take the blow completely silently. Soon, the only sound in the room is the light snapping of leather on disobedient, needy flesh. And Miriam's continuing narration:
"Yes, this fiscal quarter has been very unusual for a lot of obvious reasons, and one or two less obvious ones."
Swit.
"Yes, absolutely."
Swit.
Miriam beats Ellie's nipples ten times, alternating between them. All the time, she is answering questions on the call. Ellie flinches away from the tenth blow, causing Miriam to miss. Miriam uses her crop to indicate in no uncertain terms that Ellie needs to sit up straight, present herself, and accept her punishment.
Swit.
And finally, an eleventh and much, much harder blow. SWIT.
