Marian Wintergreen looked assured and positive in her two-piece Houndstooth short jacket and body con short skirt. The two-button top had little effect in hiding her braless bosom, and the knee-length skirt rode up to display her black thigh-high stockings with the lace trim as she rested her backside on the edge of her desk.
"Thank you, gentlemen. You may leave. But remain outside the door and let nobody enter. OR leave."
The two burly security guards in their green uniforms nodded and left the clinical-looking office. Mrs. Wintergreen took a quick look out the window at the skyline of London. Her office was on the twentieth floor of 20 Fenchurch Street in the commercial skyscraper in the City's historic area. The building is nicknamed 'The Walkie-Talkie' because of its distinctive shape, which is said to resemble a two-way radio handset. The 38-story building was finished in 2014 and was designed by architect Rafael Viñoly and cost over £200 million, A bar and restaurants are included on the 35th, 36th, and 37th floors and are open to the public. Without turning, the steely HoD spoke in a stony voice.
"Robertson, Simms, and Fletcher. Three thorns in my side. We have a problem, gentlemen, and I will not rest until I have the man responsible."
She let out a sigh and turned to face the three trainee office workers who were seated side by side and looking glum. They looked at each other in turn somewhat bewildered. Oh, they had heard the horror stories of how the forty-two-year-old meted out sadistic retribution for those who got on her wrong side, and she seemingly had approval from the high-ups to do so. There are bosses, and then again, bossy managers. Few, if any, however, managed their staff in the way Mrs. Wintergreen did. The austere woman was well-versed in the arts of discipline, bondage, obedience, and debasement. Her four-inch heels clacked ominously and then were muted when she trod her thick rug by her desk. She turned the monitor of her PC to them so that they could see the several portraits of her with superimposed male appendages spurting semen over her face and bosom.
"I realise that you are all still immature and wet behind the ears, but when you were hired you all showed promise. And now look at you, sitting there like three naughty little boys."
Wintergreen moved around the other side of her mahogany desk and rifled through the top drawer. She retrieved her choice of corrector and held it up for all to see. All three watched as Wintergreen stroked the black riding crop, which looked about sixteen inches long. It had a wrapped leather handle and a big braided cap with a dimpled button. They all jumped as the tall woman suddenly brought the crop down hard on the outside of her right thigh. It made a satisfying crack, and she grinned at the men's reaction.
"I've located the PC used to simulate the sordid pictures, and it seems that you," she pointed the tip of the crop at Robertson as she spoke. "And you, and you, were the only culprits who have used that particular computer this week."
She continued to circle the three of them and hissed at them.
"You may have some knowledge of my methods of discipline by now."
Simms started as the crop connected with the back of his chair. The white lights in the above ceiling seemed particularly bright this afternoon. He ran his fingers along the inside of his shirt collar and protested.
"You can't do this! It's against health and safety in the workplace which states there are practices and measures implemented to protect the well-being of employees."
"Bravo, Simms. You're not such an idiot after all. I didn't get where I am today by being ignorant of certain measures in place. The statement really says that an employer, that's me, chum." Wintergreen pressed the tip of the rapier thin crop into the groin of Simms and then gave the top of his left thigh a hard smack. "An employer must suitably assess work-based activities and then implement any appropriate controls to manage the employee."
Her right shoe came up and she dug the stiletto heel into the sensitive part of Fletcher's upper thigh.
"And I use the type of appropriate action. I'm not too fond of misdirected loyalty. In this case, it means you have no loyalty to the company or me. If to anybody, you bow and scrape to ME. Am I, not your boss? I have but two options for those employees who see fit as disloyal. They are fired or I correct them. Now, you are earning a nice wage here in London, and I dare say you would not find suitable work for some considerable time if I say the word. There is the door, gents."
Marian used the crop to point at the door, but they all stayed seated.
"Just what I expected. So, which one of you doctored my pictures? Anyone? No? So be it. All eyes were on the leggy MILF as she unbuttoned her jacket and removed it, folding it neatly and draping it over her chair. Her awesome boobs bounced free, pliant, and firm, as she then unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her heels.
"You disappoint me, you really do."
The virile young men stirred in their chairs as they leered at the semi-naked female left in her skimpy panties and black silk stockings.
"Er, Mrs. Wintergreen? Why have you undressed?"
The fiery vixen ignored Robertson as she sashayed erotically across the room with her rear end wagging behind her. Her underwear rode up her crack so that the hillocks of her bottom were totally uncovered.
"For the same reason you are about to. Stand up, Robertson." The twenty-year-old did so and tried to hide his burgeoning stiff. "And now remove your shirt."
"What? Why? Come on!"
"Do it!"
He hesitantly stripped to the waist and Marian ran her eye over his almost boyish torso with the subtle rounded curves of muscle and the wiry pelt on his chest and belly. He had a deep navel spilling dark hair downwards. Robertson wiped the beading sweat from his brow as the bared MILF came nose to nose with him.
"Next," she ordered, and Simms got up and did the same.
Wintergreen moved down the line and pointed her crop at Fletcher. He too rose out of his seat and bared his chest. The last was taller than her even in her heels and she nodded in approval at his well-defined pecs augmented by the wide breadth of his shoulders. To Marian, he represented a fine sight.
"Work out, do you?"
"Yeah, oh, fuck!"
He reacted to a crack of the riding whip on his left bicep.
