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.
