Melissa knew he was there, watching her, but it didn't matter; he had given her explicit instructions and she would not fail him. Even though she could not see him from her desk, she could feel his eyes on her, as though he were inside her head, sensing her, knowing her. She allowed her vision to take in the normal activities of the office as she embraced the sensations he had given her, grateful for how well he knew her, used her, controlled her. It was always that way with him; he knew her better than she did herself, knew what she needed before she did, gave her what she needed to survive the day. Only after she had received his instructions could she fully appreciate how much she needed him, needed his commands. Without him she was lost, aimlessly adrift. He gave her purpose, a reason to be.
There was no adjustment she could make to her position in her chair that would ease the pain. Later, at home, she would see herself in the mirror, staring endlessly at the angry red welts and bruising on her back and legs and ass. They would last for days, she knew, this had been the hardest he had ever used her. The strap had been thick, he had made her see it, kiss it, smell the leather; he had rubbed it against her face. And then, as he had so many times before, he had taken her pants down. He had told her to come in early today, so he could administer this thorough treatment before the rest of the staff arrived. Despite the quiet office he had gagged her, and she had known this one would be different.
In the past it had been after work, sometimes at his house; mostly at her own apartment. He would order her to strip off her pants, and he would tell her how worthless she was, how little value she had other than as an outlet for his punishment. The words would comfort her, console her, confirming her belief that she was nothing without him, that she was fortunate that he had selected her, and no one else. He gave her empty life meaning. Each stroke of the belt reaffirmed her value, and she counted her blessing with the strokes, and she would feel her value in the pain she felt.
But today he had done it in the morning, here, where they worked. When he had told her she had shuddered with the humiliation and anticipation, knowing that her co-workers would surround her as she suffered the results of her submission. They will know, she thought, they will all know. And as if it were not enough having to suffer at her desk, amid the seemingly normal environment of the weekday office, reliving the pain as she sat on her wounded flesh, he had given her the final instructions that would insure her public humiliation.
And he had given her such a good beating this morning, the most severe she had ever endured. Harder and more thorough, lasting long past her prior limits, long past her ability to count, her body passed through pain, through agony, into serenity and bliss. And still he rained the blows down on her, giving her worth, making her The One. She had cried and screamed until she had no breath, and then only sighed, and finally swooned. When he finally stopped she was bathed in sweat, and then he had traced his fingers along the lumps and lines of her wounds. She felt each touch as a lit match on her inflamed skin, and revelled in his caresses as he illustrated his marks. And finally, finally, his fingers found their way to her weeping, swollen cunt, her worthless hole, good for nothing but his pleasure, and his fingers had stimulated her, brushing against her welts as he rubbed her clit, and when he shoved two wet fingers into her ass she had exploded in orgasm.
All for him. Without him, she was nothing.
Sitting still was impossible, but no amount of wriggling or adjustment eased the pain. Her skin was on fire inside her clothes, she could feel the deep bruising in her muscles fighting for attention with the inflamed and throbbing welts, pulsing with her heartbeats as one giant exposed wound. She could barely breathe, so intense was her pain, and she struggled to appear normal in front of the office staff.
But she knew it was not to be, not today. No, today they would know; there would be no denying it, no mistake, and they would whisper about her behind their hands, and they would point and gossip behind her back from now on. She reached across the desk and took the nearly empty water bottle, and finished it, completing her third bottle, as instructed.
After allowing her to cum for his pleasure, he had helped her up. Normally after he marked her he would sooth her, thank her for recognizing her sole purpose and congratulate her for being useful in this one aspect, the only thing that meant anything. But not this morning. She stood in front of him, still naked from the waist down, heat throbbing from her scored flesh, as he handed her a bottle of water, and instructed her to drink all of it. When she finished, pleased that she had obeyed, he let her stand there. She watched his face change from satisfaction to disdain as he changed his shirt, removing his sweat-soaked garment.
"You think you have value to me?" he asked with a derogatory sneer. "Yet you hide who you are, you hide your only valuable purpose." He told her to open her blouse, remove her bra, and then she was naked in his office. She wondered how soon others would arrive, but feared to look at the clock. He would be disappointed in her then, and she couldn't stand that, couldn't live with herself then. She waited, naked, as the trauma of her beating wore off, and the intense pain took hold of her. He finished buttoning his shirt as he continued.
"You're ashamed of the one useful thing you are," he scolded, "all the worthless motion you go through in your empty life, you show it all to the world, let them see your useless and meaningless activity." He wrapped his tie around his neck and knotted it. "The one thing you are good at, the only thing that makes you useful," he said and stepped to her face, "the gift I have given you," he said, "you hide it from the world!" He slapped her tits, hard, and they ached, deep inside, and she felt her breath sharpen as she braced for more. And they came, slapping her breasts, the sides, the top, the bottom, his bare hand leaving prints on them; they swelled, and bruised, and she felt her eyes close as he spoke with each blow. "No more! No more hiding, not today! Today they will know! You will show them!"
When he stopped, he gave her another bottle of water to drink, and told her to dress. Gingerly she slipped her garments back on, her bra biting into the swollen flesh on her breasts, her nipples chafing inside the fabric, erect and hard. Her panties scraped like barbed wire as she slid them up to her hips, and she winced with the renewed sting as the fabric irritated the welts. She held her breath as she pulled them up tight. She put her blouse back on, and then struggled into her pants, and again felt the wounds on the backs of her legs, this time not as the fabric passed them, but settled on the inflamed flesh like a swarm of fire ants. She gritted her teeth at the pain, and loved him so.
