The Bosss Concrete Fortress

In April, 1989, I was working at a corporation with so many layers that I couldn't precisely say who my actual employer was. At the top was a conglomerate that had started out as an auto parts manufacturer. As it added and shed many lines of business over the decades it needed a new identity. Eventually it had purchased an old-line Hollywood studio called Apex and it had glamorously renamed itself Apex Communications.

Apex must have been doing well because it built itself a skyscraper headquarters on Madison Avenue in New York. Four corporate layers down and a dozen miles to the northwest, I labored for Todd-Hackett Legal Works, which published books for attorneys.

This corporate outpost for about eighty white-collar drones had rented space in a two-story concrete pillbox in deepest New Jersey suburbia. At times I had fantasies of the building being used as a fortress and an attacking army needing flamethrowers to finally drive out the defenders. I supposed that if I imagined the place sprayed with napalm in some future civil war, I was somewhat ambivalent about my job and being there at all.

My whole life was in the doldrums, actually, although I couldn't pinpoint the exact reasons. In 1987 John Mellencamp's song "Check It Out" had been released and that had struck a nerve with me. I felt I was indeed soaring with the eagles all week long and that was all I knew about living.

Beyond my dissatisfaction with my career, or lack of one, I was experiencing a sexual malaise too. At that point I had known my wife Janey for fourteen years and we had been married, without kids, for eleven. I never spoke to anyone about my now "Velveeta Cheese" marriage (as Erica Jong put it: "filling, fattening even, but no thrill to the taste buds, no bittersweet edge"). I had trouble even admitting this to myself. But a symptom had appeared the previous year right after I had starting working at this company. I began masturbating fairly regularly during the workday.

It was easy to find a place; the northern half of my floor was an unrented space that mirrored the one occupied by my company. The door was never locked, so I went in there once and found a large open area ready for cubicles and empty offices lining the outside walls.

Those offices were where I found the release for my sexual discontent. I would kneel or stand in one with my tube of Vaseline or hand cream, and imagine all the experiences I figured I had missed along the way. As I was approaching my thirty-third birthday, I assumed that had been a lot. My co-workers, celebrities and various girls I had known in high school or college but never dated provided me with material. In those pre-Internet days, my knowledge of porn was limited to a few stray

Hustler

and

Penthouse

magazines people had passed on to me.

Even Janey was in a few fantasies; sometimes those were about acts I wanted but had never done with her. One of those was giving her an over-the-knee, bare-assed spanking when she was rude or did some misdeed like bounce a check. In any case, I didn't have to take a magazine into one of those empty offices; my own overactive imagination was sufficient.

*****

During the spring of '89 I started getting a lot of unpaid overtime. Being an exempt employee, supposedly a "professional," all I was entitled to was a dinner allowance. That wasn't much compensation for being there past midnight at times, or having to come in on weekends.

Sometimes a few of my co-workers got stuck there with me because of their own troubled projects, but at other times I was alone. The big-firm law partners who wrote our books often sent their manuscripts or proofs in late and it was our job to deal with however they handled things. Sometimes these guys (and they were usually males) would virtually rewrite the book in the proof stages. No one was going to tell them that they couldn't.

I expressed some of my frustration with these maddening schedules by moving my masturbation sessions, if it was an odd hour, to my company's suite of offices. Usually I would go into one of the rooms along the outer walls and shut the door. I invariably picked an office assigned to a female staffer. I noted the creepiness of that to myself, but using a man's space would have seemed even weirder. One night after 9:30, I was so fed-up that I went into the corner office of the division's director, a woman named Lynn Fortier.

Behind her back some of us referred to Lynn as "Red" or "Big Red," because of her hair color. She was about five-foot nine, but the "big" in her nickname was not because of physical size. It had more to do with the air of authority she projected. She was about forty and what little we knew about her was that she was divorced and had two kids in high school.

People didn't dislike her, but there was something intimidating about her that even I, who didn't report directly to her, noticed. She seemed to be in all-business mode all the time, and she made no attempt at humor or to chat with people informally.

Her clothes and make-up were always stylish and tasteful; I never saw her dressed casually. Objectively I thought she was attractive, but I had yet to have a fantasy about her. Perhaps I would have gotten around to her eventually, but there was a long line of prospects ahead of her.

I borrowed a tube of hand lotion from someone's desk drawer and went into Lynn's darkened office. The sight lines in the room were such that there was no place that was not visible from the doorway. I figured that at this hour there was no chance of anyone arriving at the office; there seemed to be no point in even closing the door. I knelt down in a corner next to a bookcase, opened up my pants, and started stroking my cock with the hand lotion.

I needed a fantasy to help me along, so I thought of my co-worker Audrey. She was a trim, leggy young blonde wife who sat in the cubicle on the other side of the partition from me. She had been my go-to girl for several other jerk-off scenarios.

I developed a plot in which Audrey sat on the couch at the other side of the room. She was giving me a blowjob while I stood in front of her. Audrey had stripped down to just her pantyhose and high heels and her red-lipsticked mouth eagerly sucked on my erect penis. I ran my hands through her cute bobbed hairdo as I gazed at her perky bare breasts.

"Oh, Audrey, suck on my huge cock, get me off, please." It wasn't clever patter but I suspect few guys had much original to say as they jerked themselves into a climax. Why she would cheat on her husband with the likes of me went unexplained. I did, however, feel some satisfaction that my wife Janey was being deceived. I had the unjustified yet intense feeling that my cock deserved to be inserted into some fresh place like Audrey's willing mouth.

I knew I'd just spurt all over the floor and then I'd dab it up with my handkerchief. I assumed that no one was going to carefully examine that little patch of carpet tomorrow or any other day. Eventually it would be cleaned and that would be the end of it.

Then the lights overhead suddenly went on and I couldn't process my surprise. For a moment I stupidly thought,

how did that happen?

Then I turned my head and saw the light glinting off Lynn's glasses.

Panic took over and I tried to both stand up and pull my clothes together as if that could be done before she noticed anything. That still wouldn't explain why I was in her office in the first place.

Let's face it: I'm dead, or rather my job is.

I also had a bit of resentment mixed in:

what is she doing back here at this hour?

Then as she passed in front of me she said calmly but firmly, "Please don't leave; stay where you are. And don't apologize; don't say anything."

I wondered if perhaps she would call the police too. Was it public lewdness if I was inside an office? Maybe the cops in this New Jersey town would laugh it off, or maybe they'd like spicing up their night-shift routine with an interesting arrest. Maybe Lynn would exaggerate the story a bit.

She had on the same white blouse and red jacket and skirt combination that I had seen earlier that day. The red went well with her hair color, but I assumed she didn't want fashion compliments right now.

She sat down behind her desk and beckoned me over. I had just gotten my pants zipped and buckled, so I went over to wait for whatever fate she had for me. As I stood in front of her desk an option went through my mind. Maybe she'd be merciful and ask me to resign rather than going through Human Resources to get me fired. I'd still have some explaining to do to my wife and any possible future employers, but at least I'd have a chance of spinning it in my favor.

After a few seconds she said, "All right, I've decided you can keep your job, but there are two conditions I'd like to set." That was a relief, although maybe I'd always feel uncomfortable when seeing Lynn again.

Probably that doesn't matter; in a few weeks we will have moved on.

I didn't say anything because I couldn't imagine what the conditions were. Lynn spoke first and got to the point. I knew she was not a person who went in for excess verbiage.

"The first condition is that you need to be punished by me."

What is she talking about?

She could cut my pay, but I guessed she'd need a pretext for that. Or maybe she didn't.

"Now the second condition . . ."

I said something like, "Okay, yes?"

She smiled at bit, I think. "We'll get to that pretty soon. First . . ."

She opened one of her desk drawers and took out two seemingly unrelated items: a towel and a wooden ruler.

"Now this is going to be a corporal punishment. I'm going take you over my knees and paddle your behind with this ruler, first on the seat of your pants, and then on your bare rear end."

I instantly knew that this had nothing to do with corporate policy, or my job, or even her opinion of me. She was expressing her own kinky needs.

Back in that era before Internet porn, it was hard to know the detailed mechanics and protocols for more unusual - or they seemed unusual to me - practices like BDSM. I remembered reading parts of Robert Coover's novel

Spanking the Maid

in a bookstore. I knew that some men liked being beaten by women, but I was less sure - at least until now - if there were any women who liked inflicting it.

I was distracted trying to consider all of this when she said, "Have you ever been spanked before, even by your parents?"

I still wasn't talkative, "Ah, no."

"Then you'll experience something new." With that she spread the towel across her lap.

So that's it; she needs something between my crotch and her cute red skirt.

She didn't offer any explanations. "Come over here," she said, indicating her right side. She flipped up the arms of her nice ergonomic chair and then reached down to lock the wheels.

When those bits were completed she instructed, "This isn't complicated. Keep your feet on the floor and get over my lap."

I found that my arms were dangling, so I put my right hand on the desktop to steady myself. She didn't object to that. Then I was aware of the intimacy of this position; my hips and hers were pressed together. That should have been obvious beforehand, but there was nothing like first-hand knowledge to gain some insights.

Almost immediately I got more evidence about Lynn's real motives. The first thing she did was rub my buttocks quite affectionately.

"I've always liked the tautness of a young man's backside."

Young man?

I was only about seven or eight years behind her in age. Nevertheless, I preferred this to getting fired. And my erection, which had wilted after I was caught a couple of minutes earlier, immediately came back again.

After a little more of her squeezing and fondling my rear, she reached for her ruler. I looked back over my shoulder to see her gazing at it.

She commented, "A nice, thick, old-fashioned ruler - eighteen inches. Montclair Board of Education; that's what it says here. That's my town, but I don't know how I got it." I figured her two kids had gone to school there and one of them had picked it up.

As she raised it above me she said, "These trousers aren't going to give you much protection. Let's see what some taps will do."

"Yes, ma'am." I said that without thinking. That was strange, because in the modern corporate environment everyone was on a first-name basis. I intuitively grasped the ritual involved in this thing.

She didn't start out with taps; she seemed to bring down the ruler as hard as she could. I grunted with each impact. After about six of those she stopped and started rubbing me again.

"That's why it's called a warm-up; I can feel how warm you are right through the cloth. Tell me, maybe you like this a bit?"

I felt I had nothing to lose by telling the truth, "Yes, ma'am, it hurts but I sort of like it anyway."

She laughed at that, "I knew you'd be perverse; you quiet types usually are."

Perverse? How about you, lady? This has been entirely your show from the start.

"All right, undo your pants and get them down." I got halfway up and starting doing what she had asked. I didn't care if she noticed my erection or not. It occurred to me that she knew from sessions with other men that I might have one.

As soon as I had unbuckled she pushed me down again and yanked my pants to my knees. Then she grabbed my underwear and took that down too. I felt the cool air of the room on my skin as she patted me with her ruler.

"I can see the marks of the first six. It's a start anyway."

I had an inspiration, "Pardon me ma'am, but do we have a safe word?" I had read about that somewhere, but I couldn't remember the source.

She laughed at that, "You've got to be kidding me." Indeed, I was being a bit cheeky. "Young man, this is serious discipline, it's not a game."

Of course it's a game.

"Could I at least ask how many I'm getting?"

"You're getting as much as I feel necessary. Your ass looks a bit thin, but you'll take whatever I have to dish out."

Then she resumed her whacking, and she was as vigorous as before. Now I noticed the lack of what little protection the pants had given me. I writhed on her lap and she used her left hand to hold me around the waist.

"Try not to move around so much. You deserve every bit of this."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll try."

I yelped each time she hit me, but I couldn't control that. I was aware of my hips pushing against her lap, and I thought again that it was one the reasons for this particular position.

She had to know about that.

I wondered who else she had practiced on. If it had been one of my co-workers the word would have leaked out by now.

She stopped to say, "It must be humiliating to present your bare rear to your superior."

"Yes ma'am, it is."

Well, that isn't quite true.

She voiced her own satisfaction, "God, there is something about dominating a man, making him pay for his mistakes."

You dirty old bitch, you're enjoying this.

But I wasn't really angry at her, and in turn I was kind of enjoying it too. It was definitely not what I had expected from this evening

She reached a point where she said, "I'll give you a few fast ones to finish you off." When she had completed those I was pushing on the desk with my right hand and trying to get myself up. She planted her hand on my back and pushed me down again.

"One more. I've always wanted to see if I could break a ruler across someone's ass."

She tried with one long swing to do that. "Jesus, ma'am, please . . ."

"I guess not this time. These old school rulers are just too well-made."

Then she went back to rubbing my ass, "You're really burning now, but that's the way it goes. You can get up and grab your backside if you wish."

It was almost instinctual to do just that, and I was surprised by how hot I felt to my own touch. Also, my erection was back and my cock poked out from the bottom of my shirt.

"You naughty boy, you have a hard-on."

"I couldn't help it, ma'am."

"I know, I expected it. Now, it's corner time, or rather, stand over there by the window. Face away from me and put your hands on top of your head."

It was strange to have my pants down in that brightly-lit office and look at the darkness outside. Fortunately, there was only the parking lot below and beyond that, a few cars going by on Route 3. I doubted that anybody in them would notice me.

Lynn commented, "I can see I did a good job on you; your ass is well-bruised. I bet it's throbbing."

"Yes, ma'am, it is."

"Hot as hell too, I imagine. Well, let's not prolong this. It's time for Phase Two. I want you to finish that jerk-off session I interrupted, right now, while I watch."

I didn't fully understand that, "Excuse me?"

"Just go and retrieve that hand lotion you left over there. Then go back to the window and wank yourself - facing me, so I can see."

I pulled my pants up and crossed over to get the tube. When I was back at the window I said, "Ah, I'm not sure this is going to work."

"It can't be that difficult. When I walked in you seemed well-enough along with it. Plus, my ass-whupping gave you even more incentive." She seemed thoughtful, "Get started and tell me about it. Who were you thinking of?"

I can't perform with this kind of pressure.

But I knew I had to try. As I lowered my pants and lotioned myself I said, "It's Audrey."

"Yes, our cute little wifey, that little blonde snip." I wondered why Lynn seemed to have a grudge against her. "So where are you doing it?"

I closed my eyes to get deeper into the fantasy. It was different from the one I had been indulging when I was caught. "On her desk; I'm standing up, I'm inside of her."

"Tell me a little more."

Damn, but this seems to be working.

"Her skirt is up, she's wearing crotch-less pantyhose and no panties underneath." I had seen such pantyhose in some magazine photo. Probably suburban wives knew where to get a pair if necessary.

Lynn was on the same train of thought, "It's always those nice girls who are actually slutty." She had some kind of resentment going on that I could only guess at. "Anyway, keep going, keep talking, you're doing great."

She had been right; I was so charged up that it only took a couple of minutes for me to finish. As I stroked myself I groaned and said things to my imaginary lover. "Audrey, you dirty girl, I love sticking it into your cunt. Really deep, I mean." As I approached orgasm I said, "Get your legs up, Audrey, take my cum!"

I opened my eyes to see the results, and I saw the stream coming out and splattering down on the carpet. I leaned against the window sill, but I didn't want to look at Lynn who was still sitting a few feet to my right. Maybe it was thoughtfulness on her part, but she gave me a short time - about fifteen seconds - to catch my breath.

"Well, that certainly was impressive, for both distance and volume." She sounded so matter-of-fact about it, as if she was discussing my work performance. In some sense she was.

She continued, "I guess I'll have to get that cleaned a bit earlier than usual. Maybe by Thursday. Anyway, get your clothes together." I was still following the boss's orders, and I did just that.

"Now, I want you to leave first. Like right now. Don't even stop in the men's room to examine the damage. Just go downstairs and get in your car."

It occurred to me that she might masturbate right here as soon as I left. I also thought that I might like to watch and even help. I could lick her clit as she fingered herself. I'd find out if her bush was as red as the hair on her head.

She said, "I know what you're thinking. Maybe I'll have you back here for another session, once in a while."

I blurted, "Really? How often?"

"I'm not sure, occasionally." She flicked her fingers at me. "You can go now."