Dear Reader- a quick summary for those who have not read chapters 1 and 2: Mrs. George is a mid-forties co-worker of mine. We have known each other for a few years. We are both in marriages but an underlying and unspoken sexual tension has always been between us. Although I am just a bit older than her, she has always referred to me as "Sir," this despite being informal with others in the office, superiors included. One day I came to the strong suspicion that she was submissive to me by nature and I demanded she take to her knees. That is when she confessed but told me I could not have her because of our marriages. Nevertheless, and respecting the line she drew, I took it a step further and spanked her, told her a lurid tale of how I would passionately take her given the chance, and, sent her home to rewrite a deficient report and to simmer overnight. She reported back the next day and thanked me for her frustrations. This is where the Confessions of Mrs. George continue....
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I read Mrs. George's report with interest. She did a much better job reviewing the financials and the data so matters did not appear worse than they really were. My meeting with the Board of Directors was scheduled for mid-day and her revisions put me to position to successfully assuage potential business concerns.
After the meeting, at 4 o'clock I went to see Mrs. George. She sat at her desk, head tilted down, buried in her work, dutiful as ever. She did not hear me enter, she bring engrossed in what she was doing. I softly closed the door. The click of the latch caught her off guard, her face turned, eyes darting up, peering over her sexy half rim reading glasses. She was surprised by the intrusion, until she saw my face. Then her expression softened.
"Sir, how did he go? Was the Board pleased?"
"Well, Mrs. George, truth be told, they were satisfied with the report given the facts. They recognized the truth is the truth. We came out ok."
Mrs. George relaxed hearing her report was acceptable, "However, as for me, you did quite well cleaning up your original report, I would say you definitely paid much more attention to detail and dug into the facts better the second time. In fact, you will bring to the attention of the accounting department its mistaken data analysis, which you uncovered on second review, and the fact that it flowed through to our report. A 5% understatement of profits is unacceptable- just makes us look bad. If I did not have you go back and review your work, you would never have found their error, although, I think you should have identified it the first time around. However, I'm pleased you found their error. It saved a lot of face."
"You are welcome, Sir. It was my pleasure."
"Well, to be frank, Mrs. George, I also believe that you need to be rewarded for the revised reporting."
Mrs. George smirked, "And what you have in mind today, Sir?" she said removing the glasses and slowly twirling them in the air by one ear piece.
I glanced at the door and double checked to make sure it was locked before reaching into my back pocket, pulling out an object and dangling it before her face. Mrs. George's eyes widened.
"Sir!" she stammered.
"So you know what this is for," I asked playfully dandling the leather collar off one finger.
"I'm curious... I use the Internet...," she bashfully said.
"And?" I asked.
"Its taking this a bit far," she replied.
"Maybe," I slyly stated, conceding my overreaching desire, "...Mrs. George, get on your knees."
Mrs. George slid out of her seat and onto the commercial grade office carpet, tucked her legs under her and looked down, the tweed skirt hugging her tight shapely ass.
"I like your outfit today... the black stockings clad knees peek nicely from beneath the skirt... the skirt hugs your delicious curves... and the black spike heeled boots- a pleasant change."
"You are welcome, Sir," she said.
"Mrs. George, I just want you to try it on for a moment. I want to know how you look in it. Here, please?" I respectfully asked.
"Sir, I don't know... its not right..." she said.
"I'm not asking for anything but for just this moment."
"Well, just this once," she said with reservation in her voice.
"Thank you Mrs. George," I said handing it to her. I made her take it, made her put it on. It was important that she did it willingly. She fumbled with the buckle at the back of her neck but eventually secured it before feeling for the front, to determine what was dangling, and identifying the ring for attaching a chain.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
"Not as bad as I thought it would...."
"You should see how you look, erotic and classy," I noted.
Her cellphone sat on her desk. "May I?" I asked as I picked it up. Mrs. George looked confused.
"A picture or two..." I clarified.
"Only two," she said, "just for me to see." I crouched down to her level. She continued to look down and I took the first, framing her body from the waist up, "Look up, stare straight at me with the beautiful fiery eyes," I said. Mrs. George looked right at me, a deadpan stare and I snapped a picture from her shoulders up, "One more?" I asked.
"Ok, but no more after," she agreed.
I stood, "Look up at me," I said aiming down, framing her entire body, from her knees to above her head and then snapping the picture.
"Two more," I suggested as I moved back to get her entire body. The first one she looked away to the left. the other one she looked down to the side. Both times she was demure. The pictures were erotic, artful.
'Beautiful,' I thought, the images could have been on the cover of a famous fashion magazine seeking controversy- a beautiful and classy woman collared. I wondered what they would look like in black and white. Probably even more sensual. I handed the cell to Mrs. George. She carefully looked at each photo.
"What do you think, Mrs. George?"
"I never thought I could be so sexy, Sir... and all it took was a simple collar."
"Mrs. George, will you send me copies right now, please?"
"Sir, do you swear to keep them for yourself?"
"Of course," I replied and she dispatched the images to my e-mail account.
"So, are you fond of how you look?"
"Maybe," she replied.
"Well then, lets say you will keep the collar in your desk and know that when we have our Friday late afternoon meetings, I prefer you wear it for me. It is your choice. However, you will wear a strand of pearls on Fridays, regardless of whether you chose the collar, and, if you opt out of the collar, come our meeting, you will wrap the pearls tightly around your neck three times in lieu of the collar."
"But Sir, I own no pearls," she professed.
I reached into my pocket drawing out an appropriate strand, "Put out your hands," I said lowering the pearls into her cupped palm.
Mrs. George gasped. "Sir, no, I can't," she protested.
"Mrs. George, you can and you will. Tell anyone who asks that they are a family heirloom, rarely worn but you decided to wear them now.... Now no more of this subject."
"But Sir," she protested.
"No," I curtly replied.
"Thank you, Sir," she quietly said toying the strand in her hands.
"Mrs. George, why are you submissive?" I asked.
"I like to please those who take care of me... I have always been that way... I don't know why. I just appreciate others. I have never expressed it like this... Sir, you are the first to identify my inner nature and draw it out.... I am grateful..."
"And does your husband know?"
"He has no idea. He takes my pleasing nature for granted. If I were to ever asked him to indulge me like this he would recoil at the thought. No, I can't approach him about it... that is why this is a special. Don't get me wrong, I love him... he is a good man, he just leaves me incomplete, unsatisfied... that is why I have a boundary line we can't cross, as I suspect you do too, because of your marriage...."
"Tell me, how did last night go after you left here? Your note indicated it was quite frustrating."
"Sir, it was... On the train ride home I could not think of anything other than the spanking you gave me. I had to stand holding the center pole of the car, it being rush hour and there were no seats, I was packed in with the other commuters and I found myself gently pushed up against the pole as I held it, and, my bum being rubbed against by the others in the packed carriage. My thoughts were on nothing but the burning sensation on my bottom, my wetness and the way you handled me. The commuting conditions made it worse. I was in such a reverie over what happened, thoughts racing through my mind a million a minute, that I was oblivious to all else and missed my stop. I got home and worked through the night. The house was quiet, I was alone and distracted by the persistent physical sensations. I could not focus and kept finding my hand drifting to my privates, grazing myself in the still of the night. I had to work hard to concentrate on the project and fight my desire to touch myself. The more I refrained, the worse it became but I worked diligently to abstain. I went to bed and periodically woke up through the night, the tension getting worse repeatedly calling me to consciousness as the hours passed. The pain had worn off but the frustration heightened. Each time I woke, thoughts of you spanking me were paramount in my mind. The excitement then spread from my sex back under to my ass and by four in the morning I was buzzing with frustration and dying to touch myself. I was on the edge of wicked immorality. I somehow fell back to sleep and when I woke for work, the tension had not subsided. And, her I am Sir, once again and at your mercy..."
"Mrs. George, put your head down on the ground, hands clasped over your head."
I moved behind my submissive Mrs. George and worked the tight skirt over her hips, revealing lacy thigh highs and sheer panties. I leaned over and slowly caressed her bum with my hand, studying her curves, "I think you liked that spanking yesterday despite its punishing nature, yes?"
"Yes, Sir," she quietly confessed, "it was very exciting. I hoped all night for more."
I slapped her panty covered ass. I did it again, and again, and again. Each time she whimpered and then whispered, "Thank you." I imagined she was biting her lower lip, concealing the pain as I indulged her desire. Just as her flesh turned a light shade of pink I stopped.
"Mrs. George," I instructed, "Was that sufficient?"
