Who's the Boss Now?

My boss is one of the most unlikable people I've ever met. He's blatantly sexist, full of self-hatred (which he takes out on us), and very combative. His mere presence is enough to make everyone tense, irritable and unproductive. He's had numerous complaints lodged against him by employees (including me), both in his department and in others. I can't even stand to be in the same room with him. And I want to fuck this man's brains out.

It's not his appearance - he's average-looking, at best, although he does have a nice smile. He has nice legs, too, and a decent body, but nothing really lust-inspiring.

I fantasize that one day he calls me into his office, closes the door, and proceeds to bitch me out about something. We end up yelling, getting right up in each others' faces - and before we know what's happening, we're all over each other like animals, kissing and feeling and probing, rolling on the floor in a frenzy. We start dry humping, then tear each others' clothes off and just do it right there on the floor, trying not to be heard by the people in the next room, which only makes it more intense. We both come with a frightening intensity, and lie there catching our breath before we get dressed and attempt to calmly walk out of the office. Of course, I have to look properly chastised, since he was supposed to be disciplining me.

Nothing is said about the incident for the next week, as we work side by side and try to act as if nothing happened. But every time we're near each other, we get so horny we can't stand it. More than once I catch him reaching down to adjust himself when he thinks no one can see. Our hands sometimes touch accidentally when I hand him papers, and when our eyes meet for a brief instant, we know what it is we want to do.

Finally, he calls me back into his office and tells me we can't go on working this way, something has to be done about this uncomfortable situation. Even as I stand there listening to him say this, I can see he has a raging hard-on.

I walk up to him, look right up into his face and say, "You're right. Something has to be done about this right away. So come over to my place tonight after work, and we'll do something about it."

He's shocked. He can't believe my boldness. What we did last week was crazy, a total fluke - hell, we can't stand each other, and we damn well know it - but for some reason, we can't turn off this lust for each other. And now I see no reason not to just go with it.

He starts to object, saying we can't do this, he's my boss, etc, etc ... but I just say, "You want this as much as I do. Just show up tonight. My address is in your files." Then I turn and walk out, knowing I'll see him at my door later that night.

And I do.

I let him in, and it starts all over, just like that first time in his office. We fuck until we can't see straight. We fuck in every room of the house. We fuck in the middle of the backyard. Then we fuck some more. We just can't get enough. We're sore and tired, but we just can't seem to stop for anything. We know now that we're totally enslaved by this monster passion that nothing can explain.

As time goes on, we begin to share our twisted little fantasies. One night he shows up with a riding crop and a pair of metal handcuffs. I've never done this before, and never wanted to, but the thought of him bound and helpless, completely at my mercy, is more than I can stand.

I cuff him to the brass headboard. He's naked and trembling, his eyes are glazed. He stares fixedly at the riding crop in my hand, waiting to see what I'll do next. His cock is as hard as it can get, a drop of fluid sitting on the tip.

I'm still fully dressed in conservative office clothes. I walk slowly, deliberately around the end of the bed and back, looking at him, savoring his weakness and obvious desire.

All he can do is wait. His breathing is uneven. His eyes still follow me as I walk. I order him to lie on his back and spread his legs. He does.

I climb onto the bed, kneeling beside him. Our eyes meet, his lips part as he tries to speak. He wants me to do something, anything.

"Not a sound from you ... " I say, while firmly, but caressingly, trailing the riding crop up his leg towards his balls.

"Pretend we're in your office, and there are people in the next room." He closes his eyes, swallows hard, and opens them again. Oh, he wants to beg, I can see it in his eyes, but he won't dare say a word. His breathing is much more erratic now.

Without warning, I raise the riding crop and bring it down on the inside of his thigh, just hard enough to make a little red stripe on his skin. He moans loudly through clenched teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. The cuffs rattle as his body grows taut. His spread legs are trembling.

"Oh, I think that hurt. Want me to stop?" I ask him. Eyes still closed, he vigorously shakes his head no.

I'm enjoying this more than I thought I would. I move closer to him on the bed, leaning over him. "If only your other employees could see you right now ... " I bring the crop down again, same spot, but harder this time. He bucks a bit, and moans again. The stripe this time is darker.

Now I run the tip of the crop over his balls, and I feel an evil delight as I watch them roll, contract, expand again inside his scrotum. He makes a liitle sound that's not quite a word.

I move the crop away, down his leg, then suddenly sting his balls with the tip of it. No moan from him this time, but a huge gasp. His cock is dribbling now, I think he's getting close to orgasm. It hasn't taken long.

Now I lean right into his face, making him look at me. "How hard do you want me to hit you?" I whisper. He stares up at me, his eyes wild, saying nothing, but breathing hard.

"Harder than I hit you just now?" He shakes his head yes.

"How much harder? A little, or a lot?" He looks at me, his eyes pleading. A tear runs down his face. He's past the point of no return - at this moment, he's all mine. And he knows it.

I lock my eyes to his, studying his expression. "You want me to make you bleed, don't you?" His eyes glisten with tears now, and I know from the way he looks at me that the answer is yes. I raise the crop, knowing that this time, I'll be drawing more than just blood. I bring it down on his inner thigh, close to where I hit him before. He moans again, teeth clenched. A welt rises on his skin. I hit him again. Louder moan, bigger welt.

"I wish everyone at work could see you like this!" I spit at him. Another blow, another welt, another moan. His back is arched, his whole body taut, head thrown back, knees drawn up, legs spread as far as they will go. He's abandoned himself to me. His cock looks ready to explode, fluid running down the length of it and forming wet trails on his balls. I sting him there again, not too hard, but he jerks violently.

Another blow to the inner thigh, the other one this time - another, and another, and another. His muffled moans turn to muffled screams, but he doesn't try to stop me or get away from me. The insides of his thighs are covered with welts, blood trickling from two of them.

It's time for the ultimate wickedness now. "If you don't come this time, I'm going to stop and leave the room, just leave you here alone, you hear me?" I yell at him. "Are you ready?" He gives a small sob as the crop is raised agin, right over the worst of his welts. I can see his cock already starting to twitch.

Then I give him the last and hardest blows, bringing the crop down over and over, on his inner thighs, on his ass. He arches his back, thrusting and pumping at thin air, as he comes all over himself, shooting all the way up to his neck. As his orgasm subsides, I stop hitting him and let him settle back down on the bed.

He's gone, he's wasted. His face streams with tears. His chest heaves. He lies with legs still spread, displaying a forest of angry red marks, many of them bloody. I sit back on the bed and watch him as he comes down, thinking of how to get him hard again so I can fuck him. I'm so aroused that I'm in pain. I need to come *now*.

After a while, I get up and remove my clothes. Picking up the crop, I get back onto the bed and straddle him. He's already hard again. He looks up at me, an almost grateful expression in his eyes.

He's destroyed, he's defeated, he no longer owns himself, and he wants it that way. So do I.

The next day at work, he walks stiffly, his trousers rubbing painfully against his wounds. We pass in the hall, our eyes meet. Then mine move down to the front of his trousers, where the pleats are doing their best to conceal his hard cock. I look him in the eye again, and from what I see there, I know without a doubt that if I ordered him to fuck me right there in the hallway, he'd pull up my skirt, rip off my pantyhose and do it. Instantly. Without question. And after we got fired for it, he'd show up at my door, wanting more.

Yes, he is my slave now. We both know it. We also know that I am just as much a slave to him, for I cannot stop myself from giving him what he wants any more than he can stop begging for it.