I make more mistakes. I make them on purpose. I fill out an anonymous complaint form on the company website, too. I fill it in, about myself, saying I'm rude and tactless and insensitive. Then I fill out another.
Then I wait, hoping they will be passed along to my boss.
Soon, they are. A few nights later, as everyone is packing up to go home, she calls me into her office, and shows me the complains, and tells me I never learn.
"I know," I say. "I'm sorry. I'll do better."
"No," she says. "Filling in fake complaints is just silly. It really is."
I look at her, surprised.
"The internet address is logged," she says. "You did it from here. From right out there, at your work computer."
"Oh," I say, embarrassed. "Um, yes."
"That's just silly," she says. "You never learn."
"I'm sorry."
I have a shift-dress and button-up shirt and tights, and I'm not really organized for easy undressing. She looks at me for a moment, and then tells me to take off the tights. I feel a bit awkward, but I step out of my shoes and do. She just watches, as I reach up under the dress and wriggle and tug them down. I feel a bit embarrassed, since this is about the unsexiest way to undress possible, but I manage, as best I can. I take then off, and then hold them out to her, unsure what she wants me to do.
She takes them, and tells me to turn around, and put my arms behind me. I do, and she ties my wrists with my tights, firmly, behind my back. She uses a proper knot, and tugs it tight, so my arms are trapped and I can't pull them free.
I try.
She slaps my ass when she sees me tugging, slaps it hard, and says, "Don't do that."
I stop.
She turns me towards her desk, and pushes me forwards. So stumble, and slip, and almost fall. So I go forward, and land on it, land hard. So I'm suddenly lying face-down on her desk, with my hips at the edge and my feet still on the floor.
She stands behind me. She lifts up my dress, and pulls my undies down, and slaps the back of my legs so I shift my feet and let her take them off me.
And then she just stands there.
She stands there and looks at me.
I'm nervous. I'm breathing fast. She's looking at me, lying there, helpless, tied, and that's scaring me as much as it is exciting me.
It's exciting me a lot.
She reaches past me, and picks up a plastic ruler. A thin, whippy plastic ruler she has on her desk for keeping track of rows of numbers on spreadsheets. She shows it to me, holding it out until she's sure I've seen it, I think, and then she moves, and stands behind me.
She stands behind me, out of sight, so I tense up, waiting for what I know she's about to do.
I turn. I try to see. She twists her hand into my hair, and pushes my face onto her desk, and says, "Don't."
I stop. I just lie there still. Nervously waiting to be hit.
I know I'm about to be hit. I know the ruler will hurt, and I'm almost scared of it.
I wait, but she doesn't hit me. She strokes me with the ruler instead. She slides it up the back of my legs, and slowly over my ass. I sigh, despite myself, my skin tingling where I'd expected to feel pain, all tensed-up with nervousness. She slides it down and up again, up between my legs, and then taps it against the inside of my thigh demandingly. I understand what she means. I move my feet further apart, so she can reach me more easily.