SO... I'd hoped for a pleasant-enough atmosphere, a pretty masseuse, maybe a little something extra - the on-line add did seem to hint at such promise - and a decent massage. I got two of the three. And a girlfriend.
The spa, unlike so many of those typically advertised, was in fact a spa. It was full of contradictions in both design and intent. For starters, there was a healthy clientele of well-heeled women present at any time, as I would come to learn Indeed, I was one of only a few male clients. Decent location, fitted out with cheap furniture, tacky artwork. But the flowers were always fresh, and all the attendants quite attractive, all asian, most of whom spoke little english. Lots of treatment rooms, including massage rooms with jacuzzi tubs, a table shower room, and some private treatment rooms on the second floor. After a couple of visits I started to wonder... maybe the 'extras were reserved for women? There's a market for this? Who knew. But, the massage was fantastic and Cici was beautiful.
Cici:
She said she was Mongolian. Maybe you think like me... Mongolian = John Wayne as Genghis Kahn, or the pics of village women in National Geographic. She fit none of those models. High cheek bones, long neck, slender build, and as I learned later, magnificent breasts. She was maybe 5'9", maybe a hundred thirty-five pounds. Not my type.. to big... I like petite women... but she was physically striking. Large, wide-set piercing black eyes, full lips, perfect teeth, shoulder-length jet black hair. Soft hands, flawless skin, and as I learned later, a perfectly flat abdomen for which she took no credit. No time for exercise, it seems. She was dirt poor, but carried herself like a princess. She was curious about everything, grateful for what she had. And she gave me a hardon every time I got a massage. She liked to play with it. She'd get very close... like she was near-sighted, and delighted at how it responded to her touch. But it never got past that.
Cici was typically a very conservative dresser. However, one time, after we'd gotten to know each other, she came into the room dressed in a peasant blouse, snapped in the front, and a very sexy, revealing bra. The blouse was too small, and kept popping open on her, exposing the perfect flesh of her breasts. She was coy, however, and would quickly try to re-button the blouse as quickly as it came undone. I'd have killed to play with her breasts the way she toyed with my dick. She kept telling me I needed a girlfriend. No reader of minds when it comes to women, what I didn't understand was that what she meant was that I needed her as a girlfriend. I tipped her well that first night, and we became friends.
Poppy:
Monday, 3PM, and Poppy's making Jeff - the intern's - life miserable. She can be mean-spirited, bit of a bully. Really only one way to deal with a bully. I send her a text: "My office, 6PM." She responds: "Can't tonight! :)" A smiley face? We have a long row to hoe here...
Tuesday, 8 AM:
Me, the intern, Ian, the other two project managers and Poppy are sitting around the conference table, awaiting the big boss. Poppy is teeing up the morning brief on the view screen from her computer. She starts the powerpoint, not really paying attention to its content. When she hits the first icon, a video clip appears. It's been edited to blur out the face, but is otherwise showing a young woman vigorously masturbating on an office couch. Ian, of course, is the first to react.
"Holly shit Poppy - nice video clip! where'd you get it, love? Home movie is it?" She looks at Ian, still not quite grasping his comment... then looks up at the screen. She might have shrieked, but there was too much noise from the guys to tell. She scrambles, shuts down the presentation, takes a deep breath, pauses a moment: "Ian - I thought Id put that up for you and Jeff - maybe you'll spare me your leering looks now. And NO its not me - plenty of material on the web these days."
I had to admit, pretty nice recovery, though I'm pretty sure I can actually, literally see her heart racing as she shoots daggers in my direction. I smile and say "Thats true Poppy, but you might want to get it off your computer - I'm not sure your... er - training aids would be approved by the IT department." The boys laugh.
Big boss walks in, mildly irritated that the presentation is not ready, but happy to see the room so lively. Poppy silently begs the room not to divulge details. Jeff, with every reason to throw her under the bus, looks at me. I shake my head 'no,' and catch Poppy's eye. She's in near panic. No one reveals the joke, and we proceed.
When she's done her part of the brief, I send another text: "6PM, tonight. Nod to acknowledge your required presence." No eye contact, but, after a moment, a simple nod, head hanging down.
Coming back from lunch, I see Poppy out of the corner of my eye. She's opening the door and walking out Ian's office, looking guilty. I might have guessed.
At six PM on the dot, she arrives. "How DARE you put that video up! what gives you the right? And how the hell did you ever get it on my presentation?"
"You disappoint and disgust others like its second nature to you."
"I'd like an answer."
"I just gave you one. As for how - or why - you put your video on your presentation, only you know." I laugh a little. "It was, however, well received. I'm sure I speak for the entire office in saying we look forward to the next installment, should the need for additional 'training' ever arise."
She glares... she'd shoot me now if possible. Then, sighs in resignation. "You wanted to see me, 'sir'?" A bit of sarcasm.
"My text was a requirement, not a desire. Don't confuse the two." I go back to my screen. After a minute or two, she speaks: "Well, what am I to do then?"
"You know what to do."
"Sir, I..." I cut her off.
"Poppy, you have many undesirable traits. Stupidity is not one of them." She grinds her teeth, stands for a moment, considering her options. Then, without another word, starts removing her clothes. She stops at her lingerie. It is spectacular. Red. Plunging cups for the bra, intricate lace. Same pattern for the panties...a lace boyshort that perfectly outlines her pussy lips and butt crack. I provide her a dismissive look, my inference clear. She hesitates for just a moment, then removes the last bit of clothing, covering her pussy with her hands. The effect is to push her breasts together, making them appear even bigger, if possible. Her nipples are hard.
"Hands behind your back, clasped."
"Sir, the janitor..."
"I sent her away until later. Maybe we'll be done by the time she gets back. There's a bit of cardboard from a shipping box in the corner. Retrieve it." She does so; it's maybe 2'X2' square. It is barely long enough for her to kneel on it and rest her toes as well. However, it is corrugated, and provides some minimal padding. "That square is your space. When in my office for our shared purpose, every time you arrive, you will immediately disrobe and kneel on it. Shoulders back, head and eyes down, hands clasped behind your back."
"Yes master." After a minute, she figures it out, places the square down, and kneels. She's sweating, but its a cold, nervous sweat.
"Where's your ruler, Poppy?"
"My ruler? Master I'm not sure what... oh. OH!" She recalls the spanking, and shudders.
"Poppy. You fight everything and everyone. You are like an otherwise wonderful dog that's been kicked so many times, it no longer knows anything but the boot and the snapping teeth in return. Whatever wretched experiences caused this have contaminated your soul as well as those whose lives you have touched. These past experiences interfere with your relationships, your sex life, your self worth. As a result, you see your physical attributes not as a gift, but a weapon. You need to learn patience. Trust. Submission. You will do so by submitting to me.
"Now - you cost me 80 hours of my life in your little embezzlement scheme. I figure, at a 4:1 payback, you owe me 320 hours of your life, at my discretion. You may find that with submission, rather than resistance, the time will go much faster, and you might even learn something about yourself.
"Now - the ruler. Find it, retrieve it, and bring it to me." She looks around and sees it propped in the corner. She starts to get up and walk toward it.
"WHAT are you doing. Stop."
"But sir, I was going to..."
"You were going to leave your square. Without permission." She's exasperated. Good. I continue:
"Back on your knees. You may place your palms on the floor to pull yourself to the ruler. Its not that far. And, no other part of your body may touch the floor. Including your toes." Maybe 15 feet. She ought to be able to slide the cardboard across the tile floor. It turns out to be a considerable effort, placing just enough weight on her knees to drag the cardboard along without slipping off. Every time she she slips off, she has to start over. After a few failed attempts, she learns to stretch her torso forward, almost to the point where her tits touch the floor, then pull herself forward. Keeping her toes up the whole time puts considerable stress on her hamstrings, and requires her to suck her abs in even tighter. I admit to myself, the vision of her stretching out and pulling herself forward, her ass up in the air, is pretty sexy. She retrieves the ruler, places it on the cardboard and starts shuffling her way back.
"NO. Hold it in your mouth." She does, and by the time she gets back to me, she's drooling. It embarrasses her. "You can mop up the floor later. Now, tits or ass?"
"Sir?"
"I'm giving you a choice. Where do you want your spanking - tits or ass?" Her face turns beet red.
"OK - I'll pick. Tits. Stand on your knees."
"But sir - the agreement - you said no pain..."
"I said no injury. Now, kneel up, and present your tits to me with your hands." She does so, and I start. Firm taps mostly. Rapid. She squirms, shifts as the heat of the spanking turns her flesh pink. I stop, and toss the ruler toward the couch. The look of relief in her eyes is short lived. "Go get it." She looks at me in disbelief, starts to comment... then, thinking better of it, turns and shuffles over. When she gets to the ruler, I stop her. "You may not touch it with your hands." She looks at me, fighting back tears and, then in resignation, turns back to the ruler; her formnitable tits touch the floor, her ass high in the air as she struggles to nudge the ruler in a way that she can pick it off the ground.. It takes some doing, and results in her licking the floor. But, she figures it out, and brings it back. No hesitation this time. She drops the ruler into my hand, and offers her tits. The spanking, and the game of 'fetch' continues until her core strength is gone and she can't shuffle any more. She kneels up, struggling to keep her toes off the deck, silent tears streaming off her cheeks and on to the bright pink flesh of her tits.
"You may kneel on your haunches and relax." She sighs in relief. "I hate that fucking ruler, sir." I ignore the comment for the time being.
"Your bra size?" She hesitates, then answers, too tired to fight.
"75F, usually. It can change, sir." European, of course. I'd sort out the conversion later.
"Dress?"
"8"
"Panties?"
"Medium."
