Punish Me, Please

by Reese Gabriel

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Punish Me Please

  By Reese Gabriel

  ISBN 13: 978-1-934349-26-7

  ISBN 10: 1-934349-26-7

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2005, All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Cover Image © Ludovic Goubet

  www.ludovicgoubet.com

  Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Punishment. Sheila rubbed her thighs together under the desk in anticipation. She was settling in for a go at one of her favorite fantasies, her fingers obliviously typing away, a million miles away on company business.

  The star, as always, was the sexy, charismatic and aloof Mr. Stone, her boss. He took many roles in her imagination, but always he was strong and dominant, disciplining her bare ass and ultimately using her for his perverted pleasures.

  In this particular fantasy, Sheila was a young housewife, standing at the living room window, watching anxiously for her husband to pull up the drive after a long day’s work.

  She was quite nervous, because he would be home any minute, and she had been a very bad girl today. She hadn’t retrieved his laundry from the cleaners as he had asked, she had done no chores about the house, and she had also cooked a dish with curry for supper, a spice he detested.

  Her only hope was to appease him sexually. As a greeting outfit, she had chosen to wear nothing but a red silk bra and panties and a pair of spikey open-toed heels.

  “Hi, baby,” she attempted to throw herself at him as soon as he came in the door, her voice soft and sweet. “I missed you so much. I’m so horny.”

  She had hoped the sight of her available body would put her tall, dark and handsome husband in a good mood right off the bat, but instead, it only served to anger him.

  Blue eyed and iron-willed, Mr. Stone, the newlywed husband, held her at bay not allowing her to touch him. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to see you like this?” he chided drawing the drapes. “Don’t you have any morals, Sheila? Or do you want to attract every hard cock in the vicinity?”

  She hung her head. She hadn’t thought about how anyone passing by could see her, looking so hot and slutty, and now that she realized, she felt deeply ashamed. And even more in trouble to boot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” she said.

  “This is what I get for letting you run around unchained.” He sniffed the air. A frown came over his chiseled, rugged face as he smelt the strong odor of spice. “Curry,” he accused.

  “It’s a new recipe I wanted to try...”

  “The only thing you’ll be trying is bed without supper,” he said crossly. “Go and get your chore list. I want to have a look.”

  She brought it, like a school girl, shuffling her feet.

  “Nothing,” he declared, noting the complete lack of check marks next to the items on the small piece of paper he had given her this morning. “You’ve done nothing at all, Sheila.”

  “I can explain.”

  “Let me see your nails.”

  She swallowed, holding them out, pretty and bright, fire engine red.

  “You have had them painted again, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “That’s why I couldn’t do anything else today.”

  He crumpled up the list and tossed it on the floor. “I ought to make you eat that.”

  “Please don’t,” she said meekly. What else could she do except stand before him, quivering and wheedling? He was so much stronger than her. He looked like a tiger, ready to pounce. “Please, don’t make me eat the paper.”

  His expression was one of pure disdain. “You know this behavior of yours won’t stand, don’t you?”

  “Yes...” Her heart thudded in her chest. There was only one thing she knew to do in cases like this. Sink to her knees and try to please him with her servile mouth. “May I suck you to make up for it?”

  His eyes darkened, indicating she was crossing the line...again. “Sucking me is a privilege, young lady, not a penalty.”

  “Yes,” she managed, palms sweating, body aching with unmet need. “Forgive me.”

  He raised a brow. His face was set in that way she knew would allow for no turning back. “Forgive me, what?”

  “Forgive me, Sir,” she croaked.

  “Do you think you have earned the privilege of sucking my cock, little Sheila?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “What needs to happen next instead?”

  Sheila’s nipples tightened into hard buds under the skimpy bra in anticipation of the words she must say. Between her thighs, the dampness increased to a slow trickle of juices.

  It would soon be more, much more.

  I need...punishment, Sir.”

  “Speak up, Sheila, look me in the eye.”

  She did so humiliated...and totally aroused. “I need punishment, Sir.”

  “Why?”

  “I...I’ve done wrong, Sir.”

  “You’ve been a naughty girl, that’s what you’ve been.”

  “Yes, Sir,” her cheeks turned to fire, matching her belly. “I’ve been a naughty girl.”

  “Beg for it,” he commanded. “Beg for punishment. On your ass.”

  She swooned. “P—please,” she whispered. “Punish me...punish my ass, Sir.”

  His face radiated pure and confident male power. There was no doubting he had what it took to discipline her. It was going to happen, no turning back. “The belt, Sheila.”

  She knew she must do this next part herself. It was a key part of every fantasy, and she had dreamed of it a million times and in a million ways over the years. The face and body of the man varying, but always the same common denominator. Strength. Domination. Humiliation.

  The very touch of leather, the cold metal of the buckle made her knees turn to rubber as she proceeded. Her fingers tremble.

  “You’ve had your toenails done, too, my naughty little Sheila.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “How much did it cost?”

  She named an outrageous figure.

  “You’ll make that amount up,” he told her. “Your allowance is suspended. You may also consider yourself on activity restriction. I will personally approve everything you do the rest of the week. Perhaps that will teach you not to abuse your freedom.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She wanted to be taken, to be thrown down on the floor; he was being so masterful, putting her in her place, like a cherished but willful little pet.

  The belt buckle released in her hands. She shivered. It was her task to pull it from the loops, to offer it to him. He was standing so close; his breath on her neck. She wanted to be touched, reassured. She marveled at his self-control, and the power he radiated. He would use her all right but on his terms.

  His hand snaked around to her buttock as she performed the unthreading operation. He massaged the silk covered globes, his property to be disciplined. “It will be bare assed this time, Sheila,” he informed her casually. “I intend to leave you some rather substantial welts. You won’t be sitting comfortably for some time, in the beauty parlor or anywhere else.”

  Oh, god, she was ready to com
e. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She put the belt into his hands, an innocent wardrobe accessory on its way to becoming an instrument of correction.

  Female correction.

  “Open,” he commanded.

  Sheila slackened her jaws, eyes soft and pliant, back straight, breasts thrust out. It was the behavior of submission. So was the slickness at the apex to her thighs, the scent of her, thick in the air. She would do and say anything soon enough to ease the pain, but at the same time, she wanted everything she could get and more. The contradiction, the anticipation was electric, delicious.

  He put the leather belt between the rows of her teeth. His eyes were cold as steel. “Bite.”

  She clamped down, her stomach and pussy clenching at the same time. Being made to hold the belt in her teeth could only mean one thing. She was about to be brought low, deprived of her hands...and her pride.

  “Go to the couch, Sheila, put yourself in position.”

  He watched her sink down in front of him, onto her hands and knees. She paused, just a moment, to touch her forehead to his shoe, acknowledging his rights, his power over her. Then she began to crawl across the thick pile carpet to the couch.

  To be whipped, mercilessly...

  “Sheila, are you quite all right?”

  Sheila started from her reverie. Jeremy Stone was standing directly over her, in front of her desk, towering six foot tall in his blue silk suit, custom-made in Paris, the tie powder blue, a perfect compliment to the crisp white shirt with onyx cuff links.

  The outfit was splendid and flawless, though it paled in comparison to the man himself. Rugged jawed; blue eyed with an ideal sloping nose and sculpted cheekbones. As for his body, it was carved like your average Greek god’s with broad shoulders, firm biceps and abdomen and tapered waist.

  In the three months since she had worked for Jeremy, she had become increasingly enamored.

  In fact, he had become the exclusive star of her punishment and domination fantasies, including the one she had just been spinning out.

  “Yes. I’m fine,” she answered red-cheeked, trying not to see him as the husband whose belt she had just undone, and who had ordered her to take it into her mouth and carry it like a dog to the couch for a sound beating.

  He studied her in that patient, slightly unnerving manner of his. Those eyes so intense, she felt like a butterfly being dissected by blades, laser thin. “Have you completed the memo to the department heads?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir, I’m cuing it to print right now.”

  In a matter of seconds, the crisp paper spat out of the machine, covered precisely in black ink. Sheila handed it to her boss, painfully aware of the lowness of her position, as well as the vastly superior size of his hand in comparison to hers.

  “This is error free,” he scanned it lightning fast. “As always.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Fortunately, Sheila was gifted with intense concentration powers, such that she could maintain her impeccable work performance even while living a secret mental life as a slave girl.

  “See that it is distributed at once,” he gave it back.

  “Yes, Sir.” Sheila was already printing more copies. Jeremy continued to stand over her, making her squirm. Her greatest fear in life was that he would somehow recognize, by her scent or some other physical clue, that carrying out his bidding was a profound aphrodisiac.

  A male model could pose nude for her on Jeremy’s waiting couch across from her desk and she would not be a fraction as excited as she was upon being told to bring the man a cup of coffee or a sharpened pencil.

  Most days, she could not make it to her morning break without taking time for one of her secret, under the desk, masturbation sessions where she could freely indulge her fantasies of having him order her to take that pencil to him with her teeth, crawling on her hands and knees or making her strip and present the piping hot coffee to him completely in the raw.

  “It’s quite important for you to be pleasing, isn’t it,” he observed.

  “I like to be, yes, Sir,” she replied, though it was not really a question.

  His gorgeous lips pursed slightly, “Must pose quite a dilemma for you, really.”

  “What’s that, Sir?”

  “You orient your life around meeting the standards of your superiors. And yet, because you are such an outstanding servant with the ability to constantly meet and exceed those standards, you are never able to experience for yourself the true workings of the system you so thoroughly adore.”

  Jeremy’s language struck her as odd, even a little titillating. Words such as servant and adore had strong meanings outside the workplace. “Sir...I’m not sure I follow.”

  “You’re a model employee, Sheila. You do as you’re told, and you’re rewarded,” he spelled it out more bluntly. “Don’t you ever wonder what would happen if you were not so pleasing?”

  Her heart thumped like a rabbit’s. Was her boss really talking to her this way—steering the conversation into deliberately dangerous waters? The sort of waters that might force her to reveal far more of herself than she was prepared to. “I’ve read the personnel handbook, Sir. I would expect to...submit to all company discipline.”

  The word sent a chill down her spine, hot and significant. Did he notice her reaction? The slight tremor in her voice as she pronounced it?

  “Would you?” He raised a brow.

  “Yes, Sir,” she answered quickly. Her insides melted at his striking, powerful beauty. Was he toying with her? Was he playing some potentially dark game or was it only her overwrought imagination?

  “I would like to take you to dinner tonight,” he said. “Assuming you don’t consider that to be a form of fraternization.”

  “I...no, Sir,” she flushed. “I would be delighted.”

  “Good,” he smiled, calm, cool and in control. “I suppose you could bring suit against me otherwise, but seeing as how I own the company and have rather excellent lawyers at my disposal, you would probably have difficulty obtaining a settlement. Shall I pick you up at eight? At your place?”

  “That would be wonderful. What shall I wear, Sir?”

  “I’ll have something sent around.” He removed a small, leather bound pad from his inner jacket pocket. “Write down your sizes for me. Lingerie, as well.”

  Her skin burned hot as she transcribed the numbers, intimate and personal. She could not believe the turnaround in affairs. A little while ago, she was barely sure that the man liked her at all, and now, he was asking her on what amounted to a date.

  Oh, god, is that what this was? Was he interested in her in a personal way? Up to this point, she had been in too much shock to stop and consider the implications. No wonder he had said what he had about fraternization. A lunch would have been one thing, but taking her to dinner, dressing her to play the part—that was quite another matter.

  “Here you are, Sir.”

  “Thank you.” He tucked the pad away. “I would like some coffee now, Sheila. Please brew a fresh pot.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Jeremy strode into his office, closing the door. She hurried to the kitchen, pouring out the existing decanter, nearly full.

  “Hey,” protested Sharon Wyath from accounting, “I just made that.”

  “Sorry,” she lied. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Brew a fresh pot, Jeremy had said, and that’s what she must do.

  Sharon shook her head and walked out. Just in time for Sheila to lean against the counter, pressing her belly on the hard edge. Her breath was coming in short stabs. She clenched her ass cheeks, thinking of punishment, imagining what a man as powerful and masterful as Jeremy Stone might do to her if she did not follow his instructions to the letter.

  This coffee is not fresh, Sheila...you will lie across my lap for a spanking, right this instant...

  Her pussy throbbed under her long, tight skirt and panties. She couldn’t touch it here in the kitchen, where anyone might walk in, but she could grasp her nipples through
the silk blouse and cotton bra. Such tempting targets, so easy for a man to hurt and abuse, pinching, biting or clamping them.

  The added pressure to her nubs tugged invisible lines which linked straight to her sex. Like marionette strings to make her dance, manipulating her to orgasm without a cock or finger or dildo.

  Coming like this was exciting and dangerous but also humiliating. Jeremy had gotten to her so much that she was reduced to taking desperate pleasure, no forethought, no privacy, no dignity. She was little more than an animal, stimulated, poked and prodded by his canny powers.

  Tiny sighs escaped her throat as she humped the counter. Her ass was sticking out, so very exposed. She deserved a spanking for this, such a naughty slut to get herself off while waiting for the coffee. Such a strange girl, no proper boyfriend, always fawning over bosses and older men, whispered about behind her back, so beautiful and shy, there must be something quite wrong with her.

  Throwing every caution to the wind, she slipped off her shoes, wanting the feel of her bare feet on the linoleum. It was a power thing. Only submissive girls went shoeless in the presence of men. Bare feet equaled subjection, slavery, and of course, the full gamut of punishment.

  She pushed herself up on her toes. The floor was cold and not completely clean. Punished girls had no right to keep their feet or any other part of themselves clean. Their lot was suffering and shame.

  Oh, lord. The orgasm was right here, ready to come and pluck her up, to take her, ripened to the next plane of existence. Drawing a musical breath, as soft as she could manage, she yielded herself over, her untouched, gaping, yawning cunt finding its small measure of zinging satisfaction.

  A snap of lightning, licking her body, giving her bliss, for the briefest moment.

  All too quickly, however, she wanted more. More orgasms. More stimulation. It was enough to make her cry. She needed a strong and domineering man to come and grab hold of her, to lay claim to her body and use it as it was intended.

  As a vessel of pleasure.

  Coming back to her senses, she saw the coffee was already done. She hoped it hadn’t been sitting for too many minutes. Perhaps she should start from scratch?

  “Hey, Sheila, how’s it going?”