by Maya Cross
I turned to go, but it was too late. Voices began to echo up the corridor from the direction I'd come. My heart leapt up into my throat. I was cut off.
Even as panic set in, my mind began hunting for an escape. Running was out of the question with all that security, and the deeper I went into the building, the more trouble I'd likely be in if found. I could try talking my way out, but I'd already had my share of close calls tonight and my lies wouldn't hold up under any real scrutiny. That left only one choice that I could see.
I dove for the nearest door. The voices were getting louder. They sounded like they were just around the bend. By some miracle, the door wasn't locked. I yanked it open, threw myself inside and pulled it shut as softly as my shaking hands would allow. It closed with a quiet but audible click.
I held my breath and pressed my ear against it. The conversation was muted through the thick timber, but it sounded as though the speakers had stopped moving. I could hear them talking — arguing it sounded like — somewhere to my left.
I exhaled slowly, taking the moment's respite to study my hiding place. Having seen the bar outside, the office was no surprise. Opulent, masculine, and sophisticated. The floor was polished wood, the furniture sparse but beautiful, and all of it looked almost too old for anyone to actually risk using. Everything the owner could want was within reach, from a well-stocked bar to an en-suite to a small built-in wardrobe filled with pressed suits. I could probably have lived there and been relatively comfortable.
After a minute had passed, the voices still hadn't moved. Maybe they'd gone into one of the other offices. With any luck that would be as close as they came. All I had to do was wait them out.
Seemingly in no immediate danger, I slipped off my shoes and moved to explore the room a little. It was unlikely they'd hear my footsteps, but I wasn't taking any chances.
There was a laptop open on the desk with a password prompt on the screen. The user name read 'S.Lock'. Well Mr Lock, your office is a hell of a lot neater than mine.
Next to the computer was a single stack of papers. Unable to stop myself, I thumbed through the top couple of sheets. At first, I thought it might have been some kind of joke, because the front page was stamped 'Top Secret' in bright red ink, but as I skimmed through it, I began to get the sense that there might be more to it. If it was a hoax, it was an incredibly detailed one. It seemed to be some kind of internal US government document. The content was largely alien to me — most of it had to do with oil in the Middle East — but as I ran my eyes over it, I got the distinct sense that it was a dangerous thing to be reading.
I was so focused on those pages that I nearly missed the sound of voices echoing up the hallway once more. By the time I noticed, they were right outside the door.
Oh Jesus!
Reacting purely on instinct, I scooped up my shoes and bolted for the nearest hiding spot; the cupboard. It was close, but I narrowly made it. The latch clicked shut behind me moments before I heard the rattle of a handle being turned. My pulse was hammering in my ears.
"—don't care what you do, I just need you to take care of it. Losing those panels will put us months behind schedule."
My stomach sank even lower. I knew that elegant voice. S.Lock. I hadn't just stumbled through any door. This was Sebastian's office.
Shit shit shit.
How unlucky could I get?
I crouched down, putting my eyes level with a row of slats towards the bottom of the door, and the room sprung into view. Sebastian was pacing behind the desk, talking to another man who was leaning against the door frame.
"I'll do what I can, but it's not like they left a nice polite note or anything," said the visitor. "It's going to take a little time."
"Well, not getting them back is not an option."
The other man raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay. I'll get some people on it."
"Good. And send Hannah in on your way out would you?"
"Sure."
He closed the door, leaving Sebastian staring contemplatively into the air. After about thirty seconds, there was a knock, and the girl from before peeked her head in. "You wanted to see me, sir."
"Hannah. Yes, come in."
She walked slowly into the room, a penitent look on her face.
"Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Sorry for what?" His voice was hard and unforgiving.
"I'm sorry that I interrupted you."
"We've worked on this before," he said, starting to pace once more. "It's not your position to decide who I can and can't talk to. That's not part of our deal."
She nodded quickly. "I know, sir. I'm sorry."
I shifted uncomfortably. I didn't understand. Hannah was a grown woman, and Sebastian's employee, but she was being chastised as though she was a child.
"Unfortunately Hannah, sorry isn't good enough. You know the rules. What do we do with girls that misbehave?"
Hannah stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly dreading answering the question. "We punish them," she squeaked eventually.
"Indeed."
Oh my god. No wonder their relationship had seemed strange. I wasn't so naive as to not be familiar with BDSM, but I'd always thought of it as a niche fetish, something relegated to kinky underground sex clubs and the odd upper middle class basement. Truthfully, the whole idea seemed vaguely ridiculous. What kind of self-respecting woman gave up control of herself to her partner? It defied all logic. But crouched in that cupboard, watching Sebastian display such visceral control, I felt a small tingle of excitement. Part of me wanted to know what happened next.
He gazed at Hannah for several seconds. "I think it will be the black paddle today." She whimpered. "Go on now," he continued, "you know what to do."
I watched, mesmerised, as Hannah headed slowly over to the wall, opened up a small and rather cleverly hidden cupboard, and withdrew a long leather paddle. My mouth went dry at the sight of it. It was a scary looking implement about two feet long, and coated length to tip in rough, black leather. It seemed out of place given the class and sophistication of our surroundings.
I suppressed a morbid laugh as Sebastian's comment from before finally clicked. "We'll find time for a paddle later."
With the object in hand, Hannah hesitated momentarily.
"Bring it to me," said Sebastian, who had removed his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves. His arms were long and lean, but layered with taut ropes of muscle, like those of a professional tennis player.
Hannah sucked in a deep breath. For a second, I thought she was going to resist, but after steeling herself, she marched dutifully back across the room and placed the paddle in Sebastian's fingers. He swished it through the air a few times, testing the weight of it. "Perfect. Now, present yourself for me."
Trembling, she bent over the leather armrest of the sofa. I was shocked that she was being so compliant, but on some level, I understood. The authority radiating from Sebastian now was almost palpable; a singular force of relentless will. Everything about him spoke of man in utter control; from the weight of his voice to the certainty in his eyes to the measured purposefulness of his movements. There was no doubt in his mind that Hannah would give him what he wanted, and as much as I hated to admit it, I found that determination incredibly arousing.
Sebastian growled in appreciation as he peeled Hannah's skirt back, exposing her naked ass to the air. "It frustrates me that we have to keep doing this," he said, reaching out to cup one cheek, "but I suppose it does have its advantages."
Hannah shifted, drawing in sharp little breaths while he caressed her roughly. As I watched, I found myself wondering what his touch would feel like on my body. His hands looked so strong, and there was something so possessive about the way he stroked her.
"Are you ready for your punishment?" Sebastian asked.
"Yes sir."
"Good."
I wasn't sure what to expect next. It seemed like there should be
some kind of preamble, but instead, Sebastian simply whipped the paddle back and brought it crashing down into Hannah's ass.
"One. Thank you, sir," Hannah said through gritted teeth. He spanked again. "Two. Thank you, sir."
God, she even has to thank him. That's one thing you'd never catch me doing.
...or any of this other stuff either.
Jesus Sophia.
Clearly Sebastian was an experienced practitioner. He truly looked in his element now. Every gesture was graceful and precise, and with every stroke, his body flexed and bulged. I hadn't thought it possible, but somehow the situation made him look even more attractive. I felt the unmistakable throb of desire pulsing between my legs.
A glance at Hannah told me I wasn't the only one enjoying myself. Sebastian was so powerful, and every blow looked more excruciating than the last, but as he settled into his rhythm, the shock on her face gradually melted away, replaced with something I could only describe as a kind of pained ecstasy.
Watching her take pleasure in being punished was confronting, but also strangely exciting. The dynamic between them was so raw and so intense that I could practically taste it in the air. I shifted uncomfortably, desperately willing my arousal away, but all I succeeded in doing was knocking a suit off the bar behind me. I caught it with an outstretched hand, but the damage had already been done. In an instant the closet door was flung open and I was once again pinned in place by that penetrating gaze.
Sebastian stared at me for several seconds. I saw him reacting a hundred different ways in my head, but eventually he surprised me by breaking into a laugh. "Well, well, well. Sophia. We did say we might see each other again, but I hadn't expected it to be quite like this." Strangely, he didn't seem surprised, just amused.
I gazed up at him with gaping eyes, blushing furiously. I didn't know what I could possibly say. The whole situation had gotten way out of hand. I briefly debated trying to talk my way out, but judging by the twinkle in his eye, the time for that had passed.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I ran.
I leapt out of the cupboard and bolted for the hallway. He probably could have stopped me if he'd wanted — the gap between his leg and the cupboard door wasn't very large — but he didn't move, he just watched me, a curious smile on his face.
Before I knew it, I was in the corridor, and then the main room. The guests all stared as I tore across the wooden floor, but I ignored them. All I cared about was getting somewhere safe. Every part of me felt frayed, confused, agitated.
At some point, it occurred to me that I'd left my shoes behind. Just like Cinderella, I thought. Although I'm not sure if the story traditionally contains quite so much masochism.
For some reason, that thought struck me as perversely funny. I began to laugh as I ran. By the time I broke through into the bar's main room, I was cackling like a street corner drunk.
I was certain someone would be chasing me, but there were no signs of pursuit. Even the door guard was mysteriously absent.
"Come on," I panted to my gaping friends as I charged over to them, "we've gotta bail."
"Wha—"
"Now!"
They didn't argue further.
Thirty seconds later we were half way up the street, giggling with the adrenaline of a successful escape. They didn't even know what we were running from, but the fact that we were running was enough.
"So," Louisa said, when we finally began slowing down, "what the hell was that? What happened back there?"
"You're not going to believe me."
"Try us," Ruth said, looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.
And so I told my tale. I described everything as best I could, the grand room, meeting Sebastian, my accidental corporate espionage. The only thing I omitted was the spanking. Something about it made me feel decidedly uncomfortable.
"That's crazy," Louisa said, when I was done.
Ruth shook her head. "You see? She sneaks in there, and five minutes later she's bagged a mysterious millionaire. I told you we should have followed her!"
"I'd hardly use the word 'bagged'," I replied. "Last I checked, trespassing and breaking and entering weren't exactly the keys to a man's heart, although perhaps I'm just out of touch."
Ruth laughed. "You're such a glass half empty kind of girl."
"Hey, I'm just glad he didn't call the cops." I turned to Louisa. "Lou, next time I try to do something like that, do a better job of talking me out of it, would you?"
"I'll do my best," she replied with a grin.
It was just a few hours shy of sunrise at that point, and so we went our separate ways. I caught a cab home and collapsed into bed without even bothering to change. I was exhausted and expected to fall asleep quickly, but my mind was still restless. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw Sebastian staring down at me with that breathtaking gaze. Whatever his bedroom predilections, there was something undeniably alluring about him. I couldn't remember the last man that had set my heart racing so easily.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following morning was far from pleasant. I woke feeling like I'd loaned my head to a marching band. I debated simply rolling over and going back to sleep, but there was too much to do at the office. "You can sleep when you're dead," was a popular catch phrase amongst the Partners, and as much as they grinned when they said it, you knew they were being perfectly serious. Don't get me wrong, Little Bell wasn't any worse than any other big firm — technically it was named Bell & Little, but nobody called it that, no matter how many stern memos went out — it was just the norm in big law to bleed your employees for every drop you could.
A long shower, a coffee, and the world's greasiest ham and cheese croissant later, I was sitting in the back of a cab feeling marginally more human. But apparently I still didn't look it. As I exited the lift on my floor of the building, I ran into my friend Elle. She took one look at me and burst out laughing. "Big night hey Soph?"
I glanced down at myself and grimaced. "That obvious hey?"
Elle nodded. "You look a little haggard, yeah."
There's a funny camaraderie within law firms. Because we all work such long hours, we naturally become friendly. A lot of lawyers have no social lives outside of work. But it's always felt a little fake to me. Behind the niceties, there's as much backstabbing and petty bullying as in any school playground. With most of my colleagues, I kept my distance, but Elle was the exception. Unlike almost everybody else, she didn't buy into all the office bullshit, which meant we'd quickly become friends.
"What can I say? The girls are a bad influence."
Elle flashed an indulgent grin. We'd been out enough times together that she knew who incited most of the drinking. "Well, I hope you've saved some energy for tonight. Drunk Partners, a huge group of self-important corporate types; it's practically your perfect evening."
Shit. I'd completely forgotten about that. A few times a year, our company threw a party for all of its long standing clients. A kind of thank-you-please-keep-giving-us-buckets-of-money type deal. It seemed to work because our profits just kept climbing, but I hated those evenings. There was only so much corporate asskissery I could stomach. Unfortunately, we were all expected to be there if we could make it. We didn't actually do anything; the puppet masters just liked showing us off. A flexing of the company's considerable legal muscle. I usually made it tolerable by taking abundant advantage of the open bar, but with the memory of the morning's hangover still fresh in my mind, I wasn't sure I'd even be doing that.
"I kind of wish you hadn't reminded me. I could have slept through it and not felt guilty."
Elle chuckled again. "Oh come on, it won't be that bad. Do your bit, brown nose a few CEOs. Who knows, you might impress someone."
"And you'll be doing the same?"
"Hell no. I'll be drinking in a corner."
"That sounds like a better plan," I agreed.
A tiny smile appeared on her face. "So did you hear?"
&
nbsp; "About what?"
"The Wrights case is a go."
My eyes widened. "No way. That's awesome!"
"I know right? It's going to be kind of novel actually doing something worthwhile, instead of just helping companies shit on one another day after day."
I nodded. It was exactly the kind of case I'd always wanted to work on. A David and Goliath class action suit between a group of Average Joes and a pharmaceutical giant. It felt like our own little Erin Brockovich moment.
The situation was horrible. Wrights had hidden the side effects of one of their antidepressants from the general public. The drugs worked fine on most people, with one notable exception. Pregnant women. It was only after several years that someone began joining the dots between the drug in question and the spate of juvenile health problems that followed. Now there were thousands of affected children out there, suffering everything from physical abnormalities to heart conditions. More than a few had died from their complications. It made me angry just thinking about it.
Beyond the chance to do something good, the case was also great publicity for the company, which meant it had the attention of the suits upstairs. There had never been a better opportunity to prove myself.
"Anyway, I have to run these to Freidburg," Elle said, gesturing to the pages in her hand, "but I'll catch you later, okay? Don't even think about sneaking home. I'm not sure I can sit through this one alone."
I raised my hands in defeat. "Okay, okay."
The day chugged along at an agonising crawl. Law isn't nearly as glamorous as it appears on television. Behind every dramatic hour in court there are hundreds of hours of paperwork.
At six o'clock, an office wide email went out calling everyone to the upstairs boardroom. We always hosted our gatherings in-house. For a company the size of Little Bell, appearances were everything, and we'd spent a lot of money making sure we could entertain with the best of them. With the tables cleared away, the band in place, and the bar and canapés laid out, the whole place had the classy but vaguely sterile feel of an expensive wedding reception.
