As I had been ordered, I bent over the edge of the boardroom table, resting on my folded arms and breathing in the scent of beeswax polish. I heard soft footsteps approaching me, and then I felt a hand resting lightly on my bottom, caressing me gently through my panties.
‘Yes, I thought we had chosen well,’ Mr Wallace murmured. He gave my bottom a proprietorial pat, as owners often do to the flanks of a prize racehorse. ‘This will be a pleasure. Mr Barker, if you would…’
I raised my head as I caught a glimpse of something being passed over the table. It was a ruler, the wood so old that the measurements were faded away almost to nothing.
‘This ruler, Miss Mills,’ Mr Wallace said, in the tones of one who has delivered this particular lecture many times before, ‘belonged to my father and his father before him. It has always been used for one purpose and one purpose only. When my grandfather was finally persuaded that he could no longer turn away prospective female employees from this firm, he did so with the stipulation that any woman who worked for him submitted to be beaten with this ruler, so that she would always know her place. Of course, it was only much later that he realised there were some women who would actively welcome this treatment.’
He rested his hand on my bottom again, and this time his touch moved lower, down between my legs, where he must have registered the heat, the tell-tale dampness.
‘Shall we continue, Miss Mills?’ When I gave a small nod, not knowing how else to respond, he said, ‘Good, now spread your legs wider apart.’
I did as he asked. I was pleased I couldn’t see the reactions of the watching men, as they stared at my rear view, the white panties stretched taut across my cheeks.
There was a long moment when nothing happened, and I even thought briefly that Mr Wallace and the others might break out laughing, tell me I had passed the initiation and let me dress and go on my embarrassed way. Then I felt a couple of gentle taps with the ruler, one on each cheek, as though Mr Wallace was finding his range. There was a low, excited rumbling of male voices, and some shifting in chairs. Almost unconsciously, I stiffened up as I waited.
The first blow fell, hard across my bottom. I stifled a yelp. This was no joke; Mr Wallace had said he was going to beat me, and he meant it.
The ruler landed again, and again. Mr Wallace was placing it with care, covering every inch of my cheeks. Occasionally, he would aim lower, catching the tops of my thighs. Those blows were particularly painful, and it was all I could do not to cry out, or reach behind me and rub my burning flesh. Both were powerful temptations and both, I was sure, would merit further punishments.
After perhaps a dozen blows, I felt Mr Wallace gather up the material of my panties and arrange it so that it was pushed firmly into the crack of my arse. Not only did this expose most of my cheeks to the blade of his ruler, it also enabled him to slip a finger into the gusset to check on the wetness there. Almost as if by accident, he brushed that finger along my unfurling lips, chuckling to himself as I stifled a whimper of longing.
He cracked the ruler briskly across my bum a few more times – he had not asked me to keep count, and I doubt I would have been able to, given the overwrought state I was in – then announced, ‘The final half-dozen on the bare, I think.’
Even as I was registering the impact of those words, I felt him grab the waistband of my panties and pull them firmly down around my knees. There were grunts of approval from around the room. I wanted to turn my head and see the effect I was having on my audience; I hoped that cocks were being rubbed through suit trousers, or even brought out into the open to be brazenly wanked. I wanted the sight of my wet pussy, seen from behind and framed by suspender straps, to drive them mad with wanting. I wanted them to be aware that I knew my place – at the centre of a crowd of fiercely aroused men who all desired to punish and possess me. No wonder Mr Wallace had tried to keep women out of his firm; he knew the power they owned, even when they were half-stripped and their arses striped with welts.
When Mr Wallace placed the final blows, he made sure a couple landed on the pout of my pussy lips. This time I did let out a moan, but even as the tears filled my eyes I knew it was not only pain which was causing the tender flesh between my legs to throb. My nipples were hard points, aching to be rubbed and twisted by fingers other than my own; indeed, my whole body craved a man’s touch – any man’s – but although I had somehow known how this dark ritual began, I had no idea if that was how it ended.
And then my unspoken question was answered, as I felt hands gripping my ravaged cheeks, pulling them further apart so that wet lips and a pointed tongue could nuzzle deep into my cleft. I glanced behind me and realised it was Scott from the post room whose face was buried in my cunt. He was too young for me, with a crop of pimples around his mouth and doused in too much aftershave, but as he licked and snuffled at my clit, his clumsy attentions were enough to push me over the edge. I howled as I came, my body shuddering against Scott’s tongue and the cheers and crude comments of the other men ringing in my ears.
That was the first time. Since then, I have gone back there on the last working day of every month and submitted to all manner of indignities. I have been stripped naked before my beating takes place, I have lain on the floor while every man in the room has wanked himself over my breasts, belly or face. I have had my hands tied and clamps attached to my aching nipples. And I have been fucked – repeatedly and gloriously. The week after we won the fraud case, Michael and Neil were rewarded for all their hard work by being allowed to have me simultaneously, Michael’s cock in my throat and Neil’s buried deep in my cunt.
Mr Wallace and Mr Barker called me in for a special meeting yesterday. They told me Catherine is leaving the firm to take up a post in New York and they would like to offer me her position. They made me completely aware that with the higher salary and the extra responsibility comes more severe punishment. I will be required to take cocks in my arse, I may have to be placed in more complicated restraints and every one of the sessions will be filmed so copies can be taken away and watched by my male colleagues at their leisure. They have given me forty-eight hours to make up my mind, but even before I left the boardroom at the end of the meeting, I already knew that my answer will be yes.
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Five Minute Fantasies 2 Page 18
