Office Discipline

Femdom fun with a twist

This story is a bit of femdom fun. It is set sometime in the sixties and draws on a lot of the action from The Contract. The man bent over the desk has the same surname as Alan in that story. Maybe it’s his father? Maybe the desire to be caned runs in his family? Who knows - even I don’t?

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Nice bit of posh, Eric thought as he watched the woman cross the foyer. Bit of the Audrey Hepburn about her with the dark glasses and the feather trimmed hat. He touched his fingers to the peak of his cap and she looked at him for a moment, a slight smile on her lips.

Confident as well as glamorous. How do women like that manage to look so sexy in a calf-length black dress and a matching, high-necked jacket? He watched the cheeks of her behind flex as she sidled over to the elevators and wondered what was in the long, thin, black bag she carried. Maybe she was a hit woman? No, the bag was too slim to conceal a gun.

Eric turned and smiled at another woman as she entered the building. “Good evening, Mrs Johnson,” He touched his cap. She was another stunner; younger than her husband, her pretty face framed by that cute, and very fashionable, blonde bob of hair. He really was being spoilt tonight as she was wearing a mid-thigh length, lemon yellow dress that showed off her shapely legs and hugged her slim curves.

If both women were heading for the same office, Mr Johnson was a lucky man, unless of course they were not intended to meet; in which case, there might be some fireworks later.

Arabella stepped out of the lift and strutted down the wood-paneled corridor. Halfway down she stopped outside a door. Robert Johnson, Solicitor was neatly lettered on the frosted glass. She opened the door and stepped inside. A middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk looked up at her.

“I am here to see Mr. Johnson,” Arabella said.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.

“I don’t need one,” Arabella replied.

“Your name?

Arabella did not answer.

Looking nonplussed, the woman stood up and opened the door to an inner office. “There’s a woman here to see you,” she said through the doorway.

“Your wife sent me,” Arabella said over the secretary’s shoulder.

The woman jumped and turned to glare at Arabella.

“It’s OK,” the man behind the desk said. “You head off home now.” He stood up, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his tie loosened and his jacket hanging on the back of his office chair. He clearly had not been expecting visitors and offered his hand. “Robert Johnson, my wife, Cynthia, sent you?” The look in his eyes suggested that he was thinking of more than the legal advice he could offer her.

Arabella did not reply, nor did she accept the outstretched hand. She waited until she heard the outer door close behind the departing secretary.

Slowly, Arabella withdrew a long, slender cane with a curved handle from the sheath she was carrying. “Your wife tells me that you have a certain fetish.” She paused, running the cane across her palm. “A certain need that she has tried, unsuccessfully, to fulfil.” She looked at him over the top of her dark glasses. “I, however, am very skilled in the administration of…” She let the rest of the description hang in the air.

Robert gaped at her. “This is hardly the place…”

Arabella shucked off her jacket and unzipped the back of her dress. She slid the straps down off her shoulders until the dipping material exposed the straps of her black bra. “This is a one time only offer.” She began to lift the dress back up.

“No, wait.” Robert held up a hand.

Arabella said nothing, her hands still poised holding the shoulders of the dress, dark against her pale skin, between forefingers and thumbs as if they were fine china tea cups.

“What do I..?”

“Once you accept, you will address me as Mistress,” Arabella interrupted him. “From then on, you will do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Robert almost smiled.

“Drop your trousers and pants.”

Robert tipped his head and looked at Arabella. Then the idea seemed to overwhelm him and he struggled with his belt before pushing his trousers and pants down to crumple around his ankles. He stood nervously behind the desk. His stiffening cock just peaking through his shirt tails.

“Bend.” Arabella tapped the cane on the desktop.

Robert watched as she circled him slowly. She paused in front of him and then let the already lowered shoulders of her dress slide down. It slipped to the floor, exposing the curves of her body clad only in a curious bra and panties made up of black leather straps and metal loops. He was mesmerized by the swellings of her nipples framed by two of the loops and the tuft of pubic hair that wisped from the one between her legs.

The vision moved behind him. “Lift your shirt,” she said.

He scrabbled at the white cotton, pulling it up around his waist. There was a gentle tap of something thin on his behind and then a smooth hiss, followed by a crack. His body jumped as if something had scratched across the flesh of his buttocks. The cane hissed again and again turning the first strikes into lines of fire.

He gasped, his behind stung as more jolts of pain seared through him. Each one lifting his torso up a few inches from the desk. He gasped, air hissing between his clenched teeth as each stroke landed. The increasing pressure felt as if it was pushing between his legs, mixing with the sparks that were firing through him, swelling the column flesh, hardening it to the point where it no longer hung down, but pointed upwards like a primed missile that he felt must explode.

“Stand up.” Arabella walked slowly around the desk, tapping the cane on her hand. She looked down at Robert’s erection. “I think your wife will be pleased with that.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Robert whispered through clenched teeth, the pain of the last strikes still burning through him.

“Shall we ask her?” Arabella said.

Cynthia appeared in the office doorway, wearing her yellow sleeveless dress.

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