Those uncomfortable heels you keep in the back of the closet are seeing the first light of day since you wore them to a funeral years ago. You wonder if today will be similar in sadness, as if perhaps the shoes themselves are cursed from seeing too much tragedy. Or maybe it's not the shoes that are cursed, maybe it's just you. These thoughts make their way through your brain as you walk the crowded hallway, dipping your head to your superiors while wishing for the ability to disappear. It's just another day at an office job, the one where you're always making clumsy mistakes and wishing to sink through the floorboards. Today is going to be cursed for certain, and you're expecting nothing but the worst. As if the usual bouts of shyness weren't hard enough, this morning the click-clack of heels against linoleum is making your presence known to those around you with each step.
Avoiding eye contact, you make it to your destination and close the door behind you, glancing around before being seated at the secretary's desk. You breathe a sigh of relief upon discovering the boss isn't at his regular post, the larger desk behind yours. You aren't a typical secretary, after all; more along the lines of a personal slave kept on close standby to fetch coffee and clean the office. "He must be in a meeting...", this gives you some free time to relax and prepare for the day without squirming under his gaze. Alright, you admit it, you have a massively inappropriate and seriously lustful crush on your boss, which is the only reason you can put up with being talked down to and treated as a handmaiden.
He is everything you ever wanted, and surely more than you could ever hope to receive. The way his presence commands a room, a voice like syrup saturated with dark sugar, smooth yet strong hands that have grasped your wrist on more than one occasion while mouthing off against your better judgment. You had never met a man so deserving of respect and obedience, as most of the guys your age simply turned to putty in your hands. At 35 years old, the boss is 15 years your senior, and while you never thought yourself to be a girl affected by the aura of an "experienced older man", he looks to be no older than 25. Black hair styled simple and clean, which you've often fantasized seeing in its natural state; the length would make it fall messily into his almond eyes. He wears a suit most days, but there's no hiding his strong physique. If the broad shoulders didn't give it away, you'd know from the lightly tanned forearms that appear when he wears a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. These days are particularly hard for you to focus on work, and you get scolded more than once.
Today you are having trouble concentrating before you've even seen your boss. The schedule is nearly empty and you've allowed your mind to wander again. Instead of watering the plants, you pull out your cell phone and begin entering a text. "Do you really think the heels were a good idea? What if it looks like I'm trying too hard... I feel stupid, he's out of my league. Even though I'm his secretary, he just sees me as a little girl." You sigh and scroll through the contact list to find your best friend, with whom you share all the naughty thoughts you have about your boss. Pressing 'select' when you see her number, you quickly hit 'send'. No sooner than the button is pushed, you stifle a gasp of horror and drop the phone to the desk. You're dead, so dead. The humiliation is going to kill you for sure! Apart from that, you're also getting fired. How many times has he told you texting while working is off limits? Did you forget when you were caught last time he said it's the last chance? Why do your friend and boss have to share names so similar?! Panicked questions are rushing in your brain while you hear the doorknob turn, you frantically grab the cell phone and shove it into the desk drawer. Better not to fan the fire by letting the boss catch you red-handed with your phone out at the desk. Bracing for complete and utter embarrassment, your eyes well up with tears and you stare down at the daily planner, pretending to be hard at work. Avoidance has always been your first course of action when things go awry. The silence is deafening as he walks past your desk, you don't even glance up to the area at eye level where his tucked in shirt meets his belt, a peek you'd usually sneak. Heart racing and blinking back tears, you continue scribbling away, awaiting the worst moment of your life to date.
Minutes go by and not a sound; at this point you're even more intimidated by his silence than scolding. You decide to take a glance behind you, under the guise of checking the clock. Out of the corner of your eye you can see your boss at his desk, leaning back ever so slightly in the chair, arms behind his head, eyes shut. He often naps after meetings, he's not really a people person and it seems to take a lot out of him. Gazing at how peaceful he looks asleep, you've almost forgotten your fatal mistake this morning, but then you see it- his phone, sitting on the right side of the desk, blinking as a sign that there is a new message. You're suddenly all kinds of hopeful; maybe his phone was off during the meeting... it should have at least been on silent. He usually checks texts while sitting at his desk, not during meetings. Maybe you're not totally screwed! If only you can somehow attain his phone and delete that incriminating text. Considering the position of the desk being pushed against the wall, the phone being too far back to reach from the front since you're so short, the only way to get it is going to be leaning over him... You're nervous now; you know it's not wise to wake a sleeping lion. This might prove to be totally impossible, but you at least have to try. There's nothing to lose and everything to gain, right?
...Wrong. You are so close. You've managed to maneuver yourself into a dangerous position hovering over his lap, arm reaching towards the edge of the desk where the phone is located. Right as you grasp the phone in your hand and are trying to brace your slippery heels against the tile to get your balance back, everything happens all at once. His hand grabs your wrist, the shock sends a squeal out of you and your high-heeled shoes give way, slipping out from under you and sending your levitated lower torso and pelvic region right into his lap. Your chest area now hanging over the free space between the side of the desk and the chair; your arm kept outstretched by your definitely-not-napping boss who is pinning down your hand. Basically, it couldn't have gone much worse, and now deleting the text is among the smallest of your worries.
"I've already seen it." Does he mean what you think he means? He saw the text already? Great... well at least now you can be fired and never have to see him again after this new humiliating incidence you just created. Mentally preparing to receive a major scolding followed by losing your job, you release your hand from the phone and begin to pull your hand out from underneath his grip- but it's not loosening. "What did I tell you about texting on the job? How disrespectful and juvenile it is." Crap, he's mad. There's no hint of the usual smirk in his voice, and his tone is icy and piercing rather than warm and enveloping. Based on the firm hold he has of your wrist, he doesn't want you to even think about getting up. You assume he' s only trying to teach you a lesson and scare you a little, and that he has no idea being in such close proximity to him is making the blood rush to your cheeks. The heat from his lap is pressed against your own, and you regret picking that super cute, but oh so short skirt. As if reading your mind, the next thing he says sends waves of shame and lust down your spine and between your legs: "And do you think this is appropriate office attire?" A single fingertip lightly grazes the area where your skirt ends and back of your upper thigh begins. "Clearly you aren't accustomed to walking in heels. If you're going to practice in them, then wear something longer. Otherwise a scenario like this can happen." Your eyes are filled with tears again, and you're thankful for the hair curtaining your face though your arm is rendered useless to move it anyway. "Ah, you're just a walking infraction today, aren't you? It seems I've been letting you off too easy. What to do... I thought I should treat you as an adult, but with these immature antics you're proving yourself to be a little girl."
You know you need to apologize now; he probably wants you to beg for forgiveness so you won't lose your job. That's fine with you, after all, you're not even in a place to have any pride to be crushed. "I'm sorry..." The words come out as a mumble, muffled by your hair and the fact that you are facing the floor. The left hand still occupied by pinning yours to the desk, his other hand reaches over, moving your hair across your back to the other side and it hangs over your shoulder. "Look at me while you're speaking." You're dreading it, but what choice do you have? You turn your head to the side as much as the current position will allow and glance back at him, not meeting his eyes, instead shifting focus from his lips, neck, shirt collar, down each button of the white shirt hugging his body. While your boss continues to lecture, your eyes make their way to where your ass is protruding upwards like a small round mountain beneath him, exposed to his view with nothing but the thin material of your skirt, now wrinkled and fallen upwards from the fall, barely covering the curvature where butt meets thigh. Internally cringing at the exposure, your eyes snap up to meet his when you hear him say "Are you listening?"
You nod rather unconvincingly and quickly say "Yes, I'm very sorry, thank you for taking the time to scold me, it won't happen again Sir." You're eager to get out of this position and being as respectful as possible, but he's not buying it. "I don't think words work on you. I'm getting tired of wasting my breath. Since you want to act childish, I'll try dealing with you less like an adult, and more like a child." You're not quite sure what this means, but you have a rough idea, and the smirk that has returned to his voice is making the breath catch in your chest. "Put your other hand on the desk." Hesitantly, you bring your right arm upwards and shakily place your palm on the desk surface, then he wraps his large hand around both of your small wrists, keeping them held in place. Now you're really feeling immobile, knowing you've been rendered completely helpless to protest, and cross your legs, thighs pressed tightly together. You listen to the sound of his breath, which appears to be coming far more easily than your own. The next sound you hear is the slap of a hand against flesh, and it takes you a moment to realize exactly what is happening. The sting from his palm sets in as it leaves your skin, right at the sit-spot, and you're sure it's left a bright red mark on your pale thigh. Something turns you on about him leaving his mark on you, almost like it makes you his territory. While thinking this, your outward reaction is a sharp intake of breath and a whimper following as your legs tense up. No more than a second later, another slap to your ass and another gasp from your lips. The third time is quicker in succession, not to mention harder, as if he's trying to get a louder sound out of you. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, although knowing full well you have no more pride left to keep when you're spread across your boss's lap getting spanked like a bad little girl. You swear you can actually hear him smile, of course he knows exactly what you're doing, and has to know by now how aroused you really are- he saw the text confessing you had the hots for him. The next spank comes square in the middle of both your thighs and sends vibrations between your legs, which are slowly spreading apart despite your best efforts. The sound that escapes your mouth is drenched in complete pleasure and desperate sexual desire. If only you could have screamed and pretended you didn't like the pain, and that you weren't on the tip of orgasm just from the touch of his hand.
The next 5 come all at once, quick and hard, in the same spot as the last. By the time you're on the 4th, you've balled your hands into fists and are basically grinding against his lap like some kind of cat in heat, breaths coming out shaky and short. The last one leaves you weak and mewling like a kitten, slippery between your legs and an overwhelming heat pulsating inside you. The strength in your legs is nearly all gone, and as he releases your hands you attempt to stand but your jello knees have other ideas. Your boss grabs a hold of you, bracing your descent by gripping your waist. You are disoriented and overcome with longing for him. After you sit on the floor by his chair and rest your head against his knee, you gaze up at him with tearful eyes, ashamed of your actions but enamored with his ability to thoroughly discipline you for it. His hand reaches down and pets your hair, moving it from your face and grazing your cheek with a touch so soft and delicate, entirely opposite to what you just experienced. Your eyelids grow heavy and you fall asleep against his thigh, his hand stroking your head.