Folly (8 page)

‘Her exact words in this written complaint are: “I noticed Mr Lowly was fondling his cock as I placed the shareholders' report on his table.”'

‘Absolutely not. That is totally untrue. I would never do such a thing. Ever. In front of a female colleague … no! The idea is preposterous!'

‘Unfortunately she has signed an affidavit to back up her complaint. We cannot ignore this, Mr Lowly. Masturbation at work is an extremely serious offence. As a result of the signed affidavit, and of course taking into account your poor performance and slack attitude towards the execution of your job, I will now need to take the appropriate disciplinary action.'

‘What will you need to do, Mistress?'

‘Well, I do not want to bring the company's name into disrepute by calling in any outside mediators to help resolve this issue.' I steepled my fingers together and propped them under my chin, wishing that I was wearing a pair of glasses to stare at him over.

‘I understand,' he said softly.

‘In very serious cases like yours, I'm afraid it will be necessary to put into practice the company's internal disciplinary procedure.'

‘And what does that involve, Mistress?'

‘If you could start by taking off your jacket and tie, please.'

‘Take off my … but why? Where shall I put them?'

‘You can hang them over the back of that chair there. And undo your cuffs and the top two buttons of your shirt.'

I waited while he complied.

‘Now remove your shoes and socks, Mr Lowly.'

‘I don't understand – I really don't understand what this has to do with disciplinary procedures,' he blustered, as he bent to untie his laces.

‘Oh, trust me, it will become clear to you soon enough. In any case, you have no choice in this regard. I'm going by the book and simply doing my job. You are welcome to look at a copy of the procedure. It's right here.' I tapped the diary again and then I gave him another long stare. ‘You know, looking at you, I don't feel …There is still something not right … I'm going to have to ask you to take off your trousers as well.'

‘My trousers?' he yelped.

‘It says here in section 3b, subsection 4a, that trousers must be removed if they are dark in colour. Yours are, in fact, dark in colour, Mr Lowly, so off they must come.'

‘They're grey,' he muttered defiantly, stepping out of them and slinging them over the back of the chair.

Holy hell, I couldn't miss the sight of his erection, jutting out in front of him, obvious through his red cotton
Y
-fronts. My slave was already enormously aroused, and I have to admit that the sight of it gave me a tiny frisson of power.

‘Oh dear,' I intoned sorrowfully, allowing my gaze to rest on that area. ‘Oh dear.'

‘What now?'

‘You've just violated clause 4c of the disciplinary procedure. No workers may become erect whilst in the human resources offices.'

‘I didn't know … How was I to know that? I can't help it!'

‘You were supposed to familiarise yourself with company protocol when you started your job, Mr Lowly. And if you can't control your erections, how am I supposed to believe you have the necessary discipline to apply yourself properly to your work? You really are going to require a lot of correction. You are a problem case, I can tell. Now, if you would kindly pull your underpants down to your ankles so that I can see just how much of a violation this represents.'

‘I don't think that is appropriate!'

‘Today, I am the one who decides what is appropriate, and I am telling you to lower your underpants down to your ankles right now, or I will have to step over there and do it myself. And that will make me very angry, Mr Lowly.'

Letting out a frustrated sigh, my client fumbled his pants down, over his cock and then over his knees, and stooped to push them around his ankles.

Time for me to become physically involved. The build-up to the punishment was over. I stood up on legs that felt they were vibrating from ankle to thigh. Still with my coat firmly buttoned around me, I walked over to where he was standing. With my legs placed slightly apart I stood about a metre away from him and peered at his erection.

‘Hmmm. I hope you're not too proud of that cock, Mr Lowly. It is a rather substandard specimen. I do believe it may be the most inferior one that Human Resources has ever seen. In fact, I find it offending to the eye.'

‘I am sorry, Mistress Caine.'

‘Remember you do not have permission to touch – or fondle – that disobedient organ until the disciplinary procedure is completed. Such action is strictly forbidden until further notice, and depending on your behaviour, may even be indefinitely banned.'

‘I understand, Mistress. Thank you.'

‘Walk to the punishment horse in the middle of the room, and bend down over it,' I told him. ‘No, no. I don't want you taking your underpants off. They must stay around your ankles.'

Lowly made his shuffling way to the horse and bent down over the clean towel I had placed on top of it.

I unbelted my coat and shrugged it off.

And there I stood, in my basque and suspender-clad finery. I pulled on the gloves and picked up the jumping crop with the large leather flap.

If he laughed when he saw me, I was absolutely going to go and kill myself.

But he didn't. Prostrated over the horse, he turned his head and looked at me and his eyes widened.

‘Mistress,' he whispered in respectful tones.

‘You will speak only when spoken to, Mr Lowly.' My voice was sharp and stern. ‘We'll continue our disciplinary session with some corporal punishment, which I feel you certainly deserve. Perhaps this will help to remind you to be more accurate with your sums next time.'

‘Oh, I will try, Mistress.'

‘Lift your shirttails up for me and hold them out of the way. I want your backside bare and unprotected.'

His buttocks were broader than the rest of him, his crack was home to a small forest of hair, and his legs were short and stocky, like miniature tree trunks.

‘I'm going to give you your first six punishment strokes. You'd better be ready for them. And grateful, too. According to our disciplinary code, you are required to count the blows down, and thank me after every one.'

‘Yes, I will, Mistress.'

I raised the whip. This was the moment. Without hesitation I brought it down in a swift slapping motion across the middle of his bum, and was rewarded by his cry of pain. I saw a purplish, crop-shaped bloom was spreading swiftly across the pale brown map of his arse. Hopefully it would fade nearly as fast as it had come.

‘One, Mistress. Thank you.'

My armpits were slick with sweat and I was breathing so hard I was sure I must be snorting like a buffalo, but what I felt right at that moment was a massive sense of accomplishment. I had unflinchingly landed my very first blow on the backside of a paying client.

Even if, at the moment of impact, I had squeezed my eyes tight shut.

Aiming carefully, I landed the next blow a fraction lower. I kept my eyes open this time, although I thought I was probably making the most awful face. My expression must have been a contorted blend of terror and triumph.

‘
Ow!
Two. Thank you, Mistress.'

As Lowly breathlessly counted to six, thanking me in whispered tones after every slap of the whip, I was kept busy landing the smacks as accurately as I could, making sure each one fell across his buttocks. And as I wielded the whip, administering stroke after punishment stroke to his cringing form, my nerves dissipated and I experienced a rush of euphoria. It wasn't a sexual feeling – not really. Rather, it was the heady sensation of being in complete control.

A false delight, I knew, since this dance had two partners, and the one who ultimately controlled the moves was the client. Powerful as I was, that was only because he was paying me to be.

‘Please … no harder, Mistress. I don't want to be beaten any harder.'

A genuine plea, or a veiled request for rougher punishment? Since he hadn't used the safe word, I interpreted it to mean the latter.

‘Unfortunately I cannot make any exceptions for you, Mr Lowly. The company's disciplinary code dictates that you must receive a harsher beating now. You will count to six again for me.'

And I brought the crop down with even more force onto his nowblotchy buttocks.

When his next beating was finished, we were both breathing loudly and I felt quite lightheaded from the effort of keeping my voice stern and level while at the same time judging every stroke of his beating correctly. I was discovering that it took a surprising amount of power and control to hit just hard enough, but not too hard.

‘I see the next section in the procedure requires you to kneel on the floor and kiss my boots. You will note that I'd like it done with gratitude. As if you mean it. Some serious grovelling is in order, Mr Lowly.'

‘Oh, yes, Mistress.'

He prostrated himself at my feet and, with fervour, set about kissing the shiny uppers of my boots. After a minute or two, I stepped back.

‘And now you must crawl over to that shelf over there – no, you may
not
remove your underpants from around your ankles, I did
not
give you permission to do that; you must crawl with them in place. You may take off your underpants when you get to the shelf, and put on the pair of lacy panties. No, not the pink pair. The white pair is tighter and will be much more suitable to help you restrain yourself. That way, your erection will no longer offend my eyes.'

‘Oh, Mistress, these panties are very tight.'

‘Good.'

‘Mistress … I was wondering … if the disciplinary procedure is nearly finished, whether I could …'

‘What do you wish to do?' I was going to humiliate him by forcing him to ask.

‘May I stroke my cock now?' he whispered.

‘Stay there where you are on the floor, kneeling down. And bend over. I will permit you to touch yourself.'

‘Oh, thank you, Mistress, thank you.'

‘I hope you can understand better now what it feels like to be a woman, to wear such fine and pretty clothing, to be a delicate and sensitive creature. Now you can imagine, I am sure, how upset that poor secretary must have been when she saw you fondling your gross, unsightly cock.'

‘Oh, I can, Mistress.'

His breath was coming in gasps as he masturbated furiously.

‘You are … a … bad … little … boy, Lowly.'

I punctuated my words with another round of blows. Landing on fabric instead of skin, the sound of the whip was more muffled.

‘I see we have reached the final clause in our disciplinary protocol. It requires me to take one of those long orange candles in the holder.'

‘Oh, yes, Mistress.'

As I spoke I stroked and prodded my way down the centre of his lacecovered backside with the handle of my whip.

‘A nice thick solid one.'

‘Oooh, Mistress.'

‘And I'm going to part your buttocks and I'm going to slide that candle …'

But my intent was thwarted as, with a mighty groan, my first-ever client achieved his climax.

Chapter 10

T
hat night I was too excited to sleep. I lay awake, feeling alternately weepy and giggly. I couldn't believe I had managed to pull it off. I was now a seasoned dominatrix. Well, at any rate, I had one hundred per cent more in-the-flesh experience than I did this time yesterday.

Working on the phones, I'd had to listen to a thousand different orgasms, from muted groans to wild, hoarse shouts. Some of the callers had sounded as if they were about to die when they came; others had almost sobbed with thankfulness and gratitude.

It had always felt strange to listen to these intimate moments. Now, though, I had to admit it had been far more bizarre to watch one.

After Lowly's session had finished, he had disappeared into the bathroom carrying his clothes and emerged fifteen minutes later, freshly showered and looking ready for the office again.

‘Thank you,' he'd said with a shy smile, handing over a wedge of folded cash. ‘That was most exhilarating, Mistress. It was exactly what I needed.'

Ah, recognition and reward. One of the career perks I'd never thought about. I felt a glow of pride at his words. To my amazement, he booked in again for the same day and time the next month. My first client had also become my first regular.

Cleaning my dungeon after Lowly had left, I'd wondered what he was thinking during his session; what had really been going on in his capricious, intelligent mind as he'd surrendered himself to pleasurable pain at the hands of a brutal female stranger. Did his employees, or his superiors, suspect for a moment that he had a dark side?

I wonder what they would have done if they'd seen him bent over on the floor wearing the lacy panties, and the thought occurred to me that I wasn't the only one who was putting myself at risk during these sessions. I might be compromising my security and laying myself open to abuse, but so were my clients.

So were they. And they probably had far more to lose.

The next morning, with the electricity supply thankfully restored, I met my second client. His name was Judge Farah. I had no idea whether this was his real name or his nickname, but it suited him, since the first impression I had when he arrived was of his hawklike features, steel grey hair and imperious bearing, which suggested that he was a man of power and authority.

He pulled up at the gate five minutes early, peering over the steering wheel of a brand new Range Rover. I say ‘peering' because the one area in which the good Judge was somewhat lacking was height. He was so short that when he stepped into my dungeon and I stood in front of him I could look down at the bald spot in his silver-threaded dark hair and see the medallion dangling from the thick gold chain he wore around his neck.