The Way It Happened

The lift opened it's doors and Stephen Head, the CEO of Widgets Incorporated, stepped out into the top floor of the office block. Various secretaries and administrators were already hard at work, they were part of a highly successful team and were very motivated to keep Widgets Incorporated going. Stephen stopped off at a few cubicles and offices, partly to pick up paperwork but mostly to stop and chat to some of the ladies. Suave, confident, he had no difficulty talking to anyone, after all, he was CEO, a position that practically demanded confidence. No difficulty whatsoever in talking to anyone, except... As he thought about her, he felt his heart rate pick up. Damn it, he told himself, you're a dominant leader, a man for christs' sake, why is it that this one makes him as bashful as any teen schoolboy.


Jacqueline was hard at work. Or at least, she tried to work hard, but she knew her boss' shedule, he'd be here any minute for the daily production figures of the various widgets they made (important devices they were indeed, used in the manufacture of doodads world-wide. Which is all that will be said about the companies' activities, they really aren't important to the story. Trust me on that!). She couldn't concentrate, though, and it was getting worse each day. Damn it, she told herself, he's a man, okay, a man she was attracted to, but why oh why did he make her as giddy as a schoolgirl...

And there he was, at the door of her office! She blushed and quickly picked up a handful of papers and held them up. She glanced up, only to see him glaring at the filing cabinet in the corner. If only he'd look at me, she thought, but, perhaps he just wasn't interested.


John paused before Jacquelines' door, took a breath and walked in. There she was, writing on a page, making a note. Her slender fingers moved fluidly across the paper, her blonde curls shifting and sliding as she glanced round. From where he stood, he had a nearly perfect view of her cleavage. He'd imagined many times, her breasts free - well, no, not free, not for very long. With nipple clamps adorning the hard points of those soft mounds. Ropes wrapped around the breasts, close to the torso, pulling tight. A cane in his hand - CEOs get to be CEOs by having a dominant personality, you know, and John was no exception. And that dominance was present in the bedroom too, something which previous girlfriends had never quite been comfortable. But wait, on with the story, Jacqueline was lifting her head to look at him, and it wouldn't do for a CEO to be caught ogling his employees' breasts. Which is why he shifted his gaze to a rather non-arousing filing cabinet, and tried to estimate how many pieces of paper were filed away within, in an attempt to prevent the hardening in his trousers becoming obvious.

She didn't look at him as she held aloft a handful of papers. Of course she wouldn't be interested in him, why with her looks she could have the pick of anyone, not some stuffy executive ten years older than her. So he told himself as he took the papers and continued on to his office.


Jacqueline sighed as she watched him walk out of her office. Long ago, she'd found a book hidden in her parents' bedroom. She'd gone looking for something, a blouse that had been misplaced, and had spied the book amongst her parents' items on the bedside table. "The Story of O." It had a picture of a young woman, obviously undressed, but tastefully so, seen from the side, her thigh and arm raised to cover herself, seated on a bed and held by some young man wearing a loose shirt and trousers. Some sort of romantic book, clearly, so she'd "borrowed" it to read later.

Ah, later. Later her mouth had been an O of astonishment, as she read of the adventures of the O in the story. She'd taken to reading under the covers, by torchlight, her fingers furiously working away between her legs. And when she got to the chapter where O met Sir Stephen, why, she'd bitten her lips until they practically bled. It was a rare night that she didn't go to bed early, and rarer still that she didn't wake up almost as tired as when she went to her room! And thus she'd acquired a taste, a liking for dominant, older men. And then she'd learnt she was working for a Mr Stephen, why, she'd day-dreamed often... like now... a day-dream that was interrupted by a shrill buzzing...


John barely glanced at most of the reports. Most were as he expected, anyway. But the report on widget production, why, that was missing, certainly there were pages of something, annointed with her notes, but... He sighed. The dumb blonde had given him the wrong papers, what a klutz. He should summon her, summon her to his office and imperiously demand that she bend over his desk, so he could take his belt to her backside and teach her the error of her ways. And afterwards, when she was good and howling, no doubt she could put those soft pouty lips of hers to good use...

He shook himself. Yeah, right, he told himself, like -that- will ever happen. He'd get his face slapped if he dared hint it. Still, he consoled himself, it would be bodily contact at least. But the report, he needed that report. He picked up the phone and dailed. (Well, he pressed buttons. I'm old enough to remember phones with a rotary dialler.)


Jacqueline put the phone down, embarassed. She'd only given him the wrong damn papers! How stupid of her... she picked up the correct pages and hurried to his office. Along the way, she couldn't help but lapse into her day-dream. A naughty, errant secretary, summoned to her demanding boss. Dressed down, then ordered over his desk, to accept her punishment. The strong, demanding Sir Stephen subjecting her to his wicked, and oh-so delicious ways... and there she was, knocking on his door, swallowing and trying to get a grip on herself.

She opened the door, glanced in, and there he was, looking intense as ever! Angry, no doubt, at her foolishness. Casting her gaze down, embarassed, she approched the desk, placed the papers on his desk, paused... unable to break that moment, wishing that he'd command her to bend across it, or, and here she bit her lower lip, maybe to kneel under it...


John swallowed as she walked in. His eyes were glued to her. The bounce of her breasts, the sway of her hips, the way she seemed to step forwards as if on rails, her blonde curls jiggling. And then the report was on his desk, he took it up.

Why was she standing there? Looking so pensive? Biting that damn lip in a way that made him want to bind and ravish her there and then?

"Thank you," he croaked, then coughed, tried again. "Thank you. Er. Yes, thank you, that's all."

She turned and walk away. Were her shoulders drooping? His eyes swivelled to the swinging globes of her bottom. Oh don't turn round don't turn round, he prayed feverishly, there's no way I could tear my eyes away...

And then the door closed, and he could breathe again.


Disappointed, Jacqueline made it back to her office. All I can do is dream, she told herself, as she sat down heavily. A stapler tumbled off the edge of the desk, and she sprang back up, leaned over the desk, saw it caught on a phone cable. She reached, leaned over more, sighed, damnit, all he had to do was say... Her fingers closed about the stapler and she rose up, put it down and sat again. Well, she told herself, a girl has needs... perhaps she might try that club again. Risky, maybe, but the Doms that worked there were professional and discreet, she knew that from the last time. And a sub girl has her needs.


John read the reports on the widget production. The news was good, more widgets than ever before were rolling off the production lines. His team deserved a reward, and so did he. There was a club he knew, with some very accomodating girls. Not ideal, maybe, but he felt a need to celebrate, and the urge to dominate was overwhelming. He reached for the phone, it was Friday, everyone could have the afternoon off. And afterwards, there was plenty of club time, wasn't there?


"Certainly, madame," the Madame said, "I have you booked in tonight. Bondage and discipline, certainly, madame. Dom Jeffrey is free tonight, you'll be in good, safe hands, I assure you. See you then, madame."

Barely had she put the phone down, when it rang again. "Yes, sir," the Madame said, "Yes we have availability tonight. One of our hardier girls, yes indeed sir. Then I shall see you tonight, see you soon, sir."

As she put the phone down and took up her pen, she realized a note had falled out of the diary. She picked it up and read it quickly. Merde alors, she cursed to herself (what, aren't all brothel madames French?), but Jeffrey had a problem and taken the night off. By writing a note in the diary of all things! Now how was she to take that sub girl. Maybe she'd have to do it personally... then again... highly, highly irregular, but, if she played this carefully... maybe she could deal with it and make a handsome profit into the bargain... risky, but, hey, they both wanted it and were prepared to pay...


Jacqueline was a little nervous. The Madame had been very specific, surely unusually so. Once naked, she'd been given a hood to wear, that completely covered her head, and a suspiciously equinne rubber bitgag to silence her with. Then tightly cuffed, secured to a bed, a pillow under her hips, spread out face down, left alone, the time passing slowly... but bound, awaiting a beating from a stern Dominant...


John followed the Madame through the maze of hallways and corridors. "Strictly business," the Madame was saying, "I'm afraid my girls are only human, this girl is, shall I say - unwell?"

"Perhaps we should call this off?" John said, instantly concerned. "If she's not well..."

"Non, non!" the Madame exclaimed (I already told you, all brothel keepers are French). "Not unwell, just, a little upset, boyfriend trouble, happy to work, but please, say nothing."

"Uhm... okay..." John said, not sounding at all convinced.

"She wants it, badly," the Madame assured him, while thinking to herself, she wants it badly enough to pay for it, after all.

Somewhat reassured, John let himself be ushered into a small room, just large enough for a bed. And on that bed, a perfectly presented peach of an arse, rounded, unmarked... he frowned looked closer, ah, not unmarked, there were very very faint marks, clearly being beaten was not a regular event for this whore.

Well, tonight she would be... He looked from the shivering female form to the selection of implements, and reached for one.


Jacqueline gasped softly as she heard the door open. A few moments of silence, inspection? Surely he was used to seeing bound girls. Or maybe he was giving her a very realistic experience for her money. She tried to look round, and moaned softly as she saw the riding crop being taken up. That was going to leave marks that lasted, she knew, and it was going to -hurt-... she trembled, whimpered, heard a soft whistle, then felt a blaze of pain across her upraised buttocks, and she squealled through the bitgag.


John raised the riding crop up high while the bound whore moaned and shuddered. Oh, if it was that Jacqueline... why, he'd beat her like THIS... and THIS... and also like THAT...


Jacqueline squealled, gasped, writhed, trembled, reduced to sobbing moans and tears, her arse blazing under the blows of the crop. It was agony, it was torture, it was intense, it was wonderful, it was liberating, she wept tears of pain and joy all at once.

Almost all too soon it was over, the bed shifting, yielding, as he got on with her. She was wet, aroused, ready as never before. Her breath wheezed out as he rammed into her, taking her, fucking her, just fucking her, wonderfully, perfectly, a thought of John, no, Mr Stephen, no, Sir Stephen, surely, and she was at her climax, cumming, bucking, shuddering, yanking on the restraints, clenching and clenching around a pounding cock that jerked and geysered within her...


John staggered off the bed, panting, gasping. If only, he thought, if only. He pulled on his clothes, paused, unsure. The Madame hadn't said what to do after. Should he release her? It didn't seem right, that she be left tied to the bed, fucked, welted, used, discarded. Even if she was a whore. And she was gasping, crying?

He was a Dom, not an asshole, and that decided it. He unbound her and drew her up, and she surprised him by clinging and shaking, pressing close, and he held her tight.

Perhaps he should cover her, after all he was partly dressed. But she was hooded, gagged, it made a surreal situation. A towel was nearby, he leaned over for it, put his foot down on the floor as he transferred weight...


Jacqueline clung to him, practically glowing, then felt him moving, felt his foot on hers. Felt the weight pressing down, nippling, squashing her toes. She couldn't warn him, couldn't help flinching, bucking in surprise. She didn't know what her elbow hit, but she knew it hurt her elbow.


John grunted, dazed, as the elbow smacking him in the jaw. He felt a tooth break, a hard piece come flying free. "AAAAAAAAAAArrrggg!" he cried out, more in surprise than pain. "Bithth!"

He clapped a hand to his mouth, grabbed the towel and tossed it over the whore, remembered the Madames' warning about her. "Thorry," he muttered, and hurried out of the room quickly.


Saturday morning, and Jacqueline sat gingerly in her chair. Most of the office didn't work, but she had a few last reports and things to finish for Monday morning; she'd had Friday afternoon off so she didn't mind coming in at the weekend. Although that damn idiot "dom" had left her with a lovely limp after treading on her foot. Doms!


John sucked the gap between his teeth. Apart from the free dentistry, the night went fairly well, he thought. A few files to drop off, and then he'd see about getting that fixed. He let himself into his office, noticed the floor seemed pretty well deserted, as expected at the weekend, and sat at his desk, sorting out his files for the coming week.

Finished, he picked up the phone. "Hello? Ith that the dentitht?"

He looked up as the door to his office swung open. Taken by surprise, he couldn't help but snap, "Don'th you ether knock on doorth?"

He saw Jacqueline there, paling, then turning away and walking away quickly. No, wait, limping away? Why was that?


Jacqueline sat heavily in her chair, and wished she hadn't. Those welts were re-awakened, making her gasp and grimace in pain. And she knocked the stapler off her desk, too. She stood up, leaved over her desk again, stretched, reaching down the other side - and wondered, why was John missing a tooth?


He hadn't meant to snap at her. Not her, of all people. He'd go and apologize. He went to her office, knocked, but heard little more than a grunt. He took that as a sign to enter, and he pushed the door open.

And that was when he was presented with a fantastic sight. Jacqueline, bent over the desk, her short skirt drawn up, baring the lower halves of her asscheeks. Baring the fresh, red welts, welts surely applied last night. Similar to the ones he left on a whores' backside before stepping on her foot... and making her limp?


The stapler was further down than she thought. Out of reach, in fact, and suddenly she was aware of the door open and John standing there. Looking round, she saw his eyes glued to her behind, eyes like saucers, mouth open in surprise - and a mark on his chin, as if someone had elbowed him in the face last night...

Their eyes met, and she knew, and she saw that he knew, too.


"No, stay as you are," John told her as she made a movement to straighten up off the desk. "Stay exactly as you are!"

He reached for the buckle of his belt, and pulled the belt off, his eyes glued to hers. "I'th been waiting to do thith, for a long time..."

She sighed, and pressed herself to the desk. "So have I," she gasped, "So have I!"

(Yes, that's where I'm stopping. They fall in love yes, and live happily ever after, why not?)

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