From: an308559@anon.penet.fi (FM)
Date: Sun,  4 Aug 1996 10:19:47 UTC
Subject: Office


FICTION FROM FM: Office (****, M/F, n/c discipline, sex)

________________________________________________________________________
Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!
Copyright (C) 1996 by FM.   All Rights Reserved.   Free distribution via
electronic medium (i.e.  the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as
long as the text is not modified and this copyright is included,  but no
other form of publication is allowed. This document may contain material
of an ADULT nature. *READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*.  Anything offensive is your
own problem.  This story is for **entertainment** purposes only and does
not necessarily represent the viewpoints of the author or the electronic
source where this was obtained.   All characters are _fictional_ and any
resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
________________________________________________________________________


                            The Office
                               Part 1

    Courtney was hot under her stiff black dress. The high heels made her
ankles ache, and she was frustrated, deathly afraid, yet desperate. She
sat stiffly and watched the efficient secretary inside her glass cage.
At four o'clock sharp the woman spoke on the telephone and motioned for
Courtney to enter.
    "He'll see you now," she said without emotion.
    As the heavy doors closed behind her, Courtney felt like she had
entered forbidden territory. The room was large and immaculate. A huge
conference table took up a full side of the room; the other side
consisted of a well-stocked bar, a massive entertainment center, and a
giant desk near the bay window. Mortimer Johnson stood behind the desk,
rising to greet Courtney.
    "Welcome, Miss Fletcher. Would you like something to drink?" The
question was routine, but something in the way Mort spoke suggested he
disliked pleasantries. Courtney hated them too.
    "No thanks, Mr. Johnson. I know your time is invaluable, and I
appreciate your accepting my appointment. Please, let me get right to
the point."
    He smiled and waved her to a chair. She nodded but remained standing,
and he came from behind his desk and sat opposite her. Somehow even
sitting down he radiated authority. Courtney felt herself becoming
flustered, and forced herself to regain her composure.
    "Mr. Johnson," she began.
    "Call me Mort."
    "All right. Mort, I am sure you are aware of the situation that Union
National is in. I won't kid you: we are desperate. We've had too many
large companies defaulting on their loans and we can't take any more. I
am also sure you have heard of the condition of Brown-Saunter. If _they_
go under, _we_ will go under. And thousands of innocent people will be
hurt: there will be massive unemployment, the courts will tie our
finances for years; in short, the state will be in chaos.
    "However, you Mr., I mean, Mort, have the power to prevent this from
happening."
    He looked surprised. "I do?"
    "Yes. It's not a question of money. No amount of money could pull
Brown-Saunter out of their slump. What they need is leadership. You
could provide that leadership. What I am suggesting is that you invest
in Brown-Saunter, obtain a controlling interest, shall we say, and run
Brown-Saunter from afar. You can save the dying company. And in the
process you will prevent one of the largest state banks from going out
of business."
    She paused for breath and held it, watching him. He seemed almost
amused. "What do I get out of it?" he said suddenly. She almost smiled.
A man after her own heart, always the bottom dollar.
    "An interest in Brown-Saunter. If you run it well you stand to make a
considerable sum. You can buy it for a song. With its bid on the
government contracts coming up, it's sure to rake in a fortune--if
someone can keep it going long enough, and if the government feels like
it is a stable company. Right now the government wouldn't hired it to
clean toilets, let alone design buildings. But with your reputation
behind it=A0.=A0.=A0."
    "Ah, _my_ reputation." It almost seemed a smirk, as though he couldn't
believe she'd fallen for the same ruse everyone else had. "And what is
the cost to you, Miss Fletcher?"
    Courtney looked surprised. "Why, uh, there isn't a cost for us,
exactly. We, of course, don't really have any money right now. But if
you're willing, we could arrange something for the future."
    "The future's a long way off."
    "Well, anything in my power to give you is yours."
    "_Anything?_" Something in the way he spoke sent shivers down her
spine. Though a number of unpleasant possibilities of what "anything"
meant quickly popped into her head, it wasn't that exactly that bothered
her. It was the enjoyment, the way he relished saying the word, toying
with her.
    Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Yes. Anything."
    There was a long pause, in which she became more and more worried, more
distraught. If he didn't agree, her whole company, everything her father
had left her, everything in his life and her life, would be gone. She
was utterly dependent upon this man.
    She looked at him. He was handsome, in a sort of rude way. Strict,
overbearing. He looked like a fighter. He was tall and muscular, though
not overly athletic. He was middle-aged. She knew he over forty-two, but
seeing him up close, she would have guessed him thirty. His clothes were
elegant and expensive, but he wore them without vanity or style. They
were clothes. His attitude seemed to be that he would be just as
comfortable naked.
    She checked the thought immediately, blushing at the idea. She looked
out the window, trying to be brave and strong. She prayed he hadn't
noticed.
    "You are a rather attractive woman, Miss Fletcher." From his tone he
might have said, "The sky is blue today." She startled and turned to
him. He stood up and approached her. "You have lovely blue eyes. And
that blond hair is so graceful the way it fall down her back like that.
And those breasts are magnificent." At this point his hand reached out
and slowly fondled her left breast. Courtney was too stunned to move.
    "Anything, Miss Fletcher. You did say your price was _anything?_" His
tone was pure sarcasm and disgust, as if he didn't believe for a second
that she really meant what she had said.
    Composing herself, Courtney smiled and forced herself to remain
relaxed. "I believe I did say 'anything' Mr. Johnson. And I do mean
_anything_." Her blue eyes stared unshaken into his dark orbs and he
slowly smiled. His hand slid off her breast, around her back, and slowly
traveled to her buttocks, where he paused and patted them gently,
lovingly.
    "You have very elegant buttocks, Miss Fletcher. Firm, but not too firm.
Large enough to handle, but not awkward. Smooth and silky, smooth and
silky. And very naughty!" This last was hissed as he brought his palm
across her bottom with terrific force, the loud slap echoing in her ears
before she felt the stinging pain.
    Courtney gasped and grabbed her bottom and moved away from him, her
composure and resolve lost. "I thought so," muttered. "You didn't mean
what you said at all. I do not deal with people who do not mean what
they say. Good day, Miss Fletcher. My secretary will escort you out." He
returned to his desk without another glance at her.
    She ran to the edge of the desk, her mind racing, her desperation
showing across her face. "I meant what I said, Mr. Johnson. Anything,
any price you ask I will pay."
    "In advance?"
    "In advance."
    "Be here at seven o'clock, Miss Fletcher. Come as you are. If you
really are prepared to pay anything, that is." There was that contempt,
again, as if he still didn't believe she'd show. She'd show, all right.
She'd show him!


                               Part 2

    It was five to seven and the secretary was gathering her belongings and
leaving. Everyone else on the floor and probably the entire building had
already left. There were only the security men thirty stories down,
Courtney thought. And him and me.
    The secretary spoke emotionlessly to Courtney as she passed on her way
to the elevator. "He's on a call. He'll usher you in himself in a
moment."
    Suddenly it was deathly quiet, and Courtney began to wonder why she was
here. This is insane, she thought miserably. I can't be reduced to this.
But in her heart she knew that she would do anything to save her
business. Her business was more family to her than her family. Her
brothers weren't interested in it. It was hers. And she couldn't let her
father's dream die.
    The double doors opened and there stood Mort, roughly handsome as
always, his grim smile rather foreboding. Courtney passed through the
doors. She shuddered when she heard him lock them behind her.
    "I see you are prepared to pay. Is that correct?" His manner was
formal, all business. She nodded and he smiled. "Then take off your
clothes."
    She swallowed. This was a little faster than she had expected, but she
did like getting right to the point. At least he wasn't going to mess
around. She set down her purse and began to strip. First she took off
her shoes and hose, delightfully wiggling her toes in the deep carpet,
then the awful dress. Standing in her underwear she glanced at him, but
he seemed both impatient and indifferent at once. Without ceremony she
slipped off the bra and pulled down her panties.
    At once she felt chilled, cold air from the air conditioner brushing
her naked skin. Now Mort stepped forward, examining her closely. He
pulled back her hair and studied her face, her teeth. He toyed with her
breasts, weighing them with his palms, and comparing them to see if they
were as identical as they appeared to be. He passed his hand between her
legs, and forced her to spread them wide, and fingered her buttocks, his
fingers lightly spanking her. She held her breath, not sure what to say
or do.
    "Courtney, you are now my slave. You will do everything I say the
instant I command it, or face dire consequences. Do you understand?" It
was not a question. He was utterly serious, and she felt afraid. What
have I got myself into, she thought. But a vision of her bank in ruins
flashed over her eyes and she steeled herself. She nodded.
    "You will not speak unless I tell you that you may. You will only nod
and obey." She nodded again. As he led her over towards his desk,
something in her stomach began to grow cold. She felt within her a
complex series of emotions. She was stimulated, excited, but she dreaded
what was to happen.
    Suddenly her undefined fear took shape and became a cold reality. His
voice echoed in her mind. "You are still too proud. You require
discipline. Severe discipline." His enjoyment and satisfaction caused
her terror, but she also felt linked to him in their mutual excitement.
She shivered as his hand felt the roundness of her buttocks and the
smooth skin of her thighs. "Your skin is too pure. It must be reddened
properly."
    He motioned for her to lie across the desk. She did so immediately,
still wondering why she obeyed so willingly. Was she so afraid? Or did
she want it in some way?
    She stretched out awkwardly across the empty oak desk. It was so large
she was easily able to fit. Mort placed her hands behind her neck and
she understood that she should keep them there. This position forced her
breasts cruelly into the hard desk, and she wasn't sure which hurt more:
the stimulation of her sore nipples or the pain.
    "You are a very bad girl, Courtney. You are very, very, naughty. You
are going to be punished good." His hands were feeling her bottom,
kneading it softly, gently rubbing it with his knuckles. "I am going to
spank you hard, Courtney, very hard. And you are not going to cry out.
You are going to moan and groan and wiggle this pretty little ass of
yours, wiggle it like crazy. You are going to make it dance for me, just
to show me how much you appreciate the spanking, and how much you know
you deserve it, and how much you are paying for my little favor. Do you
understand?"
    Numbly, Courtney nodded. Her heart was full of dread and fear just like
she'd known as a little girl, taken to be spanked by her loving father.
She trembled now, tears already forming in her eyes.
    The first few blows shocked her with its force, but didn't really hurt.
Mort was using his hand. Each blow could barely cover both of her
buttocks, but he dealt them hard and furious, switching the focus from
one cheek to the other. Soon her bottom was throbbing. She could feel
the heat it generated, and she realized she was no longer cold. No, she
was hot. Very hot. Sweat poured off her body, and in agony she struggled
to keep her hands tightly clenched to her neck. She didn't know what
would happen if she moved them, but she didn't want to find out. The
pounding on her bottom was just aggravating the furious desire between
her legs.
    The blows were coming even harder and faster now, as Mort began to
relax and really let go. Again and again he spanked her, sometimes near
the top of her buttocks where the thin skin caused her to groan loudly,
other times cupping his swinging hand against her lower bottom, catching
her buttocks and lifting them, the force jiggling her entire bottom and
reawakening the stinging skin elsewhere.
    She groaned and wagged her bottom for him, desperate he should see her
cooperation and obedience and have mercy. But he continued to spank her,
harder than ever it seemed, and her groans grew louder than the spanks.
She couldn't believe a hand spanking could hurt so much. Her ass was on
fire, throbbing and stinging without relief. She could feel her desire
increasing, the wet between her legs spreading onto the table. Groaning,
she wiggled her bottom, pleading without words.
    Suddenly it stopped. It was so sudden she could hardly believe it. It
seemed a dream. For a moment it seemed like all her life she had been
lying there, being spanked. It was as though she had never been anywhere
else. Vaguely she heard a voice telling her to stand, and a sudden
painful slap on her bottom woke her fully to reality.
    Standing by the desk, shivering in the chill and her heat and pain, she
watched as Mort stepped over to the bar. After a moment he emerged
carrying a container of cream. This he promptly spread over Courtney's
red bottom and her breasts. His massage elicited groans of pleasure and
pain from her, as he relived the burning skin and stirred her libido but
reminded her how much she hurt. He forced her legs wider, and told her
she was never, _never_, to put them together.
    Next, he had her kneel and he blindfolded her. In the dark she suddenly
felt a thick finger slide into her mouth. In revulsion she realized what
it was, but complied, sucking on it like a baby with a bottle. In horror
she felt stings striking her backside and she realized he was beating
her with an object, a strap or whip. The blows were thin, but raised
tiny welts wherever they laid. She shrank from the whipping in despair,
but the cock was still in her mouth and she was forced to satisfy it,
the whole time encouraged by the whip.
    Suddenly he came and she almost choked, gasping at the sheer volume and
intensity. Her mouth was free, but a hand promptly forced her chin shut,
and with reluctance but relatively few blows of the whip--she was
learning quickly--she swallowed.
    Now she was allowed to stand again, and the blindfold was removed. Mort
stood there, still in his formal suit, not a hair out of place. That
turned her on, somehow, and she ached to put her legs together, to
achieve satisfaction somehow. She could almost feel the liquid dripping
down her legs, but of course that was just her imagination.
    With another grim smile, he motioned to the desk. With a terrified look
she gasped and fell to her knees. "No, please. I'll be good. I've been
good. I'll be good. Please, no more." She was weeping at his feet.
    He slapped her face, hard. She stared at him in awe and terror. "You
are not to speak!" he shouted at her. "Now get on the table immediately.
You will take what I give you and enjoy it. You will never beg me to
stop, except through your tears and groans and by wagging that ass of
yours in supplication!" He shoved her toward the desk and she
practically leaped onto it and assumed her former position immediately.
    Her heart was a flutter of confusion, of terror and fear, of
desperation, both to stay and to run away, of desire and of dread. She
didn't know what to do. So she obeyed. It was easiest to simply obey.
Then there was no struggle. She had no rights, no action was possible.
She would simply obey.
    But her heart went cold when she saw Mort returning from the bar with a
large wooden paddle. She began to struggle, wiggling on the table and
groaning. He laughed, a contemptuous laugh that told her he despised
her, which somehow made her feel sad. "It won't do no good, pretty lady.
I'm gonna bring some color into those cheeks if it's the last thing I
do!"
    With that he rested the paddle gently on her rump, and she felt her
bottom swell and the heat throbbing. Her ass was huge and red, she could
feel it. Then he lifted the paddle high and brought it down onto her
buttocks. As far as people experienced in such things would judge, it
wasn't that hard of a blow. But for poor Courtney, it was devastating.
Her ass hurt so much she actually thought she would die or pass out. Her
bottom just kept stinging and stinging and she thought it would never
stop.
    But another blow landed, quickly followed by another. In moments she
had forgotten about the first one, and concentrated on wiggling for the
others. The moaning and groaning she was having no problems with: they
came unsummoned to her lips and poured out of her like a soul during
confession.
    She bounced under the paddle, her body actually lifting itself off the
desk by several inches at a time. The wetness between her legs was
almost splashing over her thighs and stomach as she bounced up and down
on the desk. The blows were hard and frequent, and it was all she could
do to remember to breathe.
    Her hands were frozen on her neck. She was too petrified to move them,
but her fear was that they'd move of their own accord. The paddling
continued, the loud smacks deafening to Courtney's uninitiated ears.
Harder and harder it came down, the heavy wood slamming her to the desk
and, like a magnet to iron, lifting her off as it withdrew.
    It was ecstacy. It was torture. Courtney had never felt anything quite
like it. She was terrified that it wouldn't stop. But she was also
afraid that it would. Oh, to be brutally beaten like this, thrashed
constantly and thoroughly, day after day, week after week, year after
year, chastising her more completely than she'd ever been before. To
receive something you know you want but can't bring yourself to
receive=A0.=A0.=A0. yet here she was, willing allowing herself to paddled and
spanked by a complete stranger!
    Arrrgh, she groaned after a particularly heavy blow. It seemed that her
bottom must have broken under that blow, she thought. She couldn't
understand how she could be taking this kind of pain. This had gone on
for hours. No, it couldn't be hours. But=A0.=A0.=A0. how many blows had she
received? She tried to count, to estimate, but she couldn't. Fifty? A
hundred? Two hundred? It could have been any of them. If could have been
their sum. She had no reference, no way of knowing. She knew that she
was in utter agony, but she had been in agony moments before from the
hand spanking, and that had been love pats compared to this.
    Finally it stopped and she was permitted to stand. She lifted herself
off the desk, her breasts sore and bruised from the pounding, her face
and hair soaked with tears. Every movement brought agony from her
buttocks. She tried to stretch even though she knew it would hurt, but
suddenly she was forced to bend over slightly, her legs spread extremely
wide, and Mort spoke to her.
    "You spoke to me a moment ago. That is forbidden. You shall be severely
punished for that. That's worth several spankings like you just received
for that offense alone. But you _pleaded_," he spat the word as though
it had burned his tongue. "You asked for mercy. I'll give you mercy. Now
stand still and if you fall over I'll give you fifty extra!"
    The paddle slammed into her, and Courtney almost fell over right then.
Her ass hurt so unbelievably much that the new pain, blinding as it was,
scare made a difference. She almost wanted to laugh. "Na, na, na, na.
You can't hurt me any more! You can't hurt me any more!"
    But the paddle continued to strike her, and in the standing position it
seemed to find new life in her poor rump, sending incredible rivers of
pain through her body. On and on and on the paddling continued, until
Courtney was sure she'd received at least fifty more blows, and she
wondered desperately how many more were to come.
    She danced for the paddle, waving her bottom from side to side,
wiggling and twitching her buttocks, moving her hips in and out in
grotesque and degrading motions that caused her to blush in spite of her
pain. Her breasts were bouncing and flying with her dance. But nothing
stopped the terrible flow of pain that Mort was administering.
    Again and again the paddle came up, striking her rump and lifting her
into the air. So many times had her bottom been struck and jiggled that
she felt it should be ready to fall off at any moment. It was so sore,
so raw, she could barely breathe when she thought of it. And that was
about all she could think of.
    Suddenly she noticed that the blows were less frequent, and perhaps
even less strong. Mort, it seemed, was tiring. The blows were slow and
steady now, good solid spanks that caused groans to effortlessly pour
from her mouth, but she no longer had to bit her lip to keep from
screaming.
    Then Mort took the paddle to the backs of her thighs, alternating
between each side. On this virgin skin the pain was unendurable, and
Courtney found herself dancing without trying. When her thighs were
thoroughly red, Mort moved on to her calves. Then back to her buttocks
and thighs.
    It had to be over soon, it had to, she thought desperately. But the
steady rain continued for several minutes more. When it finally stopped,
her heart was light even when she heard Mort say that that spanking was
a good start toward her punishment. She was just so happy that it was
over for now she could hardly contain herself. And her desire was so
huge and desperate she felt could mount a telephone pole to satisfy her
cravings.
    Mort applied more cream to her buttocks, commenting that they were
coloring nicely. "Got some good welts there, girl. Excellent. Keep you
in line, those welts. A touch from my hand will feel like a sound blow
from a paddle."
    He turned her around and began slapping her breasts. Not especially
hard, but stinging blows that brought color to her breasts and made them
feel huge and awkward. Courtney couldn't help but feel the breasts
bouncing on her chest. It made her feel sexy and desired, like she was a
lingerie dancer. Unconsciously she began to move with blows, a slow,
uninhibited dance.
    "Good, excellent!" cried Mort. "Keep it up!" He stepped away from her
and she continued the dance feeling cheap and vulgar and she closed her
eyes to block out the sight of the man she was learning to hate.
    Suddenly a blinding pain to her left breast awoke her and she shrieked
and clutched at her breast. It felt like her nipple had been sheared
off! She stood frozen in terror and stared at Mort. He stood in front of
her with a soft smile on his face, a long thin riding crop in his right
hand. "There's plenty more where that one came from," he said with a
cruel smile. "Now put your hands back behind your head and dance!"
    Somehow Courtney obeyed. She thought of her father and the company and
everything she had already "invested" in this evening and knew she'd
have to pay whatever he asked. She danced and winced when he lifted the
crop. The flapper on the tip caught her nipple perfectly and waves of
pain flooded Courtney's body. She shivered and moaned and shook her head
violently. Her hands ached, literally ached to grasp her poor, tender
breast and console it, but she instead danced and wiggled her body to
please her angry master.
    Her right nipple was greeted with the crop next, and then, in a blur of
pain and confusion, Courtney felt her mind leave her body. She was aware
of the pain only distantly, and she watched herself quivering and
shuddering with each stroke from that crop. She was aware of every part
of her body: the pulsing hunger between her legs, the aching of her
fingers which were clenched far too tightly, the wild, uncontrolled
beating of her heart, the skin of her legs and buttocks that tensed and
stretched and screamed in pain as she wiggled and danced. She knew what
she felt and yet did not feel it. She was lost in a haze of desire and
pain and as she watched herself, she felt that explosion building
between her legs, fueled by the passion ignited by her stinging nipples
and swaying breasts, and she felt that explosion tear through her body
and she screamed in astonishment at the engulfment it produced, a
wonderful, filling, satisfaction that warmed her entire body and then in
a flash it was gone, and she was only Courtney, naked and dancing before
a stranger, her body covered with welts and stripes of pain.
    Mort paused. He took the crop and pushed it between Courtney's spread
legs and found her pussy and entered, rubbing her delightfully with it.
She cringed and moaned and desperately wanted to squeeze her legs
together and scream. She had an impulse to rip to crop from Mort's hand
and thrust it up into herself as far as it would go and masturbate until
she turned blue and fainted.
    Suddenly the teasing crop was pulled away and then, like the tongue of
a serpent, it licked at her sex. A stunningly raw source of pain filled
her body. Courtney screamed like a dying bird and her hands broke from
her neck and she felt to the ground moaning, her hands between her legs
rubbing at the incredible burning. She distantly felt the crop landing
all over her body and Mort's shouting and cursing. The crop struck her
legs, her buttocks, her back, and then fell across her front, striking
her arms and legs and belly and the sides of her breasts, but still she
could not move, could not release herself.
    Another orgasmic explosion passed through her body and in a moment
Courtney was free, sobbing, being pulled to her feet. The crop struck
her between the legs again and again and again and Courtney couldn't
help but spread her legs and offer herself to it, luxuriating in the
delicious kiss of crop against her naked sex. The pain was now
synonymous with pleasure, a wild, uncontrolled pleasure she had never
before known, an engulfing, mindless pleasure, animal in its intensity
and human it its depth. The pain made her body move but did little else.
    She felt herself being thrown onto the desk, hands and feet bound to
the four corners, but she did not care. A blindfold covered her eyes but
it did not matter. The crop played with her body, torturing her breasts
and nipples and her hips and legs and belly. It did not matter.
    Then she felt the thick pulsing finger of Mort's manhood throbbing
against her thigh. It was stiff and hard and she wanted it. She moaned
loudly and screamed, "Give it to me, please, don't tease me!" The cock
entered her easily, thrusting through her entrance with a passion that
defied reason and began to pump and probe at her insides. She had never
before felt so engulfed, so entered, so completely and utterly pierced
and consumed. She flailed wildly and pumped back at Mort the best she
could with her body pinned flat against the table. There was a fantastic
groan and then a cry of tremendous pain and suddenly she felt the full
weight of Mortimer Johnson against her body. His body was shuddering
violently and she could feel his cock pulsing and exploding inside her
and she soared and peaked and with a desperate sigh she came and he came
and in a daze they laid there silently, exhausted and spent.

    It was late. Courtney opened her eyes. She was naked but no longer
bound or blindfolded. She was lying on Mort's couch. She quickly
examined herself and found that other than an indescribable soreness
that filled her entire body from pussy to headache she felt fine. She
was sticky with sweat and juices, though, and longed for a shower. She
wondered if Mort had a private shower she could clean up in.
    She saw him and watched him silently. He was standing by the far window
and staring out at the world below. He was fully dressed as she'd seen
him earlier and he didn't look at all like he'd been fucking like a
maniac rabbit only minutes earlier. Or was it hours? Courtney had lost
all track of time.
    She stood and stretched and went to go get her things. Mort turned to
her. "One more thing before you go." Courtney froze. She watched him in
silence as he walked over to the bar and picked up a long, thin white
cane.
    "How many do you want?"
    She stared at him and did not answer. "How many do you want?" he asked
again.
    "O-One?" she tried and he only laughed.
    "Since you will not cooperate we will let the dice decide. He pointed
to a pair of dice on the counter of the bar and she walked over and
picked them up. It was like a dream. She did not have any control of her
actions. She felt she no longer had any control of anything. She didn't
even know who she was any more.
    "The first die will be the number of strokes per set. The second die
will be the number of sets."
    Courtney rolled. A six. Mort smiled gleefully and rubbed his hands
together and took a practice swing with the cane. Courtney shrugged. It
almost did not matter any more. She threw the second die. A four. Four
sets of six. Twenty-four strokes. Ouch.
    "How do we do it?" she asked quietly, amazed at her calmness.
    "Over to the chair," he ordered, almost drooling in his lust. "Climb
over the back and grab the arms and let your beautiful legs dangle
behind the chair. Your bottom should be right up near the top."
    Without a word the girl obeyed, mounting the chair as instructed. It
was quite awkward and difficult but she finally managed, feeling quite
shameful at the way her bottom was thrust up and outward. She waited,
scarcely able to breathe.
    The first stroke sounded like a firecracker and the horrible line of
pain across her ass made Courtney's eyes water. She bit her lip at the
second and third crack but the fourth made her cry out. "Please!" she
screamed but Mort only laughed and gave her five and six.
    Number seven he gave her from the other side and she soon realized why.
The tip of the cane held the majority of the force of the blow meaning
that the far buttock took the brunt of each stroke. By switching sides
Mort now punished her left buttock with six brutal blows.
    Next he gave her two from each side at angles so that the blows crossed
the welts of the earlier parallel strokes. These took her breath away
they hurt so badly and it was here she began to sob. Then he gave her
three even strokes across her thighs from each side, and then a sharp
angled cut that went across her left thigh and struck her right buttock.
He repeated that last from the other side.
    Slowly Courtney got down from the chair and stood awkwardly on wavering
legs. Her buttocks and thighs felt like they had been torn to ribbons.
Her whole body ached but she was astonished to realize that now, after
the horrible, agonizing flashes of pain from each stroke of that cane,
that her sex was wet and oozing again. She blushed and hoped Mort
wouldn't notice.
    "There's my private bathroom over there," whispered Mort suddenly, his
voice low and husky. He had his back to her she saw with surprise. "You
can shower and get dressed. You are free to go."
    Courtney saw where he pointed and ran to the bathroom. The shower was
luxurious after all the pain, and when she emerged, fresh and clean and
dressed and again looked like a classy businesswoman, she felt almost
human again. She did not speak to Mort but left quickly, silently.
    He heard her go and did not turn around. Tears filled his eyes. He
watched from the window and saw her finally emerge and go to her car.
She walked quickly and with purpose and soon was gone. He shook his
head. She was so beautiful. Why did she have to be so goddamned
gorgeous?
    He grew angry and threw his martini glass across the room, watching it
shatter near the bar. He stared after it sullenly. "It wasn't supposed
to happen this way," he thought miserably. "She was supposed to be a
stuck-up bitch, a whore in office clothes, and I was supposed to
dominate her and punish her and that was that. She wasn't supposed to
cooperate and be so goddamned _willing_ and _accepting_!" With a growl
Mort paced the office and finally threw himself into the chair.
    It was so unfair. From the moment he had first seen her he had wanted
to see what she looked like under her panties, and now he had done that
but wanted more. He wanted to get to know this woman, to understand her.
Why would she endure all that just for some business deal? Was her
company really so important to her? He doubted he'd pay that price for
any one of his own companies.
    He shook his head. It just wasn't fair. He was falling for this quiet,
reserved blonde and he had just ruined everything. She'd never speak to
him again, not as a man, only as a business partner. He could force her,
of course, but that was not something he desired any more. He no longer
wanted to dominate her--he wanted to love her. And he wanted her love in
return. Could she ever forgive him?
    He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. "Hector? Get me
Brown-Saunter. Yeah, the company. I know that. Just get it. Yeah, the
whole thing. Buy it outright. Do it openly, obviously. We want everyone
to know that Brown-Saunter is stable and will meet all of its debts.
Yes. Set up a meeting with Valentine at the DOT for next month. We're
gonna get those contracts if it kills us! Right. Bye."
    He spun the chair and watched the office revolve around him. He had
impulse to pick of the phone and dial Courtney Fletcher's number. But
what could he say? His mind replayed the scenes from the evening,
admiring her form, her grace, her dignity even as he thrashed her skin.
God, what a woman!
    He had to have her. Somehow he had to have her. His impulse was to grab
her. To simply take what he wanted. After all, that was how he got most
things. But he knew that that was not the way to get her. He wanted her
heart, and you couldn't just go take that. He had to conquer it, seduce
it.
    Slowly a smile came over his face. He knew what he'd do. Miss Fletcher
would someday be his!

                                    -30-

*** Is there more to come...? Encourage me! ***