I was about to turn off my computer and put my jacket on to go when I saw the envelope blinking in the corner of the monitor, indicating a new e-mail had arrived. Even though it was already 4:30, I clicked it open, being the responsible person that I am.
It was from Rachel, my boss.
> John:
>
> I went over your numbers for the Cargill offering, and they appear
> to be WAY off. This was supposed to have been completed--checked
> and rechecked--by this morning. I will expect that you will have
> a revision to me by the end of the day.
>
> Rachel
The message had been sent at 11:30 this morning, right after I left for lunch. I started to sweat, because I had plans, yet I knew if the revision didn't get done, I was "dead-meat". I was also dead-meat for not responding to the message any quicker. I quickly fired off a response, in hopes that she'd still be there. Her office is three floors up--on the fourteenth floor of the building. Top floor holds the executive offices and fitness area. We "lower-rung" workers have heard wild stories about what happens on the top floor fitness center, but no one believes them. Well, maybe I do. Not getting a response to the e-mail message, I walked up the three flights of stairs and entered the long hallway that winds around back to her office. I passed a few of the department heads on their way out the door, but otherwise the floor is empty.
I am thinking that she has also left, but then I notice her door ajar with the lights on. I push open the door slightly and peek my head in, calling out her name.
"Rachel?"
I walked into her office, which happened to be as empty as the rest of the floor. Or so I thought. Just then, the high-backed office chair swirled around to face me, with Rachel glowering at me as if to do bodily harm.
"Do you know, that this report was due, oh, about ten minutes ago to Frank?" (Frank is the VP of our department.) "And not only is it late, but it is wrong!" she said in a raised voice. "I expect that you will get me this revision," looking down at her watch, "in no more than an hour. I promised Frank that it would be in his hands by 5:30, and my word is solid, John, so get your ASS back downstairs and get me the numbers I need!"
She threw the manila envelope containing the report at me, which bounced off my chest, landing on the floor. I bent down to one knee to pick it up, and as I raised my head, I was no more than inches away from Rachel, who had gotten up and walked over in front of me. Her skirt was short and her legs had a shine that reflected the light off her nylons. Her heels gave her an extra four inches of height, so she appeared to be towering over me. I couldn't help it, but felt myself getting hard right there in front of her.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Here's an added incentive for you. Let's say if you don't get me the corrected report in an hour, you're through here! How's that for incentive, John?" Her hands were on her hips, which were well outlined by her tight-fitting silk skirt. Her top, also of silk, had two buttons undone, revealing just a bit of her camisole underneath, creating a very sensual look. Speaking of rumors, Rachel has been linked sexually not only with Frank, but the president too.
"Well?" she repeated.
"I'm sorry, I'll get right on that," I said as I got to my feet, not more than inches away from Rachel. I could feel her breath on my neck "I DID check the numbers and they appeared to fit the model we had created, but I'll re-run it and get you the revision right away." She did not say a word but only stared at me. I turned to go and for a fleeting moment, hesitated, thinking she had something more to tell me. There was something in her eyes--I saw it. Any other day I'd swear it was lust. But today? Now? This was pure and simple anger. Not wanting to push my luck, I turned around and left, holding the manila envelope over my noticeably erect penis.
"5:30, John, or your ass is mine!" she called out as I walked down the hall. "One hour!!!" The words trailed off behind me.
I sat back down at my computer and pulled up the Cargill file. I could not find the bad numbers--everything correlated, and subsequent test runs indicated similar results. I knew now what to expect in terms of the analysis, so I looked at the source data, and there it was. Someone had keyed in the profit coordinate for he equation as a negative, when it should have been a positive. Naturally this would have skewed the results in such a way to mask the outcome yet undermine the cost-benefit prospect. This would take about a half hour to complete. I fired up the data plotter and ran the numbers through, which gave me the revision Rachel was looking for. I rekeyed these numbers into the master proforma and sent the file to our color laser printer.
I grabbed my jacket and ran up the stairs to Rachel's office, taking two steps at a time. Looking down at my watch, I noticed that 50 minutes had elapsed. I made it with ten minutes to spare, yet I had a feeling this wouldn't necessarily make her any happier. I walked straight into her office as the door was wide open. She was sitting on the chair, her chin resting on her clasped hands.
"I hope your happy. Frank just left--he couldn't wait. I begged him to let me bring the report over to Cargill myself rather than to waste another day, but it's not possible. You fucked up, and I'm responsible." I could see that even though she had a calm exterior, inside she was seething--her knuckles had turned white she was clenching them so hard. "Close the door, I'd like to say a few things to you."
I turned to close the door, somewhat apprehensively. I knew--as she did--that no one else was around. Why close the door?
"Rachel--"
"Don't even begin to make excuses," she said, cutting me off before I could say anything more.
"You have screwed me for the last time and now I am going to return the favor. I gave you an hour to get me the revised report--which you did, but now it's too late." She got up out of her chair and walked toward me, folding her arms in front of her, pushing up her breasts, revealing more of the camisole. Strange feelings surged through me--was I getting fired? Was I getting turned on? I had no idea what to expect--my mind raced.
"Sit down and don't you dare move," she commanded as she walked behind me. I heard the click of the lock engaging into place on the door behind me, then the tinkling sound of metal on metal. I did not turn to look at what she was doing, but then it occurred to me that she was taking the belt out of her skirt. When she walked back in front of me, she had the belt wound around her hand twice, the rest dangling at her side. Responding to my widening eyes, she spoke:
"You are not going to be fired, John, but after tonight, you're going to wish you had been. And you may even decide that you'll want to quit-if you can't take what's coming to you. Take off your clothes--and do it right now, so help me God!" I stood to my feet--doing as she said. First, I undid my own belt and pants, sliding them onto the floor. Then I pulled my polo shirt over my head, laying that on the floor as well. I stood before her in my socks and jockey shorts, trying to cover myself up, feeling very embarrassed and humiliated.
"Didn't I say to undress?" She yelled at me, swinging the belt quickly across my stomach with a slap--the sting of the belt was sudden and I cried out from the pain. "Take off the underwear and socks, or are you ashamed of something under there?" she said this almost mockingly. I slowly pulled my underwear down, revealing all eight inches of my semi-erect penis.
"That's better. Now I want you to walk to that wall, turn and face it with your legs spread and your hands on the wall. If you can take 25 lashes from my belt, you may keep your job. If you tell me to stop, I will take that as your resignation. Do you understand?" I nodded yes, then walked over to the wall, where I hung my head and started to cry. She walked up behind me, grabbed my ear, pulling my head toward hers. "I want YOU to count!" I nodded my head and the lashes began--softly at first then with more force. After the tenth stroke of her belt, she ran her hand down my back, playing with my ass, then reaching between my legs, squeezing both balls in her hand.
"Aggghhh..." I moaned, as the pain in my groin made me forget about the pain on my back and ass. She leaned in close to me and whispered in my ear. "I saw you staring at my legs and my shoes.... You like my shoes, don't you John? You like my high heels. Maybe you'd like to wear them? Or perhaps you'd like to have one of them SHOVED UP YOUR ASS!" Which is exactly what she did after taking one of them off. She pushed the heel into my asshole, wedging the leather shoe between my cheeks, twisting it back and forth. It felt as though it ripped my ass apart. "How does it feel to be screwed? I hope this feels good!"
I don't know how or why, but I was getting aroused--my penis was now fully erect again. "You do like this," she said, looking down at my penis. "Well, we'll have to see what else we can shove up your ass." She walked back to her desk and opened a drawer. I could hear things being moved about, then she returned with a dildo. She pulled the heel out and proceeded to work the dildo into my butt, without any lubrication.
Feigning concern, she said "Oh, I am sorry, but you appear to be bleeding--remind me to send you on your way with a TAMPON! With the dildo all the way in, she returned to slapping my ass and back with her belt, with me counting every painful stroke. I think she was taking pleasure striking the spot where the dildo stuck out, which sent shockwaves of pain (and pleasure?) through my body. After she finished, she told me to turn around, which I did--showing off the biggest erection of my life.
"Tell you what, John, if you can lick me to an orgasm, I'll let you fuck me with that puny little dick of yours. She sat down on her desk, sweeping papers--and my report--onto the floor. She hiked her skirt up and pointed to her very moistened crotch. "Take off my panties and go to it. I did as I was told, walking over to her, dildo still lodged in my ass. I slid her satin panties down and buried my face between her legs. My tongue was licking and lapping and pushing in and out of her vagina while my fingers massaged her clit. Within two minutes, Rachel's moaning intensified and after three minutes, she was screaming. Just as she was about to come she took my head with both hands and pushed it hard into her crotch and brought her knees up, putting me in a virtual leg-lock. I couldn't breath, but figured she was about to come so I kept going.
Finally, thirty seconds later she came, spraying me in the face with spurts of her pee. She fell back on the desk, her legs still spread, arms outreached. "Fuck me, John, do it now--do it hard--just FUCK ME!"
I climbed on top of her and started thrusting away, pushing my eight inches as deep within her as I could. With each thrust, her moaning became louder and louder. "OH! OH! OH!" After five minutes of hard thrusting action, she exclaimed that she was again going to come, which pushed me over the edge. I yelled out that I was coming too, and just then the dildo shot out of my ass as we came at the very same moment.
Exhausted, we collapsed on the desk. We laid there, me on top of her, for what seemed to be an hour. I got up, still trying to catch my breath. She stayed on the desk--not yet able to get up. Neither of us said anything. I put my clothes back on, and started walking toward the door. Before I closed the door behind me, she called out, "Let that be a lesson to you!"
Needless to say, I have been late with reports almost every Friday since then.