Madame B - Ecstasy

What was she saying? That last night had been a mistake? I knew she'd enjoyed it, too. Did Laura have second thoughts? I had spent all day building up to fucking her again, and now there was a danger I wouldn't be allowed to touch her in the way that I'd always wanted.

"That's right," she said, and she broke into a wide smile. "That's why I went shopping." And from a sleek pink shopping bag she produced a double-headed dildo, clearly built for two women.

"It's great to borrow," she said, "but it's even better to share."

This woman's confession will appeal to anyone who's ever met an arrogant man who needed to be taught a lesson. It took a clash with a bullying boss to bring out Donna's inner dominatrix. Her whip-cracking ways proved to be the ultimate in girl power. Some girls just do better on top. God, he was a bastard. I watched through the smoked-glass wall as Hugh Lancing shouted at yet another member of the staff. He'd been at my company for only ten days, and already he had managed to piss off, upset, or make an enemy of every single employee. An arrogant ex-private-school boy, he'd called us in, one by one, for performance reviews during which he'd bullied and intimidated most people to tears.

I dashed off an e-mail to Natalie, our office manager, even though she was sitting opposite me.

"That man's such a jerk-off," I typed.

Ping! She bounced a message right back at me.

"He's vile, but he's brilliant at his job. And if he turns this company into a gold mine, we'll see it reflected in our bonuses at Christmas."

I replied, "That's if he's got any staff left by then!"

The clock on my computer told me it was four-thirty, nearly time to go home but not near enough. My severe office clothes began to feel restrictive around this time of the day. In my company, dressing down was not an option. I got a buzz out of working the sexy secretary look, but after a few hours, my pencil skirt began to feel a little too tight, the crisp blouse a little too formal, and my high-heeled shoes began to pinch. I longed for five-thirty.

Then I got an e-mail from Lois, Hugh's dowdy PA.

"Hugh would like to see you for a progress review in his office at six p.m. this evening," it stated. No "Dear Donna," no "please," no apology for the short notice. I spent the next couple of hours-resentfully-going over my recent work. If Hugh was about to pick on me and claim I wasn't good at my job, I wanted the figures to prove him wrong at my fingertips. As I scrolled through documents and spreadsheets detailing the huge deals I'd brought in over the past six months, I felt a renewed pride in my work. I might not have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I might not have a degree, but I'd clawed my way up in this industry using nothing but working-class savvy and a whole lot of ambition.

At five to six, I went to the ladies' room with my makeup bag; a girl doesn't go into battle without the appropriate war paint. I ran a brush through my thick, light brown hair, and ran a slick of matte pinky brown lipstick across my mouth. I smoothed down the crisp black fabric of my skirt and checked my top for stains. None. I looked good: successful, in control, and confident.

At six sharp I was outside Hugh's office door, waiting for Lois to get back to her desk and let me in. All employees were forbidden to communicate with Hugh other than via his PA. At four minutes past six I realized that Lois had gone home for the day, so I knocked on the smooth walnut door and waited for Hugh to answer it himself. Instead, he called for me to come in.

He had a file bearing my name open on his lap, and didn't look up from it as I stood in the doorway of his office.

"Donna Clarke," he said, without making eye contact. He practically spat out my name. I remained where I was, taking this chance to scrutinize Hugh Lancing for the first time. He radiated power and money, from the cut of his suit-most probably Savile Row-to the understated style of his black leather shoes. His thick hair showed no signs of thinning or receding even though he must have been around forty. It fell across his eyes in a thick, dark-blond curtain. I just knew he'd had the same haircut since he was about eight. A shadow of light-brown stubble on his strong jaw was the only trace of imperfection about him. In any other circumstance, I'd have found him attractive.

Hugh chose this moment to acknowledge my presence properly and nodded at a chair opposite his desk. I sat down, crossing my legs at the ankle. I folded my arms and eyeballed him, determined not to let myself be bullied.

"On paper, your track record's not bad," he said. "I have you singled out for good things."

"Thank you," I said. I knew he liked people to call him "sir," but I wasn't having any of that. I don't treat people with respect until they've earned it. I would just give him the bare bones of politeness but no more.

"In the future, I'd like to promote you to department manager," he said, unexpectedly.

I tried not to let my surprise and excitement show. "Excellent," I said.

"Not so fast," said Hugh, a sneer playing about his lips. "You'll have to prove you're up to management material by getting rid of the deadwood first. You're going to let go of five of your existing staff, first thing tomorrow. I'll see how you deal with that, and we'll take it from there."

My blood boiled. Firing people was his job, not mine, and if I did get a promotion, I wanted it to be on the strength of the work I could do, not on how well-developed my mean streak was. All thoughts of keeping my cool in his office vanished as anger got the better of me. I got up, took a step closer to his desk, and leaned in so close that I could smell mint on his breath and he could see down my top as my breasts hung and skimmed the glass of his desk. "You might be able to get away with this with other people," I sneered at him, "but I worked my way up by standing up to bigger and harder men than you, and you don't frighten me. You can do your own dirty work." I sat back in my chair, and confidently waited for him to fire me. Instead of the outburst I was expecting, his features softened, and he looked eager, intrigued. The expression on his face reminded me of something, but I couldn't think what.

"No one has spoken to me like that for a very long time," he said. I kept quiet; if he was playing a mind game with me, I wasn't joining in. "Yes, it's been a very long time since a woman stood up to me like you just did, Donna."

I wondered if he realized that his breath was coming in low rasps and that he was licking his lower lip. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was aroused by this. Instinctively my eyes traveled down toward his crotch, which I could see through the polished glass desk. Sure enough, the beginnings of an erection strained at the fine wool. I raised my eyebrow at him and tutted. Hugh blushed a deep shade of pink, and his bulge grew bigger, making the pinstripe stiffen.

In that second the balance of power shifted in my favor. I'd met Hugh's type before: the bully who likes nothing more than to be dominated by a woman. Here was one mind game I knew how to play-and win. I turned on my high heels and marched out of his office without a backward glance, even when I heard the creak as he rose from his chair and watched me walk out.

I walked the city streets, my mind racing. I'd lost my temper, sure, but I'd had an unexpected result. I'd had a couple of relationships with men who had wanted me to play power games. I'd been a natural, dishing out punishments and barking instructions like a true dominatrix, but these men were weak, easily led individuals. They hadn't been much of a challenge. Whereas a man like Hugh Lancing… the thought of belittling and humiliating this arrogant, cocky bastard made my pulse quicken and my imagination run a riot. That night, I barely slept, and when I did, I had dreams about bending his body in a variety of positions, bellowing orders at him, teaching him lessons no other woman would dare to.