Madame B - Ecstasy

The next morning I paid more attention to detail in my appearance than usual. I planned to walk past Hugh Lancing's office at every available opportunity that day and had to look like I meant business. I chose a Roland Mouret dress that skimmed my curves like a second skin: expensive, made of black crepe, it was a dress for a woman in control. I swept my hair up into a sophisticated but severe chignon, and I swapped my contacts for my old horn-rimmed spectacles. Replacing my usual soft lipstick with a cruel slash of red completed the transformation. I wanted Hugh to take one look at me and know who really was in charge around here.

When Natalie saw me, her eyebrow raised. "You're dressed to impress," she said. "Did he give you a hard time last night?"

My resolve to make Hugh's life a living hell hardened as I recalled how he'd wanted me to fire colleagues, like Natalie, on little more than a whim.

"I can handle him," I replied. I didn't tell Natalie about the plan that was forming in my mind and distracting me from the business of my day.

That lunchtime, I stopped outside Hugh's office to make conversation with the long-suffering Lois. I didn't look in on Hugh; that would have been too obvious. Instead, I listened to him shouting at someone on the telephone.

"Don't give me that shit!" he was snarling at the person on the other end of the line. "You either take my offer or you lose my business."

I inched across so that I was directly in his line of sight and glared at him angrily. Making sure Lois couldn't see it, I held my left hand out and gave it a small, sharp slap with my right. Then I pointed at him, making my message clear: He had behaved badly, and punishment was coming his way. He stopped midsentence and stared at me, openmouthed.

I disappeared from view but made sure I remained in earshot and heard him resume his conversation with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence. "Oh, um, where was I?" he bumbled.

I smiled to myself. The little test I'd set had confirmed that Hugh was under my spell. Let the games begin.

That night, I decided to work late. I waited until everyone else was out of the building. It was seven-thirty p.m., and the sun had completely set. I've always loved this time of evening; office workers spill into bars and pubs, work's over for another few hours, day gives way to night, and anything could happen. The lights of the city sparkled in the background. And on the other side of that glass wall was someone I knew to be anticipating this evening just as much as I.

I walked into Hugh Lancing's office without knocking. In order to establish myself as the one in command, it was essential I break as many of Hugh's rules as possible.

"What the fuck?" His abusive greeting was a reflex action, but when he saw who the visitor was, he stopped midsentence.

Here we go, I thought. I was ninety-nine percent sure I was doing the right thing, but I still had butterflies. If I had read the signals wrong, then I'd be about to commit a major workplace fuckup. Plus I wasn't sure my ego could take rejection from a man I despised so much. I took a deep breath.

"Donna!" he said, an eager, nervous expression wiping years from his face. "Er, what is it?"

I didn't respond, enjoying the way my silence made this successful businessman squirm. Instead, I ran my hand over my dress, ironing out the formal, starchy garment so that he couldn't miss the soft curves underneath.

"I'm really very busy," he said, unconvincingly. I took a deep breath. This was it. There was no longer room for ambiguity.

"Shut the fuck up," I said quietly. He gawked at me.

"What?"

"You heard me." My voice was deliberately low so that he had to strain forward in his chair to make it out. Stalking forward, I spoke a single word in time with my every step. "I've had enough of listening to your shit, you miserable little prick. I. Said. Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

And he did. He remained silent as I walked around to the back of his chair and grabbed his tie, forcing him to sit upright. "Let's stop pretending that you're the boss around here," I said, my veins flooding with adrenaline. "This is how it's going to be. You're going to do everything I say. You're going to be my slave. And you're going to fucking love it. Starting from now."

Hugh sighed. The big, rich, powerful man instantly became helpless under my command. And that cock was swelling fast again. I felt myself getting softer and wetter as he got harder and harder-always a delicious combination.

"We need to get some ground rules established," I continued, letting go of his tie and walking around his executive office. "You will only address me as 'Mistress.' If you are even the slightest bit rude or insolent, you will be punished. You are forbidden to speak unless I speak to you first." He nodded, slack-jawed with anticipation. "Get out of your chair," I ordered him. He jumped up immediately, and I made myself comfortable. The leather was still warm from where he'd sat. It felt good.

"Walk to the middle of the room," I said, trying to keep my tone even, neutral, bored. It's not enough to control him; you have to control yourself, too. That's often the hardest challenge. I was so wired and horny I could have ripped his clothes off and fucked him on the floor then and there.

"Take your clothes off," and when he just stood there, I started shouting. "I said STRIP, you fucking prick," I barked, as much contempt in my voice as I could muster. "Faster than that!" Hugh's fingers shook as he kicked off shoes and struggled with shirt buttons. "Don't just leave them on the floor! Fold them up!" Naked, he ran around his office, gathering expensive, discarded garments and laying them flat on a filing cabinet. When he'd finished, he stood naked before me.

I looked at his bare body. His physical frame was surprisingly muscular for someone who spent all day at his desk. He had a fine line of hair across his chest and running down to his bush, out of which protruded a magnificent, upright hard-on. It was an exquisite erection, and I ached at the thought of how it would feel inside me. But if he picked up on my thoughts, it would ruin the whole game. I would have to be patient.

I gave his dick a cursory glance. "It doesn't impress me," I said, curling my lip into a sneer. "You'll have to show me what it can do."

He began touching himself, and his dick grew even bigger if such a thing were possible. His hand was moving in steady, rhythmic strokes. I walked toward him and stood as close as possible without actually touching him. In my heels I almost came up to his height. I remained fully clothed while he was vulnerable in his nakedness. This power imbalance was the more marked the closer I got. I was so close I could count his eyelashes and identify the soft woody scent that hung about him to be an expensive, old-fashioned brand of shaving cream.

"Keep masturbating," I said, mesmerized by the movement of his hand up and down his shaft, faster and faster, hurtling toward a climax if he didn't slow down. He was in grave danger of coming before I'd given him permission-a punishable offense.

"Please, mistress," he begged. "Please let me fuck you."

I gave his erection a tiny slap and watched the pain flash across his face.

"One: DO NOT use language like that in my presence," I shouted. "It's very disrespectful. Two," and with this, I delivered another slap, this time to his balls, "I did not give you permission to speak. And three," this time the back of my hand made contact with the other side of his dick, "only I decide when you can and can't fuck me. And because you don't seem to understand my rules, it won't be tonight." Although ironically, as I said this, my cunt was hotter, wetter, and softer, preparing for his cock, as hungry for him as he obviously was for me.

"Keep touching yourself," I said. Hugh's hands went to his dick again. There was a tiny red mark on one side where my ring had made contact with the tender skin of his penis. I resumed my position behind the desk and gave instructions from there. "You're not allowed to come. You're not allowed to come until I say so." He slowed down his hand movements. "Did I say you could slow down?" I said, and spying an executive toy on his desk-those metronomic little chrome balls on strings-I set them off. "You are to keep in time with this rhythm. I need you to be very precise. If you slow down, I will be very displeased."