6 of the Best Discipline at Work Stories (5 page)

Suddenly, she kissed me. Not a half-hearted kiss.
Full, open, on my mouth.
She kissed again, and tried to roll on top of me. I grabbed her arms, and shook her off. "I really should be going."

But she was reaching down, her left hand unzipping my trousers. "It doesn't feel like you want to go." By now, I had an erection so hard I could scarcely believe it. She reached down, and pulled my trousers and boxer shorts away, climbing on top of me, trapping me under her. She stroked my prick with one
had
, the other between her legs. "Make love to me, Robert," she murmured, as she straddled me, sinking her wet, gaping hole onto my rock-hard length. She started moving backwards and forwards: I had never felt anything so good.

I wriggled upwards, into more of a sitting position, and reached forward, cupping her bruised buttocks in my hands as we screwed, stroking them, feeling the ridges and
weals
that I had inflicted on her with my whip. Although she winced, this seemed to turn her on even more, and we fucked still harder, driving one another one to an explosive, simultaneous climax.

We fucked twice more that evening before I finally had to leave - there was no way I could explain away missing the last train. We did it with wild abandon, exploring one another's bodies to the limits. And then we showered together,
then
dressed - and then I left,
after a long, passionate final kiss. "I'm going to stay here for the night," she explained. "After all, I've paid for the room - I might as well enjoy it."

"Sure. But one thing, Isabel..."

"What?"

"DON'T FORGET TO POST THE PHOTOS!"

She laughed. "Don't worry - I won't! I don't want to have to have a repeat performance - at least, not of that part of the afternoon.
At least, not for a little while."

And I opened the door. She blew me a farewell kiss as I stepped out into the corridor. "Thanks, Robert. Take care. And remember - I know where to come next time I'm a naughty girl."

    
Charlotte
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
Charlotte
to enter.

    
"He'll see you now," she said without emotion.

    
As the heavy doors closed behind her,
Charlotte
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 cent
r
e, and a
giant desk near the bay window.
John Mortimer
stood behind the desk,
rising to greet
Charlotte
.

    "Welcome, Miss Fletcher. Would you like something to drink?" The
question was routine, but something in the way
John
spoke suggested he
disliked pleasantries.
Charlotte
hated them too.

    "No thanks, Mr.
Mortimer
. 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.
Charlotte
felt herself becoming
flustered, and forced herself to regain her composure.

 
"Mr.
Mortimer
," she began.

 
"Call me
John
."

  
"All right.
John
, I am sure you are aware of the situation that
my company
is in. I won't kid you: we are desperate. We've had too many
large companies defaulting on their
debts
and we can't take any more
.

  
"However, you Mr., I mean,
John
, 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
us
out of
our
slump. What
we
need is leadership. You
could provide that leadership. What I am suggesting is that you invest
in
Weston’s Security
, obtain a controlling interest, shall we say, and run
Weston Finance
from afar. You can save the dying company. And in the
process you will prevent one of the largest
security companies
from going out
of business
, and save a multitude of jobs in the process
."

    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
Weston’s
.
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 hire it to
clean toilets, let alone
look after
buildings. But with your reputation
behind it."

   
"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?"

   
Charlotte
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.
Charlotte
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,
Charlotte
smiled and forced herself to remain
relaxed. "I believe I did say 'anything' Mr.
Mortimer
. 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
travel
l
ed 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.

   
Charlotte
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.
Mortimer
. 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!

                              
                        ----------------------

    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,
Charlotte
thought.
And him and me.

    The secretary spoke emotionlessly to
Charlotte
as she passed on her way
to the
lift
. "He's on a call. He'll usher you in himself in a
moment."

    Suddenly it was deathly quiet, and
Charlotte
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.