Take the Heat

“Your obligation will be fulfilled.” He gave a harsh slap to her inflamed buttocks, making her grunt. “Now go home. Karen will have new job duties for you on Monday. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.” She’d rather die than be late and risk more of what had her ass throbbing angrily.

As she opened the front door, he stopped her.

“Ms. Hart. One more thing.”

“Sir?” She lowered her head, not even looking back at him.

“What’s your son’s name?”

* * *

He wasted no time.

From a new desk—one he could easily walk past, to and from his office—to a new job description, to new demands for her to start dressing to his specifications, he began tightening the noose immediately.

She’d wondered why he hadn’t touched her sexually since that first caning—and she didn’t want to contemplate why the thought seemed to haunt her every waking moment. Then came her second summons to his office for a lunch “meeting”—exactly two months since she’d agreed to his little…arrangement. But rather than another one of his searing punishments, he had other ideas.

As she’d knelt in that locked sun-soaked office, looking up at those intense blue eyes, she bared her breasts for him at his barked command. As he’d berated her for her shitty job performance, his heavy cock rearing over her waiting lips, it was the first time she’d stopped railing against the unfairness of it all but rather wondered what that cock would feel like on her tongue, how much she’d reluctantly begun to respond to it.

Sure, she still knew it was wrong, but she knew then that she could go the distance.

At first, it was mostly her days ruled by her tormentor in CEO’s clothing, with more than one walk of shame from his office in the prescribed slutty heels, her pussy throbbing, his seed seeping down her leg.

But occasionally he’d wanted more than her days, and Will took care of that little problem too, sitting impatiently while Alyson interviewed—and instantly fell in love with—Maria, the rosy-cheeked nanny with the warm smile, the same woman who’d raised Will’s own nephew.

More than a few late nights saw Alyson kissing the sleeping Noah good night while Maria let herself out quietly. Alyson would sit in the dark next to her beautiful blond-haired boy, listening to him softly snore, the clamps under her blouse tormenting her, her nipples going from a throbbing to numbness—one of the myriad little punishments Will enjoyed inflicting, relishing the knowledge that he could discipline her even from afar.

By degrees, her world became his. She’d bend for him in his office for short, sharp appointments with his hand, followed by the hard pounding of her pussy over his creaking desk, his fist twisted in her hair. A Saturday summons to his home for reviewing reports, a whipping for her soft, swinging breasts, and riding him, his big cock forcing yet more dark, humiliating climaxes from her bound, blindfolded, and gagged form. She’d long ago given up the idea of disobeying his dictates—and he knew it—and as the days wore on, that fact worried her even more than the warring of fear and twisted, confusing anticipation that crept into her mind each time he called her to one of his little “appointments.”

By dint of agonizing discipline, his slave-driving work ethic, and a sexual use of her that had reduced her to little more than a play toy for his lusts, a change had been wrought in her. No longer was she ever late. Her mind, if not her conscience, was clear. Her work improved. She was able to be fully present with Noah, focused on her beloved son, enjoying each moment with him, knowing how precious and wonderful even a moment’s peace had become to her.

It was the most difficult when she’d seen that faraway look in Will’s eyes, that look he took great pains to hide from her but hadn’t always succeeded. When he was kind rather than cruel. When he held her, stroking her hair while she sobbed against his chest, his caresses soft after a harsh spanking. And when he allowed her into his bed, her heart twisting as he curled around her, his arms gathering her close in his slumber, his breath gentle against her hair as, over and over, he whispered her name.

The day came where Alyson worried less about how many days were left in her sentence, and instead thought of what might come afterward.

And wondered whether anything should come afterward.

* * *

7 months later

He would be there any minute, and she’d be in deep shit if she wasn’t ready. As she always did while waiting for him, she went over The Rules:

1. You will be on your knees, facing the door, when I arrive home. You’ll be naked and bound.

She’d made her way into his bedroom—he’d given her his key after the first month—then she’d knelt on the thick gray carpet. It was always a moment of panic before she cinched that last cuff, the steel cold against her wrists. The manacles attached to thick leather thigh cuffs, keeping her hands out of the way, her breasts utterly defenseless. The scent of his body permeated the room. She’d hated it once, the scent of the one who tormented her.

But she didn’t hate it anymore.

2. You will obey any instruction I give you. No exceptions.

It had started that first day at work. He’d actually sent her an e-mail:

“Go to the restroom, take off your panties and bra and send them to my office via interoffice memo envelope.”

Alyson remembered reading it several times in disbelief. She’d known she should’ve taken that e-mail, and the countless other instances of correspondence, and gone to the police. Sure, she’d go to jail, but she’d take him down too.