The Dominant Male

jerking himself off in his slacks right now.
    Becky crossed the office to curious looks from a couple of gossipy staffers and, her heart beating hard in her chest, rapped on Martin’s door. ‘Come in,’ said Martin, like the spider to the fly. As Becky stood before him, she felt her shame colour her cheeks. Martin leaned back in the leather office chair, a shoe-heel on his desk. He didn’t invite Becky to sit. ‘That lie was the only white thing about you, wasn’t it.’
    Becky was taken aback. ‘Wh … what lie?’
    So he was going to take full advantage, the bitch. ‘About the show tonight, about you going home to rest up for that. Something tells me you’re not going to see any band tonight. Am I right?’ Becky should have been affronted, should have slammed her fist on the desk and told him where to stuff his job, and that she’d see him in court. She was a litigious Californian, after all. But the thought of waving the complimentary tickets - that she hadn’t ever been sure whether or not she’d use - in Martin’s face seemed in bad faith, and something in Martin’s voice compelled her to go along with the way the older man was playing this.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, almost under her breath.
    ‘And what are you doing instead?’
    ‘Don’t really know. This guy I’ve been seeing—’
    ‘Don’t know? That could mean a candlelit supper, but from the little I know about you, Becky Bunbury, I’d say that wasn’t really your style. Is it some kind of scene? If not, I bet you wish it was. You’re a little bit submissive, right?’
    Becky gulped, ‘G… guess so, I—’
    Martin threw his head back in triumph. ‘Thought so from the stationery I saw on your nipples.’ Becky gasped. Uncomfortably aware of the feral scent left from her frenzied masturbation - she hadn’t exactly had her mind on tidying up - and shocked at how fast this was moving, she coloured further. ‘Hardly much point in having your shirt buttoned up now, is there?
    Does he parade around you in leather pants, this man, brandishing a whip?’
    ‘Not yet.’ Through her humiliation, Becky had to admit she felt a wave of relief that whatever this was, at least it wasn’t official business after all.
    ‘Or are you both given to novel uses of stationery – or other company property?’ He let the implication sink in for a second before continuing more gently. ‘Forgive my intrusiveness, Rebecca, I just want to get a … erm … full picture of you. And, contrary to the gossip round here, I’m not all alpha-male, you know, stepping on people on my way up the greasy pole. I get on very well with lots of other chaps, especially ones who let me in on their gamine little girlfriends. Is this…’
    ‘Jim.’
    ‘Jim, right. Is he like that?’ And from behind his desk he raised one of his supple, leather, slipper-like shoes. ‘No matter - if not, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…’ Holding it by the heel so that its sole flexed in a whip-like arc, he brought the shoe down with a crack on his desk ‘…will it.’ Becky caught his eyes and saw the smile within them, in contrast to the stern set of his face. Becky went with it. Martin knew she could storm out of there, but instead she let her eyes drop to the floor, giving Martin licence to continue.
    Emboldened, Martin unplugged the phone, twisted the sun blind closed until the room was darker, private, intimate, and walked imperiously around to stand behind Becky. ‘You never give away anything you don’t really want to give away, you know. Seeing you in that bathroom only confirmed for me what a filthy little slattern you are. You’ve set me a problem, you see. I can’t keep my mind on my work now. I’ve got to get you out of my system, and filthy, self-centred submissives like you just revel in their own humiliation, whoever it comes from. There ‘s only one stance I can take on this…’ With that, he spread his legs wider and flexed his knees, swivelling at the hips like a golfer taking a swing. ‘Effective action.’
    Becky gasped as the shoe sliced the air behind her. Martin’s eyes twinkled. ‘Now, I’m going to time my strokes, ten seconds between them, so you can ruminate on your shame while you await the next one, while my eyes drink you in. If I had a cane or a crop then you’d get away with six, but with this lousy flat sole I better make it twenty, to give a little hussy like you the lesson she really deserves. Oh, and that skirt is far too