“Little girl, you come here,” he adds, offering no further explanation.
“No,” I bite.
“Did you just say…no?”
I shake my head as a child might.
“I see you still haven’t learned the difference between orders and suggestions, and that, little girl, was not a suggestion.”
My tongue darts out of my mouth as I bend forward at the waist, my body doing things I have no justification for.
“You’ll learn to do as you’re told,” he threatens, and without a word more he points to his knee.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all, but you’re about to be.”
I mope toward his desk, my feet betraying me as the magnetic pull of his confidence and authority sucks me right into a vortex that’s threatening to pull me under.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” I say as I arrive at the side of his desk.
“Amazing how compliant you are when you’re on the verge of getting your butt whipped.”
My eyes shoot open wide. I wanted to test him, see what he’d really do, but now that he’s just verbalized his actual plans I’m not sure if my game of cat and mouse has gone too far, or has landed me exactly where I want to be, need to be.
A pool was already forming in my panties as my nipples begin to harden, a trail of cold sweat running down my back. Even though he was sitting down, his head is practically at eye level with me.
I feel tiny enough to blow away in the hurricane that he is. My chest tightens and my mind goes blank.
I still wasn’t sure if butt whipped meant actually whipping my butt, or he was using the term metaphorically. There’s no way he could actually spank me, right? Talk about the biggest HR nightmare in history. I’d walk out of this rich in cash, but maybe what I really wanted to be rich in was this experience he was promising.
“When you were a child, were you a good girl or a bad girl?”
“A good girl,” I say shyly.
“And did you get spanked?”
“No, sir.”
“And why is that?”
“Because good girls don’t get spanked.”
“That’s right. Everyone likes a good girl. But bad girls? Well, bad girls need reminding why they need to be good. Isn’t that right?”
“I. I’m not sure,” the words escape my lips so softly they are barely audible. His logic is sound so I can’t say no, but I’m not really going to agree with him.
“The correct answer is ‘yes, sir,’” he says, leaning even closer to me, the heat from his breath somehow turning up the temperature on my already red hot skin.
I can’t speak.
Mr. Steele rises out of his seat, the frame creaking as all that is now in his chair is the deep horseshoe indent from where his massive body had been sitting.
He moves in behind me, not saying a word, not touching me, and it makes me even hotter, both in temperature and in desire.
My eyes darted every which way as I try to latch onto something, anything, that can help me understand my feelings right now.
“Bend over,” he commands, the order rolling off his lips which are now just a hairsbreadth behind my ear.