Sybil

 

 

His eyes flicker as an intimate understanding becomes apparent between us. For months, I’ve fantasized about this man, wondering whether his hand is as strict in the bedroom as it is in business.

And now I'm about to find out.

I can’t believe this is happening. I must be dreaming.

But I’m wide awake and there’s no doubt about his domineering presence right next to me. He comes closer and takes the collar out of the jewelry box in my hands.

“You understand what this is,” he whispers. It’s not a question, but I still nod a reply.

“I want you to wear this tonight,” he adds. “And when you do, you’ll be under my command, no matter what.”

I nod again.

“You’ll have to obey, and if you don’t…” he says, pausing to lock his eyes on mine before he continues. “There’ll be punishment. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, Sir.”

“Lift your hair up for me,” he says.

I hurry to put the jewelry box away and do as I’m told, gathering my hair at the back of my head so that he can put the collar around my neck. It fits perfectly and when I hear the clicking sound as he locks it, I almost let out a contented sigh.

“There’s only one word that will get you out of this commitment,” he announces.

“A safe word?” I assume.

He nods, smiling at me. “Exactly. Do you want to pick one?”

I contemplate for a moment. There are a few standard words that I’ve used before when engaging in this kind of play, but none of them seem suitable for tonight. My eyes wander, focusing on the scene outside the window, and that’s when the idea presents itself.

“Snow,” I say, now looking back at him.

 

A smile appears on Mr. Stark’s handsome face. “Interesting choice.”

I take that as a compliment and reciprocate his smile with an expectant look. What now? Are we going to do this here? In the office? I can’t imagine that’s what he has in mind. But where would he take me?

Nowhere for now, it seems.

His expression changes to a sinister gaze that both frightens and excites me.

“Take off your pantyhose and your panties,” he commands.

I gasp. “Here?”

“Yes, here,” he confirms, raising one eyebrow as a warning.

I hesitate. Suddenly, this has become awkward again. I didn’t expect him to start right away, here, in my office. Aren’t there security cameras everywhere?

I find myself glancing around to confirm my suspicion, but he stops me by stepping closer and grabbing me by the shoulders. His grip is strong and controlling, but not painful.

“Trust me,” he says, fixating me with his eyes. “And obey. Take off your pantyhose and panties – or do you want me to do it?”

I cast him a determined look and reach for the zipper on the back of my skirt.

But he shakes his head.

“No, the skirt stays on, Miss Young,” he warns. “Just everything underneath.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding with understanding.

I’m wearing a tight-fitting pencil skirt that ends just above my knee. It’ll be impossible to take off my pantyhose without looking completely ridiculous, and of course, his eyes are locked on me as he steps back to watch me undress myself.

My face burns with fiery shame as I reach beneath my skirt and wiggle myself out of my pantyhose and my panties as elegantly as possible. He hums with approval when my skirt slides up, revealing a part of my body I never imagined he would see.

I sigh with relief when I get the pantyhose along with my g-string down to my knees, thinking that the hardest part is over now.

But we’ve only just begun.

I get out of the pantyhose and put them aside, fixing my skirt as I look back at him, shyly asking for praise.

“Good girl,” he says, and my heart jumps at his words. “Give me those.”

He reaches his hand out and nods toward my black g-string that’s lying on the floor, next to my feet. I pick it up and give it to him, watching as he puts my underwear in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“They're mine now,” he announces, and I’m too dumbfounded to reply.

Mr. Stark comes closer to me, placing one hand on my hip while the other is at the back of my head again. He claims another kiss, and this one is even hotter and more demanding than the previous one. His hand wanders along the side of my body, caressing over the fabric of my skirt on my curvy behind and I tremble at the knowledge that I’m naked underneath.

My center throbs with need for him while his tongue intertwines with mine, giving me an idea of his skills in that department.

“You’re a hungry little minx,” he remarks when he breaks our kiss.

I blush again and realize that I’d been rubbing my body against his like a bitch in heat while we were kissing. He’s so muscular underneath those layers of fine fabric. I want to touch him, undress him, but something tells me that I wouldn't be allowed.

His hands are still on my body, now traveling along both sides, cupping my breasts and finding my nipples through the fabric of my blouse. Even with my bra and blouse in the way, he manages to bring my nubs between his fingers and squeeze them. He’s gentle at first, but when he adds pressure and starts pinching me, I can’t help but gasp in pain.

He smiles and stops immediately.

“Sensitive,” he says. “I like that.”

Something in his words and the way he looks at me is frightening, but also terribly exciting.

“Get down,” he commands next. “On all fours.”

While a voice in my head wants to object to his demand, my body has other ideas and appears to act on its own as I follow his command. I lower myself to the floor, getting down on my knees first while our eyes remain fixated on each other. His face is stern while he watches me follow his command, and he nods approvingly when I place my hands on the floor, now kneeling on all fours in front of him.

“Good girl,” he repeats his praise from earlier.

I hear him rummaging around in his pockets, but don’t dare to look up to see what he’s doing.

“Look at me,” he commands, as he kneels in front of me.

I tilt my head and am met with his handsome face – and a leash in his hands.

“We’re not doing this here,” he says. “I will bring you to a more suitable place. But you’ll have to be a good girl to get there. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I reply. The words come automatically, I don’t have any control over it. I’ve been on all fours in front of a man before, but I’ve never worn a collar, let alone a leash to be lead around like a dog, and if you’d asked me before this, I probably would have rejected the idea wholeheartedly.

But the throbbing between my legs speaks a different language. I like this a lot more than I’d like to admit. My heart is racing at the thought of what else he might have in mind.

He attaches the leash to the ring on my collar and gets back up on his feet, assessing me, while I tilt my head back to look up at him. He’s cocking his head to the side, contemplating.

“Pretty,” he observes. “But there’s room for improvement. Hollow your back, show me how pretty that perfect ass of yours can be.”

I blush, but obey his command immediately, hollowing my back as seductively as I can, lifting my ass up in the process. The fabric of my skirt is pressing against my nakedness underneath, fueling my lust.

The smile on his face tells me that I’ve done a good job, but he still doesn’t seem to be completely satisfied.

“Don’t move,” he tells me, while he moves around to my back.

I gasp in surprise when I find him pulling at my skirt. I instinctively move away from him, but he reacts swiftly, holding me in place with one hand while he uses the other to land a strong slap on my ass.

“Don’t move.” he repeats, almost in a growl.

I sigh, expressing a mixture of embarrassment and desperate need. If that slap was supposed to be a warning or a punishment, it’s definitely the sweetest I've ever received.

He continues to pull my skirt up, until my naked center is exposed. Everything inside me screams to cover myself, to coil up and pull my skirt down to undo what he’s just done.

But then there’s that other voice. The naughty, forbidden, little voice that comes out every time I’m faced with a man like him, a situation like this.

I lower my head in defeat. This internal struggle of body and mind is a constant companion in these scenarios. Constantly questioning myself is part of the game, part of the fun even.

Mr. Stark gets back up on his feet. He pulls on the leash, choking me ever so slightly.

“Beautiful,” he assesses. “Miss Young, you have no idea how absolutely perfect you look right now. Don’t forget to keep that pretty ass up.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, and then, “Yes, Sir.”

He begins walking, pulling on the leash and beckoning me to follow him. I crawl behind him as we leave my office, my head low and my eyes focused on the office floor beneath my palms. His steps are calm and slow, and I know he’s walking backward, his eyes never leaving me as I move in this humiliating fashion.

Not surprisingly, we’re heading toward his office. I find myself relieved, because there was a moment when I feared that he might want to lead me outside like this. I know there are people out there, exhibitionists, who are into this kind of stuff, public humiliation. But I’m not one of them.

His office is at the far end of our hallway, and I’ve only been in there once before. It’s huge, way bigger than any other room on the floor, except for the conference room. I never would have guessed that the next time I’d come in here would be this way, me crawling on all fours with my wet center exposed while he’s leading me on a leash like a pet.

Besides my office, this is the only one with the lights on, which means he must have gotten here long before I heard him out in the hallway. The door is open and once we step – or crawl – inside, the floor beneath me changes in color and texture. While the hallway is laid out with light linoleum, his working space features dark hardwood flooring. It’s much more luxurious and warmer than the floor I just crawled along.

The things you notice in these scenarios…