by Evans, Trent
The door opened behind her, and her breath caught. He stepped in front of her, holding up something white.
Oh. My. God.
It was a bar of soap.
“Now, if you can’t learn to control that smart mouth of yours, I’ll do it for you. Stick your tongue out.”
“No!”
There was no way she was agreeing to this. She was twenty-four years old, for Christ’s sake!
How come your pussy is practically dripping, Amity?
“Either you stick that tongue out, or I go get the wooden paddle I keep in my desk and paddle your ass right here, right now.”
“You won’t—they’ll hear.”
Panic began to well up within her, even as her nipples throbbed in time with her swollen, wet sex.
He stepped very close, his voice a stern murmur. “Try me, Amity.”
She locked gazes with him, then glanced at the soap. “Please don’t… “
His eyes warmed for just an instant. “Let’s get this over with. It won’t take long.”
Her vision began to blur as the tears welled. She extended her tongue.
“More. There, good.”
His fingers clamped down on the tip of her tongue, catching it fast, and she tasted the salt of his skin.
He made quick work of it, scrubbing the bar once, twice, a third time over the broadest part of her tongue. He ended by twisting it against the tip of her tongue he held clamped between his fingertips. The taste was absolutely revolting, her gag reflex causing her to try to retract her tongue. But he held it fast.
“Breathe, girl. It’ll pass.”
Thankfully, it did, though more shaming tears cascaded down her cheeks as she tried to adjust to the taste of the soap. He set the bar on the table, turning back to her, his arms clasped across his chest again.
“Now, if I have to do this again, I’m going to make you clamp that bar between your teeth after I scrub that tongue. Got it?”
“Yesshir.” She didn’t want to retract her tongue now, fearing it would coat the inside of her mouth with the awful taste.
“I owe you a caning today, but we both know I can’t give that to you here. So, we’re going to postpone that for now.”
Thank God!
“Instead, we’re going to have you take that naked little ass and stand over there in that corner.”
“What?”
This could not be happening. First, she got her mouth soaped like a little girl, then she was being sent… to the corner? What the hell was going on here?
And why was she obeying him?
“Normally, I don’t assign corner time until the girl’s taken her punishment, but since there are, um, extenuating circumstances… I’ll make an exception.”
She looked from him to the corner his finger pointed toward. It was opposite the door, so anyone who might happen in would be confronted with a grown woman standing half naked in the corner. The only thing more upsetting than that prospect was the fact that she was still aroused.
You mean even more aroused, right, Amity?
* * *
It was time to up the ante.
“I don’t normally do this, but since this is your first time, I’m going to give you a choice.”
Amity’s eyes widened, her soft, pink lips forming into a fetching O.
“You can go to your corner now, and get this over with.” He pointed to the door. “Or you can go to the bathroom and wash off your tongue, then come back in here for your corner time.”
Color flamed high in her cheeks, her eyes darting to the door and then back to him. He found himself wondering what those soft lips would feel like against his, what she’d taste like.
Not the time, Dane.
Amity nodded toward the door, her tongue still poked out, the sheen of soap still visible.
“Go ahead then.”
She dropped her arms and bent to pull her pants back up, her blush deepening as she zipped her slacks.
He wasn’t sure why she bothered taking the time to setting herself to rights so fastidiously—she was going to be right back in here with her pants around her ankles again—but he let her do it anyway.
Dane was tempted to follow her to the bathroom, but nixed the idea. She knew the arrangement, and she knew if she bolted, this whole thing was over—and she’d be resigning. It was ultimately up to her. Besides, he had a suspicion this was no longer just about the job for her. The scent of her wet pussy stated in no uncertain terms that there was a lot more going on here than met the eye.
Your hard cock probably says the same thing.
Dane sat down, relieving the stress at his zipper—he’d been hard as a rock since before she’d even entered the room. At first, this whole endeavor had been essentially a behavior modification technique. An exercise in discipline, to hopefully get her to shape up.
Now… it was something more.
He genuinely liked Amity. She was cheerful and sweet, yet had the sass and spirit that were equal parts charming and frustrating. The clients loved her (though perhaps Mrs. Jamison wasn’t a fan of hers right about now). She was smart, and a fast learner—she already knew more about their scheduling system, spreadsheets, and client database than he ever would—and she had the potential to be anything she wanted to be.
The problem was that her life’s ambition, at least right now, seemed to be in purposely wasting her potential. He wasn’t going to let her get away with it, not as long as she worked for him anyway.
But his arousal—and hers—complicated things, clouded his perspective. Yes, she was beautiful. He’d stopped trying to avoid noticing her gorgeous eyes, the deep color of her hair, the sway of her hips in those fuck-me heels she insisted on wearing to the office. Yes, her submissive vibes—and they were definitely submissive—called to him, goaded him. There was no doubt about that.
At the same time, all of it called his own judgment into question. Was it really smart for him to potentially open that door, to see what she might want? To see how far she might be taken? Maybe if she were just some girl, it might. Unfortunately, Amity wasn’t just some girl.
She was Chuck Derrington’s daughter.
Dane drummed his fingers on the tabletop, beginning to wonder if he’d miscalculated. It had been long enough for her to have washed her tongue. More than long enough.
He was about to go after her when the door opened slowly, Amity reluctantly walking in. She closed the door, her back to him, pausing a moment to square her shoulders and take a deep breath. Then she faced him, those brown eyes bright, earnest. He saw false hope in them.
“We… we don’t have to do this. That soap was bad enough. I won’t ever curse in front of you again, okay? I’m really sorry. I mean it.”
Her face shone, the makeup freshly washed from it. He liked her better without it.
“Yes, we do have to do this. You need to learn your lesson—and you haven’t yet.” He stood, crossing his arms over his chest, loving the way she paled as she looked up at him. “Because if you had learned your lesson, you’d have kept your mouth shut, and you’d already be in that corner as I’d instructed.”
“Please, sir…”
My, how he loved to hear her say it.
“Corner, Amity.” He extended an arm toward it, pointing. “The sooner you do it, the sooner we get this over with.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor, then moved to the corner.
He strode over to her, placing a palm between her shoulder blades, her muscles tensing under his touch.
“Closer. I want that nose right in.” He tapped her arm. “Hands clasped behind your back. Come on, do it.”
Her delicate hands came around to the small of her back, the fingers clenched white as they squeezed together.
He sometimes made the miscreant in corner time clasp them behind her head, but he saved that for more serious offenses, as the position could be quite uncomfortable after only a few minutes. He’d start slow with Amity.
“What are you…?�
� Amity shuffled forward. “I can’t go any further!”
Her voice was strangely muffled, one of the many subtle aspects of corner time he loved.
“Right in, Amity. If your breasts aren’t touching each wall, you’re not close enough.”
She gave a mortified whimper, but complied, pressing forward.
“Good girl.”
Dane took a moment to look at her, enjoying her obedience, listening to her quickening breathing. Then he reached around her hip, undoing the button at her fly, and drawing down her zipper.
Amity gasped, her hand grasping his forearm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking down your pants.” He slapped her bottom, loving the pleasing wobble of her buttock. “Hands behind your back.”
“You don’t…” Then she let out an exasperated groan, her hands clamping together behind her again.
“Watch the attitude, young lady, or we can add to this punishment.”
She stiffened. “Sorry, sir.”
Amity let out a whimper as he lowered her slacks, pushing them down her legs until they fell to her feet. Gooseflesh broke out across the backs of her pale thighs, and he took a moment to caress her there, to feel the rough texture of her embarrassment.
“So pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her striped panties, hearing Amity’s sharp intake of breath. He drew them down slowly, savoring it, a low sound rumbling from his throat as her broad bare bottom was revealed to his gaze. He tugged on one side, then the other, drawing this out for her mortification—and his enjoyment.
Finally, the panties lay atop the slacks piled at her feet, and he stood close, laying his chin on her shoulder.
“Now, you’ll stay here, just like this, for fifteen minutes. Every time I see you move, or fidget, I’ll add another minute.” He stepped back, drinking in the lush perfection of her plump, round buttocks. “I want you to think about your atrocious behavior, and how it got you into your current predicament. Think about why bad girls end up with their mouths washed out with soap, their noses in the corner, their bare bottoms on display.”
She rested her forehead against the wall, her hands twisting together.
Dane touched her naked hip, her bottom quivering a moment. “Do you think you can do that, Amity?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice a strained murmur.
“Good.”
Returning to his seat, he turned the chair so that he sat with the table to his left so that he might watch her, drink in her shame as she stood in her lonely corner. Her bottom was as lily white as the first time he’d seen it. It had been two weeks since her first spanking, and though he wouldn’t have expected any marks or bruising to have remained, a small part of him was disappointed. He enjoyed seeing his marks upon his sub’s bare bottom.
Except she’s not yours.
He was sure Amity’s defiance and rash behavior would give him plenty more opportunities to leave those marks.
Dane thumbed through his files for a couple of minutes, but found himself unable to concentrate, his gaze drawn back to that bare bottom still on mouthwatering display. She stood very, very still. Admirably so, for many women when first introduced to corner time found themselves completely at a loss as to how to stand still. The shame was often a much more trying punishment than the spankings that usually preceded it—which was exactly why he found it so effective.
It didn’t hurt that it made his cock as hard as a railroad spike either.
The conference room phone rang, and Amity yelped, making him grin. He picked it up.
“Dr. McKendrick.”
“You’ve been in there awhile.”
He was glad to hear Cathie seemed to be back to her wry self. He’d had to talk to her after her run-in with Amity, knowing it was necessary to keep the peace. He liked saying it even less than Cathie probably liked hearing it. But she’d apologized, and said she’d get over it.
“We had a… discussion.”
Amity dropped her head, folding into herself a little. He knew she’d be listening.
“I didn’t hear any tell-tale sound—and yes, I was listening for it.” Cathie was silent a moment. “Let me guess, some quiet time?”
“Yep. I might have stolen an idea or two from somebody we know.”
He knew Cathie was a big believer in corner time for submissives. She’d been the one to open Dane’s eyes to it. She’d even had the buxom little Leah demonstrate for them one day. That poor Leah.
Cathie’s quiet chuckle was rich with satisfaction. “Well, I did have a real reason for calling. Mrs. Ravenna—the one with the really bad Braxton-Hicks. She just called again, and it’s back.”
“Let’s get her in. Wait, she lives all the way out toward the coast, right?”
“Yep.”
“Might not have time.” He glanced at his watch, looking over at Amity’s bottom. A bottom he was already beginning to think of as his domain. “If she can’t get in before closing, let’s have her check in to Maternity at Southwest. I can meet her over there if that’s what she needs to do.”
“Got it. Have fun, doctor.” Cathie hung up.
Dane sat there a moment more, weighing what needed to be done, and what he wanted to do.
“Shit,” he muttered, standing and adjusting his now painful erection. He walked slowly over to her, taking his time, unable to peel his gaze from that gorgeous ass. He wanted nothing more than to turn her over his knee right there, spank and squeeze and massage those bewitching cheeks until she was moaning through her tears, her pussy weeping its surrender onto his thighs.
Soon, Amity.
He reached out, clutching the pleasing, silky weight of one buttock. She jerked and clenched her ass tight.
“Uh uh,” he said, giving her a slap. “Keep them loose.”
“Doctor… I can’t.”
“It’s ‘sir’ when you’re being punished, Amity.” He squeezed her buttock hard, shaking her a little. “And you definitely can. Just relax. I want them loose. No clenching.”
He savored every second of watching her struggle with it, the muscles of her bottom haltingly obeying until finally she was soft in his hand once more. He lifted her cheek, letting it fall, then did it again, testing her obedience and luxuriating in the bounce and wobble of her generous flesh. He could do this all day—which was why he needed to stop. He patted her gently.
“You can go back to your desk, Amity. Punishment’s over.”
She let out a ragged breath, whispering, “Oh, thank God.”
Taking his seat again, he watched her dress once more, her face beet red, her fingers shaking as she put herself back together. She avoided meeting his gaze, which was just as well. If he got a look at those soulful brown eyes again, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He needed to get a hold of himself. This was turning into something he wasn’t sure he could control anymore. But they’d started down the path, and there was much more to come.
“I’ve got you scheduled for next week,” he said, crossing his legs, hoping it would hide the erection still throbbing between his thighs.
Brow creased, she looked up at him. “I don’t… for what?”
“Your exam. You’ve gone five years without one, which is completely unacceptable.”
“Sir, I—” she swallowed, looking down again, “—I’ll find another doctor and schedule it.”
“No, you won’t, which is precisely why I’ll be doing it. I don’t trust you not to flake on this. Until you start giving me reason to believe you’ll take better care of yourself, I’m going to be helping you with that.”
“Help,” she said, her voice flat, just on the edge of sarcastic.
Dane sat forward, his elbows on his thighs. “Is that sarcasm I hear?”
She stilled for a moment, then her eyes darted up to his. “N-no, sir.”
“Then get back to work.”
She didn’t say a word as she fled from the room, the door shutting with a sense
of finality, as if the thud was the closing curtain on the first act of the little dance they’d just engaged in.
“Fuck, I’m going to pay for this,” Dane muttered, fitting a hand over the bulge of his crotch, knowing he’d have a world-class case of blue balls after this little encounter.
Now, less sure of himself than he’d ever been, he got up and went back to work.
Chapter Seven
It was Friday and she still didn’t see it.
All week long she’d been obsessively scanning the schedule, looking for it. The exam.
Nothing.
“He’s probably doing this on purpose, making me sweat,” she murmured, glancing up at the lobby area to make sure she didn’t have any company. It was empty.
It’s exactly what he would do. She should’ve expected it. The man—beautiful though he may have been—was a sadist. She just knew he’d know she’d be checking for it, worrying about it, hoping he’d forget.
Maybe he’s forgotten it?
That would be just like him too, wouldn’t it? Let her sense of optimism prey upon her, build up that false hope. She knew deep down he hadn’t forgotten it. The man didn’t forget anything when it came to her.
Every night that week, she’d lain awake, staring out her window at the city lights, trying to talk herself out of masturbating yet again to the images, the shame, the arousal she’d experienced in that room with him.
She’d never be able to look at conference rooms the same way again.
Bastard.
He’d punish her for that too, wouldn’t he? The soaping… had sucked. Completely. There was nothing at all arousing about that. And the taste?
Amity shuddered.
While it wasn’t arousing, there was something else about it she’d thought of as she’d laid there each sleepless night in her bed.
Accountability.
She thought other girls who cursed like men were trashy, demeaning themselves—that was her first gut reaction when she heard a woman dropping a needless f-bomb. But how hypocritical was she in not liking other women doing it, yet she’d feel no compunction about doing it herself? Constantly. It was stupid. She shouldn’t care… but she did. Was it possible that somewhere inside, she appreciated someone caring that she acted like a lady? That someone was taking the time to steer her in the direction she really wanted to go?