by Mimi Tulane
Okay, he said bring him the file. Doesn’t matter what he keeps in his desk drawer. That is none of your business! She tried scolding herself, all the while slowly pulling the drawer open once more to look at the object in question. It was a flogger.
Mac, her boss, had a flogger in his desk drawer! She knew what it was because she had looked it up on the internet after she saw one being used in a movie. She carefully fingered the tails, gently picking it up, then amateurishly tested it out upon her palm. A soft smile teased her lips as she tested the slight sting of the tails out, biting down on her lower lip, imagining what it might feel like on her breasts, thighs, and ass. She recalled, after seeing the movie, calling her best friend, Jocelyn, and describing in detail the things she’d seen and wondering about it all. Jocelyn hadn’t seemed too fazed, but Imani had been fascinated and had so many questions.
The phone rang on Mac’s desk, causing her to start. It was after-hours and the answering machine was on. She’d let it pick up. She was totally enthralled by the idea of Mac having the flogger. She wondered if it was a gag gift or if he in fact used it.
“Imani, put the flogger away, close the drawer, and then pick up the phone.” Imani’s heart hammered in her chest. Mac’s deep, rich timbre was speaking through the answering machine. Her hands slightly trembled, and she fumbled a bit with turning off the answering machine before stammering out her greeting. “Mac?”
“Do you know what that is?” he asked her. Imani looked around the office frantically. With a sinking feeling she realized he was watching her somehow. If she had a doubt he confirmed it with his next command. “You’re being a naughty kitten. Close the drawer, Imani. I can see you from my security monitor.”
Imani dropped the flogger inside it and slammed the drawer closed. “You wanted me to find that, didn’t you!” she said, her voice elevating slightly. She hadn’t meant to be loud, but it was due in part to her anxiety over the situation.
“Yes, I did. Now answer my question. Do you know what that is?” His speech was measured. He expected a truthful response.
“Yes,” she replied in a clipped tone. “It’s called a flogger. You beat the hell outta someone with it!”
Imani’s heart was beating wildly. Of all the things to find in his desk drawer, a flogger was not one of them! How many times had she fantasized about him spanking her? His admission that he intentionally left it there for her to find both startled and thrilled her.
“No, Imani, you don’t beat someone with it in the manner you are implying. But it is one of the instruments used in BDSM.”
Imani slowly sat down in his chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her. “Mac, why do you have a flogger in your desk drawer?” she asked softly, biting on her lower lip.
“Why do you think I own a flogger, Imani?” he asked her gently.
Imani’s mind whirled with the implications. Things began to slowly fall into place. Pieces of the puzzle that made up the man she desired were beginning to form a complete picture. She wondered if Jocelyn knew that her cousin was into the BDSM lifestyle. Maybe that’s why she had practically blown off Imani’s questions concerning Mac’s personal life, citing some things were best left alone unless she was ready to deal with knowing. Jocelyn had to have known. And here she was fantasizing about him spanking her! Mac, her boss, was a Dom!
“Oh shit!” she whispered, covering her mouth with her free hand, the file she was supposed to be bringing him all but forgotten. Not wanting to seem a total idiot she sought to cover how badly his revelation unnerved her.
“So, you’re in the life,” she said, trying to sound casual and nonchalant and miserably failing.
“I am a Dom and have been for many years,” he replied. Imani was stunned. Mac was admitting to her that he was a member of the BDSM community. How had she missed this? It wasn’t as if he showed “signs,” whatever that actually meant. You act as if he just told you he was a serial killer!
“Imani, I still need my file. Why don’t you bring it to me and we can discuss this further?” he offered. Imani wasn’t sure she wanted to see Mac. She wasn’t sure how his admission made her feel. On the one hand, this was Mac, her boss and friend. He was also the man she secretly desired. On the other hand, her boss just admitted to being a Dominant. This new revelation put an entirely different spin on workplace relationships!
Lifting her chin slightly, she braced herself and gave in to the burning curiosity that had assailed her as of late. She was too close to learning answers she longed to know not to take him up on his offer. “Fine. I’ll bring you the file as well as the flogger. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes!” Hanging up the phone abruptly, she yanked the flogger from the drawer, grabbed the file, then left the office to head to Mac’s place.
Chapter Three
Imani arrived earlier than previously stated but sat in her car for close to ten minutes outside of Mac’s place. Her eyes kept darting from his front door to her front passenger seat. The flogger lay on top of the file folder. It was as if the offending little toy was mocking her. Or was it the way Mac had set her up that bothered her? Oh really, Imani, the person you are most annoyed with is yourself! She mentally chided herself for all the days spent fantasizing about Mac doing the very thing that flogger implicated. She didn’t know how she could face him now. Caught red-handed snooping in his desk!
Granted he had planned for her to find the damn thing! She should just march into his home, toss that flogger at him, and storm out! Squaring her shoulders, she gathered her purse, the file, and the flogger and exited her car. That was exactly what she’d do! Imani exited her vehicle stiff backed and stormed up to his front door, rang the doorbell, and waited.
“Hello, Miss Stuart, Mr. Mackenzie is expecting you,” greeted his matronly housekeeper, Grace. She stepped aside to allow Imani to walk in, closing the door behind her.
“Thank you, Grace. Is he in his study?” she asked the housekeeper in a clipped tone.
Imani had been to Mac’s home dozens of times for gatherings he threw when wowing potential clients. She’d also been there a few times for his family barbecues where she’d brought a date. She readily admitted that there were times when she’d wished she’d been over to his elegant, spacious home for reasons that were strictly personal.
“Yes, he is, Miss Stuart,” she replied with a smile.
Imani’s tone softened apologetically. “Thank you, Grace. I’ll show myself in.”
Walking toward his study, her earlier plans to cause a scene evaporated. She couldn’t fault him for what he’d done, not really. Her anger was within. She felt somehow her fantasies had been exposed. She took stock of the situation and thought perhaps she should tell Mac about her feelings. Maybe he wouldn’t find her so strange in light of this new discovery. After all, he owned a flogger. Perhaps her wanting a spanking wouldn’t shock him at all.
Imani often wondered why Mac wasn’t married. He was, thirty-three, successful, handsome, and caring. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to help out a friend in trouble. As far as employers went, he was the best. She smiled in memory, thinking back to her first day. It had actually been a favor to his cousin Jocelyn Mackenzie, her best friend.
Jocelyn had called her while she was still working for the Department of Motor Vehicles. Imani had taken a much needed vacation and Jocelyn painted the picture so dire. “He’s trying to do too much, girl. I’d go myself, but I’m so swamped at the club. Would you mind? It’s only for a couple of hours…”
Imani had walked into that office, took one look at the disarray left by his former secretary and Mac’s frustrated appearance and was spurred to action. By the end of the day, Imani had implemented a new filing system, uploaded software that organized his invoices and rescheduled all his appointments. Mac in return had bought her dinner then offered her the job, topping her current salary with benefits plus paid vacation. That was almost three years ago. Tapping lightly on his study door, she softly called out as she entered his office tim
idly. “Mac, I’m here.”
Mac was leaning against his desk, arms folded when she entered.
* * * *
Imani looked a bit apprehensive and it bothered him. He spoke to her gently. “Imani, I’m not a monster. It’s me, Mac. Please come in and bring me the file.”
She hesitated for a brief moment before gliding over to him, thrusting out the file and the flogger.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached out and accepted them, brushing his long fingertips across her satin-soft hands. “Imani, I want you to understand that my lifestyle is my choice. It’s not something I make apologies for.”
“I don’t expect you to, Mac. However, why did you feel the need to spring this, your lifestyle as you call it, on me in this way? Have you been spying on me?” she asked indignantly.
Tilting his head to the side, he realized that perhaps his little experiment had gone wrong. Imani was really upset. He had no wish to see her upset or hurt in any manner—quite the opposite, in fact.
“Imani, you don’t think for one moment I’d be away from the office as much as I am and leave you there alone without some security system in place. Those cameras are not for spying but for making sure that when you are there by yourself, no one comes in to harm you. If you recall, I explained how we were wired with a security service. Your desk is equipped with a panic button, is it not?” He waited and was quite pleased to see that the tense lines that had formed around her beautiful large brown eyes had softened. Her sensually full lips visibly relaxed from their perturbed pout, drawing his eyes to her moist bottom lip. He imagined her biting it with each flick of his wrist, as he landed well-placed strokes with the flogger upon her full breasts and softly rounded ass. However, that would only happen with her complete consent and not before she learned all the fundamentals. He wasn’t fooled. He’d watched the video monitors and had seen her response to finding the flogger. The one he had left for her to find was made of deerskin and plush tails. It was harmless and used for titillation and not for hardcore play. A braided leather flogger, however, was another matter yet. In the hands of an experienced Dom such as himself, he could elicit pleasure or pain in equal measure, pleasure being foremost.
Why he had never made a move on her in all this time was beyond his comprehension. Perhaps it was because she worked for him. She was also a dear friend of his cousin Jocelyn, and he had no wish to get on her bad side where her bestie was concerned.
His lips quirked in amusement. He wondered what Imani would think if she knew that her dear, sweet friend Jocelyn was an extremely proficient Domme herself? Imani was everything he could have wanted in a woman. She was lovely, smart, with the right amount of sass that kept him smiling. She was also overly caring to a fault, and genuinely a beautiful person, inside and out.
“Imani, I’m going to go out on a limb here. I’m attracted to you. I have been for some time now. The fact that I’m a Dom is something I wanted you to know about, especially if things progress the way I hope they will. I would never pursue a relationship with a woman without disclosing this part of my life.”
“So this isn’t just some kinky thing with you? You actually live this life?”
Mac studied her thoughtfully and decided tact was in order. She was skittish and with good reason. His admission had unnerved her, judging by the defensive stance she’d adopted. He could kick himself for upsetting her and sought to change his approach. He no longer wanted to hide who he was, especially with her. Living a dual life was difficult at times. Having to keep hidden an integral part of who he was stuck in his craw. Maybe now, with the woman he longed to have, he hoped he could be himself.
“No, dear, it isn’t. However, it’s not something I broadcast about, either. You’d be amazed at the amount of negativity associated with BDSM,” he said dryly.
Mac wanted to reach out to her but held his ground. He longed to be able to let his guard down with the woman standing nervously in front of him. If she gave him a chance, he could help her understand this hidden part of his life. If only she was willing.
Lowering her head, she whispered, “Mac, I’ll admit I’m curious to know more about your…lifestyle. I mean, I have all these questions.” She continued to look down at the floor. “I’m attracted to you as well, but I just don’t want things to get, you know, weird between us… You’re still my boss.”
Nodding, he stood before her, draping a protective arm about her soft shoulders. With the patience of a wise scholar, he cupped her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “We will do this together, Imani. We will go as slow as you want. We won’t do anything you are uncomfortable with.” He watched as Imani searched his face, measuring his words as he spoke. “Right now, I’d be happy if you simply had dinner with me.”
Imani swallowed nervously. “I’d love to have dinner with you,” she agreed in a husky voice. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The tension between them seemed to be lifting.
Mac brushed a featherlight kiss across the bridge of her nose then stepped back. “Do you have any questions for me?” he asked.
Imani smiled then blushed. “I have dozens, but for now, what’s for dinner?”
Chapter Four
All throughout dinner Mac and Imani remained on neutral topics that ranged from discussing work-related issues down to the latest episodes of their favorite television programs. The subject of Mac and his lifestyle had not come up and Imani wondered when would be a good time to broach the subject. Their dinner date was practically over. She wondered what Miss Manners would say about BDSM as an icebreaker.
The time Mac and Imani spent enjoying each other’s banter and witty quips had returned them to comfortable normalcy. That is, if one considered gazing fondly into each other’s eyes, sharing flirtatious smiles and succumbing to the growing lust for each other normal. Several times during the coffee and desert they would both begin to speak at the same time. Then one or the other would defer with, “No you go first!” like teenagers on their first date.
Imani discovered there were other delightful facts she’d missed about her boss’s life besides the Dom thing. Mac was an amateur horticulturist. Imani had long admired the lush landscaping of his home and practically drooled over his prized rose bushes—his personal handiwork, as it turned out. He even promised to give her his secret potting soil mix, which he swore would allow her house plants to grow larger and much greener. Mac was also a mentor and coach for the community center’s youth programs. The man even dabbled in poetry! How did she spend practically ten hours a day with this man and not know these things about him?
Mac in turn wondered how he had missed certain aspects to his lovely little secretary’s life, as well. For instance, the amber color of her eyes was not from wearing contact lenses as he’d assumed. When he’d asked her, she was quick to correct his assumption. The vibrant color of those large, almond-shaped beauties was a family trait: her grandmother’s eyes. She crinkled her nose right before she was about to laugh or say something witty and flirtatious. However, what he admired most about her was her giving spirit.
She volunteered in her community with projects such as Green Way. “Imani, tell me more about this,” he said.
“Well, Mac, Green Way is a grassroots nonprofit organization that I volunteer for. Its sole purpose is to foster community pride by working with the residents of urban neighborhoods and supplying gardening and playground materials.” She took a sip of her coffee then continued. “There were so many vacant lots where buildings once stood, demolished by the city for being derelict. So Green Way went in, contacted community leaders and got them to donate some of the lots. They were used to plant community gardens and build playgrounds and small parks. Now there are no more eye sores. Instead, there are beautiful spaces to be enjoyed by the community.”
When she spoke her eyes sparkled and she gestured with her hands. Mac glanced at her hands, admiring the graceful, dainty fingers and the lovely nails she kept the perfect length. She never wore harsh, gaudy
colors, preferring instead a French manicure. A quick, inconspicuous peek at her feet confirmed she sported the accompanying pedicure, as well. He found it quite difficult not to imagine the sting of those pretty nails against the flesh of his back as he rammed his way home deep inside of her. His cock found it difficult, as well.
He’d been in a state of semihardness since he first arrived to work and found her staring off into space, nibbling on the end of her pencil. Reaching across the table, he twined his mahogany-hued fingers with her golden-bronzed ones and got a surge of longing that had his cock twitching from the color contrast of their skin. Her hands were baby soft and he idly brushed his thumb across the back of her hand.
“I can really appreciate that,” he said then chuckled. “Seeing you with dirt smudging your face dressed as Farmer Fran would be priceless!” Imani laughed.
As Imani continued to banter, he listened to her recount an incident with her current landlord. Afterwards, he decided he would speak to the bastard and get some shit straight on her behalf. Imani was fiercely independent, which he liked just fine. Therefore, he’d make sure to do this on the down low. He was certain she would take exception if he stepped in and tried to rearrange her life. She was highly capable of handling her own affairs.
However her landlord was an asshole he’d dealt with on previous occasions. He owed the fucker a little visit on principal alone. When Imani casually mentioned her building was on the market, he filed that bit of info away. He was looking to invest in some more properties. There was more than one way to skin a rabbit. If necessary, he wasn’t beyond buying the building out from under the sorry son of a bitch.