Special Projects Pt. 02

We were in the car together and I was privately enjoying watching my poor little secretary try to squirm out of her skin! Massi was desperately aroused and generally uncomfortable in her belt... and she was terribly worried. I could tell I'd been right: Naomi had used her phone to tell the group that their server had been found and analyzed. Massi knew she was on the list... somewhere. The only question would be if the analysts could identify HER as one of the complainers.

I understood her emotional torment--all the awful scenarios she was forced to endure. Would I be told? And if I were told, what might I do to her? This combined with the excitement of possibly having a VERY intense and rewarding sexy date with mistress tonight was driving her to distraction. I looked over and smirked at my little complainer and rubbed her thigh.

I was pleased that she slid her legs apart. It took me back to college, not so long ago, when I was a "big sister" and my "little" in the Method had to take humiliatingly inventive steps to advertise their abject submission to their 'big.' It had rankled something fierce for me when I was a fresh-girl, and I was sure Massi hated having to do it--but she did it. Her fierce annoyance made her compliance so much sweeter!

"How's my secretary doing?" I asked in the indulgent cooing voice, like I was talking to a pet. "Under her belt, I mean."

I caught her slight flinch--but tonight would be a carousel of humiliations and dominations for her--ones that would further stoke the fires of her arousal. Were she deemed a good girl, and I, her 'mistress' magnanimous, it would culminate in an overwhelmingly powerful screaming, spurting orgasm.

If not, added miserable frustration or, worse, punishment!! She squirmed, emotionally pulled on the metaphorical wrack between her desperation to please me and be rewarded and her exasperation with me, her prideful wish to be defiant! Such a difficult game!

"Humid, mistress," she said, fairly batting her eyes. "A bit itchy." I didn't doubt both were true--but she knew it pleased me to hear it.

"That's how mistress likes her naughty pussy!" I grinned. "Being uncomfortable keeps a girl's mind focused on her need, and when she's focused on her need she's--"

"Obedient." Massi made a slight face of distress but she nodded in agreement. "Yes, mistress." She projected a little bit of bratty sulkiness into her voice. This was the game between dominant and submissive. In The Method, the power dynamic was celebrated and real--I could punish her at will, there wasn't a safe-word. When I'd had male superiors, I'd been ordered to my knees to give blow jobs in meetings--and taken in the ass for punishments.

In every case, although I hated it and my emotions quivered under the humiliation and discomfort, I'd trusted The Method would work, and I hadn't been let down. So now it was Massi's turn as the bottom--and I was quite happy to enjoy my role as her 'top.' I mussed her hair affectionately. We pulled into the parking lot of Kiritsu Sushi. We kissed--she didn't have much choice in the matter, but she was passionate--even heated. I pulled her into a closer hug and tasted the inside of her mouth with my tongue.

She was breathing hard, flushed. All the pent-up sexual arousal was like a wedge, breaking the icy defense of her pride. Leaving her open and exposed.

The thick skin-adhesive pad clung to my region--my visit to the disciplinary nurse had left me dreadfully overstimulated--highly turned on. It's one of the drawbacks of the job. We try to be as intellectual as possible, of course, but exercising dominance can be as stimulating as foreplay. Being in command of Massi was making me powerfully horny. Being dominated was also a massive turn-on for Massi--but far less pleasant. The stupid pad felt heavy and damp as it clung to me.

I squirmed. I'd wear it until it was naturally "time to come off," even though I was tempted to just duck into the bathroom and peel the horrible thing off! Of course, Massi, locked in her belt, had no such option!

I grinned. "Let's go," I said, and she hurriedly got out of the car. I put my arm around her waist, low, and waddled towards the sushi place.

Something odd about The Method--those of us steeped in it seem to have a strong tendency to recognize places that are Method Compatible. I couldn't put a finger on what led me to Kiritsu Sushi, but I'd known, somehow, that it was a place for us. The demure Asian girls serving were, I'd become aware at some point, richly disciplined for any problem.

The private booths were nicely intimate--the water features created an ambient background sound that might mask louder sounds of activity from within them. I led her in, and the hostess, beautiful, petite, and wearing a magnificent silk kimono bowed low to us.

"Miss Chase," she smiled, recognizing us, "dinner for two?"

"Yes,"I said. Massi leaned against me, rubbing on me like a cat. The hostess looked her over with a smirk.

"I can have a girl take her to the toilets," she offered. I paused.

Massi gave a little shake of her head.

"I think that would be lovely," I smiled sweetly.

The hostess smirked and called out in Japanese. A girl in outrageously high black heels and a maid's outfit emerged from the back with a leash. Massi's face fell when she saw it. She gave me a silent, pleading look. I smirked back at her. A flash of anger--she put on a betrayed face as the girl slid a loop of the leash over her head.

"You will be graded on obedience," the hostess said to her. "Mistress will be informed."

Massi glared, but a slight tug and she turned to fall in with her.

"It might take some time," the hostess said. "Sumi can be very thorough."

I grinned. "I'm not in a hurry," I said airily. "It's going to be quite a 'thorough' night for her anyway."

The hostess gave me a wry smile and nodded. I made my way to the private rooms where we'd get dinner.

# # #

After Hours At Sortex

Linh Hoang, 22 year old Jr. assistant to Mr. Evans Monroe moved as quietly on her stocking'd feet as she could. Her hand brushed lightly across the back of her skirt over her buttocks in recognition of what was, in all likelihood, going to happen shortly.

Linh had the sinking feeling she was definitely 'in for it.'

Technically speaking, she was the assistant to Ms. Lindwell, who was the secretary to Mr. Fletcher. However, Ms. Lindwell was a forty-something established woman with extremely good logistical know-how and she, in turn, was served by three young junior Asian girls (two Filipinas and Linh, a Vietnamese girl--Mr. Fletcher had a type).

She had been steeped in 'The Method' since birth, her family being big believers in it, and its ability to actualize 'the American Dream' for them. As such, while all three of the "jr. girls" were pretty submissive, they had quickly established a pecking order (Linh at the top, and the two others fighting like sisters for which of them was the more submissive of the two). They had a three times a week 'maintenance'--two from Ms. Lindwell and one from Mr. Fletcher.

She wasn't at all a stranger to 'getting it,' but while Mr. Fletcher's usual of a light-ish, over his lap spanking (fully in the nude), followed by an 'on your knees' blow job and Ms. Lindwell's more unpleasant regulars of performing a few quick chores in one's underwear, culminating in an intimate diaper-position vulval massage with pointed slaps while getting a performance review was bad enough--but she was careful to keep out of real trouble.

The trouble was that no one could have THREE maintenance punishments a week (as well as whatever else was levied for offenses like eye-rolling, tardiness, and other missteps) without complaining! When the perfect avenue for such complaining (combining a number of fellow-travellers at the same company with relative anonymity) had presented itself in the form of an invite from the long-suffering secretary of a Senior Director, she'd jumped for it.

She had greatly enjoyed viciously complaining about her superiors (and subordinates) in ways that were definitively not allowed in The Method's culture! It had been wonderfully cathartic and she had undertaken to deal out the harshest insults she could--while not giving herself away (there was a reason she'd been put in Special Projects--Sortex had recognized her penchant for subterranean defiance).

Then, today, her contact--the one person who knew FOR SURE who she was--because he'd given her the invite in the first place, had gotten in contact.

Now, an hour after "normal hours" she made her way through the generally empty halls to where Thomas waited in an empty conference room. His text message had said ALAS BABYLON, and the office code. The code-words, selected from some old book about nuclear war, meant the worst had or was about to happen: they'd been found out.

Now she peered through the glass window in the door and pushed inside.

Thomas, wan, fragile looking, was even more rumpled and disheveled than normal. His shirt was untucked and his sleeves were rolled up, unevenly. His trousers bulged slightly with the adult undergarment (a misnomer, it was designed as though for a child) that his 'Big' made him wear over a cock cage. He looked wrung out, hair badly askew.

He had been sitting on the table, which was a decently good sign if he was still capable of that--it meant the jaws of the trap had not fully closed.

He came to his feet as he entered.

"What happened?" she asked--she wanted to be cross with him, but she couldn't really manage it: he was in for it too.

"I'm not sure," he said. "But I got a visit from an Ambulatory girl and then I heard from another, uh, member, that the same girl had busted her--with transcripts."

Linh blanched. The hope was that they could delete all the messages from the server--but if whoever had 'busted' the other member had transcripts, then she was in deep shit. She'd been fighting to keep the images of worst-case scenarios at bay, reassuring herself that it couldn't be that bad! Now it was looking like it was and the images flooded in--she imagined herself kneeling, naked, sobbing as she begged for forgiveness, hands clasped together in supplication! She imagined both Mr. Fletcher and Ms. Lindwell reading through each comment as she groveled at their feet.

She imagined Ms. Lindwell calling her mother.

"Fuck," she breathed softly. She glanced around at the empty conference room, its glass front showing the hall outside. Like a number of the conference rooms at Sortex, it had hooks in the ceiling where the sex-swings in the cabinet of implements could be affixed to in order to display a subject.

Linh had been mounted in one, fully dressed, but her ankles spread wide by a bar with cuffs on each ankle and her wrists cuffed and fixed above her head. It had been awful--but relentlessly hot--and she had thought, during masturbation and petting sessions, how much worse it would have been to be displayed in such a way when naked.

She squirmed.

"What are you going to do?" She asked. Thomas--Tommy, just drooped slightly, with the guilty look of a dog caught having tipped over the kitchen rubbish bin to go rooting through the bounty.

"I don't know yet," he admitted. Then, he swallowed. His long pale throat bobbing slightly. His lanky weakness appealed to her. She wasn't what The Method would describe as 'dominant,' but she did appreciate his cute vulnerability. Like her, part of what had landed him his position was that he was unquestioningly fun to dominate and despite chaffing badly under his mistress' attentions, he also responded extremely well to them.

As horrible as it was, Mr. Fletcher's selection of her had led to the opening of numerous incredibly attractive opportunities she probably wouldn't have had without it. A few years of squirming badly and uncomfortably under his (and Ms. Lindwell's) thumbs and she would be in line for actually prestigious positions and other wonderful avenues of advancement. She understood it was the same for Tommy.

'The Method,' was even whispered to have less explicable benefits (like great health and avoidance of serious accidents or significant misfortune). It exchanged these for a viciously arousing period of domination and control that she would have to endure. She was up for that in many respects--but the idea of drawing the wrath of Mr. Fletcher for things she had written about him in fits of pique was definitely not on the menu if she could at all avoid it.

"Does Ms. Monroe know?" She asked. Thomas' eyes flickered upwards. Then he turned and went into his messenger bag and brought out a Sortex USB stick. It combined data storage with a physical security dongle that would allow it to be used in Sortex computers. He held it out to her.

"She knows," he said uncomfortably. "Can you upload this to the server? I mean, as a last post kind of thing?"

She stared at the device. "What's on it?"

He shifted uncomfortably. His cock, in the cage Linh knew he wore, was bothering him--trying to stiffen, probably leaking.

"It's a punishment record for a senior executive. You--you don't need to look at it--just upload it."

"Why can't you do it?"

He blushed. "She confiscated my phone--the work computer's monitored--and I'm here overnight."

"Oh. Lengthy punishment session?" The idea was a painful stab of dread--but also curiosity. She wondered what creative discipline his mistress would visit on him.

"Something like that," he nodded, red-faced.

She, like everyone else on the server, had seen Ms. Monroe's abject humiliation that someone--Thomas, she thought--had published to the server. It was intimate, fascinating, and almost too hot to handle. She knew Thomas must get breathless every time the thought of it crossed his mind. Worse, if Ms. Monroe knew THAT had been posted... his punishment was certain to be even more lengthy and epic!

She took the data stick and turned it in her palm. "I can get this up. Any reason?"

"If they're going to take the server down," Thomas said, "I'd like everyone to see it. If they start digging," he said, "they'll know it came from me--no matter who posts it."

That was likely true, she thought. They couldn't 'torture' the information out of him--The Method prohibited that--but they could certainly investigate any documents they had and the trail would pretty easily lead back to him, she thought.

Her phone pinged. She pulled it out and looked at it with a rising sense of dread. It was from Mr. Fletcher--he was coming back to the office and she was to stay and meet him there. The message subtly implied she was in trouble. This was it. It was going to happen! Shit. Shitshitshit!

"I'll--I'll do it," she said, and fled the conference room, running to get to her computer and prepare for her boss's return.

She was through the door and sitting at her desk in the vestibule of Ms. Lindwell's office (which was, itself a foyer to Mr. Fletcher's office) when a thought struck her. She was staring at the screen when Mr. Fletcher, having entered his office via the executive elevators that gave him access that bypassed the 'front door,' summoned her.

# # #

Massi sat across from me, wearing nothing but her blouse and the belt, her skirt folded off to the side. She was squirming uncomfortably and I was pretending to ignore it as she sipped her miso soup. Her trip to the toilets had taken 20 minutes and left her rear slightly pink.

She'd been completely nude save for the metallic panty when she was made to squat and pee into a toilet trench while the severe Japanese girl loomed over her and taunted her. She'd gotten a "report card" of a C- which meant that she'd behaved herself fine--but the Japanese girl was encouraging me to further punish her.

I'd been mock stern when she, minus her skirt, which had traveled with Ms. Sumi back across the restaurant, and she and I chatted about how Littles needed a lot of work sometimes. Now I was enjoying Massi's rising distress and arousal as she furiously tried to determine what, if anything, I knew about her rule-breaking.

As much as I did like watching her squirm, the tension and nervousness was going to take a toll on her that was just a bit beyond what I wanted to inflict. I decided to make my move.

I reached out and gently put my hand over hers.

"Has my Little been a good girl?" I asked indulgently. "Or a bad little brat?" I gave her a theatrical smirk.

"Massi tries to be good, mistress," she said with a bit of a gulp.

It was a traditional big-little game where a persistent big would make their little request punishment for minor offenses. It's fun for the big, and little's know that unless they've been positively perfect, they need to confess to bad behavior and ask for punishment. When pushed further, and made to say what they think a bad-little deserves, they have to come up with something suitably awful and creative and hope that their performance is good enough that the big doesn't actually do that!

Of course if the Little has been a bad girl and her Big knows it, she'd better come clean! Whatever she might get for actual misbehavior will be multiplied if she covers up. The poor Little has to fret mercilessly about what Mistress actually knows! The tension and anxiety can be unbearable! Does she hold her secret fast and risk a dreadful punishment.... Or confess everything and maybe betray herself to something her disciplinarian wasn't even aware of?

I stroked the back of her hand. The warm thin skin was smooth under my touch.

"Is there anything kitten wants to tell mistress?" I asked, voice a purr of delicious expectation. I watched her grapple with the certainty of admission vs. the chance of not being caught. She looked away, her eyes radiating wretched anxiety as she weighed her options. I watched fear of confessing win and she shook her head.

"No, mistress." Her voice was barely audible and she stared down at the table, terrified of the course she'd just committed to. I let the silence linger until she couldn't stand it and she looked up through her hair, to read whatever she could on my expression.

Massi saw my smile and my certainty and she realized she'd made a terrible mistake. Her panic was tangible--glorious! Her mouth opened in an 'o' of horror and her hand flew up to it, trying to stifle a gasp! "M-Miss--"

She shook her head desperately, tears surging up, but not yet pouring out! "Mistress--I--oh--I mean--I mean--"

"Oh, Kitten!" I moaned in sympathy with her! "You were already due so much! But to not confess when you had the chance--"

"I'M SORRY!" Massi wailed and I watched her scramble from her seat, around the table, moaning--now tears were coming! Flowing out as she came kneeling to my side and threw her arms around my waist, gripping me. She buried her steaming, tear-streaked face in my lap and moaned--"I'm sorry! Oh, Mistress, I'm sorry! I should have confessed!"

I stroked her hair gently and enjoyed the rising and falling of her lightly spanked buttocks, split by the metal belt, sort of heave up and down as sobs wrenched their way out of her!

"What did Kitten do?" I asked tenderly as I petted--she was suffering exquisitely, but I wanted to see her confess and I got it. She lifted her face, and it was a glorious, ruddy, puffy, tear-streaked mess!

"Massi s-said bad things on the server, Mistress!" Another moan as she forced the words out.

I touched her under her chin to remind her to keep her face up so I could see the emotions play across it, and I began to fuss with her hair, getting it out of her eyes, tucking it back behind her ears. She was adorable! "She did, didn't she?" A warm smile telling her that I knew everything.

Sob! Her lower lip trembled! And I was thrilled to see a flash of anger--she knew I'd been playing with her, that I'd set a trap and she'd... walked into it. "I'm so, so sorry, ma'am! I really am! I didn't--I didn't mean any of those--ooooh!" Her composure crumbled and there were more tears. Mad at me. Mad at herself--for being so stupid as to use the server. For being so stupid as to not confess when she knew she'd likely been caught.

"Massi-kitten earned a solid month of punishment, didn't she?" I cooed. The look of wretched misery I got for that pronouncement was all the reward I could have hoped for.. "And then... oh, goodness, kitten--extra for trying to hide it!"

Grr! She winced and sniffled. "I'm sorry!" She moaned again, begging me now with her tone and eyes to forgive her for the understandable desire to hide from the consequences!

Sorry, kitten! "We're going to work together to come up with ways to punish Massi-kitten for all the mean things she said," I assured her. Another fun Method game--make the penitent propose 'appropriate' torments! It's great fun for the dominant and utterly miserable for the recipient! I watched her wince and nod and I got to wipe fresh, hot tears off her burning cheek with my fingers.

"But to begin with..." I pretended to consider. "Let's start with a week wearing nothing in the office but Massi's belt, so everyone who visits can appreciate that she's been a naughty girl who's under correction!"

"M-mistress!" A breathless, mortified plea! A sharp, desperate blush! The shame would be sweltering!

"And... I think five stripes on her delicate little bottom for every nasty name she called!" Another smirk from me and a pleading, musical cry from Massi that made my nethers clench with anticipation. This was going to be fun!

.

"No pleading, sweetness," I cooed. "For now, kitten is going to admit she strongly deserves all of this and more, and so no more pleading. Massi earned every bit of what she's got coming."

She blanched at that--but nodded miserably. The door slid open and the hostess delivered a plate with a green mound of wasabi paste on it

"Special delivery," she said, placing it down with a bow. She gave me a wink. "Press the call button again if you need anything." She stepped back and slid the heavy door closed. The booths were fairly sound proofed. Massi had flopped forward, her head down on the table. I stroked her hair.

"I'm so sorry," she managed, not looking up. She really sounded it too.

"Hush, kitten," I said soothingly. "You'll be truly sorry AND have something to cry about in a minute!" That got a shudder from her.

"Ugh, mistress," she intoned.

The use of two maternal punishment cliches wasn't lost on her. I did plan to give her something memorable--but, if she played her cards right, the aftercare could be truly wonderful (especially since with a lengthy period of being under punishment there would be multiple sessions of aftercare.

I was petting the back of her head thoughtfully when the waitress opened the door and cleared all the plates and glasses--save for the wasabi, and then triggered the catch to retract the table surface into the floor after wiping it. She unrolled a pink yoga- pad that made it a sort of bed.

"Does ma'am need restraints?" She asked me.

"No need," I said cheerfully. "I'll push the call button if I need anything extra."

Massi, looking fetchingly wretched, was undoing her blouse. She caught my eye and I nodded. We were going to proceed with her naked. I hiked my blouse and grimacing, peeled the sanitary pad off my skin. If I'd had any hair, it'd have taken it with it. Being recently waxed, it was just nasty.

"On your back, diaper position," I told her. "Mistress is going to straddle."

Massi flopped on her back, drawing her knees up and open so I could see the gleaming crescent of the belt covering her from clit to anus. I smirked, leaned over, and gave her region a sniff. I smelled her pussy, strongly, and remnants of the pee she'd just taken through the slot.

I made a theatrical wrinkling of my nose. "Ew! Massi-kitty is stinky!"

That got a little cry from her, and I could remember in college, as a fresh-girl, the scalding horror of being hygiene shamed. My big--and other 'sisters' on the scholastic Spanking Team had reduced us to tears without laying a finger on us!

I triggered the catches that opened the belt and I pulled it away, leaving her sex puffy, moist, and exposed. I took my recently removed pad, wet with my moisture and rolled it so that the ripest bits were out. "Open up, hon," I smirked. Her face flared with blush and disgust--but she opened her mouth dutifully.

I popped it in. "Bit down on that, sweetness," I ordered her. She did, unable to resist making a face. "You don't like your mistress' taste?" I teased her. Her eyes went wide and she quickly shook her head. I don't know if she really thought I'd punish her for saying she didn't like the taste--but it was cute."Don't fret, darling," I said. "There'll be a great deal of other things to taste before the night is done!"

That got an adorable, wincing groan. One of the worst parts of being a bottom or 'Little' is that you have to be 'fun to punish' It's annoying and awful but if you want to be a really good, really desirable little, you need to know how to project your dissatisfaction, discomfort, and distaste with your treatment without just being sullen or stoic.

Most people, when faced with a few strokes from an ambulatory disciplinarian, strive simply to take their licks with whatever dignity they can salvage. It's not my remit to draw tears so I'm generally fine with that--but every now and then I'll get a subject who's naturally expressive, cute, and submissive--ready to accept their punishment for whatever got me called in.

Those are the ones that get tender aftercare, their tears wiped, and, generally speaking, are well sought after. Massi was a natural but her upbringing had trained her to be as agreeable and expressive as she could manage and she was an absolute delight to discipline! I threw a leg over her, and knelt, my bottom nestled in her belly, her knees out to either side of me. She could no doubt feel my leakage on her tummy and, while I suspect knowing Mistress was turned on was a positive for her, she also knew that'd mean she was in for it!

Now I loomed over her, putting on my best evil smile. "Is kitten ready to get her punishment started?" I asked, a little coyly. A pause and then an enthusiastic nod. She truly WAS ready for it to get started. I brushed her bangs back, stroking her temple gently.

"Here's how we'll begin," I informed her. "Mistress is going to hand kitten her phone with little choice bits of kitty-cat saying mean things about mistress! Kitty-cat is going to read them aloud to mistress, with feeling!"

I could tell by the stricken look on her face that this was already at or past her limit: she let out a weak little whimpering moan into the gag that I immediately filed for an explosive orgasm later! Her eyes begged me not to do this--this way-- but I just smirked.

"With each reading," I said, "Kitty will get a little correction! By the time we're through, we'll have a very, very sorry little kitty-cat!"

I handed her my phone and plucked the gag out of her mouth.

"You'll get this back when you need it," I told her, letting the offer be mysterious. Her eyes begged me not to start the game, but I looked down at her. "Get reading, kitty-cat--let's hear what she has to say!"

I reached down behind my back and found her ice-hard clit, erect and out of her hood.

" [Mistress] is such a fetid BITCH," she read, giving a little gasp as I touched her clit. "I swear she doesn't shower her cunt before making me eat her out just so that she tastes--AAAAIIHHHHEE!!"

The howl as I rubbed the wasabi into her clitoris and on her urethra split the silence. She bucked--not actual defiance but inability to hold still! Her eyes filled with tears.

"Mistress!" She gasped. I felt her naked body wriggling under me as burning pain blazed up from those incredibly tender regions!

"Don't worry, hon," I told her, my voice saccharine, "We've got plenty of the green stuff! After we're good on your clitty, we'll do your vagina, your anus, and then your sweet, slutty little mouth!"

She moaned and writhed, her undulations stimulating my own sex. I grinned and scooped out a big glob of the punishingly hot horseradish-based spice!

"Do the next one," I crooned. She gasped and wailed as she tried the next sentence and I rubbed the burning paste into her vagina. I had her panting, red-faced, tear-streaked... and we were just getting started!

# # #

Linh got the ping on her phone and put her terminal on standby, stood shakily, and walked through the door, past Ms. Lindwell's empty desk, to find Mr. Fletcher sitting in his large office, still dressed in his slacks and work shirt.

"Do we know what this is about?" he asked, using the 'royal we' because he knew it was annoying.

Ugh. She flushed red. "Sir--yes sir. I misbehaved and I'm in trouble." She said it as matter of factly as she could, but inside she was shaken. She had no idea just how much trouble she might be in. Was this a big enough breach to get her re-assigned? Fired? Had it shattered a positive image he had of her?

She lowered her head, cheeks burning.

"Yes," he said, calmly. "That is about the shape of it."

"Does Miss Lindwell know?" Linh asked, her voice small.

"She called me," he said. "She's on her way back as well--I presume she wanted to see you straight away. I believe she's on the phone with your mother now."

She gaped--and very nearly fell on her knees and begged Mr. Fletcher to call her off--if that was even possible. She wrung her hands together. Her mother would be a terrifying fireball of discipline when she found out Linh had disgraced the family and her mother could be wickedly inventive--not that Ms. Lindwell or even Mr. Fletcher, couldn't.

"I--I--" she stammered. "I'm sorry, sir."

There was little else she could think of to say. Her mind was a blizzard of self-recriminations. "W-what is to be done with me?" She risked a look up--she knew she must look wretchedly miserable because the look on his face as he beckoned her forward was gentle.

"I think we'll come up with something suitable," he said, offhandedly--like whatever punishment she was going to get for the next quarter wasn't really the point here. If not, what WAS it?

She came forward around the desk. For her maintenances with him, she was brought around, bared, and then spanked over his lap--embarrassing, smartingly unpleasant, and despite it all, unpleasantly hot. She was a bit too scared to be turned on now though.

"I've asked Ms. Lindwell to lead with your punishment," he said. "I think she'll be suitably severe. I'm more interested--raise your chin, Linh--there we go. I'm more concerned about the breach. We don't talk about The Method outside Method-channels for a reason."

Her head raised, she could feel her eyes brimming with tears and she did her best to stop them! While she might want any sympathy she could get from him, the shame of crying like a school girl would be horrid. She sniffled. Ohhhhh...

"I--I know, sir," she whispered. The prohibition on telling the world about The Method was encoded into it from the start. You talked about it with other people who were in it. If a neighbor or classmate wasn't, you knew, and you didn't. It was simple and straightforward. It was also a reason that those brought up in Method households generally weren't entirely introduced to it until puberty. Her household had been quite strict--but she hadn't explored the full spectrum of dominance and submission--of hierarchy and fidelity--which The Method required. Keeping the silence had been second nature.

Now she'd broken that? Had she? What were the ramifications?

"Sir?" She asked.

"Yes?" He looked at her mildly.

"I don't know who was running the server--but the--the person who introduced me to it, the Complaining Palace, gave me a file to upload. He said he wanted to get it out before it was shut down--but his superior had taken his phone."

"I see," Mr. Fletcher said--although, it was unclear to her what he made of it. "And?"

"He texted me to come meet him in one of the conference rooms downstairs," she said. "Minutes before he handed over the data-stick. With his phone."

Mr. Fletcher was silent for a moment. "Go get it," he told her and gave her a hurry-along swat on her flank. She hustled.

Minutes later, Linh stood nervously, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled down the screen on his work laptop reading the material. His phone pinged, and he checked it. "Ms. Lindwell coming up," he said, "better undress."

"Yessir," Linh mumbled and started to strip. From his manner, and looking at the punishment report that she'd been sent to unleash, she gathered that while she was still in trouble, he wasn't going to reassign her or conclude she was hopelessly recalcitrant. No, she was going to be thoroughly punished--if Ms. Lindwell had really told her mother everything, horridly and creatively for quite a while.

She might even be put under the 'guidance' (domination) of the two girls she worked with--they'd have plenty to enjoy paying her back for. She was folding her skirt when Mr. Fletcher gave her a 'heads-up' pat on her bare buttocks. Ms. Lindwell strode through the door, and she quickly snapped to attention, hands behind her back, blushing faintly.

"Oh good, Linh--you're nude." She said, walking to the desk. "Sir?"

"Bit of a situation here," he said.

"Oh?" Her eyes slid accusingly to Linh who shrank back as much as she dared.

"Not her--not... exactly," he said. "I need to make a call. I'll fill you in shortly."

"Yes sir. What would you like done with--" Her nod indicated Linh.

He straightened in her chair and patted the small of her back gently.

"Get started--she quite the little rule-breaker," he said fondly. So they weren't simply furious with her, which was a tiny measure of relief, but it was clear from his tone that both of them appreciate the 'opportunity' she had given them to sharpen their claws on her--Ms. Lindwell was going to enjoy punishing her, and Linh's imagination spun with alarming ideas about how the woman might exercise her artistic creativity!

"Yes sir," she nodded. How much trouble is our girl in?"

She kept her eyes straight ahead on Ms. Lindwell's blouse as she felt Mr. Fletcher's gaze fall squarely on her.

"Oh," he considered. "A sound starting session--we can begin on that tonight--followed by, let's say a quarter of being under punishment with appropriate rules and discipline."

The woman nodded curtly. "Very right, sir." To Linh, "Come, whelp. We're going to get started. I hope your calendar is clear!"

Ugh. Barefoot, she made herself trudge across the floor, following Ms. Lindwell. Linh stood miserably before her desk, head hung, naked. Ms. Lindwell reached out and cupped her chin. "Your mother says you aren't in a good relationship because you don't want to be the bottom," she said softly--"But I think it's that you're sapphic and know that being the bottom for a sapphic top is a good deal worse than being the bottom for a boy!"

"So I'm going to use our extended punishment period to play matchmaker and see if I can find an agreeable sapphic top for my girl!"

Linh couldn't restrain herself from a weak, wet glare. Ms. Lindwell felt her swallow in a gulp, and grinned.

Ms. Lindwell stroked the girl's temple and chin. "Okay! When I was in college, our house-mother had a punishment for girls she thought were too timid for a really sound spanking--or had received one and were too tender for another at the time! I've been wanting to try it on you girls!"

Linh mentally groaned. Her mother had been told--check. Her bosses were looking forward to immiserating her--check. Ms. Lindwell had decided to use some punishment for girls who were "crybabies."--UGH! And the worst--the absolute worst--was that in full Big/Maternal mode, her boss was going to play matchmaker with dominant sapphic girls.

Her pussy was responding awfully at the thought. In The Method arranged marriages were common and generally very acceptable to the subjects. However it worked, those arrangements worked out beautifully for the subjects--but Linh was considered extremely submissive which meant she could wind up in some dominant boy's 'harem' or some sapphic dominatrix's "pet." Her sex clenched along with her fists. Ughh! Grrr!

All her work to avoid such a fate--undone by her own poor judgement!

Ms. Lindwell was at the leather upholstered exam-bed in the corner of her office. She spread an absorbent pad on the suffice and looked over her shoulder, patting it. "Come and sit here and we're going to discuss your misbehavior."

Ughhhhhhh. Sitting, naked, legs spread before her boss while she got lectured was going to be horrible. Ms. Lindstrom opened a sealed packet and brought out a medical-looking tube and nozzle. Linh groaned as she recognized it as a bladder catheter.

"It's an Affixia Punishment Catheter," Ms. Lindwell said, gently spreading Linh's nether lips to get the nozzle-end to her small urethra. "The insertion isn't the punishment part--don't worry too much about that. It's a bit uncomfortable--but the punishment part comes later since it causes a good, unpleasant--although not exactly vicious--urethral itch. The real punishment--this part of it," she smirked at Linh, "is going to be the removal of our control over our bathroom!"

She smiled sweetly at Linh's moan. The girl sat, legs spread, her sex presented, as Ms. Lindwell threaded the catheter in--just under the girl's erect clit. Ms. Lindwell smiled as Linh, near tears, squirmed and blushed. Linh let out a soft wail as hot urine splashed onto the absorbent pad, twin balloons opened at either end of the catheter so that her urethra was just open. Ms. Lindwell knew it was mortifying for the girl.

The shame-inducing intimacy of checking and cleaning she'd get over the next few days would chafe terribly--Linh's mother had confirmed that her daughter would suffer adorably under disciplinary "mothering" and, indeed, the girl was near tears already.

She took wipes and began the process of slowly cleaning Linh up, the girl's little sniffles calling for her to take even more time and extend the intimate violation. Linh, for her part, tried to hold back sobs, knowing that if she collapsed into tears, while Ms. Lindwell might take some degree of pity on her, the punishments for girls who were too "tender" to take a standard punishment were put through a variety of unbearable punishments, like this one, that would humiliate her beyond endurance!

She was concentrating on NOT bawling when Mr. Fletcher called for Ms. Lindwell and the older woman kissed Linh gently on the forehead. "Stay put, honey," she said. "Keep everything open, sit on the absorbent pad--let her air out." She patted Linh's vulva. "It's going to start itching soon--I expect you to bear it."

She left Linh sniffling on the table and entered Mr. Fletcher's office, shutting the door behind her.

"How is she?"he asked.

"Trying not to blubber--I'll let her keep her dignity for a short span before breaking her. She has a real sore spot for maternal discipline!"

"Oh, dear." Fletcher shook his head. His chief lieutenant excelled at 'maternal discipline'--the poor girl was sorely mistaken if she thought she could maintain a veneer of dignity through this!

"What have we got?" Ms. Lindwell looked over the screen with her lips pursed. Then: "Oh, my!"

"I think we'd better call some people in on this," Mr. Fletcher said. He reached for his desk phone.

# # #

I'd been riding Massi for some time. It felt like an hour to me--probably felt like more than forever for the naked girl under me. Feeling her soft, hot skin writhe and squirm under me was thrilling, even more so when accompanied by her cries of horror, pain, and distress as I reached back and 'finger-painted' her delicate region with the burning wasabi paste.

A smear of it rubbed into her clit had sent her into a panic, twisting and wailing to try to get away. Similarly a too-big dollop I'd slid into her vagina as punishment for giving up on reading her bratty little comments!

If she hadn't been taken to the bathroom earlier, she'd have left a puddle when she lost all control, but I wasn't quite done. I scolded her, pretending to be very upset with her and slipped my wasabi-caked fingers between her buttocks.

Massi wailed and arched and her bare body undulated against me. I rolled my hips so that her struggles and undulations rubbed directly against my erect clit. I could feel my own wet arousal smeared over her, an orgasm for myself not all that far away.

I heard the door open behind me.

"My goodness!" The hostess girl's exclamation was mostly for Massi's benefit, adding humiliation to misery by making her even more self conscious of her mortified, disheveled state herself. I appreciated the artistry of it, as her two helpers pried Massi's thighs apart and began to fill her vagina and anus with a yogurt-milk mixture that would alleviate the agonizing burn. It was wonderfully cool, I'm sure, after the awful tyranny of the wasabi paste!

She moaned in relief and mortification as I pinned her wrists above her head and grinned down at her.

"That was awful, mistress, " she gasped.

"Wasn't it?" I beamed.

She bit her lower lip and looked away. I could tell by her faint motions that the girl applying the yogurt-milk to her vagina was also rubbing it deftly into her clitoris--and her punished sex was now galloping her towards orgasm. She moaned again--not really a pleasure reflex, but humiliated distress! The attention, combined with the exposure, and domination was terrible, and I did feel a little bad about the harshness of the wasabi treatment. However, Massi had a long way to go before she came.

I stood, feeling the nasty wetness on my area--far worse all over her pussy, buttocks, belly and upper thighs--and waved the yogurt girl off. The hostess waited outside, holding one of their slip on leashes.

"For her walk to the car," she asked, holding it out. "My girls will handle the mess." Her smile was wonderful--suitably nasty so that Massi cringed against me, suppressing dripping whimpers.

It was my turn to smile. "Bow your head, sweet-ums, let's get you leashed."

"Mistress!" A soft squeal of horror. The punishment and exposure in here was one thing--being led through the parking-lot was entirely worse! Despite being punished in the nude, exposure, like what she was going to get for the next week, was still awful for the poor thing--and the possibility of being seen walking nude, on a leash, by people not in The Method was unbearable.

What I understood, and poor Massi didn't quite, was that the quick walk to the car was really quite 'safe.' She might be seen by people not 'in The Method' but when that happened they just took it as a consenting fetish--obscene and shocking, but over quickly and not a big deal. Moreover, it was just... unlikely. I couldn't say why that was--but it worked. Something in the unseen mechanics of The Method.

"We're going to the car," I told her, authoritatively. "Now heel."

The restaurant had my card on-file and I nodded to the hostess who was beaming at Massi's exquisitely engineered misery as I marched her out.

Night had fallen and while the lot wasn't empty, I had the feeling of it being far later than it really was. Massi's little mews of distress filled the air with pleasing submission as I stepped off the curb being careful where I led her to put her bare feet. She knew better than to cover up, so she wrapped her arms wretchedly around her stomach and her face blushed like a fire engine. The car wasn't far with a small decorative hedge giving us a hint of cover.

"Squat. I want to see if there's anything left, pet," I ordered Massi, standing on the little island of grass near my car. Massi looked at me, eyes huge and wet and gave a precious wail of horror as she squatted, legs appropriately wide, to pee... if she could. She was empty, of course, and after a moment I opened the back door. "Slither in," I told her. She lunged for the open door, and sniffling climbed inside.

I yawned theatrically, looking about before getting into the driver's side.

I patted the passenger seat. "Climb up here, kitten," I told her, buckling in and starting the engine. She did, apparently grateful to be in the relative safety of the car. I could smell her pussy--under the scents of the yogurt-milk wash, and the wasabi, she was thickly wet, leaving a small puddle on the leather seats. Oh, well--they were easy-wash.

As we drove, there was a pleasant silence (for me--for her it was ominous!).

"What's the worst thing kitten said about mistress?" I asked conversationally. We hadn't gotten through much of the abbreviated transcript I had once the wasabi started and I wanted her to focus on the delicious punishment she'd earned.

The look of hapless anger and humiliated horror at the question told me I'd struck gold! I could see her run the calculations that I might not have access to the FULL transcripts from the Accord Server, and then sullenly reject the thought she could still 'get away' with anything. Her face fell. I drank it in while still keeping my eyes on the road. She drooped.

"I said--" she started, clearly loathing saying it to me, "Kitten said she hoped mistress's ass hurt for days after Mr. Langford took you back there," she said, staring down at her bare thighs. "And she hoped you didn't cum from it."

She gave me a quivering, sheepish look, and I returned a wolfish grin.

Mr. Lang was my 'dotted line' boss in General Discipline. I'd learned a few months ago that I was in Special Projects because I, myself, was something of a project! It had been a miserable, awful realization. Apparently, I was 'off track' for Method-approved relationships, meaning that, although I scored fairly dominant (for a girl, I guess), I was expected to be paired with a superior--either a very dominant girl or a boy disciplinarian.

I didn't need to run out and get hitched, but that I wasn't comfortably (uncomfortably) in a good relationship, spoke to the need for a bit of an 'evaluation.' I'd gotten Mr. Langford as a disciplinary Guidance Superior and our sessions started with a review, followed by some degree of discipline, followed by being Taken--generally in the ass.

He knew how to make it completely awful (if not terribly painful--he was careful and used plenty of lubrication)--and I'd suffered once a month with his cock firmly up my rear while he lectured me on finding a partner I could submit to. It was galling: I thought I SHOULD be the easy favorite for the dominant in my relationships--but the mysteries of The Method--and the opinions of my superiors thought otherwise.

So I'd moaned and grunted and gripped on to his desk while he smoothly pounded away at me, my knowing I was going to thoroughly taste whatever he found in there once he was done. The fucker gave me a few days range of times he'd might call me to our meetings so I couldn't fully 'prepare.'

"Kitten would love to see mistress naked, ass back, up on the balls of her feet, grunting like a pig as she gets it in her anus, wouldn't she?" I asked sweetly--and I flashed her a sparkling grin.

Massi knew to play along--in this case, to tell the truth. "Yes, mistress, " she intoned, knowing that these admonitions could lead to serious misery if she did hit a real sore spot. "Kitten would love to see that."

"Maybe mistress will see if she can find some footage for us to watch when we're in bed together," I mused. The humiliation of watching myself get thoroughly, balls-deep, taken by the annoying Mr. Lang, while Massi and I made out in bed was, unpleasantly, a huge turn on. I didn't know for certain if he had cameras in his office to take such footage, but I was pretty sure he did.

"Would kitten like to see the look on mistress' face when she gets that nasty cock of his in her mouth?" I asked. Massi squirmed, blushing even worse, and looking down. However 'hot' the fantasy was, she knew being in bed with me, at my disposal, while I watched my own degradation could result in some extreme unpleasantness for her as my bottom.

"... yes, mistress," she said softly, hoping that this was just emotional foreplay and that I wouldn't take her (true) admonitions as an actual insult. I reached over and gave her a little pat around the neck.

"Mistress will see what she can do," I told her. I flashed her a truly wicked smile, and she theatrically cringed, but no doubt felt relief that I wasn't further annoyed with her.

I was pulling up at my condo when my phone rang.

"Jessica," I said, answering it--it was a Sortex number, but not in my phonebook.

"It's Ms. Lindwell, Mr. Fletcher's assistant," said the woman on the other end. I could hear soft sobbing in the background. "We have a, uh, interesting lead on the Accord Server. Mr. Fletcher has some questions before he escalates."

Oh. "Yes, ma'am," I said. "I'm just home. Give me a moment."

I heard Mr. Fletcher's voice over the sobbing girl's. "Have her log in. I want to share the file."

Minutes later, we were in my kitchenette at the table with my laptop on it, securely showing both a video conference and a document.

In the office, I could see Mr. Fletcher and Ms. Lindwell--and the bare bottom of a Linh Hoang, secretary to Ms. Lindwell, and over her lap. The girl was clearly quite unhappy and doubtless uncomfortable! Ms. Lindwell had a full, thick towel and an absorbent 'puppy pad' over her lap--the girl was either leaking badly, or incontinent--perhaps both. She was clearly mortified by it--I could tell that from the tone of her tears. Ms. Lindwell periodically wiped her below the angle of the camera, and gently. I'm sure that treatment made the girl even more unhappy.

The document, however, was something else entirely.

"Do you know what it is?" Mr. Fletcher asked me.

I nodded. "It's an eroticism map--a specialist uses feedback and guided questions and imagery to find out where a subject's fantasies lay. It's an... advanced disciplinary procedure. If they can get a pornography stash, it really helps--but even if not, it's pretty awful for the subject. Of course depending on what they find--"

"Infantilization, Fem Dom, and anal/prostate attention," Ms. Lindwell noted with a slightly sour look--

"That can be much worse," I agreed.

The document was an addendum to the punishment record of Mr. Ken Williams. It was a REDACTED one, meaning it didn't come with the record itself unless the asker was cleared to receive it. I doubted anyone other than the head of disciplinary--Mr. Sing--really was.

"When Mr. Williams and Ms. Monroe had their spat," I said, "both of them got thoroughly put in their places. Ms. Monroe was punished like a junior girl--fully humiliating and... very unpleasant. Mr. Williams was sent to--"

"Another site," Mr. Fletcher agreed, "and taken, repeatedly."

I nodded, blushing. Massi cringed, eyeing me to see if the reflection of our earlier conversation was leading me back to her own, quite attractive and tender bottom.

"Yes, in a controlled manner," I said. "But, yes--it was probably pretty bad."

Growing up in The Method, it almost certainly wasn't the first time Mr. Williams had been taken. I knew that at the girl's university I'd gone to and the boy's schooling he'd likely attended, these things were part of The Method's hierarchy and domination rules. Likely he'd been introduced to sexual submission--perhaps from multiple directions as he came up in his growth.

"However," I said, "on top of that, apparently Mr. Sing ordered the Erotic Mapping and while he was in the pillory, bare ass on display in the bathroom, the specialist interviewed him and worked out his... fantasies.

It turned out, his fantasies were... awful--extremely submissive--the mark of a serious bottom.

As a senior director, I knew full well what that would mean if it got out: his peers would all know what buttons to push to submit him. He'd be wearing a collar within a week!

"This came off the Accord Server?" I asked. Beside me, Massi stared with open-mouthed disbelief at the material. He wouldn't lose his seniority at the company--but he'd be pretty much fully at the disposal of his peers. If he had pubic hair now, doubtless, he'd be completely bare in less than a day after it came out. He was sexually most attracted to women, but had enough erotic attraction to being dominated by men, that he'd be servicing every Sr. Executive in the office!

"No," Mr. Fletcher said. "It didn't--it was almost uploaded by--"

He glanced over and Ms. Lindwell gave the bottom that was barely visible above the desk a good hard slap.

A young, teary, Asian girl's face popped up, infused with blush, and she blinked furiously at the camera.

"Ah," I nodded. "One of our Complainers?"

Ms. Lindwell gave a faux-stern nod. "This is my soon to be thoroughly punished secretary, Linh."

She gave Linh's bottom a pat.

"H-hello, mistress," she whimpered. I could see the discomfort and humiliation in her face. The girl was cute!

"When you wish," I grinned, "Put her on my schedule."

Now Ms. Lindwell did fully smile. "I'll do that," she said. She rubbed the spot on the girl's bottom where she'd spanked. "You'll get to meet Ms. Jessica Chase!"

I gave the girl a grin that nearly recoiled her deeper into the arms of Ms. Lindwell. "Can't wait," I promised the wet-eyed girl.

"Where did she get it?" I asked. There was no way a secretary had access to that.

"That's the story," Mr. Fletcher said.

# # #

Later -- Mr. Sing's Office

The Indian man was trim and muscular. He had a sharp look that belied his over 50 years of age. He could've passed for a much, much younger man if not for the salt and pepper in his hair.

I stood before him at attention, body straight, hands clasped behind me, chin up. I was wearing my best outfit and, under it, the fuck-me/spank-me panties and garters my boss liked. I was hoping he wouldn't see them--but being called to his office was always a risk.

There were a couple of restraint racks and some mildly exotic looking implements hung on the walls with display plaques and fanfare. The Method is world wide--so it doubtless had practitioners in his home country--maybe it was even more culturally integrated there?

On his desk were pictures of a wife, adult son, and beautiful 20-something daughter, all with gleaming smiles--and subtle blushes. The images were pretty normal but, I noted, were typical head-shots without showing anything from their belly buttons down. I was pretty sure the pictures were taken by a Method photographer and it wasn't uncommon for a family dominant to get the pictures done when he was disciplining his household.

As the head-of-discipline at Sortex, I had no doubt those sessions were highly memorable! I held stock still, as though he were a dangerous beast that could pounce on me at any moment!

"It was good work," Mr. Sing told me, his English flawless and his accent carefully added in consciously. "I think we've got it sorted. Ms. Monroe, after their mutual ordeal, took pains to look for anything she could find on Mr. Williams. She felt, with some reason, she got the worst of it in the mutual disciplinary session--and while that was outwardly true, she intuited there was more to the story. She wasn't wrong."

"When she found out what had happened--the Eros-Mapping--she got her hands on it. We're still tracking how, and came up with a plan--a pretty in depth one--to release it into the corporate bloodstream."

"She even put her own ordeal's report out there first--to throw suspicion off. But she had to get enough users onto the system so she had her boy---Thomas--reach out to the other secretaries who all, certainly, had 'things to complain about.'"

"She hadn't deployed it yet--but when the Social Media Response girls got wind of it, she ordered Thomas to scramble."

I nodded, smartly. "How much did Thomas know?" I asked.

"He voluntarily told us that Ms. Monroe started the server and ordered him to participate and spread the word. His complaining on the server was used as a basis to have him under constant, mild punishment. Something he takes to quite well."

"At any rate, it's not his fault. And, to be honest, it's a relief. The Server was managed by Ms. Monroe so technically the complaining didn't leave The Method's circles. It was all contained."

"What about Mr. Williams and Ms. Monroe?" I asked--it was, frankly, a bit inappropriate--but it was my actions that had led to the snap decision on Ms. Monroe's part to hasten the release of the documents. I figured I could ask.

The faint flicker of a raised eyebrow made me cringe, but he answered.

"They're both sent to Singapore for a two-week 'management retreat.' Following that, we're going to assess dominance levels and suitability. I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Williams does wind up as Ms. Monroe's bottom--but she's got a good slate of discipline coming to her regardless."

I blushed, imagining the woman I'd met being put through the wringer.

"All our complaining secretaries are in the process of 'getting it' too," he said. "I understand you've done a great job with Massi."

I felt myself blush with his praise and did my best to tamp it down--being eager for the praise of an alpha like him is a good way to go over his lap. I didn't need to worry though: He pressed a button on his desk console and the door behind me opened. I could hear very soft muffled little moans. I didn't break my pose and look over my shoulder--but I wasn't shocked when Ms. Lindwell appeared walking a fully harnessed Linh on a leash.

The girl wore a collar and muzzle that nearly completely silenced her. She had one of those awful, mushy, thick pads stuck over her sex--it bulged with pee. She even crawled with a waddle, the flange of an inflatable anal plug blossoming between her otherwise well-spanked bottom.

Her eyes were huge and horrified: being brought before Mr. Singh like this would be beyond nightmare-fantasy-material and into just-plain terror. Ms. Lindwell gave a soft clap and she knelt, head down, body quivering slightly.

He nodded to Ms. Lindwell. "Your pet reeks of hormones and pee," he said--he managed to make the observation sound both conversational and awful at the same time." My own nethers clenched as I admired his effortless exquisite lash to her pride... without even being especially mean!

He turned to me.

"Ms. Lindwell has made a proposed arrangement that will be taken under evaluation." His look clocked my blush-and-blanch at hearing that. He gave no sign of what he thought of that, though.

"Ms. Linh is going to be offered to you as a submissive--she can join Massi as romantic bottoms under you--"

My blush spiked--this was essentially me adopting both girls while my superiors evaluated the group of us for formalization. Having two 'littles,' both of whom were assigned long term punishment, was a pretty big vote of confidence in my dominance!

I did my best to restrain a huge smile.

"Yes sir, Mr. Singh," I said, imagining what I might do with my own small 'harem!'

He wasn't done, though. "You, Jessica, have been put on the market in the home office center. You'll stay in Special Projects--but executives in the center can make offers to test arrangements with you.. I'm favoring the disciplinary corps.

I swallowed. It meant that while I had two girls at my pleasure, I was going to be some senior disciplinarian's 'little'--and while I wasn't explicitly under punishment like Linh and Massi were, the kind of domination a senior disciplinarian would bring meant I might as well be.

On the other hand, it was--well, possibly--a big deal. If I was popular as a choice, it meant that I'd have some very high-up people vying for my arrangement--an arrangement that I might not like--but would likely 'love.' On the other hand, in the unpleasant event that there were no ready takers, I'd feel pretty rejected.

I swallowed.

"Y-yes sir," I managed, this time more hollowly. I wondered when I'd know if I was considered a prime pick or not.

"We already have quite a queue," he continued. "So I'm asking Ms. Lindwell to help me pick what we think will be the best match for you and your girls."

"O-OH!" I gasped at that, looking blushingly at Ms. Lindwell, who was sizing me up with a benevolent smirk that suggested her idea of what would be a good arrangement for me would be highly uncomfortable.

So that was how I got a big social promotion at Sortex--two girls under me: I got in contact with both their mothers and got enthusiastic tips on disciplining them. I didn't have to sort through various suitors--Lindwell and Mr. Singh were doing that. I just had to show up and... submit.

My own boss even bought me a set of Affixia-Brand (Method friendly) 'punish me' panties to wear on dates since the procedure would, without question, involve showing them off.

--END