On second glance, the clerks and interns who were still working that late might have noticed her heavy breathing. But no one who passed by her office that evening had any inclination to bother her. It had been a bad week at the DA’s office. Everyone had been taken off their normal tasks to aid in a mess of a case against a very rich and very famous mogul whose wife had been found dead and mauled in their driveway. It had seemed like an open and shut case, and yet the DA’s prosecution was floundering under the manipulations of an overpaid white-collar defense lawyer. The situation seemed to worsen by the day, and people were avoiding the ooze of frustration that seeped from their boss’s office like trapped gas from a volcano.
No one heard the district attorney let out a gentle moan as she turned her head to rest her cheek on her folded hands.
In truth, she was not thinking about the doomed trial at all. Her thoughts were far away, enveloped in her husband’s sweaty arms at home in their bed. From her mind’s eye she could see his hands gripping her hips and his teeth pulling at the skin of her thighs. It had hurt so much…
Another soft whimper escaped her.
She stood up. From her office she could see down the stairs of their building into the main lobby. The receptionist had left a long time ago, and anyone who remained was likewise sheltering in their office.
She knew it would be a few more hours yet before she could leave for the day — she was waiting for some blood samples to return from the lab and desperately hoping for some good news. The defense had somehow managed to stall this lab testing for three weeks and were gaining all sorts of traction through media reporting. She felt her skin crawling as she remembered the self-satisfied smile on the defendant’s face in that morning’s tabloids.
She took a breath, trying to stem the rising frustration in her chest. She heard her husband’s voice in her head: “Patience, sweetheart. I expect you to win, and so you will.”
“Yes, Sir,“ she whispered.
She drew the blinds on her office windows. She stretched her neck from side to side, trying to loosen the tension in her shoulders. Back in her chair, with her feet up, she slowly began to relax. She was thinking about a particular evening with her Sir from a week ago.
“You might be an important lawyer out there, slut.” Her husband’s voice had an audible smile in it. “But in here you’re my puny little slave.”
“Yes, Sir. Please… fuck me, Sir!”
“Not yet,” he had smiled wickedly.
She was on her belly, with her arms taped behind her back, and her legs splayed over the edge of the bed. She could do nothing but wait. He stood behind her, with one hand up her pussy and the other unbuckling his belt. His fingers were pressing back and forth over her inner walls in the way he knew she liked, after six years together.
She remembered the powerful anticipation in that moment. Not for the impending trial, not for the pressure to perform at her job where she was one of the only women, but for the simple exchange that was to come: she would let her Dom have all the control that she was compelled to wield during her workday — and he would spend the evening fucking her stupid. And afterwards… she would feel relaxed.
She groaned as he inserted two more fingers in her vagina and started thrusting in and out. A pulsing sensation was building in her abdomen, giving her goosebumps. Small moans escaped her with every exhalation. She was soaking wet.
The belt was off and folded in half in his right hand. “I’m going to hurt you,” he had told her. “Do you know why?”
“Because I NEED it!” she had wailed.
“That’s right sweetheart. You’re a broken little cock slave; and if I don’t hurt you, you’ll just hurt yourself,” he had murmured. “Won’t you. We can’t have that. Only I can hurt you.”
He gave her a few gentle thwacks with the belt as he spoke, and each time it came down she felt a thrilling fear at the impending pain, and then a sense of both intense relief and childish disappointment when it was denied.
“Sir, please I’m begging you, please,” she had squealed, ready for the break of impact.
He brought the belt down with perfect aim, right in the thickest part of her ass. She jerked with the shock, felt pain and chills spreading through to the front of her belly. It was too much, too much, and she had screamed… and then she had begged for more.
He had released a rough, delicious, growl and struck her again. The pain sizzled through her limbs, catching her breath in her chest. She had gasped and writhed on the bed, but he had simply pulled her back toward him by her taped wrists…
The district attorney spun around in her chair, feeling electrified. She moaned again, thinking of the memory. She pushed her legs straight out in front of her, every muscle clenched. She dug her nails into her thighs. She was reveling.
She could never explain well enough to her friends why she liked being hurt so much. It was terrifying and shocking, and yet… after being struck by her Sir with his belt, she also felt strong, somehow, and vibrant. More powerful than her own body. Transcendent.
She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back in the chair.
“That’s right baby, I know it hurts,” her husband had said over the sounds of her soft whimpering. He leaned over her shaking body and put his lips to her ear. “But you did so well. You made Daddy so proud.”
She had then rolled over and shoved her tongue into his mouth. They had kissed and kissed: her straining to sit up with her arms behind her back; him straddling her and holding her neck in his hands. He started squeezing.
Sir had really been on his game that night, she thought to herself. She remembered his hands, squeezing evenly around both sides of her neck. He had applied the pressure with forceful confidence, and she had gone limp in seconds.
She was prone to shakes and spasms on waking up from blackouts. He released her and air burst into her lungs while her body joltingly reset itself. Blood rushed back into her brain, creating a rushing overwhelming orgasm. She cried out, both from ecstacy and confusion and fear. Her physical senses returned to her, while her brain remained maddeningly fuzzy. She felt a man’s arms holding up her limp body. She rubbed her dripping nose on his shoulder. She smelled the sweat off his neck. She buried her face in his beard.
“You’re alright my love,” Sir had whispered. “It’s alright. Daddy’s here. You’re safe.”
And then: “So… how’s my little baby slave doing? Does she need some water? Or is she ready for Daddy’s cock?”
She had begged him for water, and he had gently poured some into her mouth. She had murmured thank you, in her sweetest baby voice, and he had bestowed a long kiss on her forehead.