Under Her Thumb - Sex Stories

Under Her Thumb

... log on to my computer. I am halfway through my mail when Ms. Pennington plants herself in front of my desk. Paying the price ‘Follow me.’ The look on her face is frightening. I follow her to an unoccupied wing of the building where formerly the dispatch center was housed before they moved it to the new warehouse facilities. She takes me through the former print room into a large file storage room that I didn’t know existed. It is bitter cold inside. The metal racks are mostly empty, just the odd carton box here and there. Ms. Pennington locks the door with a key, then turns to me and shoves me against the wall with a violent thrust of both her arms. I scramble to keep myself from stumbling. My back hits the wall hard and the wind is knocked from my lungs. ‘See what you got me into?’ She is hissing the words under her breath. Rage is fuming from her eyes. ‘I told you to write it down. But no, Mr. Einstein here thinks he needs no notes. I’ll make you pay for that, Peterson.’ She steps to the wall rack in the back of the room and pulls out a large metal box from the bottom shelf. She puffs and groans as she lowers it to the floor. It is secured with a large padlock, which she opens with a key from her key ring. There is the sound of metal against metal as she rummages through the box, the contents of which I am unable to make out as she is squatting before it. She gets up and walks back to where I am still grabbing the wall for support. She is holding two handcuffs in one hand ...

... and a long thin bamboo cane in the other. ‘Get your clothes off!’ ‘W-what are you going to do?’ The cane whips across my right thigh and I jump, electrified by the burning pain. ‘Get your clothes off!’ ‘B-but… it’s c-cold in here.’ The cane explodes on the side of my head. ‘Get – your – clothes – off.’ With trembling fingers, I undo my tie and unbutton my shirt. I hesitate at my boxers, but she my hip with her cane and they come off in a rush. I stand before her naked, shivering. She throws me the handcuffs. ‘Put these on. One on each wrist.’ Prodding me in the side with the tip of the cane, she directs me towards a small high window in the corner of the room. When I am standing beneath it, she orders me to raise my arms. She fastens the handcuffs to the iron bars that protect the window from intruders. ‘Spread your legs.’ I obey, trembling both from cold and fear. She steps up to me so close her breasts are pressing against my chest. Her mouth is over mine and she is breathing into it. There is a trace of garlic on her breath. Suddenly I feel her warm hand on my groin. She cups my balls, stroking them lightly, then lifts my shriveled dick and rubs it against her belly. Her tongue is outlining my lips while my cock slowly grows in the palm of her hand. She pulls the foreskin back and starts to jerk me off with long slow strokes. My nervousness dissipates as a glowing warmth takes hold of my body, emanating from my groin. Suddenly, Ms. Peterson steps back and the cane slashes ...