The Boss (12 page)

‘Come back, then go in again as if you were trying to conceal your face.'

He meant as if I was wearing a hoodie and I used my jacket, taking it off and holding it around my head so that my face was deep within the black material. Again I stepped up to the big orange and black tag, peering to either side as if checking that the coast was clear, then turning to rejoin Stephen at the bottom of the steps.

‘Thank you. That should give us an idea of how the integrated system functions. Let's walk a little further, then check the results.'

We moved on along the path as far as the end of Foulds', and I found myself glancing in among the bushes where Martin and I had had sex. I hadn't heard from him since, making me wonder if I was just a conquest to him and if he'd moved on, which hurt a little despite my determination to keep any relationship between us casual.

Twice more Stephen had me do things to check if the cameras would capture my image, then we headed back to the warehouse. He went immediately to the office, sitting down in front of his computer and apparently quite happy for me to join him instead of staying at my desk.

‘OK, let us see what we have . . .'

He trailed off, manipulating his mouse to bring up the relevant image. The picture was absolutely clear, a section of roadway and the steps leading down to the river path. Each time somebody passed a ping announced the capture of a new face, which would then come up in a separate window along with an identification number. When we appeared two windows came up immediately, correctly identifying us from the database, but as we drew close to the camera our voices grew audible and embarrassingly clear. First was Stephen's.

‘You wouldn't be naughty, would you, Felicity?'

Then my reply.

‘I might be. OK, I'm not, but let's say I was. Let's say the cameras caught me doing something wrong and you saw the image before the council had got to it. What would you do?'

I heard his laughter, then he spoke again.

‘Well, unless you were actually murdering
somebody, I'd delete the image and then smack your naughty bottom.'

Our voices faded as we moved on, leaving me staring aghast at the screen. Stephen just laughed and shook his head, speaking as he once more began to move the cursor across the screen.

‘I think we had better delete that bit, don't you? It wouldn't do to have the council thinking we cheat, or that I spank you when you're naughty.'

I found myself going red again, but he seemed as oblivious as ever, quickly deleting the offending section and then moving on as I voiced a worry.

‘Might not Mr Phelps or somebody already have seen that bit?'

‘Very unlikely, given the sheer volume of data that's coming in. Also I doubt they've got the hang of the system yet, and Paul would certainly delete anything he thought might be difficult. In fact . . .'

He trailed off, frowning in concentration as he brought up a new window and tapped a code into a box. A list of numbers appeared, some of which had names besides them, followed by little square boxes. I watched as he ticked the first three boxes.

‘This is to remain strictly between us, Felicity, and I do mean strictly. You're not even to tell your mother. Do I have your word on that?'

‘Yes . . . of course.'

‘The original Korean system is designed to pick out faces in large crowds, a group leaving a factory, for instance, but there is also a facility to ignore certain faces. This is hidden, as only senior operatives need know about it, in this case, me. I've now adjusted the system so that in future you, myself and Paul will be ignored.'

‘Thank you.'

‘My pleasure. After all, imagine how embarrassing it would be if you were, say, to get caught short on the way back from Cuatro Cortado and be caught on camera too.'

He gave his dirty chuckle and I found myself blushing again, unable to fight down my instinctive response to his intrusive comments. If it had been Steve or Pete, let alone Dave, I'd have smacked him playfully, but hard enough to make my point. With Stephen I found myself tightening my thighs and imagining myself squatting down between the bushes beside Foulds' wall to pee, with him standing watching. First he'd suggested I be spanked, and now he'd made me think of peeing in front of him. Was there nothing too intimate for him to mention?

Despite that, it was impossible not to feel grateful for having my details taken off the database. I might still be caught on camera, but presumably I'd come up as an unknown, or simply missed in the crowd. It would still be dangerous to do anything really blatant, but otherwise I was safe. I also felt Stephen had made me one of the team, extending protection of a sort when he hadn't had to at all, which added a great deal of guilt to my feelings. He'd closed the window and spoke again as he sat back in his chair, now pensive.

‘Speaking of Cuatro Cortado, I er . . . do hope you didn't take my actions the other night in the wrong light. It was, um . . . simply that you were very drunk and I didn't want to take advantage of that, especially as you are my employee.'

I found myself swallowing as I answered, and wondering what he was getting at.

‘That's OK. In fact, I appreciate it. It was nice of you.'

‘Not at all, just what any gentleman would have done, but, um . . . I hope you won't be offended if I admit to a great deal of regret?'

‘No, not at all.'

Suddenly I was filled with hope. He wasn't gay at all, just rather shy beneath his brash, confident exterior. I waited for him to speak again, knowing it was one of those crucial moments that can lead either way. It was obvious what he wanted, but he seemed oddly hesitant, although after the way I'd propositioned him he could hardly think I was too innocent to cope with him making a move on me. The temptation to simply reach out and ease his fly down for him was considerable. Most men love a bold move and I was sure he'd let me, but with him I wanted it to be different, for him to take control. I could even guess what he wanted to do to me, and for all the feelings of embarrassment and resentment it brought it was impossible not to feel that it was exactly what I deserved. Finally he spoke again, suddenly intense.

‘May I ask if your feelings were genuine?'

‘I . . . I never fake it, not for anyone . . . that is, I hope you don't think I was coming onto you just because you're my boss or something, but . . .'

It was not easy to say, not easy to give in to all those contradictory feelings, and I could feel my face growing hotter as I went on.

‘. . . but, if you wanted, maybe, to be a bit . . . a bit stern with me, that would be OK.'

I'd done it, admitted my feelings, admitted how I wanted him to handle me, and from the look on his face I had a suspicion it might cost me rather more. He had nodded, very slowly, and when he spoke again all the old confidence was back in his voice.

‘I know what I'd like to do, Felicity. I'd like to spank you. Do you think that would be appropriate?'

He didn't know how appropriate, but even as he spoke I could feel my guilt draining away and my tummy starting to flutter. I managed a feeble nod, with one motion surrendering myself to what would have been an unthinkable indignity in any other circumstances, and to pain, but I simply couldn't stop myself. He smiled, perhaps understanding my emotions better than I did myself, because something told me this was not the first time for him, not by a long way. Not that he understood me completely, or the extent to which I deserved what I was about to get. He patted his lap.

‘Come along then, my girl, over my knee.'

His tone had changed, sterner still and yet somehow playful. It was a game, in a sense, I knew that, a little ritual to express our emotions for each other. But that wasn't going to make my feelings any less genuine, only to make that essential change, to make the utterly unacceptable be acceptable because we both knew it was sex.

I stood up, my hands shaking badly as I folded them in my lap, wanting to make him happy by behaving the right way but unsure what to do beyond showing my submission. I hung my head, letting my hair swing down around my face, and my voice was soft and contrite as I spoke, words I could hardly accept I could say.

‘Yes, Mr English, sir. I'm sorry.'

He didn't know what I was sorry for, but it seemed to work, his answer as stern as before but with every word infused with erotic relish.

‘Sorry isn't good enough, I'm afraid, Felicity. What
you need is a good spanking, and I'm just the man to give it to you.'

As he spoke he had taken my arm, pulling me gently but firmly towards him. I came, unable to resist as he laid me across his knees, positioning my body so that I was forced to put my hands on the office floor to keep my balance. My whole body was trembling, with a part of me screaming to get up, to tell him what a pervert he was, to slap him or kick him even. I didn't. I lay mute and shivering across his knee as the tail of my jacket was turned up to leave my bottom pushed out into the seat of my skirt, the highest part of my body and feeling very vulnerable indeed. He took me around my waist, pulling me closer and holding me in place, then spoke once more.

‘I'm going to bare your bottom. I hope you realise that is necessary?'

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. My head was far too full of emotion, of burning shame and an overwhelming excitement, of fear of the coming pain and amazement at what I was allowing him to do to me. He seemed to understand too, or perhaps he could just feel me shivering against his leg, because as he went on there was a trace of sympathy in his voice as well as lecherous, sadistic glee.

‘I know it's a very important moment for a girl, her first spanking, which is why it should be done properly, by an expert. That means a bare bottom. Now, skirt up . . .'

His words sent a powerful jolt through me, and I shut my eyes as his fingers took hold of the hem of my office skirt, lifting it slowly, up over the tops of my stay-ups and higher. I felt the turn of my bottom
exposed, and more, the seat of my knickers, taut and pink over my cheeks, an image I could see so vividly it was as if I was standing behind myself rather than staring at a small area of orange carpet tile. Stephen gave a little chuckle.

‘Pink, how sweet, and full-cut. I do hate thongs, don't you? Full-cut knickers are so much more feminine, and so much nicer to pull down.'

He really was an utter out-and-out pervert, but I found his words filling me not with disgust, but with desire, albeit coupled with a vast sense of resentment. His hand settled on my bottom, big enough to cover most of the seat of my knickers. I swallowed hard as he began to touch, stroking, exploring me, with a loitering intimacy that had me shaking my head in reaction. Again he spoke.

‘Very pretty, and you do have a beautiful bottom, but enough messing about. Down they come.'

A sob broke from my throat at his words, so casual, as if pulling a girl's knickers down for a spanking were a perfectly ordinary, acceptable thing to do. Not for me it wasn't, my emotions rising to a near unbearable peak as he took a pinch out of the waistband of my knickers and slowly, deliberately began to pull them down. God knows, enough boys have taken my knickers down, but this was different. He wasn't just getting an inconvenient barrier out of the way, he was exposing me, baring me, to add to the pain and humiliation of my punishment.

I'd closed my eyes, unable to stop myself from concentrating on the feeling of having my knickers slowly drawn down over my cheeks and settled around my thighs. Now my bottom was bare, showing nude to a man, that man fully dressed as he held me down
across his knees, as he held me to spank me. Another sob escaped my lips at the thought of how I would look, with the sure knowledge that the lips of my pussy would be showing from behind to add one more thoroughly rude detail to my exposure.

Stephen made a final adjustment to my knickers, pulling them out from between my thighs so that he could see absolutely everything, then gave a satisfied sigh as he once more laid his big hand across my bottom cheeks, now flesh on flesh. He gave me a quick wobble, chuckled to himself at the sight and his hand lifted. I braced myself for the pain, trying to tell myself I'd be brave, but sure I'd bawl my eyes out.

It never came. His hand came down, but gently, little more than a pat, delivered full across my bottom but with surely no more than the tiniest fraction of the force he had to be capable of. It still gave me an immense jolt of shame and resentment and unstoppable erotic pleasure, just to know that I was actually being given a spanking for the sake of a man's pleasure, but that was all. Again he smacked, no harder than before, and again, setting up a slow rhythm, in time to the bouncing of my bottom cheeks, but never hard.

I still took it trembling and gasping, the thought that I was being given a spanking running over and over in my head, to provoke a dozen contradictory feelings, but above all, arousal. My bottom had begun to glow, in the most extraordinary, delightful way, making me feel dirty and desperately horny all at once. There was no inhibition either, the very fact that he had me bare bottom over his knee removing any trace. If a man could do that to me, it didn't matter what I showed him, how far I'd let myself go.

As he continued to spank me I started to stick my bottom up, sighing with pleasure and giggling. I let my thighs apart, stretching my knickers out and showing off between my legs and cheeks, my pussy and the tiny star of my bottom hole too. Still he spanked, a little harder now, making my flesh sting and filling me with the most glorious glowing sensation behind, but cool and collected despite having me writhing and wriggling my bare bottom across his knee.

He wasn't all that cool though. I could feel the lump of his cock growing against my side, his excitement rising at the pleasure of spanking me just as mine was rising at the pleasure of being spanked. Already I wanted him, to suck his cock while I was punished, or to have him put me over the desk and fuck me while he continued to smack my cheeks. I tried to wriggle back, eager to play, but he merely tightened his grip and began to spank harder, calling me a naughty girl as my cheeks began to bounce under slaps.