The Black Book

Mr. Grant

"Get in here. Now."

Click.
It's the only thing said over the phone. Your heart lodges itself in your throat as you quickly stand up.

You've worked for Mr. Grant for a month now. At first, he just seemed like a very focused, quiet individual - and he is all of those things - but now you realize he's also a perfectionist, completely weird with a strange sense of humor... and a gorgeous face. A gorgeous body too.

And that's the hardest thing. He is extremely good-looking with a voice that sends a shiver up your spine. When he's annoyed and adopts a low tone to his voice, it does things to you.
It seems like he knows it too. He always stands close behind you, gritting through his teeth about how the air conditioning unit has a different temperature in the front reception room, two degrees higher than it should be. 'It's fall!' you want to bite back at him. But you need this job, you actually really enjoy your job, and when he's not being a particular little shit, he's a great boss.
When he's in these little moods, though, he's a picky asshole. He's frightening. He's also kind of strange. He's someone you would want to be dominated by in more ways than one. How the fuck can you feel so many opposing thoughts about one person?

You're taking too long to walk down to his office now. You pick up your pace and stop straight at his door. Even though your footing is barely audible, he seems to know when you're there.

"Get in here!"

You run in and stand in front of his desk, hands folded together in front of you.

He's standing over a pile of papers at the end of his desk, a piece of furniture that is as long as he is tall. It's heavy. You slowly look up and see that he's already staring at you; frosted eyes staring right through you.
'Shit', you think to yourself, 'I've ruined it. I've really fucked it up now.'

He takes long strides over to you, every move calculated and tense.
"How can someone fuck up as much as you." Every word out of his mouth is low, almost hissed between perfect teeth. You're frozen in place as he walks around to stand behind you, his breath on your neck.

Now you're terrified. And turned on. Shit. The worst mix.

He shoves a piece of paper and a pen on the desk, right in front of you. "I want you to write a memo right now. A memo to yourself."

Confused but not wanting to do anything to set him off, you shuffle close to the desk and lean down.
"No."
Frowning for a second, you look over your shoulder at him.
"Position yourself as you were just before."
Biting your lip, you turn back and take a little step back and lean over the piece of paper. Your lips are dry and sore from you worrying it with your teeth. You get ready to write and swallow the lump in your throat.
"I'm ready, sir."
"No... no, you're not." You hear something very different in his voice; it's the tiniest change, but you notice.
"Write 'I will not fuck up again', and read it aloud to me as you write it. Continue writing it until I tell you to stop."
You nod quickly and start writing. "I.. will not.. fuck up again. I will not.. fuck up again..."
You write it down four times, getting faster as you go along, a part of you wanting to show him you will not fuck up ever again.
"I will not FUCK-"
You hear a sharp sound and feel a sting across your ass instantly. A raw, pricking sting about the size of a hand. You turn your head and look over your shoulder again, every hair on your body on end as you stare at Mr. Grant. Your boss.
His ice-blue eyes stare back at you, face relaxed but void of all emotion.

"I didn't say stop."

That hard lump has come back to your throat and you swallow it down again, turning your head back to the paper in front of you once more. A hard line is drawn straight across the page. You lick your lips and start again, your voice a little breathier than usual and you want to wish it away.. almost.

"I will not fuck ah-!" Another sharp sound and sting, you close your eyes and try not to close your legs.

"You're not concentrating. Concentrate."

Oh, he sounds so, so good. You focus on the paper in front of you and continue echoing the sentence you are writing, ignoring how incoherent you start to sound, how awful your writing looks. You embrace every spanking as they come. Your legs are starting to feel weak and you realised you've tilted your ass up ever-so-slightly into his actions. Every spanking is pushing your body forward; he's gripping your ass quickly each time his hand comes down to it. He alternates between your left side and your right, you hear his breath escape him softly every time his hand connects with your ass; like it's taking every bit of energy he has to spank you.
You can't take it much longer and you hope he just keeps going. You've given up on writing your lines but you continue to say them aloud, trying to say them as evenly as you can as you awkwardly grip the desk.
You're able to see his faint reflection in the window behind his desk. You make a noise as you look at his face. A stray salt n' pepper curl is flung over his forehead and into his eyes; eyes that are now just aching for something with his perfectly sculpted jaw hung open. He's enjoying this just as much as you - maybe even more.
You're holding onto the desk as if you might fall if you let go, your hands leaving perfect sweat marks on the polished wood. You arch your back and there, right there, you feel the sudden jolts from between your legs, your lips swollen and aching as you get closer. You continue staring at him in the reflection as he at your ass. You know you're wet, you feel it soaking starting to leak down but you don't care because you're so fucking close..

He stops.

Your eyes snap open and you stay perfectly still. Glancing into the reflection of the vase, you watch him as he pants softly before clearing his throat, slowly fixing his suit and his hair. You can feel yourself trembling, a complete fucking mess as he calmly moves around his desk and takes a seat and fix the papers on his desk.

Did this just happen? Did this all happen? You continue staring at him, your clothes and hair a mess, still unable to get back to slow, even breathing.

"Now, I need you to put that in the internal filing system." He calmly murmurs, voice back to its usual soft and slow pace. You're confused for a moment before you remember he means the garbage.

Still in disbelief, you don't move until he looks up at you with those eyes. You suddenly stand up straight and duck your head, curling a strand of hair behind your ear as you take a step back then turn around, walking out the door and gently closing it behind you.

You're not throwing the memo out.