Caught In the Act by Seychelle
Caught In the Act
With the air conditioning broken down for the past week, the September heat was oppressive in Expression Fashion's building, even after normal working hours; Cathy thought it enough to tempt anyone to break the rules to find relief. Or so she told herself, making her way up the stairwell, her footsteps echoing into the darkness above and below; it would be quicker to use the lift, but the guards in the foyer, who knew she was staying late, would see the lift numbers betray her ascent to the top floor - and the executive washrooms, with their showers.
Cathy looked to her left and right as she made her way along, locating the door to the women's washroom with a sigh of relief and pushing it open. She ran her hand up the wall and found a switch, flooding the room with light.
The washroom was large, with full-length mirrors, a row of sinks with expensive-looking gold fittings lining one wall, and stalls lining the other. The changing room and showers were through swinging doors in the third wall.
The changing room itself was small, covered in salmon-pink tiles, and devoid of furniture except for another huge mirror and a low bench. Once again she hesitated, as if intimidated by where she was. But then she gave a little shrug and began to strip off her clothes; her skin felt attached to the insides of her blouse and slacks as she peeled them off, and she sighed as she unhooked and cast off her bra and peeled off her tights and knickers.
Naked, she paused to examine herself in the mirror. She was small in stature, no more than five-foot-four, with a slim, proportioned figure; sessions in the tanning parlour had blessed her with a decent, all-over colour. Her breasts were like ripe oranges, firm and round with no hint of sagging, her nipples circular buttons that rose enticingly when aroused. Below, her body tapered to a slim waist before curving out again to her hips. Her belly was flat, and below it, a dark, trimmed triangle steepled her thighs. She raised her head to stare into her own eyes, deep brown chestnuts which matched the dark and wavy hair hanging down to her shoulders. Then she shook her head; she was wasting time.
As an afterthought, she took her clothes and set them on the counter beside the washroom sinks; no need to get them wet with steam. Then she returned, pulled open the shower cubicle door and stepped inside, switching on the tap and jumping as a warm spray sprang from the nozzle above her. Its caress felt exhilarating, and she moved beneath it, closing her eyes and revelling in the freshness of the water against her body.
There was liquid soap in a wall dispenser, and she squeezed a palmful into her open hand, sculpting it into a roseate lather before massaging it into her body. She raised her face to the spray, feeling the weariness wash from her along with the sweat and the suds. For a while she completely forgot who or where she was, content just to enjoy the refreshing sensation.
When at last she felt she'd had enough Cathy turned off the tap and stepped out from the steamy atmosphere of the cubicle into the changing room, shaking the excess drops from her limbs as she padded further into the washroom to retrieve her clothes.
The first thing she realised was that she had forgotten a towel.
The second thing was that her clothes were no longer there.
The third was that someone was. 'Enjoying yourself?'
With a start Cathy jumped back behind the swing doors. 'Who's that?'
A man's voice replied, 'My question to you. Come back out here.'
Cathy's pulse was racing, and she gasped for breath. 'Can I have my clothes first, please?'
'No. Now come on out, or I'll leave, lock the washroom door, and phone the police.'
'Please, no! I work here!'
He didn't seem to hear, or if he did, didn't care. 'Well, girl? What's it to be?'
Cathy would have considered her options - if there were any. Slowly she re-emerged from the changing room, hugging her breasts with one hand, her other hand flat over her groin as water continued to bead down her body to form puddles around her feet. She felt herself shivering, though not from the cold.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, green-eyed, sandy-haired, with a swooping, aquiline nose topping a neatly-trimmed moustache and beard. He was no guard; though minus his jacket, and with the sleeves of his turquoise shirt rolled up to his elbows, the rest of his suit looked to cost more than any guard would make in a month. His thin, colourless lips lifted at the corners with something like amusement, but not quite. 'Very nice.' Then he was all business. 'Who are you?'
'Cathy Madden, from Personnel.'
'Good, then I'll assume you'll know my name: Richard Kline.'
Cathy's jaw dropped, looking ready to faint. 'The Richard Kline? The Managing Director?'
'Yes, though you can call me "Sir." Understand?'
Cathy gulped. 'Yes, sir-'
'You are aware it's a serious offence for staff to use the executive facilities?'
'Yes, sir- it's just, it's been so hot, and I was working late-'
'That's no excuse, Miss Madden. Consider yourself unemployed.'
Cathy took a step forward, her hands still covering herself but her nudity temporarily forgotten. 'Please, sir, don't! I'll do anything to make it up to you!'
'I doubt that, Miss Madden.'
'It's true!' She pleaded with her eyes, wide and nearly tearful. 'Just ask.'
He seemed to consider it for a moment, his eyes boldly running up and down her trembling body. Then he nodded. 'All right, Miss Madden, you can assist me with some design decisions. But you'll find I'm not a man who asks, but commands, and expects unquestioning obedience. Follow me.'
She almost started after him, captivated by his compelling voice and presence, but stopped herself. 'Wait- what about my clothes?'
His emerald eyes burned into her. 'You won't need them. Now follow me; I'm not accustomed to repeating myself, either.'
The office was cool, its tiny, powerful air-conditioning unit making it a haven in the otherwise claustrophobic environment of the building. A huge, old-fashioned mahogany desk dominated the centre of the room, while the walls were filled with framed photos of past Expression triumphs on the catwalks of Paris and London. An expansive black leather couch supported one wall; clothes boxes were piled on its seats.
With brisk efficiency Kline strode behind his desk, to a small cabinet, opening a drawer and removing a small white cotton towel, throwing it to Cathy. 'Here, dry yourself off. I'll not have you ruin the prototypes.'
Cathy gratefully accepted the meagre towel, turning away to briskly rub herself down, fighting back the shivers. Despite her anxieties and embarrassments, she was curious. 'Prototypes?'
'For the new Dark Expressions line. None of the usual mainstream crap we've been producing; this is strictly For Adults Only. I need to see how they look and feel on a woman, before I approve them. Now throw me back that towel and turn around - slowly.'
Cathy understood what he wanted. Wordlessly she obeyed, forcing her hands to her sides while he scrutinised her naked body. She was trembling, but not as much as she expected, as if having convinced herself he just had business in mind.
And from his vivid stare and words, he seemed to like what he saw. 'Very nice. I like the way your nipples stand up.'
Cathy foolishly glanced down to confirm this; her nipples had hardened into tiny cherry buds. She looked up again, certain her face was just as red now. 'It's the air-conditioning-'
'Yeah, right.' He nodded to himself. 'You look to be a size 12; take that box at the bottom of the pile and open it. Let's go, girl: time is money, and you're wasting both of mine!'
She did so, driven by the urgency in his voice - but still paused at the sight of what awaited her in the box: a collection of skimpy black leather items with shiny silver attachments. Cathy was taken aback, looking up at him, her voice timid. 'Sir, do you mean I'm to wear these? In front of you?'
Kline sat behind the desk, eyes narrowed. 'Tell you what, Miss Madden: you can leave now, retrieve your clothes and return to your insignificant little job, and we'll forget about your indiscretion tonight. Or you can wear that outfit for me. Who knows? you might enjoy it.'
He gave her the option Cathy knew she didn't deserve. But with no small surprise on her part, she willingly returned to the contents of the box. She felt her jaw drop as she lifted into view what looked like a pair of skimpy black leather knickers - except these had barely enough material to cover her crotch, with only straps running around to cup her cheeks. She pulled them on: snug but comfortable. She noticed rings and catches along the sides, as on most of the pieces in the box.
Kline's voice reminded her of his presence. 'Each piece of the outfit can be attached to any other.' He made a show of glancing at his gold Rolex.
Cathy took the hint, and continued dressing. Not that there was much to actually wear; the hard part was fastening them onto herself: leather wrist and ankle cuffs, a thin harness that criss-crossed over her chest and seemingly served no purpose than to accentuate her breasts, and glossy knee-high boots. She stopped when she found the collar: also leather, lined with triple rows of square studs. Cathy held it in her hands gingerly, as if it might bite.
She jumped when Kline appeared behind her, retrieving the collar and working to fasten it around her neck. 'Something wrong, Miss Madden?'
'I- I-' She gulped; the collar wasn't as tight as she thought it would be. 'Do people really wear things like this, sir?'
'Oh, yes.' He smelled of cologne and whiskey, as his hands lightly stroked her bare shoulders, making her shiver uncontrollably. 'It doesn't suit everyone, of course; but you seem to agree to it. How does it make you feel?'
Cathy gasped, seeking the right words. The outfit should have made her feel humiliated, an object of degradation. Instead, she felt like an object of adoration. She was now more aware of her body, of every move she made, than in anything else she ever wore. 'Intense.'
She shuddered as his hands traced lines down her arms. 'And we've only just begun.' He moved to open another box on the couch. 'These go with the outfit, too.'
With unexpected eagerness, Cathy moved closer to see, her eyes widening at the various straps and switches, bars and even handcuffs. She watched Kline hum to himself as he perused the contents, as if selecting from the canteen sweets trolley, before lifting up a half-metre long riding crop. 'Best not to start you with the tawse or cat.' He handed it to her. 'What's this like?'
Cathy turned away as she held it in one hand, lightly testing it in the palm of the other, as if unsure of how much could hurt her. She cut the air, amazed at the sharpness of the sound it made. When she looked at Kline again, her modesty now cast aside, she murmured. 'I don't know. I like the feel of it, but-'
'-You don't like handling it yourself.' He nodded sagely as he reached out and hooked her wrist restraints together, before retrieving the crop. 'Maybe for you, it's better to receive than give. Bend over the desk.'
'What?' she squeaked.
'Haven't you ever been switched before?'
She swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a whisper. 'Not since I was a child - sir.'
'Well, from your actions earlier tonight, you're long overdue. Now... ' He pointed to the desk with the crop.
Cathy swallowed again, as an expectant hush blanketed the office. Aware she can stop this at anytime if she wanted, equally aware of the wetness dewing between her legs, she moved carefully over to the desk. Bent over until her bound hands clutched the other side and her nipples touched the desktop, her aching thighs now apart and exposed to the cool air and Kline's gaze, she became acutely conscious of her backside, how the harness straps lifted and displayed her cheeks. Her face burned, as much with excitement as embarrassment.
She jumped when Kline moved closer and delicately traced the tip of the crop down between her cheeks. 'Nervous, Miss Madden?'
Cathy gulped, nodding.
'Good. You should be.'
Cathy cried out as he struck her left buttock sharply, sending jolts through her body. She was more controlled the next time, biting her lip when he brought the crop down on her other cheek.
'Have to keep things balanced,' he explained wryly.
And the switching continued. Cathy knew the blows weren't strong enough to leave anything worse than a reddened backside for a few hours; it was the thrilling charge each strike sent through her body, charges which hardened her nipples and dampened her further. She'd gone silent, eyes squeezed, allowing the waves of pain-pleasure to build within her, the moist heat of her sex a sweet distraction that made her want to touch herself, or better yet, have Kline touch her.
And he did - but by replacing the crop with his large, steady hand, cupped to fit either of her proffered cheeks, while his other hand rested on the small of her back, as if she genuinely needed to be restrained.
The pressure of her climax was building, reaching the point of release, like a champagne bottle shaken, shaken until its contents were ready to burst forth-
Cathy cried out at the top of her voice when Kline's fingers reached between her burning cheeks to stroke the soaked, aroused outline of her sex.
That was when the guard burst in. 'Ms. Madden, what's wrong?'
'Shit!' she cried out in a spasm of exasperation, as both Kline and she straightened up, Kline shielding her body with his own.
But it was too late; the guard's jaw had dropped, and his face was ashen. 'Ms. Madden, I was just on patrol, and heard you shout-'
Still behind Kline, Cathy ran her still-bound hands over the sweat on her face, trying desperately not to lose her temper. 'Forget it, Mike. Everything's fine.'
'Yes, yes of course. Sorry.'
Kline waited until the guard closed the door behind him, before bursting out into a fit of laughter. He reached out to take Cathy in his arms, but she dodged him, unhooking her wrists and storming to the drinks cabinet.
He sobered up enough to say, 'Sorry about that, Cathy.'
She downed her whiskey in one go, then poured another. 'Idiot! I told you to lock that door before we started!'
Kline sauntered over and helped himself to a drink. 'Hey, it's your office.'
'Yes, and it's my game, too, and my rules, and you get paid well enough to play by them. You touched me too soon; I could have lasted another ten minutes.'
Kline looked sheepish. 'Sorry, you looked so tempting, bent over like that.'
'Easy for you to say; you don't work here. It'll be all over the building tomorrow: "Did you hear? The Managing Director was getting spanked in her office last night!"' She winced as she sat down, as much from the cool leather on her stinging cheeks as from the thought of the amount of gossip she'd just sparked for her staff.
Kline followed her, reclining against the edge of the desk. 'Like you said, they're your games. You don't have to play them.'
She shrugged. 'It's a tough job; I have to unwind somehow, and aerobics is so boring.' Then she leaned back and set her bootheels up on the desk, smiling beatifically.
Kline smiled back. 'See? I knew you'd see the funny side of it.'
Cathy looked up at him, still smiling. 'Actually, I'm smiling because I'm remembering what's in the other boxes - for you.'
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