Turning the Tables

During my senior year in high school, I worked part time as a receptionist in a nearby office. It was fairly mindless work but kept me in the most fashionable of panties and soon proved to be an excellent source of amusement. I had worked†there for over a week before I actually met the amusement himself.
†††† Bursting into the office one Monday morning as was my usual fashion, I came face to face with the infamous Mr. X. During our brief introduction, it was quite obvious that the poor man was rather taken with me. Little did he realize exactly whom he was dealing with. In the days that followed I would smile to myself as I watched his eyes riveted to my cleavage, which is rather ample, to say the least.
†††† About a month or so later, the mouse had finally gotten caught in the trap, for during a little "office cleaning" (*sighs* curiosity always does get the best of me), I found a package of recently developed film. Apparently the elusive Mr. X wasn't quite as vanilla as I had thought. A plan forming, I placed the pictures back where I found them.
†††† The next day I sashayed into the office as usual. I smiled at my boss and wished him a good morning. His response was a bit grim.
†††† "Taylor, your work here has been excellent; however, your dressing habits leave a lot to be desired. The men in the office are not working as hard as they once did, as they spend half the day waiting for a glimpse down your blouse or a glance of your legs."
†††† I instinctively looked down and realized that I was, in fact, showing a lot of cleavage. At that point I looked him in the eye and proceeded to unbutton the rest of my blouse.
†††† "I happen to know for a fact some people in this room have a certain fondness for my breasts. I have other facts at my disposal regarding a certain someone's weakness for leather boots . . ."
†††† Mr. X looked shocked at my retort, and before his face could redden any more, I smiled and said, "Perhaps I should call you 'slave' instead of 'sir' from now on."
†††† From that moment on, he knew he was mine. Quite literally, as if I'd bought him off the auction blockócock, stock, and barrel. I told him to get to his feet and come lie across my lap. Clearly, a bare-bottom spanking was in order. He proceeded without hesitation, for it was obvious that I had seen all I needed to. As he came closer, I told him to drop his pants. I can still hear him pleading with me not to tell. But the noise was soon blocked out by the sound of my hand contacting his flesh.




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