I look down at my boss trapping me on the pool lounger with her weight as she accuses me of looking in her bedroom while she was out of the house. It was an innocent and probably not unexpected act of curiosity. After all everyone keeps a few dirty magazines in their bedroom and what my unabashedly dominant boss would keep in her bedroom would be kinkier than most. I am quick to deny the accusation though, "I did not go into your bedroom. I just put on the swimsuit while you were gone, that's all." I maintain my most calm innocent demeanor and Bree gives me a bit more rope to hang myself with.
"So you didn't look in my drawers, my closet, or admire that picture of Dave hanging in the suspension swing?"
"No! Who's Dave?"
"A friend of mine, but I think you saw enough to answer that question when you were poking around in my room."
I stick to my guns. "I wasn't!"
She has an evil glint in her eye, but apparently is willing to let me fool her. "Okay, because you could get in deep trouble if you were digging around in my clothes...but if you say you weren't... ." She suddenly gets up and stands over me. I guess play time's over. She changes the subject, "Come upstairs, I have something to show you."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I get up to follow her, "What is it?"
"You will have to come upstairs." At least I wasn't being accused of being a peeping tom anymore so I follow upstairs feeling like I had just dodged a bullet. It would ordinarily be fun to follow a big assed woman in a swimsuit up a flight of stairs, but in a skimpy swimsuit where I did not want to get a hard on and following a woman that had just accused me of digging in her underwear drawer, my mood for ogling Bree's ass was at a limit. She leads me into a small home office. It is surprisingly free of paraphernalia considering how her work office is decorated. She is using a trashbin with a picture of a very buff young man as an umbrella stand for several riding crops and bamboo canes and over her computer are black and white photographs of men being tortured by women. Definitely more tastefully decorated than her work office, but provocative by the standards of most. That is until she turns on the computer and I see her screensaver. There is a man's ass on the screen. it has been layered with so many whip marks that it was mainly a big bruise, but whoever did this did not stop. They kept going until they had cut into the skin and brought blood to the surface. I had heard that BDSM can get severe, but I had never seen anything so harsh. I gasp and she says, "You like that? Don't worry, Dear. I won't whip you that hard unless you get into deep trouble."
She snakes her hand behind me and traps me close to her presumably to see what is on the screen. I don't say anything about her hand holding my thigh. I am taken aback by the raw sadomasochistic picture and her warm body feels comforting. Of course, this is a rationalization, because Bree probably put the marks on the man's body herself. She clicks through the screen and opens a window. Then I see a video of myself in her bedroom checking her closet. Obviously she had a video camera on that I had failed to notice. She turns her office chair towards me and places her hand on my bare ass holding me in place between her thighs. She looks up at me with my cock nearly between her full breasts, but I feel like a little boy in front of the teacher. She challenges me, "So! You really want to tell me that you were not digging around in my bedroom while I was at the post office?"
I am trapped and I know it. She probably set up the situation knowing that I could not resist taking a sneak peek. I look down in shame, but she is beneath me. I look up and there is a picture of a man with a hood in a stock being whipped by a beautiful woman. I vainly look for someplace where I would not be reminded of sex, so
I just mumble, "No!"
"What is that? I didn't quite hear you." she challenges.
I speak up, "No, Ma'am. I should not have done it. I'm sorry. I just... ."
"You just what? Fantasize about me? Steal glances down my cleavage at work? Sneak into my bedroom when I am not home? You just want to have me put you across my lap and spank you hard?"
"No!' I exclaim. "I just...I just..."
"John, I have caught red-handed doing all of the first three. Why shouldn't I believe you wanted to be whipped raw like the boy on the screen? I think that is exactly what you want. I should just take this video down to your professor and have you expelled, tell human resources about what a pervert you are and have a mark put on your record."
I am tempted to strike back. Her calling me a pervert when she leaves all of her toys all over her office for everybody to see, dressing like a dominatrix from a porn film 24/7. I catch myself. That is not the right approach. She is right. She can have me expelled and place a black mark on my record so the semester being an intern would all be a waste. Four years in college a waste if I get expelled. I am young and I could start over, again, but I will never get these four years back. "No, I just...I just..."
She leans back and crosses her arms across her big breasts. Usually I would enjoy being a situation where I could somewhat innocently stare at her breasts, but now I don't want to look. I don't want to ogle a sexy body. I am so scared that my body shakes and I feel like either fleeing from her house in this almost naked swimwear or running to her bathroom to throwup. I gasp for breath as I have a panic attack. "You just...what?" she parrots calmly in control.
She's right. I have no conclusion to that sentence. Not one that is appropriate for Brimstone Bree, the toughest supervisor that I have ever had, the most demanding and unyielding, also the most forthrightly feminist intimidating men and putting herself forward as the ultimate bad ass, tougher than anybody else. What am I going to do? I have to get back in her good graces. There is no appropriate reply. I am finished ... unless I throw myself at her mercy. Tears start to well up in my eyes, honest tears of fear. "I'm just sorry, Bree. I shouldn't have done it. Look I will do anything. Just let this go and I won't do it again." I find myself falling to my knees in front of her as I continue blabbering on, "Please Bree, I know I have violated your privacy in ways that I shouldn't. You are my boss and I am only an intern here for a semester. Ignore this and I will be out of your hair in a few more weeks when the semester is over. Please," I beg, "Whatever it takes. I will work another ten hours a week." I am clenching my hands together like a supplicant at an altar begging for his life.
Bree's eyes hold almost as much anguish as mine do, but with an odd smile on her face as she reaches down and brushes my hair back in a tender way, catching a tear on her thumb and sticking it in her mouth as if she was licking some chocolate out of a mixing bowl, "Well, you are in deep trouble. You invaded my privacy and betrayed my trust. I will let you earn that back, but it won't be easy."
I grab onto the offer like a lifeline, "Anything Bree. Anything you want."
She smiles, an evil glint in her eye, "Anything I want? How about anything we both want? It is clear to me that you have been wondering what it would be like to date someone like me. It isn't easy. If you think I am demanding on the boys in the office, I am even tougher on my slaves."
"Slaves?" I ask a bit confused.
"Oh, you won't be my boyfriend, not anything close to it at first. You will have to earn that title and you may never get there. I will expect you to wait on me hand and foot. Clean my house, crawl when I say, 'Crawl.' Kneel when I say, 'Kneel'. You won't be allowed any excuses."
I look up at the plump woman. I am beneath her, so close that my nostrils detect that she is a bit aroused. I am, too, but these demands sound extreme. "I dunno, Bree. Maybe we just shouldn't see each other outside of the office."
She turns to the keyboard and places her hand on the enter button as if she could send the file by simply hitting return. I know better, but the message is clear. She threatens, "...Or I could send this video to Human Resources and let them deal with it."
She has me over a barrel and I know it. it is a barrel of my own making, plus the thought of seeing where this leads sends tingles up my cock. I hurriedly say, "I'll do it, Bree. Whatever it takes."
She turns back and says, "I thought you would see the benefits of my solution, John. You will regret it...some days, but mostly, you will love it. From now on call me, 'Brimstone'."
"Brimst...? I thought you didn't like that nickname." I say.
She explains, "Do you think anybody would dare call me that if it upset me. I overheard an intern calling me that a few years ago and I decided to keep it. Did not keep him though, a shame. He was like you, young and cute, but not the right attitude. You will do better."
She pats my head, "You see, you are already learning. Since you are in the proper place. Let's formalize this agreement." She turns on a digital camera and aims it at my face. I still have that bikini on, but kneeling and it being so small, I doubt that anybody watching a video would think I was anything but a naked scrawny boy. She asks with practiced rote as if she had vows written out ahead of time. "Do you agree to be my slave from now on and forevermore? Say, 'Yes, Brimstone.'"
"Will you be obedient to everything I ask without question or hesitation?"
"Will you accept any punishments that I deem appropriate for your training and maintenance as a slave?"
"Will you no longer invade my privacy at inappropriate times and only masturbate when instructed to and with my permission?"
"Will you wear the attire that I choose and introduce yourself as my slave in public to anybody who asks?"
This thought hits me as a bad as a punch to the stomach. Calling myself her slave in private would be pleasurable, but letting people know in public was not something I was ready to deal with. I hesitate, "I don't..." Her hand goes to the keyboard and hovers over the "enter" key. The calculation is easy, be embarrassed as a legal pervert or be embarrassed as an illegal one, "Yes, Brimstone."
"Good boy. I hereby declare you my slave." She turns off the camera and sets it down on her desk, "But you are still in deep trouble. You did look where you were not supposed to look without my permission. You need to have your ass whipped. Choose a riding crop." She points to the bin and I think of the ass of the man on the screen with the harshly bruised bottom. I don't know if I want to know what she will do to me for being in 'deep trouble'. "Hesitating, already?" she asks, "Choose a cane instead and don't make me wait." I grab a cane, probably a worse option, but it can only keep getting worse. She pats her wide maternal lap and says, "Ass up." For the first time, I lay across her lap to receive training.