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One of Lo’s favorite films is Secretary. She had seen it the first time, as she says, when she was far too young to appreciate it — or understand its subtle psychological complexities. But, years later, with me, after engaging in her own deep, dark psychological play-house, we watched it together and it all made sense — like a blurry picture suddenly coming into sharp focus.

Well, luckily for my little masochist, I happen to have an office of my own where she and I can live out her sadomasochistic seduction scenes. As it happens, my office is on the third floor of a busy city square. It looks out over the throngs of people coming this way and going that, waiting for the bus, entering and exiting the train, hopping into taxis, getting food, and generally bustling and bounding all about. Slightly above the orchestra of this stage with its many players is a large, eight-story office building across from my office. Looking out my window, I can see not only the busy street-scape, but also the office workers on the second and third floors of the tower.

On the second floor, I suppose it is some sort of investment company (I’ve never taken the time to investigate this) because the diligent employees sit in rows before large computer screens all day and on Fridays they come out on the balcony at lunch time — every Friday — to make a small barbecue on a hibachi grill. This intimate and regular ritual of theirs — and the fuss that they make over it — leads me to suspect that they don’t get out too often.

On the third floor, the office life is not nearly so interesting. I never see anyone milling about; just dark shadows occasionally passing by the small windows. From my office, I don’t have a view into the fourth floor windows, though, no doubt, they can spy upon me if they so choose.

Hopefully this sets the scene for what is about to play out:

One Friday afternoon as I was daydreaming in front of my computer — looking out the window, watching the people below, appreciatively taking in the preparations being made for the weekly barbecue and almost growing jealous of the possibility of camaraderie among office-mates, my phone beeped with a text. It was Lo. It read: “Got out of work early. Want you. Can I stop by your office?” Along with the text was a picture of her naked snatch. Another text came on the heels of the first: “I’ve been a bad girl.”

I texted back, “Are you prepared to be punished?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“When will you be here?”

“10 minutes.”

I eagerly anticipated her arrival.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on my door and the little metal slot for the mail swung open and I could see Lo’s beautiful brown eyes peeking into my office, hoping to catch a glimpse of me engaged in a naughty indiscretion.

“Come in, it’s open,” I called out from my room as I swiveled in my leather executive chair. In popped a lovely vision — Lo dressed in a short black skirt and a white blouse. She walked through the reception room to my office. She stood awkwardly for a moment, awaiting a command.


She sat.

“What have you done?”

“I was bad.”

“I know that. What have you done. . . exactly?”

“I couldn’t wait, Daddy. I used the storage room at work and, and I. . .” She trailed off as she slowly lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal her pantyless pussy to me. “Why don’t I show you, instead?” She put her fingers between the glistening lips and gently slid them back and forth as she lifted her legs up and placed her bare feet on the edge of the chair.

“Lo,” I said in my stern voice. “This is an office, a place of business, a place where I receive clients and mail and occasionally colleagues walk in.”

“I know, Daddy. I’m so bad.”

“Did you lock the door?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Get up.”

She got up.

“Bend over.”

She bent over, resting her hands on the chair and exposing to me her bare bottom.

WHACK! One. WHACK! Two. WHACK! Three. I spanked her bottom and each slap of my hand on her flesh was like the sound of lighting striking and it reverberated through the office. I wondered if people in the hall or my neighbor in the office next door — a therapist, no less — could hear. I didn’t care and neither did Lo. In fact, I think she rather liked it.

“Owe, Daddy!” she said, rubbing her bum.

I pulled the skirt down again. “Sit down,” I said, sternly. She sat. “Now Lo, I have to deliver this letter to the post office. It is very important that it go out today.”

“But Daddy,” she began to say. I kept talking over her pouting.

“I have to mail this out now. You stay here and be a good girl. Can you do that?”

She nodded a meek Yes.

“If anyone comes by looking for me, you tell them you’re my secretary and that I will return presently.”

She nodded again.

I left with the letter. The post office is very close by and it took me no longer than ten minutes to post it. When I returned, I could already hear Lo moaning from down the hall. I opened the mail slot and looked in. There she was in the reception room on my couch, lying on her back, legs spread, skirt hiked up over her torso, her hands frantically feeling between her legs. I went to open the door, but it was locked. I pulled out my keys and unlocked it and barged in.

“Lo!” I said, quick to shut the door behind me!


I expected her to jump to attention, but instead she told me to wait. To wait?

And then there it was — she came, squirting on the leather of my couch.

I walked to the utility closet and pulled out paper towels. “Clean it up,” I commanded. Abashed, she obeyed.

“Lo, you were a very, very bad girl.”

“I know, Daddy. I’m horrid. But I couldn’t wait for you.”

I raised my finger to show that I wasn’t interested in an explanation.

“I have some more work to do. I have to write an e-mail. You sit here and await your punishment.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And for God’s sake, don’t masturbate!”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I went into my office and began composing the business e-mail I had to send out. I was only a few sentences into it when I heard, “Daddy, much longer now?”

“I’m done when I’m done.”

A few more sentences and I heard something curious from the reception area. I looked through the doorway and Lo was again on her back, her spread legs toward my door, her fingers thrusting deep into her pussy.

I shut my door and continued writing. When I was done, I got up and said, “I will see you now” to Lo as if she were a client. She had just finished cleaning up her second round of ejaculate. She walked slowly and furtively into my office.

“Bend over.”

She bent over, resting her hands on the chair and exposing her bare bottom.

WHACK! One. WHACK! Two. WHACK! Three. WHACK! Four. A well-deserved spanking. The last whack was harder than all the rest. “Owe, Daddy!” she said, rubbing her bum.

“On your knees.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I unzipped my pants and let them down just far enough to drop my junk out and over the fly. Lo inched closer, her hungry mouth open.

“You have permission.”

She took me in her mouth and did her magic. Within moments she was struggling to get all of my shaft down her throat as I grew in her wet and warm mouth.

After I decided she had had enough, I commanded, “Up.”

She stood up.

“Get naked.”


“You heard me. Get naked.”

She shook her head, No.

“Do you want to be spanked again?”

She shook her head, Yes. . . rapidly.

“Then get naked and bend over.”

She reluctantly obeyed, unbuttoning the buttons on her white blouse slowly, one-by-one. She then removed her white lace bra. She slid out of her little skirt and she stood before me butt naked. “Bend over,” I almost whispered.

She went to bend over on the chair again, but I stopped her. “No, not there. There,” I said as I pointed to the window. She looked frightened at first, but she complied with her instruction. She rested her palms on the sill and she looked out the window — the window that announced to the world in large, six inch letters, my name! — as her breasts hung down and her face winced in pain with each spank that I gave her.

After a few good reminders of who is the boss, I then got on my knees and kissed her between the legs from back to front. She dripped down into my open mouth and she moaned with pleasure as I drenched her in wet kisses. She came twice and then I stood up and slowly inserted my shaft deep inside her as she continued to look out the window across the street at the stockbrokers huddling around their fire pit. Her eyes took in the whole scene — people waiting for the bus, people shopping, people walking here and there — and she wondered just how long it would be before one, two, or three of them noticed the brunet in the window whose tits are lunging forward in a rhythmical manner as she bends over, framed by the window, naked. Would it be like in the Superman movies where one calls out, “Look! Up there! It’s a sexy woman being fucked from behind by _____________________!” And they would insert my name based upon the logo on my window through which they saw the obscene visage.

But no, much to Lo’s relief and dismay, that didn’t happen. Not even the tech geeks across the street looked up or out long enough to notice anything strange happening. And so, as Lo realized that our being spotted was not likely, she eased into being ridden by me. More relaxed, her eyes drifted across the masses of people below her until she fixed her sights on one lovely blonde who was standing, waiting for the bus. It was a hot summer day and her blouse was unbuttoned, revealing a bulging breast. She wore a short flowing red skirt and was in heels. Perhaps she too had left work early and was eager to get home to masturbate, thought Lo. And as she was being fucked by me from behind, Lo constructed a whole fantasy of the woman with lovely legs and a shapely breast waiting for the 104 bus. Lo looked upon the woman intently and longed for her to look back. But the woman just kept on pacing and looking down the street for any sign of the 104. That was fine by Lo, for she enjoyed seeing her legs move and her hair fall as she peered into the street to see past the cars for her chariot.

Despite the A/C, I was working up a sweat and Lo was moaning and then calling out, “Yes, Daddy! Yes, Daddy!” again and again as she squirted all over my cock and dripped down the inside of her thigh to the carpet below. Just as she finally got out her last, and as her knees were about to buckle and go weak, the anonymous woman waiting for the bus looked up and caught an ever-so-brief glimpse of Lo, just at the peak of her orgasm as she grimaced with pain and pleasure. And then Lo was gone! Lying on the floor in a pool of her own cum, she caught her breath as she recovered.

“She saw me,” was all she could say.


I peeked out the window. I saw the woman. She looked up at me, knowingly. Her bus had finally arrived.

[From the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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