Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bdsm

Marcia Fischer, Head of Accounting, hated having to work late. She had always prided herself on her efficiency; if there was more work to be done than usual she just buckled down and got it done—even if it meant skimping on her lunch hour—and was out of the office at 5:00 sharp every day.She had run the entire accounting department on the same principles, accepting no excuses or slacking off from her subordinates. She had thought of herself as ‘no-nonsense’—and hadn’t cared what anyone else thought. She’d assumed that her employers appreciated her seven years of zealous devotion to duty and would reward her accordingly.Until today.Earlier that week a memo had been circulated confirming the company’s long-rumored merger with SatCorp, a much larger corporation. The memo had gone on to reassure everyone that despite the change in management everything else would continue on as before.Hah , thought Marcia, her fingers flying over the computer keyboard.Her supervisor had taken her aside late that afternoon and asked—practically in a whisper, it now seemed to Marcia—if she would mind working late, just this once. It seemed that the financial data involved in the merger was hopelessly tangled up and Marcia, as Head of Accounting, was the only one who could untangle it and we’re really under the gun here and you do understand, don’t you? Marcia, seething inwardly, had managed to smile and agree, with an appearance of graciousness.Thank God. Oh, I’ll untangle it, you bet , thought Marcia.They had no idea just how tangled things had been. Marcia sincerely doubted that they had noticed one particular flow-chart: the one illustrating how much the newly merged companies would save by eliminating certain redundancies.Such as Marcia’s entire department.A strand of Marcia’s shoulder-length black hair came loose from its clip at the back of her neck and hung in her face. She blew at it impatiently as she continued to type, but when it refused to get out of the way she stopped and with a huff of impatience trapped it under the clip again. No nonsense , she thought grimly, and bent over the keyboard again.She was doing what she’d been asked to do. Just not quite the way they expected.It had taken hours—it was now practically midnight—but now all of the financial data was completely organized. It was a thing of beauty, thought Marcia–almost like a symphony; each department a bold theme surrounded by the dancing melodies of cash-flow. Hundreds, thousands of them; a dazzling display.So dazzling, in fact, that surely no one would ever notice one lowly ostinato in her composition. Not much more than a steady, pulsing beat, really: a penny here, a decimal point there—a counterpoint to each and every transaction the joined companies would ever make in the future, flowing directly to an account she had set up in Barbados.Which was where she planned to retire—in, say, a month or so. Whenever management got up the almanbahis nerve to break the news that Marcia and her department were, regrettably, no longer needed. She planned to have no regrets.Almost done. Pull this file over here; bury that line of credit under there. Just a few more keystrokes and… Marcia had a sudden vision of herself at a podium, raising her baton to begin the performance of her magnum opus—and nearly began to giggle, something she hadn’t done since junior high school. She brought herself up sharply. No nonsense! She rubbed her eyes wearily then checked her work one more time. Then once more. Satisfied at last that there was not the slightest hint of any flaw that could give her away, she raised her hands from the keyboard, pointed one finger downward…and hit ‘Enter’. Her symphony had begun.A few seconds later, however, a message window appeared on her computer screen. It read: Barbados IS lovely, Ms. Fischer. Perhaps they’ll let you put up a travel poster in your jail cell.Marcia recoiled from the screen in horror. No! Who…?Additional words appeared: CEO Suite. Now.Marcia had taken the elevator to the top floor many times for meetings but this time the ride seemed both glacially slow and much too fast to allow her to marshal her thoughts. Who was it? What would happen to her? What possible explanation could she come up with to prevent being arrested, never mind fired? Think , she told herself. Think!The elevator opened on the top floor and Marcia stepped into the world of top-level management: spacious, richly carpeted rooms; tastefully expensive furnishings and a subtle fragrance she sometimes thought of as ‘the sweet smell of success’. The CEO Suite, like a royal throne room, was at the opposite end of the floor so that supplicants to power would have to travel the maximum distance and have plenty of time to consider their own insignificance—as Marcia was doing at that very moment.She knew everyone on the Board of Directors, of course, at least to say hello to, and as she approached the elaborately carved doors leading to the suite her mind whirled with possibilities. The actual CEO was out of town, she was pretty sure, conducting the final negotiations of the merger. So were most of the board members. Then who? Only one way to find out, girl , she told herself. Get on with it .She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and knocked on the door, firmly, before opening it and stepping inside.To find herself confronting a complete stranger.He was seated at the CEO’s desk with a portable laptop in front of him. He looked up as Marcia entered and she had the additional shock of discovering that he appeared to be nearly the same age as she, or possibly a little older, in his early thirties at most. But she had no doubt that he belonged there.Despite his boyish, curly brown hair and liquid, almost innocent-looking dark eyes there was an unmistakable aura of power almanbahis yeni giriş about him and his first glance seemed to go through her defenses like an x-ray. She felt that in that one instant he had already considered and thrown aside any possible explanation she might have to offer. Still, she kept her spine straight and walked up to the desk with deliberate steps.He rose from his chair and greeted her with an ironic bow of the head as she approached.“Ms. Fischer.” His voice was low–iron wrapped in velvet, and it unnerved her. She began to speak before she was ready, three different speeches crowding into her mouth at once, and she found herself stuttering incoherently. He held up his hand to silence her.“Please. First of all, allow me to introduce myself: John Narducci–president, CEO and owner of SatCorp, which pretty much makes me your new boss. And yes, to answer your unspoken question, I am rather young to be holding such an exalted position. But since I founded the company no one seems to mind.“Second—we both know what you were doing, Ms. Fischer. I’ve been watching your screen for hours. I suspect I even know why, and I can’t really say that I blame you under the circumstances. Your supervisor, and his supervisors, were very careless indeed, and I can promise that they’ll be unemployed well before you are.“Which brings us back to the purpose of our meeting, doesn’t it? What are we to do with you, Ms. Fischer?”He fell silent and leaned back in his chair. Once again his gaze locked on hers. But it seemed to Marcia that it felt different this time. Less like an x-ray…and more like a laser beam.“You’re very intelligent and obviously quite resourceful, Ms. Fischer—two qualities that are rare enough so that I’d hate to lose you as an employee. Still, there is the matter of your little juggling act…”He paused again, and this time, it seemed to Marcia that his glance flicked quickly up and down the length of her body before he continued, “Do you think you can undo everything you’ve done?The question caught Marcia completely by surprise, but she forced herself to remain calm and not speak until she had thought out her reply. “Ye-esss,” she said slowly, not daring to hope. “It would take some time, but…”“You have one hour.” He glanced at his watch then back up at her before scooting his chair back from the desk. He remained seated but indicated his laptop with a wave of his hand, then arched an eyebrow at her as if to say, yes or no, Ms. Fischer?Marcia stared at him in disbelief. A test, obviously… but an impossible one. It had taken her hours—there was no way she could… Unless…A series of patterns formed in her head then superimposed themselves onto her original design. If the data could be gathered into larger groups and then reformatted…She was mumbling to herself, almost forgetting where she was as she hurried around the desk. She glanced quickly at Narducci to almanbahis giriş see if he would give her his chair but when he failed to rise simply stepped between him and the desk and bent over the laptop, her hands leaping to the keys. All right, let’s work backwards…transfer funds back to the company, close the account… Damn it, what’s the account number? Right: 975-87264…There was a sudden, shocking pain on the right cheek of her behind, accompanied by a loud crack, jerking her upright. He had slapped her on the ass!She whirled to face him, her eyes blazing. “What the hell do you think you’re…”She stopped. He wasn’t looking at her—he was looking at his watch. When she fell silent he glanced up at her, his eyes questioning, and Marcia understood: He was making up the rules and she could either play by them or take the consequences. She glared at him for an instant then turned and bent over the keyboard again.  975-87264-40056. Never mind about closing the account, just get the funds back, drag this file over here, come on, come on, move! Alright, now Accounts Payable—start with office supplies, how much was I…The second blow fell on her left cheek, harder than the first. She grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands, her head jerking back, her breath hissing through her teeth. Christ, that hurt! She stamped her foot, hard, and forced her attention back to her task. Put that decimal point back where it was before…Another blow, followed immediately by another, one on each cheek. Waves of pain that seemed to rise, tingling, up her spine like the mercury in a thermometer. She wrenched her mind away from what her body was experiencing and focused on the numbers. She would show him. Let him slap her ass… he can kiss it for all I care, she thought grimly, placing her hands firmly back on the keyboard.After a while, by dint of enormous concentration she succeeded in imagining that her mind was separate from her body; that the slaps and accompanying pain were distant distractions, like a noisy office, irritating but possible to ignore for someone with real powers of concentration. She was utterly focused. She was making real progress. She just might make it!She was startled for a moment when she felt his hands on her hips, tugging her backward, but quickly realized that he wanted her bent over further and thought, fine—whatever. She took a step backwards–then another, at his urging—without missing a single keyboard stroke. She was now bent over the desk at a nearly 45-degree angle, and she didn’t give a damn.Not, at least, until she felt him lifting her skirt.She couldn’t help it; her hands clenched into fists above the keyboard and she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. Not because she cared whether he swatted her behind through two layers of clothing or one, but because of what he was about to discover. As she felt her skirt being bunched up over her hips and heard his sharp intake of breath she saw in her mind’s eye what she knew he was seeing……That beneath the skirt of her conservative, navy-blue pin-striped suit, Ms. Marcia “No Nonsense” Fischer was wearing stockings, a garter-belt and red, lacy, high-cut panties.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32