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She gets caught in the middle of a gang war.

I heard his footsteps retreating and cautiously tested my bonds. The knot was tight but loosening. I considered running, but I argued with myself that being caught trying to get away might make matters even worse, and besides, I couldn't deny that part of me actually wanted to stay. His footsteps soon returned and with a gruff "good girl" he took away the notepad I'd been keeping in place. I relaxed my neck and tried to take a small step away form the wall, but his hand on my back kept my toes against the baseboards.

"Now Sara," he said in a tone of barely controlled anger, "How do you think we can get you to remember to keep a professional attitude while you are here?"

Shaking my head, I gave a little shrug. "No suggestions?" he asked sarcastically and I cringed, but stayed quiet. "I think I know how..." he muttered roughly as he pressed himself against my back and bound hands, pushing me against the wall, and his hands grabbed roughly at my sides, digging painfully into my waist. I was only able to give out a small shuddering gasp. He pulled away and locked his hand around the back of my neck, then moved me to stand in front of a nearby desk.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly from behind me. I nodded dumbly, and before I knew what was happening he pushed my chest down onto the glass tabletop. He untied his belt and brought my arms across the desk, then tied my wrists to the top of the table-leg with the phone cord dangling there. It was tight enough for me to feel the plastic cutting into my skin, and the tiniest struggle hurt sharply. He gave a deep sigh as he slowly lifted up my skirt.

"Please..." I whimpered

"That's good," he replied, "beg me for it."

It was then that I realized the trouble I was really in. It would be eight o'clock in the morning before anybody else would be coming to this building. He had the place to himself for hours...

"Please," I foolishly repeated.

"Such a good girl..." he muttered.

I didn't know what else to do or say, so I focused my attention on him. He stood behind me, his large hands pressing into the curves of my body as he rubbed my waist and hips. He dropped to a knee behind me and lifted my skirt further up, running his hands over my ass and thighs, kneading the flesh and making me squirm. Sighing, he rose to his feet and moved to stand at my side. Over my shoulder, I could see him taking in the scene. His eyes moved from me to the office around us. He was taking a moment to enjoy the extra lubricity of defiling the place we both work, and so I did the same.

Without warning, he brought his hand swiftly down on my bottom, making me shriek and jump up on my toes. The phone cord cut into my wrists as I tried to jerk away. Burying his hand in my hair, he leaned close to my face and asked incredulously "You're not trying to pull away from me, are you?"

"No, Sir," I whispered.

His reply was to push my face down into the desk. Then he started really spanking me, hitting the same few spots over and over. I screamed, but it was long past closing time for most businesses so I knew no one would hear me. My haunches were taught with the strain of maintaining the position he forced me to hold and it made his hand hurt even more with each slap. Finally, the need to escape overwhelmed everything and I buckled my knees. I scooted sideways on the desk and pressed into his legs because it was the only direction in which I could move.

Roughly, he shoved me back into position with a guttural grunt, pushing my chest painfully into the unyielding desktop. Clasping the back of my neck with one hand he continued spanking me even harder than before. I tried to move away again, but my strength was long exerted and useless against the weight holding me down. His large hand covered a good part of my bottom with each strike, so by the time he stopped there was no area that wasn't on fire.

"I'm not finished with you.

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