A Matter of Law

It was a typical weekday night as I drove home from work. As has always been the case for the past year Christina sat next to me in the passenger seat. We conversed enjoyably about the various events of our day, music from her favorite radio station playing softly in the background. She was the head of the paralegal department in the law firm where I was a senior partner. Now in her mid thirties, she had emigrated with her parents as a young teenager from her native Czechoslovakia several years after the fall of the Iron Curtain, and she still maintained more than a hint of her delightful eastern European accent. She had worked to pay for her way through college, but when her father had died soon after she had graduated she had to forego her dream of law school to help support her mother and younger siblings.

Starting as a neophyte paralegal with a much smaller law practice she quickly built up an impressive reputation and resume that attracted the notice of some members of our much larger and more prestigious firm. Joining us in an entry level position six years ago, through her intense hard work, innate intelligence, and absolute merit, she had rapidly worked her way up the ladder to become the director of our large division of paralegals three years ago. I was twenty years her senior, and had reached the age when in the past people would have referred to me as a 'confirmed bachelor', and in these more modern times many probably thought it likely that I was a closet gay and wondered why in the progressing social culture I didn't just 'come out'. None of that of course was ever true. I have always loved and revered women. I had just never found that special one whose needs and desires meshed in any real way with my own. Until Christina.

I had been aware and attracted to her from almost her first day working at our firm. But I was well aware of the disparity in our positions and how inappropriate it would be to give even the appearance of taking any advantage of that. And so I maintained a very congenial but proper and professional relationship with her as she rapidly worked her way up the ranks, and other than acknowledging and agreeing with my partners and colleagues ongoing positive assessment of her work performance, I had very little to do with her advancement.

Once she had been promoted three years ago to her current position of chief paralegal our interactions became more frequent and involved, and I couldn't help but notice that the research done by herself and her staff for my cases always seemed to be done before that of anyone else, and always impeccably so and without fault. I wanted to believe that there was a special reason for this but she never gave any indication that it might in any way be so.

Even so, I found myself being drawn to her more and more, and thinking about her almost constantly. Her cool, no nonsense, take charge demeanor was coupled with such an engaging personality that she seemed to disarm and entice everyone. And entrance me. As time went on, as much as I tried to avoid and fight it, I became ever more enamored.

But as a lawyer I well knew the dangerous waters in which I might be starting to tread, of perceived or even real workplace sexual harassment. Even beyond that it was hard for me to envision how someone as young, intelligent, self confident and beautiful as she, would ever be interested, beyond professionally, in anyone so much older, socially unaccomplished and boring like me. Despite this, my obsession with her silently continued to grow, and I just knew that I had to find a way to overcome the obstacles, both real and in my mind, to be able to approach her.

And so, two years ago, after much deliberation and consideration, I drafted a letter to her and had it notarized to ensure to her its veracity and legal status. In it I stated that I very much wanted to ask her out to dinner but that if she wanted to refuse this or any subsequent such offers, she should have no fear for her position at the firm, and if she should ever feel so compromised or challenged, this letter would serve as proof against that.

I well knew what such a letter like this might portend, but I was too far gone at that point to very much care. The opportunity to present my petition finally came one evening when almost everyone else in the office had left for the day but I found her still working alone in her small office. I knocked and was offered admittance. Protocol would have allowed that I sit down across from her without even being asked, but I remained standing as I handed her the letter. Somewhat quizzically she unfolded it and proceeded to read it, her expression blank throughout.

With her keen legal mind Christina immediately understood the item of immense power she held in her hands. After pausing silently for several seconds after she was done she looked up at me, and smiled. She carefully refolded the letter, and then to my shock she ripped it in half and then fed it into the shredder at the side of her desk.

"There is no need for anything like that, Charles." she stated, for the first time ever using my given name. "If you hadn't asked me out soon I was going to find a way to demand that you do so."

Thus began our relationship and I started to earnestly court her. From the very first though Christina made it clear that she would be in control of the course and direction in which we would proceed. Initially it was little things, to which I always enthusiastically acceded. As time went on her wishes and desires became more like gentle edicts, which I made sure to follow strictly to the letter. Once she became confident and secure in our status together, and that she could mold me fully to meet our respective needs, a year ago she finally agreed to my many entreaties that she move into my house and make it her own.

Her biggest concern once it became more widely known that we were together, was that many would assume that her continued success at the firm would be propped up on my shoulders. So she began to work even harder and more diligently to allay any such suspicion. And nothing of course could be further from the truth. More than a few of my partners warned me, not just half jokingly, not to blow this, that Christina was too valuable to lose by me messing everything up. I fervently assured them all that I would do everything in my power to never let that happen.

My own bigger concern though was that I felt that Christina was almost criminally wasting her talents and abilities in her current role. She had given up her dream of going to law school for economic reasons in the past, but now I was more than willing to support her in every way to go to any of the top law schools into which she would undoubtedly be accepted based on her impeccable work experience, and the stellar recommendations she would receive from all of my colleagues in the firm. But when I would present this to her she would just smile and thank me, and say that she was now more than happy with her position in life.

We arrived home, and after I parked the car in the garage I hustled around to open her car door for her. We walked inside the house and I was finally able to do what I had been dying to do every time that I saw her or our paths crossed during the day at work ... I dropped to my knees and reverently kissed the soft cool leather tops of her high heeled shoes. I was very careful to not let my lips brush the bare skin of her feet. That was forbidden, and was reserved for me only as a reward for good behavior, or when her mood might otherwise allow it. When she had finally agreed after my many pleas to make my home her own I had also wanted and needed her to know that she would also own everything within, most especially me. She had laughed and replied that we both knew that slavery was against the law, and she didn't want to become an outlaw in her adopted country, but she would be happy to pay for such services. And so for a penny a day I became her full time, all purpose servant, and she made very sure at all times to get every bit of her money's worth.

"I'm going into the den to read my personal email. Charles. Bring me my slippers and a glass of wine."

"Yes Miss Christina."

I scrambled up off my knees and into the bedroom where I quickly took off my work clothes for my prescribed home attire. I then picked up her slippers and proceeded into the kitchen where in the refrigerator were several chilled bottles of her favorite white wines. I selected and poured a glass of a Reserve French Bordeaux, and made my way back into the den where she was sitting in the middle of the overstuffed leather couch reading her mail on her iPad. I handed over her glass of wine and stood before her stripped down to my legal briefs, which consisted solely of a locked chastity cage, and which except for times of supervised cleaning or occasions when the spirit might otherwise so move her, remained constantly in place.

It was not that she had me wear it because she feared that I might ever stray, or that I might pleasure myself without her permission. There was no way that I would ever allow that to occur. No, it was that, as she had stated when first applying it, keeping my little law clerk so confined allowed me to focus more fully and solely on her rather than on myself. And in this, as in most things, she was absolutely unerring.

Stark naked except for my device, in front of the law of my existence, I slipped to my knees before her and slid off her high heels and replaced them with her furred slippers as she continued to peruse her posts and sip her wine. I then remained in place silently awaiting any other need she might have of me. After about fifteen minutes she put her pad aside and looked down at me.

"So Charles, were you a good boy today or a bad boy?"

This was a question that wasn't asked every night, and indeed was actually broached with somewhat less frequency of late. But it was one for which I had learned I must always be prepared, and so every day I made note and catalogued any and all of my transgressions to be able to confess when so required.

"I was a bad boy, Miss Christina." I admitted, downcast.

She sighed. "Tell me."

I drew up my courage to present my confession before the bar.

" I forgot to say please when I asked Miss Marion to bring me an affidavit I needed to urgently sign and send." Marion Brown was my executive secretary.

"Could you have retrieved it yourself?"

The answer to questions like this would of course always be yes, but it would raise more than a few eyebrows if I did such things on a regular basis. But I knew the proper response.

"Yes, Miss Christina."

"I'm sure that Mrs. Brown is far too busy to worry about doing all of your menial work. And when she does graciously offer to do so for you she must always be treated with the utmost courtesy and gratitude. Do you understand?"

"Yes Miss Christina."

She nodded. "What else then?"

I took in a long breath.

"I failed to wait and hold open the door when I saw Miss Sheri walking down from the far end of the hall."

"Tsch." she clucked disapprovingly. "Sheri has only been with the firm a week, our newest and youngest paralegal, Charles. You know that as a senior member how important it is for you to show her deference to make her feel comfortable."

"I know, Miss Christina."

"See that you do." She frowned. "Is there anything more?"

I didn't know quite how to put this last one.

"I couldn't hide my ... disappointment ... and disapproval ... over the poor job Miss Janet had done in preparing that important motion in the Kerrigan case." Janet Reese was an associate lawyer in our firm who was already skating on very thin ice.

"Oh Charles." she bemoaned. "Ms Reese is working so very hard to become a partner." There was little chance of that. "You are the finest and most talented lawyer I have ever known. You should be sitting down and helping her, not criticizing her. I know that you can't accept substandard work, so you must take the time to teach her, make her better. In the end, her failure will be your failure."

"You're right." I admitted.

"Of course I'm right." she beamed. She paused and then frowned again. "Unfortunately, you're right as well. You have been a bad boy today. Come." came the implacable command.

I knew what came next. It was time to pay the penalty for my failings. And she was the sole judge, jury and executioner, and her verdicts were inviolate and never subject to appeal. I climbed up off of my knees and positioned myself over her lap, using my forearms and knees on the cushions on either side of her to take up most of my weight, as she made herself comfortable.

The first smack came stinging down onto one half of my behind, followed by another, and another, and another, and another, as she alternated between each of my butt cheeks randomly. Soon though there wasn't a millimeter of either one that wasn't on fire. Far worse than the physical pain though was my humiliation. Here I was, a most highly regarded professional is my mid fifties, lying naked over the lap of a woman twenty years my junior, being roundly spanked like a young snot nosed schoolboy for not minding his manners. And I internally cringed during every moment of it.

But this was of a parcel of the plea bargain I had made, a part of the life sentence that I otherwise so dearly embraced, so I had no standing to contest it. And the swats kept raining down, as it was entirely up to her discretion how much punishment fit my crime and when I had repaid my day's debt to society. It wasn't long before my eyes began to water and my tears began to flow, accompanied by involuntary soft sobs and whimpers. Suddenly the staccato slapping stopped, its cessation signaled by a subtle shove, and I slid off of her lap and back down onto my knees below her.

Now came the wonderful part of the process. Penance was always followed by absolution. She slipped one foot out of its slipper and raised it up towards me. I took it into my hands and pressed it urgently to the side of my face, my tears mingling with my kisses on its bottom, as I passionately thanked her for providing the correction I so desperately needed. And she allowed me ample time to so express my gratitude.

Miss Christina always stresses to me that she never enjoys being so punitive, but that it is necessary to help me overcome a lifetime of learned faults, as a form of rehabilitation. And she is right in that. She has helped me become kinder and gentler, more caring and considerate, as I constantly strive to achieve my prescribed code of conduct.

She finally withdrew her foot from my face, placed it on the floor as I put back on her slipper.

"I'm starting to get hungry, Charles. I think I'll watch the news while you make dinner."

"Yes Miss Christina."

I rose, my backside still aflame and I was certain still a vivid red, and made my way back to the kitchen. Of all of the advantages for her in our relationship the one that Miss Christina has most often said that she appreciates the most is that I am an accomplished cook, as she can barely boil water and has absolutely no desire to learn. So meal preparation is solely my responsibility, as well as all other domestic chores of course, although not too infrequently she helps me with those, perhaps because she enjoys doing them. Or perhaps possibly because she enjoys doing them with me.

But cooking is for me alone. On weekday work nights I usually make something quick and easy, although I always try to have it be pleasing and filling. I save my more elaborate preparations for the weekends, on those nights when we don't eat out. We do go out often, to concerts, plays, and movies that she likes. More recently she has begun to allow me to introduce her to the arts that I favor as well.

She also likes to entertain, frequently having any number of her young female friends over, where she enjoys having me prepare and serve for them. She always insists though that I join them to eat, and even be included in their conversations if invited. She doesn't mind that most of them have come to consider me as seriously pussy whipped, but she also makes sure never to allow any of them to ever know the totality of my submission.

She is much more circumspect when we socialize with my peers or with our respective families, always making it clear by her actions and statements when we are with them, how much she respects and admires me. For my part at those times and in those settings, I still always defer to her, and most have come to regard me as a gentleman who is completely besotted. In this case they are absolutely correct.

For dinner this evening I decided on a shrimp stir fry in black bean sauce. I quickly thawed and peeled the uncooked shrimp, then sliced up the onion, red and green peppers, mushrooms and fresh broccoli. I began to saute the vegetables in olive oil and garlic over high heat in the wok, and while the brown rice was cooking I added the shrimp, and then just as they were all done I stirred in the black bean sauce.

Before going in to announce that dinner was ready to be served, I prepared two place settings at the dining room table. On most nights, after I have served her and then myself, we eat together, talking about anything and everything as we do, laughing and joking and thoroughly enjoying each other's company. Rarely though, when she might be particularly perturbed, either with me or about anything, she will take my full plate and place in on the floor at her feet, where I am required to eat it all without any utensils or even my hands, often with her bare foot resting lightly on the back of my neck. Some other times, when she is in a more playful mood, as she has announced to me would be the case this night, she has me kneel by her side, and as she eats she will occasionally pick morsels from her plate and plop them with her fingers into my mouth. After each offering I gratefully lick her fingers clean. Of course this does not provide the most filling of meals, but I am allowed to consume any leftovers as I clean up after.

"I'm going to the den to start work." she tells me after she finished eating this night. "Come join me when you're finished with this." she continued, indicating the dirty dishes.

Because of the nature of our jobs we both usually have to bring work home to complete each night. After I had completely cleaned up and put away everything from dinner in the dining room and kitchen, I retrieved my own laptop and made my way to the den. This time I found her sitting in the corner of the couch, utilizing the light from the side table as she worked intently on her laptop resting appropriately on her lap. I sat down on the floor next to her legs, leaning my back against the front of the couch, with my computer placed on the floor between my legs. Normally this would be a fairly comfortable position for me to work but on this night, with my tush still so very tender, it was not particularly so.

I settled in however and soon we were both engrossed in our respective endeavors. After a while, when she wasn't actively keyboarding, one of her hands strayed to slowly rummage through my hair, and then to softly caress the back of my neck. I became completely unable to concentrate and rested my head against her knee, entranced as she almost unconsciously continued to pet me as she read the text on her screen. Suddenly she needed to keyboard again and removed her hand to do so, and I was snapped back to reality and returned again to my own work.

After about an hour she declared that she was done with her work for the night, and was going to take her shower. She bid me to continue with mine until I was finished, but then to come and attend to her. She always understands how important my work is, and would never do anything to compromise it. Even so, I knew where my more vital duties lay, so I quickly completed what most needed to be done, to be then ready and available to her when she was finished in her en suite.