Chief Executive's Secret Desires

Caroline sat back in her chair and exhaled noisily, eyes closed. It was going to be one of those days. She had just sat through a three hour board meeting at which the chairman had been nitpickingly critical of her plan to boost the company's fortunes, garnering the support of half the non-execs, while those she considered her usual allies had remained silent for the most part. And now she was about to have a difficult meeting with one of the company's longest serving employees. It was tough being a female chief executive, even in these supposedly more enlightened and meritocratic times. If you were determined then you were seen as a ballbreaker, if you showed empathy or tolerance then you were a pushover, if you got angry then it was probably that time of the month.

She had risen through the ranks at Kendall-Balfour plc, starting as a graduate trainee and progressing upward through sheer hard work and ability. She had not been a consummate office politician but had certainly cultivated friendships with senior (inevitably male) colleagues who had been in a position to advance her career. Now at the age of 42 she sat in the chief executive's chair and she had to admit it was lonely at times. She thought of herself as efficient, practical, determined and fair-minded, but was aware that others viewed her as pushy, egotistical and ruthless. She had to admit that one didn't get the top job without a certain amount of determination to succeed, but was it worth it, she asked herself? A marriage early in her career had failed owing largely to the amount of time she spent in the office. At least there had been no children. There had been boyfriends since but none that had lasted long. Either they would get fed up with her long hours and unpredictability when it came to making arrangements, or they would tire of her inability to switch off outside work. None had really reciprocated her particular desires in the bedroom and anyway she had started resenting the time it took to find a potential partner, explore mutual compatibility, proceed to a sexual relationship and then discover whether they shared the same interests. She was just too damn busy!

It wasn't that she was unattractive to men, far from it. She had rather striking looks (or so she had been led to believe), with well-cut wavy mid-brown hair, blue eyes and creamy skin complemented by full lips (Caroline thought her mouth too wide, but no-one else did). She typically applied make-up to her eyes carefully but sparingly and rarely wore lipstick. She worked out assiduously in the gym, ran or cycled at weekends and her figure would have been called athletic were it not for a generous allocation in the chest department and a bottom that men described as curvy but she thought was just too big. Still, at five foot nine inches she reckoned she could carry off both.

There was a knock at the door and Fiona, her PA, poked her head in.

"Tim Jones is here for your meeting."

"OK, ask him to come in," she replied. She wasn't looking forward to this, but it had to be done.

Tim Jones, the company's longstanding head of IT, entered the room. He looked nervous.

"Tim, I'll come to the point," she began briskly. "This data breach, hack, or whatever you want to call it, has caused the firm a great deal of disruption. We have lost some customer records, orders have gone unfulfilled and the accounts department is having to work overtime to try and reconstruct customer balances. It's going to impact sales for the quarter and right now, with the effects of my recovery plan still due to be realised, it's the last thing we needed. I am trying to convince the Board to back my plan and in the meantime profits are going backwards. And all because you allowed some unauthorised software to be installed, or at least didn't have strong enough systems in place to prevent it. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Tim Jones looked extremely uncomfortable. He felt as though he were a schoolboy in the headmistress's study explaining what he had been doing behind the bike sheds. It didn't help that he found Caroline Hart very attractive. He cleared his throat.

"We have all the latest anti-virus software in place, we run regular "white hat" hacking exercises, this was just something we had never seen before and, um..." his voice tailed off.

Caroline regarded him sternly. "You are paid a lot of money to ensure Kendall-Balfour's systems are protected and remain secure. If the IT goes down then everything stops, you know that. Not only have we taken a hit to profits, but we have damaged our reputation in the market and we may well lose customers if they don't think their records are safe with us. On top of all of that, I have had to spend a lot of time worrying about this when I have plenty else on my plate."

She stood up from behind her desk. Even in his present predicament, Tim Jones could not help admiring her legs, the grey pencil skirt affording a view three inches above the knee.

"I am giving you a formal warning Tim. Another cock-up like this and you will be looking for another job. This is going on your HR record. That's all."

She turned her back as Tim Jones edged nervously out of the room, casting a furtive glance at her bottom. Well, at least he hadn't been fired, he thought. Fiona caught his eye as he passed her desk. He liked Fiona, in fact everyone did. She regarded him compassionately.

"Tough interview with the headmistress?" she enquired.

"You could say that," admitted Tim with a weak smile. "At least I didn't have to bend over for six of the best, although it felt a bit like it."

"You're lucky she wasn't in one of her moods," confided Fiona with a conspiratorial smile.

"Oh God, if that was one of her better moods, I hate to think," shuddered Tim as he left the room.

Caroline looked at her watch and picked up her phone. At least she had some relaxation time booked this evening. She brought up the number for a small and very discreet agency, stored in her Contacts. The number rang twice before it was answered by a cool, professional female voice.

"Kensington Introductions," it said.

"This is Caroline, I am just confirming my appointment for this evening with James. I am expecting him at my flat at 6.30. He knows the address and he should know what to bring."

"Just checking the details," the voice replied. "Ah yes, 6.30 with James and I think the requirements are as per the last appointment?"

"That's right," replied Caroline, "thanks very much, I will expect him. You have my credit card details on file I think."

She allowed a smile to spread across her face as she remembered the last appointment. James was her favourite at Kensington Introductions and he certainly knew how she liked to be treated.

Tonight, she was going to leave the office on time, not that she actually had set hours, as she had to get ready. Accordingly at 5 pm prompt she made her way out of her office, telling a surprised Fiona:

"Leaving on time for once Fiona, deal with those few things I e-mailed you please, and then go when you're ready".

"Sure Caroline, hot date is it?" asked Fiona with a grin. She was worried that her boss spent too long in the office and didn't have a man in her life. She was for ever enquiring about Caroline's love life, in a solicitous fashion of course.

"Not really a date, cheeky girl, just meeting up with someone I know," said Caroline airily as she swept out.

She smiled as she went down to the garage in the lift. Yes, it was indeed someone she knew, but it was more an appointment than a date. She got into her Porsche Cayman - a 40th birthday present to herself, well she could afford it and why not? - and drove out through the garage doors onto the busy street. Her flat in Chelsea was only 15 minutes away, even in traffic. She wriggled this way and that on the leather seat, trying to extinguish an itch in her nether regions that wouldn't quite go away. An appointment with James, and there had been a few to date, always caused her to feel like that.

Arriving at her flat she headed straight for the shower, hanging up her suit and flinging underwear into the linen basket. She adjusted the temperature and began to relax as the warm water poured over her. She was looking forward to this evening and her mind began to wander to her last romantic encounter.

It had been on a skiing holiday in Austria the winter just past. She had booked up, alone, with a race tuition outfit in St Anton. Caroline had been a useful junior racer and was minded to take it up again at the senior amateur level. She had heard good things about the Inferno at Murren and the Parsenn Derby at Klosters, but first she needed someone to get her race technique back into shape, which was how she had ended up under the tutelage of Reinhard, an Austrian trainer aged around 35 who had once been on the fringes of the national team. With his flowing blond hair, deep tan and muscular build he wasn't unattractive either, noted Caroline nonchalantly. The last four letters of his name started repeating themselves, unbidden, in her head.

She had equipped herself with a catsuit that made no concessions to her curves, but minimum wind resistance was de rigueur if one wanted a decent time, especially in the downhill or Super-G. Nonetheless, she felt a bit self-conscious about her bottom, particularly when she started noticing Reinhard's none too subtle glances in that direction. On the second day, she had found herself at the top of the Super-G course standing just behind Reinhard in the start gate.

"Now, follow me down the course," he was saying, "I shan't go at top speed but I will go fast. I want you to concentrate on my line and my lower body position as I come out of each gate. Try to keep up with me and don't get too low on the gates because it will be hard to recover." She thought she made a fair shot of it as she swooped down the course after Reinhard, keeping up with him quite well, but inevitably skidding more on the turns than he did, and inevitably not following his line. He did not appear to be too impressed.

"You are not holding your edge, you need a wider stance, allow your lower ski to move out and adopt the racing 'A-frame', get lower in the turn, come forward more as you exit the turn and come off your edges" he instructed. "Let's do it again."

After another four or five runs Caroline was exhausted but was sure she had improved. Reinhard was clearly not convinced.

"I think maybe we need some punishments if you don't get it right," he said with a gleam in his eye, "and you need to get a lower schuss position on the straight sections."

Caroline held his gaze levelly. "Oh, is that right? I'll just have to be a good girl, won't I? Now, how about some lunch?" she suggested.

"OK, but more training this afternoon, so no alcohol," warned Reinhard.

Oh God, she thought, what a taskmaster, and not even a little glass of wine at lunchtime. Not the sort of ski holiday she was used to, but hey, she had come out here to improve her race technique.

By the end of the day Caroline was ready to drop, but she had to admit it had been exhilarating to shoot down the course at speed behind an expert like Reinhard.

"I think we are allowed a drink now," she enquired of her instructor.

"Yes, I think you have earned it," he replied and they headed for a bar at the bottom of the piste.

With beers in front of them, Reinhard proceeded to analyse Caroline's technique, dissecting it forensically and finishing up with a critique of her schuss position and ability to hold it.

"So how do I practise that Reinhard?" she asked coquettishly.

"I could have you crouch down on the floor but I don't think the bar is the right place for it."

"OK, come to my hotel, it's just round the corner," instructed Caroline, using her "CEO I-don't-expect-to-be-argued-with" voice.

They dumped their skis and poles in the ski-room, took off their boots and padded up to Caroline's room in their socks. Inside, Caroline took charge, opening the mini-bar and announcing a further drink. With a beer apiece she asked:

"So show me how to adopt a proper schuss position Reinhard."

Still in her catsuit, Reinhard told Caroline to crouch with her thighs parallel to the floor, hands well in front of her knees and to round her shoulders. She did her best but he wasn't satisfied.

"No, you must go lower, there that's better. Most skiers in the schuss position tend to run on their inside edges, so pretend you have a basketball between your knees. Now you just have to hold that position for three minutes."

"I can't hold this for three minutes," protested Caroline.

"Remember what I said about punishments," warned Reinhard with a grin.

She looked away, concentrating on holding her position, but noticed first that Reinhard had his eyes on his watch and secondly that he was removing the leather belt from her jeans that were hanging over the end of her bed. The trouble with this position, she thought as her quadriceps began to complain, was that her backside was thrust in the air.

"One minute," announced Reinhard.

"Aargh, I can't manage another two," grunted Caroline, doing her best not to wobble.

At one and a half minutes, she rose imperceptibly, or so she thought, to give her knees some relief. Instantaneously the leather belt cracked across her lycra-clad bottom, the tight catsuit doing little to soften the blow.

"Ow, that hurt," she complained, but without real affront.

"Keep in position and you won't get another," grinned Reinhard, the belt hanging doubled back menacingly from his hand.

At two minutes, she was sure she couldn't keep it up and her knees angled from side to side to try and dispel the lactic acid. Not surprisingly two further sharp thwacks descended on her upthrust cheeks.

"You're a bastard Reinhard, or whatever the word is in German," she muttered.

"You're the one that wanted the training," he replied, "I'm just making sure you stick to it."

At two and a half minutes, she collapsed on to the floor, hugging her knees.

"It's no good, I can't do any more, you'll just have to give me the rest of my punishment over your knee."

With that she stood up, yanked the catsuit off her shoulders and wriggled out of it. She was left in her thermal layers and proceeded to peel the bottoms off, leaving just a brief pair of knickers and her thermal top. She pushed Reinhard to a sitting position on the side of the bed, looked him in the eye and said:

"Thirty seconds short of target, what does that merit?"

Reinhard pulled her uncomplainingly over his lap, laying the belt down beside him. To Caroline's surprise he began to prod and knead her bottom.

"In Austria, we say that a woman's bottom should have the consistency and springiness of a dumpling."

"Do I pass?"

"You pass with honours, and now we must check for resilience."

With that, he smacked the right cheek with his open palm, and then the left. Caroline felt the blood start to flow to the area, and a nearby one. A further dozen meaty smacks landed on the centre of each cheek. She began to squirm over his lap and was gratified to notice a distinct hardness against her left hip.

"Is that my punishment over for not holding the crouch position?" she enquired.

"Not yet, by a long way, and then we have to address your lack of edging in the gates," he replied.

An evenly spaced series of open-handed smacks descended on her reddening cheeks, with increasing firmness. Her bottom was jiggling across his lap, taking every opportunity to brush against his erection and she could feel a distinct slipperiness between her legs.

"Now I think for the rest of your punishment, I shall have to take down your knickers. Naughty English girls need to be spanked on the bare bottom, no?"

"I'm glad you think I am still a girl, Reinhard, but yes, you are right, that is exactly what naughty English girls deserve," she panted.

"And perhaps they need the leather belt across their springy English bottoms?"

"You're in charge, it's up to you to decide on the right discipline for lazy skiers." She just loved having a man take charge of her in the bedroom, or preferably over his knee. It was a cathartic experience, so different to the office where she was inevitably the one taking the decisions and giving the orders.

"Another twelve should have you nicely warmed up," he announced, applying the belt with greater vigour. "Count please, in German!"

"Ein...zwei...drei...vier," she began. Number five cracked across both upthrust cheeks like a rifle shot.

"Yeowww, I mean Funf...sechs, now that's an idea..."

At zwolf she lay collapsed over his knee, legs adrift and rosy bottom waving in the air. He laid down the belt and his fingers began to explore the inside of her thighs, moving upwards as she arched her back. They met no resistance as they entered her wet lips and drove slowly but insistently inside her.

"I think a naughty English girl enjoyed that," he murmured.

"Might have done," she conceded, "Now don't stop that therapeutic apres-ski massage."

She continued to lie across this lap, savouring the warmth in her bottom as his fingers continued their exploration of her pussy. Her hips began to move back and forth across his thighs, brushing against the hardness evident in his trousers. Eventually she could withstand the pleasurable torment no longer and she got up to stand in front of Reinhard, kicking off her knickers that were hanging around her ankles. She looked him straight in the eye, undid the buttons on his waistband, pulled down the zip and thrust her hands down the front of his trousers, retrieving his erect cock which was dribbling seminal fluid. She ran her thumb slowly and deliberately over the tip, before reaching down with her left hand to cup his balls, changing her right hand grip to massage the glans up and down.

Reinhard was breathing heavily and his expression was both glazed and urgent at the same time. Caroline stripped him of his trousers and underpants in a coolly efficient move, extracted a condom from her bedside drawer and rolled it on, and then straddled him on his lap, neatly engulfing his manhood inside her. With her arms around his neck, she asked innocently:

"Was I not going down far enough in the turns? I'll try to make up for that now" as she began to bounce up and down on his penis, cowgirl style. She could not hold back and after a few thrusts her orgasm built up and overwhelmed her. Gasping with the release she climbed off him and knelt on the bed with her bottom upthrust.

"Time for you to do something else for me from behind." She loved a man taking her roughly from behind when her bottom was still hot and smarting.

Reinhard needed no second bidding and plunged into her, grasping her hips and thrusting forcefully. He lasted an impressively long time - in reality about three minutes - before exploding with a series of laboured exhalations.

"It looks as though we have some interesting lessons to come for the rest of the week," murmured Caroline as she snuggled into the crook of his arm.

And so the pattern was set for the rest of the week. Ski training during the day, an apres-ski drink, back to Caroline's room for a good spanking over his knee, depending on how her performance had been on the slopes, some energetic sex, a shower, a nap and then out for dinner. Reinhard had had to institute one change to the ground rules though. Caroline was now to be spanked as a reward for good ski-ing rather than as a punishment for poor style. She had introduced him to the pleasures of the Mason & Pearson hairbrush, a particular favourite of hers when wielded expertly and had finished the week a much improved skier with a well-punished bottom.

Caroline's hands were soaping rhythmically in her groin area as she recalled her week with Reinhard. She might have to go back next year just to brush up on her technique she felt. She might also put a leather paddle in her suitcase. Her fingers were now pushing hard against her clitoris and she forced herself to stop. She wanted to save her first orgasm for James.