The Confession of Mrs. George Ch. 03

Dear Reader- a quick summary for those who have not read chapters 1 and 2: Mrs. George is a mid-forties co-worker of mine. We have known each other for a few years. We are both in marriages but an underlying and unspoken sexual tension has always been between us. Although I am just a bit older than her, she has always referred to me as "Sir," this despite being informal with others in the office, superiors included. One day I came to the strong suspicion that she was submissive to me by nature and I demanded she take to her knees. That is when she confessed but told me I could not have her because of our marriages. Nevertheless, and respecting the line she drew, I took it a step further and spanked her, told her a lurid tale of how I would passionately take her given the chance, and, sent her home to rewrite a deficient report and to simmer overnight. She reported back the next day and thanked me for her frustrations. This is where the Confessions of Mrs. George continue....

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I read Mrs. George's report with interest. She did a much better job reviewing the financials and the data so matters did not appear worse than they really were. My meeting with the Board of Directors was scheduled for mid-day and her revisions put me to position to successfully assuage potential business concerns.

After the meeting, at 4 o'clock I went to see Mrs. George. She sat at her desk, head tilted down, buried in her work, dutiful as ever. She did not hear me enter, she bring engrossed in what she was doing. I softly closed the door. The click of the latch caught her off guard, her face turned, eyes darting up, peering over her sexy half rim reading glasses. She was surprised by the intrusion, until she saw my face. Then her expression softened.

"Sir, how did he go? Was the Board pleased?"

"Well, Mrs. George, truth be told, they were satisfied with the report given the facts. They recognized the truth is the truth. We came out ok."

Mrs. George relaxed hearing her report was acceptable, "However, as for me, you did quite well cleaning up your original report, I would say you definitely paid much more attention to detail and dug into the facts better the second time. In fact, you will bring to the attention of the accounting department its mistaken data analysis, which you uncovered on second review, and the fact that it flowed through to our report. A 5% understatement of profits is unacceptable- just makes us look bad. If I did not have you go back and review your work, you would never have found their error, although, I think you should have identified it the first time around. However, I'm pleased you found their error. It saved a lot of face."

"You are welcome, Sir. It was my pleasure."

"Well, to be frank, Mrs. George, I also believe that you need to be rewarded for the revised reporting."

Mrs. George smirked, "And what you have in mind today, Sir?" she said removing the glasses and slowly twirling them in the air by one ear piece.

I glanced at the door and double checked to make sure it was locked before reaching into my back pocket, pulling out an object and dangling it before her face. Mrs. George's eyes widened.

"Sir!" she stammered.

"So you know what this is for," I asked playfully dandling the leather collar off one finger.

"I'm curious... I use the Internet...," she bashfully said.

"And?" I asked.

"Its taking this a bit far," she replied.

"Maybe," I slyly stated, conceding my overreaching desire, "...Mrs. George, get on your knees."

Mrs. George slid out of her seat and onto the commercial grade office carpet, tucked her legs under her and looked down, the tweed skirt hugging her tight shapely ass.

"I like your outfit today... the black stockings clad knees peek nicely from beneath the skirt... the skirt hugs your delicious curves... and the black spike heeled boots- a pleasant change."

"You are welcome, Sir," she said.

"Mrs. George, I just want you to try it on for a moment. I want to know how you look in it. Here, please?" I respectfully asked.

"Sir, I don't know... its not right..." she said.

"I'm not asking for anything but for just this moment."

"Well, just this once," she said with reservation in her voice.

"Thank you Mrs. George," I said handing it to her. I made her take it, made her put it on. It was important that she did it willingly. She fumbled with the buckle at the back of her neck but eventually secured it before feeling for the front, to determine what was dangling, and identifying the ring for attaching a chain.

"How does it feel?" I asked.

"Not as bad as I thought it would...."

"You should see how you look, erotic and classy," I noted.

Her cellphone sat on her desk. "May I?" I asked as I picked it up. Mrs. George looked confused.

"A picture or two..." I clarified.

"Only two," she said, "just for me to see." I crouched down to her level. She continued to look down and I took the first, framing her body from the waist up, "Look up, stare straight at me with the beautiful fiery eyes," I said. Mrs. George looked right at me, a deadpan stare and I snapped a picture from her shoulders up, "One more?" I asked.

"Ok, but no more after," she agreed.

I stood, "Look up at me," I said aiming down, framing her entire body, from her knees to above her head and then snapping the picture.

"Two more," I suggested as I moved back to get her entire body. The first one she looked away to the left. the other one she looked down to the side. Both times she was demure. The pictures were erotic, artful.

'Beautiful,' I thought, the images could have been on the cover of a famous fashion magazine seeking controversy- a beautiful and classy woman collared. I wondered what they would look like in black and white. Probably even more sensual. I handed the cell to Mrs. George. She carefully looked at each photo.

"What do you think, Mrs. George?"

"I never thought I could be so sexy, Sir... and all it took was a simple collar."

"Mrs. George, will you send me copies right now, please?"

"Sir, do you swear to keep them for yourself?"

"Of course," I replied and she dispatched the images to my e-mail account.

"So, are you fond of how you look?"

"Maybe," she replied.

"Well then, lets say you will keep the collar in your desk and know that when we have our Friday late afternoon meetings, I prefer you wear it for me. It is your choice. However, you will wear a strand of pearls on Fridays, regardless of whether you chose the collar, and, if you opt out of the collar, come our meeting, you will wrap the pearls tightly around your neck three times in lieu of the collar."

"But Sir, I own no pearls," she professed.

I reached into my pocket drawing out an appropriate strand, "Put out your hands," I said lowering the pearls into her cupped palm.

Mrs. George gasped. "Sir, no, I can't," she protested.

"Mrs. George, you can and you will. Tell anyone who asks that they are a family heirloom, rarely worn but you decided to wear them now.... Now no more of this subject."

"But Sir," she protested.

"No," I curtly replied.

"Thank you, Sir," she quietly said toying the strand in her hands.

"Mrs. George, why are you submissive?" I asked.

"I like to please those who take care of me... I have always been that way... I don't know why. I just appreciate others. I have never expressed it like this... Sir, you are the first to identify my inner nature and draw it out.... I am grateful..."

"And does your husband know?"

"He has no idea. He takes my pleasing nature for granted. If I were to ever asked him to indulge me like this he would recoil at the thought. No, I can't approach him about it... that is why this is a special. Don't get me wrong, I love him... he is a good man, he just leaves me incomplete, unsatisfied... that is why I have a boundary line we can't cross, as I suspect you do too, because of your marriage...."

"Tell me, how did last night go after you left here? Your note indicated it was quite frustrating."

"Sir, it was... On the train ride home I could not think of anything other than the spanking you gave me. I had to stand holding the center pole of the car, it being rush hour and there were no seats, I was packed in with the other commuters and I found myself gently pushed up against the pole as I held it, and, my bum being rubbed against by the others in the packed carriage. My thoughts were on nothing but the burning sensation on my bottom, my wetness and the way you handled me. The commuting conditions made it worse. I was in such a reverie over what happened, thoughts racing through my mind a million a minute, that I was oblivious to all else and missed my stop. I got home and worked through the night. The house was quiet, I was alone and distracted by the persistent physical sensations. I could not focus and kept finding my hand drifting to my privates, grazing myself in the still of the night. I had to work hard to concentrate on the project and fight my desire to touch myself. The more I refrained, the worse it became but I worked diligently to abstain. I went to bed and periodically woke up through the night, the tension getting worse repeatedly calling me to consciousness as the hours passed. The pain had worn off but the frustration heightened. Each time I woke, thoughts of you spanking me were paramount in my mind. The excitement then spread from my sex back under to my ass and by four in the morning I was buzzing with frustration and dying to touch myself. I was on the edge of wicked immorality. I somehow fell back to sleep and when I woke for work, the tension had not subsided. And, her I am Sir, once again and at your mercy..."

"Mrs. George, put your head down on the ground, hands clasped over your head."

I moved behind my submissive Mrs. George and worked the tight skirt over her hips, revealing lacy thigh highs and sheer panties. I leaned over and slowly caressed her bum with my hand, studying her curves, "I think you liked that spanking yesterday despite its punishing nature, yes?"

"Yes, Sir," she quietly confessed, "it was very exciting. I hoped all night for more."

I slapped her panty covered ass. I did it again, and again, and again. Each time she whimpered and then whispered, "Thank you." I imagined she was biting her lower lip, concealing the pain as I indulged her desire. Just as her flesh turned a light shade of pink I stopped.

"Mrs. George," I instructed, "Was that sufficient?"

"No Sir, may I have more, please, Sir?" I indulged her request until her bottom blossomed to a brighter shade.

"We don't want you going home and having questions asked, do we now?"

"No, Sir," she admitted, "Just a few more, please?" I administered five more. On the forth, my hand accidentally grazed her privates and she let out a moan. The fifth got her right between the cheeks across her arse and she groaned as if she wanted more.

I stopped and stood upright. "Thank you, Sir... Sir, if you are finished, will you indulge me?" she asked a flush on her face.

"Indulge you? This should be interesting... go on..."

"May I?" she asked looking up at the undeniable bulge in my pants.

"May you what?" I asked.

"Touch it, Sir..." she said in a lowered submissive voice.

"I thought it was off limits?" I replied.

"It is Sir, just this once, through the pants. I'm curious... girls have imaginations too."

Though I knew the answer, I pondered her request to keep her waiting on edge.

"Just once," I agreed. Mrs. George raised her hand and gently ran her fingertips across the bulging fabric, tracing the shape and length of my sex, taking in the contours and firmness.

I closed my eyes and felt her finger through the pants. Her touch was electric as I imagined what it would be like skin to skin.

"It is lovely, Sir," she said a hint of disappointment in her voice as her hand retreated.

"Mrs. George, what is wrong?"

"May I touch it again? I finished to soon," she said grabbing at it, firmer this time.

"Mrs. George, we said only once and once it is..."

Mrs. George gave me a girly pout and retracted her hand.

"I'm sorry for over stepping my bounds, Sir. Will you indulge me a bit more? I want to make it up to you," she asked, a minx smirk on her face. I knew she was up to something devious. Sometimes you need to give people enough room to prove themselves.

"Why, Mrs. George? Why should I indulge you some more?"

"Because I aim to please you Sir. Trust me, please, as I trust you."

"Just a bit more, Mrs. George."

"Thank you, Sir," she said as she rose, leaned back against the edge of her desk, hiked up her skirt, lifted herself onto the desk, placed a spiked boot heel up on the edge and exposed her panty covered sex.

"Come closer Sir," she beckoned, "no, even closer to me," indicating I stand between her spread thighs, my legs against the edge of the desk and we but inches apart.

"Mrs. George are you trying to top from the bottom?" I playfully asked.

"Maybe.... just a little bit... and with your permission, of course, Sir," she coyly said, her head crooked to the side, a wicked little smile on her face, which sets me ablaze. It makes me lose my will, always manages to draw me to her. When she gives it to me, I just want to step forward, run my hands into her beautiful hair, ball it in my fist and kiss her hard, expressing deep passions for her.

I watched as Mrs. George slowly ran her hand up and down over her mound before slipping it inside the garment, "I bet you want to know what it looks like, feels like... its natural, untrimmed. I'm very wet and spread. Your spanking does that to me, Sir," she quipped as her fingers and knuckles moved, pulling and rippling the fabric.

"Sir, I want you to slide your hand down your pants and touch yourself. Will you do that for me?" I did not reply. I only acted and slowly stroked myself in cadence with her.

"Thank you for showing me how you do it, I need to know Sir," she said, our eyes locked as we starred at each other in silence for what was a long quiet moment, the two of us completely affixed on one another, sinking into the pools of lust our gazes confessed as tensions mounted.

"Sir, is it slick from pre-cum?"

"Yes," I muttered.

"Are you imagining how I would feel wrapped around it? You could have your way with me, Sir... drive it in hard and fast, pound at my flesh... I would not protest one bit... Is that what you want? To shove your cock into me in a sexual frenzy... I'd slap your face, hope you would slap me back... I would tell you to fuck me harder, incite you, hope you would grab me behind my head, ball my hair in your fists and drive into me, impaling me over and over, fucking me like an animal... yes, Sir, demure Mrs. George likes it rough, very, very rough.... Want me Sir?" she asked as I inched closer, my forehead against hers, hot breath swirling in the air between us, my crotch now pressing against hers... I went to drop my pants, thinking about the rapture about to be bestowed upon me... how my swollen cock head would feel touching her warm, wet lips as I entered her.

"Yes, Mrs. George, give it to me," I sneered.

"No," she simply said with a vixen's smile unexpectedly halting the moment. She gently pushed me back and rose from the desk, "Go home, look at those pictures of me this weekend, do not touch yourself and come next Friday, tell me how it feels...."

And with that Mrs. George straightened her clothes, gathered her belongings and walked to the door. My chest was heaving, my hands were still in my pants. I wanted to rush her, pin her up against the door, lift her skirt and take her.

Just before opening the door she looked over her shoulder, "Sir, by the way, please don't take this the wrong way, but, I live to please, no pun intended under the circumstances... you will learn... I'm the best damn tease you will ever have.... Have a good, long, restful weekend, Sir... and I can't wait until our meeting next Friday... Its but only a week away....."

The weekend gave me too much time to think. My frustration slowly simmered until it fomented to a frothy boil. Monday could not come quick enough.

Monday morning....

"To heck with Friday," I thought as I briskly walked towards her office door, my coat still on and the brief case still slung over my shoulder. I knew there was venom in my eye from the looks I was receiving as I plowed through the office corridors. These were the same looks I received when I was hell bent and on a mission, a hunter looking for the kill. "Little bitch is mine," I kept telling myself.

I stepped into her office and closed the door, making sure to lock it.

"You are early today, Sir. Something bothering you?" Mrs. George commented, a snickering perkiness to her, "You look distressed..."

"No, Mrs. George, I'm perfectly fine. I had a wonderful weekend," I said, refraining from describing it with the word "fucking" to hide my anger.

"How can I help you, Sir?"

"Mrs. George, I have figured you out."

"Oh?" she asked, feigned surprise in her voice.

"Yes. Stand up, hands on the desk."

"But it is not Friday afternoon," she protested.

"Monday" is the new 'Friday', Mrs. George. Put that to a memo. Now stand up and pull that skirt over your hips."

Mrs. George smirked as she complied, a smitten look telling me she knew she had gotten the best of me.

"Its not funny Mrs. George..."

"Sir?" she asked with bewilderment.

"You know to what I am referring. This has gone to far. My fault. I went weak Friday afternoon. I decided we can't do this on your terms and we need an end the progression or both of us are going to regret it."

"But Sir, I am as much at fault," she protested.

"Me, you, it does not matter. What is done is done and I'm taking control... my rules... just as you like it. Now, pull down you panties," I commanded, "You are going to meet your new best friend."

She looked at me with slight fear and extreme curiosity as I reached into the pocket of my trench coat and produced a plug.

"Have you ever, Mrs. George?" I asked showing her the toy.

She swallowed hard before a meek, submissive and regretful, "No Sir," rolled from her mouth.

"Well then, there are always firsts in life," I said lubing the plug before shoving her head down on the desk, her ass up in the air and pressing it to her arse, slowly, gently prodding and pushing it forward, teasing her until she opened, took it and gave a deep groan. The oval base of the plug fit perfectly between her cheeks. I slapped her ass for good measure, pulled up her panties and drew down her skirt.

"There you go Mrs. George. Now you can sit there all day, hold it inside you and contemplate. You like tension, right? I expect a beautiful smile plastered on your face at all times as if nothing is bothering you. I'll be back at 5:00 PM to collect it. I trust I will find it just where I have left it...."

I turned to leave but suddenly turned back towards her, "By the way, there has been a sudden change of schedule today. At 3:00 PM you and I will be in the conference room meeting with the chairman of the board. Mr. Wentworth is coming by for an informal meeting to discuss how the company can better support our division. I want you there to support me, and, so I can show case you as one of my talented team members, a way to promote you within the company. Please be prompt and your usual unfazed self in the face of stress."

Mrs. George sat down and I could tell from the look in her eyes that the pressure was appropriately disturbing, and I liked it. You see, not only is Mrs. George submissive but over that weekend I realized she valued and thrived on extraordinary tension- from the limits she placed on our relationship, how she enjoyed frustration and teasing to the lesson she sought to teach me. It all added up.... From every day thereafter, Mrs. George took her plug at 9:00 AM and at 5:00 PM, she took a daily spanking and then returned the plug to me. Yes, tension suited Mrs. George and she dutifully took it every day, thanking me every morning and every afternoon with a simple, "Thank you, Sir," and I loved it.