You’ll call me Miss.

At school, Miss was a terrible student. It wasn’t that I was stupid or incapable; it was that I could never find the motivation to apply my effort, not to the subjects they teach in schools. There was just one branch of learning that Miss threw herself into with enthusiasm. At least it was learning for me. I tirelessly honed and perfected what I called my ‘brattitude’. Being a brat, to Miss, is more than a mere subject. It’s almost a religion; I am a goddess of brattishness.

Just a couple of years ago, you’d probably have thought Miss was less a goddess and more a bratty little kitten. This is the story of how I blossomed into a hellcat.

There was a painful lesson in my late teens. Miss had been taken onto the books of a high-profile modelling agency. After a couple of successful test sessions with well-known photographers, I started to get bookings from leading fashion brands. This was a dream career, the perfect path for the super-brat Miss was born to be. The trouble was that I dialled up my brattitude too rapidly. Complaints came in, and the agency kicked me out on my perfect little tush. 

Miss tried rival agencies, but modelling, at the elite end, is a close-knit business. Word had spread. Eventually, after stern warnings about ‘expected behaviour’, one of those agencies did take Miss on. I thought I had my inner brat under control, but after a few months, when the bookings were flowing, I started to feel indispensable. My inner diva could be suppressed no longer. Sadly, it seemed I was not quite so vital as I’d imagined, and I was out on my pretty little ass once more. After that, no reputable agency would touch Miss. So I learned the hard way that I must carefully judge when and how to exercise my inner brat. Eventually, I worked out how to take my diva in hand, and I started to use her to my advantage.

An early benefit of learning how to regulate my brattiness was that I just about managed to keep a decent relationship with my parents. By the age of nineteen, with limited career prospects, it was helpful financially to live at home. I also managed to get myself a job in a small legal office that was tucked away in a courtyard behind the local high street. This was a relief; there was pressure from my parents to take a job at the local supermarket. That would have been a disaster. Suppressing my insatiable desire to be a prima donna while dealing with queues of people that stand in line for ages, then still haven’t prepared themselves for their audience with me, well, that would have been intolerable. Miss would have been fired within a week.

Miss turned on the charm during the interview with the law firm, and it worked. I became an administrative assistant to Gordon Stevens. 

Most of the time, it was just Miss and Gordon in his small office suite. On Wednesdays, Gordon would arrange out-of-office meetings; he felt it more efficient to try to bunch them together. So he was away from the office all day. In Gordon’s place, each Wednesday, a consultant who advised the firm, a woman with the exotic name of Ach Kumari, would work from the office on various cases in hand and field any urgent phone calls that required legal input. Ach was short for Achila. Achila was also short in height yet all the more striking and formidable for that.

With a modicum of effort, I wrapped Gordon around my cunning little finger. It was clear he was attracted to Miss. Not that he did anything inappropriate, but I could tell from the way he reacted when I first walked into his office that he enjoyed being in the presence of a pretty, self-possessed young lady. 

Mostly, I managed Gordon’s diary and helped with correspondence, expenses, and that sort of dreary day-to-day functioning. At the interview, Gordon had promised that if I showed aptitude, he’d consider paying for my training to become a qualified legal secretary. But Miss was never going to have the motivation required. I wasn’t remotely interested in law, despite what I’d said to get the job. I quickly fell into a pattern of doing just enough and flashing my pretty eyes often enough to keep the job. 

Wednesdays, with Ach, were much trickier. She seemed to warm to Miss at first but quickly saw through the facade. Where Gordon made polite requests and gentle corrections, Ach was direct. Once she’d sniffed out my lack of motivation, she was determined to control every moment, dictating precisely what I must do and how quickly I should do it. That was a red rag to Miss’s not-so-inner brat. Having learned that early lesson, we were careful not to get too bratty too soon, but it was difficult not to be sarcastic with Ach, not to attempt to wind her up; she bit so easily. Ach said that she thought Miss was ‘unforgivably sloppy,’ with ‘an attitude that was appalling’. But if she shared those concerns with Gordon, it didn’t seem to influence his relationship with me. Not at first, anyway. 

One Wednesday, Ach was barking orders as usual. I was up and down, filing, typing, printing, and generally hating every moment, when Gordon called in to say his late afternoon meeting had been cancelled. He was coming back to the office. This was a rare event; it was the first such occurrence in my time working in that office.

When Gordon returned, Ach was in his room, where there was a large desk and a small meeting area for use when, very occasionally, a client would drop in. Miss was in the front office by the filing cabinets. Gordon’s room had soundproofing, but he hadn’t completely shut the door. I could hear Ach complaining about something, so I moved closer to listen in.

‘Well, yes, she seems bright enough. But she’s sloppy, lazy, and her attitude sucks.’

‘I don’t know about that, Ach. Elena’s reasonably professional with me.’ I smiled. It was just as I had thought: Gordon was precisely where I wanted him. ‘I’ll agree there’s some rough edges, some lapses in attentiveness, but all she needs is a little time and input. Everyone does, at first.’

‘She’s bone idle, mouthy, and pouty. She needs a bloody good spanking, that’s what.’

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. My head was spinning like a dervish. Yes, I was concerned Ach might convince Gordon of my shortcomings. But the suggestion of her administering a spanking had set fireworks off in Miss’s head. 

I returned to the front desk and immediately googled the topic on my phone. That was when I properly discovered BDSM. I embraced my study of that topic as I’d taken to studying all things ‘brat’. To me, they were like two branches of a fascinating science. And on those two subjects, Miss was a straight-A student. By the time Wednesday came around again, my head was already swelling with ideas.

It didn’t take long for Ach to start agitating that morning. Some papers were missing from a file Miss had returned to the filing cabinet the previous week. Ach barked at Miss to review the other files she’d worked on last Wednesday. After the best part of an hour, I found the papers Ach needed.

‘Have you any idea the cost of that wasted hour to this firm, young lady? You need a darn good…’ she paused, searching for an appropriate word.

‘Spanking?’ Channeling my bratty best, I looked straight at Ach with all the nonchalance I could muster. She was a little shocked; her mouth fell open.

‘Yes, Ach, I heard you speaking to Gordon last week.’

I was thrilled to see a slight flush of embarrassment dance across Ach’s cheeks as she collected herself.

‘Well, I wasn’t being literal…’ I cut her off sharply.

‘Yes, you were. You meant just what you said, even if Gordon didn’t think so. And, you know what? You were right. So you’d better get spanking or shut the fuck up. Which is it to be?’ Miss’s inner brat was on full boost now. I knew Ach had to flail my pretty little ass.

‘Well, if you’re going to speak to me like that, I’ve no choice but to give you the spanking you so richly deserve, you lazy, jumped-up little bitch.’ Ach’s eyes betrayed desire. I had her exactly where I wanted her.

That day, Miss had worn an especially short skirt. I knew Gordon wouldn’t approve; it would have made him nervy. But Ach enjoyed looking all the way up Miss’s long legs and showed no restraint in doing so. I reciprocated by making no attempt to hide my frequent, lingering gazes at Ach’s substantial breasts. I guessed Ach was in her late thirties. She was a good-looking woman who dressed in a way that was professional but made ample use of her sexual allure.

Miss had been sure not to wear any panties for the occasion. Ach had Miss bend over the desk for the spanking. My modesty was barely covered by my skirt when Ach proceeded to land her first blows. She enjoyed her role as disciplinarian, running through a laundry list of Miss’s ‘crimes of commission and omission’. That said, Ach wasn’t spanking anything like hard enough; I wanted some marks, and she appeared to think the session was coming to an end after only a few minutes. Miss had to do something. I stood up, uninvited, and looked Ach squarely in the eye.

‘You’re not going to spank properly? I mean, those few light spanks over a skirt will barely make any fucking difference, will they.’ I’d chosen my words carefully, figuring Ach would be suggestible. Her deep black eyes narrowed in her dark face. Ach went from attractive to stunning when she became pissed off. Stunning to Miss, at least. There is so much more satisfaction in entrapping a beautiful beast when it’s angry. Since that moment, I’ve often wondered whether a bull assumes it’s superior to a matador.

‘Right, you asked for this!’

Ach bent Miss back over the desk forcefully. Without a pause, she hoiked my skirt to my hips. There was a quiet, sharp gasp as Ach saw that Miss was already naked beneath. Deliberately, I spread my legs a little, pushing my neat little cunt out to give her a better view. She started to spank Miss hard now. I winced, and my head began to roil. After a few minutes, Ach made Miss stand up and remove her skirt altogether.

‘What is it with you young girls and your bald little porno pussies? What’s wrong with some sensual public hair?’

‘Are you punishing me or perving over my genitalia?’

‘I’m punishing you, you cheeky little bitch. And for your sass, you’ll spend the rest of the day working without your skirt or panties, young lady. Then perhaps you’ll learn who’s in charge here.’ Of course, I was not the one struggling to comprehend who was in control.

Once she’d given Miss’s bottom a proper going over, Ach had Miss filing, typing, getting up and down to do this and that, and taking calls. She demanded that Miss sit at the small meeting room table in Gordon’s office rather than at the desk in the front office. She said it was to keep an eye on Miss, but the meeting table had those cane-covered chairs with bent chrome legs. Those cane seats were excruciating on my bare, freshly-spanked behind. Checking in the mirror in the loo, I no longer simply had two red cheeks from the spanking; I also had the deep imprint of the cane pattern from the chair right across my behind. No wonder Ach was finding regular excuses to get Miss to her feet. I could feel her eyes ogling my gridded, tenderised bottom at every opportunity.

Miss was standing at the filing cabinet, with her embossed backside on display, when Gordon came striding through the office door. We’d not heard him turn his key in the lock as Ach was barking yet more orders to Miss at her most forthright volume. Not that Miss would have made any attempt to disguise what was going on. Miss felt no reason to mention to Ach that Gordon had warned his afternoon meeting could be cancelled again. Just the threat of reporting Ach’s spanking to Gordon would have been enough for Miss’s purposes. But Gordon walking into the scene enhanced Miss’s power considerably.

‘What the hell is going on here?! Ach, you’ve some explaining to do. Elena, for goodness’ sake, get dressed.’

Gordon strode through to Ach at his desk and shut the door to his office behind him before opening it briefly to hand Miss her skirt. Then, for all the much-vaunted soundproofing, I could hear a tense conversation developing. This time, I couldn’t quite make out what was said.

It was about twenty minutes later when Gordon called Miss into his office. Ach was standing to one side of his desk looking at her feet, very much NOT the budding ass-busting dominatrix that had been evident a short while earlier.

‘Now tell me, Elena, who instigated this… this spanking thing? Today?’

‘Me. I did.’

Ach beamed victoriously and started to speak. Gordon dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She looked dejected. Suddenly, Miss felt supremely powerful.

‘And is it true that you said you’d like spanking to be part of the disciplinary process at this firm?’

Gordon was doing a terrible job of masking his excitement.

‘Yes. It is.’

‘I see. Well, that’s highly irregular. I’ll have to give it some thought. And we’ll need to draft some kind of agreement… should I accept such an arrangement is possible and desirable, that is.’

Again, I could read Gordon like a newspaper headline. He was more excited than a small boy on Christmas Eve.

‘But it’s certainly true, Elena, that you need some sharpening up. Ach makes a valid point there. However, your discipline is not in Ach’s purview. Ach, I am seriously disappointed that you have overstepped your mark today. I feel I need to discipline both of you.’

Gordon wasn’t about to let the lack of a written spanking agreement spoil this rare opportunity to spank two attractive women. In short order, we were both stripped from the waist down. Ach was bent over Gordon’s desk, getting a dose of what she’d meted out to Miss earlier; Miss was left to watch. 

Ach had an incredible ass. Bigger than Miss’s but sculpted over years of visits to the gym. Her deliciously hairy cunt was on clear display from the back, thanks to the well-defined muscles of her legs and ass. 

Gordon spanked Ach for about four minutes. He wasn’t very forceful, but he produced a decent blush on her cheeks, and I was delighted by the shame Ash displayed at having her wings and fine ass clipped.

‘I shan’t be spanking you so much, Elena. You’ve clearly had quite a working over from Ach. But if you don’t sharpen your act, there will be plenty more to come, do you hear?’

As I was about to answer, Ach rose from the desk.

‘You’ll stay down there until I’ve finished with Elena.’ Gordon was uncharacteristically firm. Ach complied. On reflection, Gordon wanted me to witness Ach’s entire punishment while giving Ach a limited view of mine. It was part of putting Ach in her place.

Miss was bent over the desk to the right of Ach. I ended up face-to-face with her, just a few inches between our noses. Gordon could see my every expression as he spanked Miss’s pert little bottom, but he couldn’t see any part of Ach’s face.

I expected fury to be in Ach’s eyes, but in its place, I saw something entirely different and even more helpful to my purposes: lust. I blinked hard with each spank, and more than once, I opened my eyes to find Ach running the tip of her tongue around her lips and looking at Miss with filthy, longing eyes. I kept my face as neutral as possible. Both because Gordon could see it, and I loved that Ach was left guessing at my response to her advances.

I’ve come to understand that lust is among the most corrosive of passions. It compels people to desire beyond their capacity for reason. Those who lust all seek the same end: the completion of themselves. But lust is greedy; it becomes its own destiny. The desire to experience lust drives the destruction of any relationship that threatens to complete the person who lusts, thereby threatening their capacity to lust. So, as there is a cycle of life, there is a cycle of lust—germination, growth, blossoming, and atrophy. When handled carelessly, lust sucks a person to desiccation. Domination is often a matter of controlling someone’s lust so it feeds rather than destroys them.

In discovering BDSM, Miss finally understood how to perpetuate a relationship. Domination, to Miss, was the process of developing a vision of completing a person, while never falling for the illusion that perfection is attainable. Throughout that process, it is essential to celebrate progress while ceaselessly teasing out and highlighting the need for improvement.

At that moment, on Gordon’s desk, gazing through Ach’s eyes at her hungry soul, I realised that Ach’s life choices drew her towards environments that imposed structure upon her. Formidable as Ach appeared to be, she could not define herself. Ach chose a highly structured profession, and by working as a consultant, clients sought her expertise in short, organized bursts. It was clear, external affirmations of that nature that defined Ach. By contrast, Miss was always the sole definition of Miss. Any external attempt at defining Miss was an inadequate and unnecessary irritation. Where Ach was a molten river of metal, consuming much in her path, Miss was an unyielding die. The more Ach forced herself towards Miss, the more Miss would define Ach. And the energy that would compel Ach towards Miss was lust. Ach’s anxieties were the roadmap by which I’d define her future journey, and the fuel I would use to keep her lust aflame.

Gordon instructed Miss to get dressed but kept Ach across the desk. When Ach was finally allowed to rise and dress, I was empowered to focus on the scene again.

Ach had a wonderfully thick bush, almost angry looking. As she pulled on her sheer red panties, that angry bush was crushed behind a veil like a mighty panther caught in a net.

Gordon told Ach she should leave for the day but asked Miss to stay for ‘a word.’ He wanted to double-check that Miss hadn’t in any way felt pressured into accepting a spanking by Ach. I was almost too desperate to reassure him, so he cross-examined me to be certain. I needed to get home urgently. The events of the day had left Miss desperate for masturbatory relief. 

Finally, Gordon said I could go. I walked swiftly downstairs and out of the main door of the building. As I went to leap between two cars into the courtyard, the door of a BMW swung open, nearly leaving me winded. It was Ach.

‘Get in; you’re coming with me, young lady.’ Ach was speaking more softly now, and she wore a lascivious smile. But she was back to her role of commanding Miss.

I threw my eyes into slits and gave Ach a dismissive look, noting a touch of discomfort in the expression that drifted across her face. Then I climbed into the passenger seat, imagining she was my driver; indeed, had it not been a two-seater, I’d have jumped into the back.

Ach went speeding off towards London, where, I soon discovered, she had a flat in a contemporary development just a block back from the Thames.

She drove so fast, with such focus, that there wasn’t much space for conversation. She asked if anyone was expecting me. I explained that I came and went as I pleased. She asked if I’d prefer Italian or Chinese. She was told, in no uncertain terms, that I required French food that evening. She let out a laugh as though I were joking. I gave no oxygen to her delusion.

Ach turned into a car park under her building, and we parked and walked towards the lifts. When the lift doors closed, Ach pinned Miss against the mirror and started a deep and passionate kiss. I took a large handful of her impressively sculpted ass and squeezed as hard as possible, making her yelp.

‘You fucking little hellcat.’ Ach cried, trying to slap Miss’s ass but only catching the side as I had the protection of the lift wall. Hellcat? She didn’t yet know the half of it. 

Her apartment was on an upper floor with a city view. The kitchen was part of the living space, separated only by an island unit. Ach pushed Miss back into that island, and tongues resumed exploring mouths, each tongue jousting for control. After a few moments, she paused and pulled away.

‘You could get me into a lot of trouble.’

She was all smiles.

I gave her a stare so cold it would chill the core of the sun. I spoke slowly and deeply, aiming for an edge of menace.

‘Yes, stripping and spanking a subordinate; imagine your shame if that were reported?’

Ach’s eyes widened. She must have known that I wouldn’t take action against her, not least since it’s the kind of tedious diversion I would never bother to pursue. She could not know that I was too delighted at how I’d controlled that situation to have it recorded in history that I was a helpless victim. And in securing the subordination of someone as strong and logical as Ach, it’s helpful to let them have a rational basis for their submission. Perhaps she needed to believe I’d report her, at least in those early days.

‘It’d be bye-bye career for you, Ach.’

I raised my skirt, revealing my ‘bald little porno pussy’ once again, and placed a hand firmly on Ach’s head. She looked confused. 

‘Don’t worry. As long as you serve attentively as my little bitch, I can keep the authorities at bay. Probably.’

I pushed on Ach’s head. Her look was part amazement but moving towards a smile. She’d decided this was a game, and it certainly was, for Miss.

‘That tongue of yours had better get busy, and you will need to be superb at cunnilingus, you filthy little slut.’

Ach seemed to think her duties were done once I’d had my first orgasm. I ordered her to strip before pushing her down again to work on taking me towards a second. As she undressed, I removed her bra, watching intently as her pendulous breasts sprung free at my bidding. She yelped as I squeezed her nipples hard, then sunk my fingers into her angry bush below. She tried to seize control, grabbing Miss’s jacket to undo the button and strip Miss in turn. I slapped her soundly across the face, wagging my finger as she stumbled backwards, reeling and looking with astonishment into my eyes.

‘This is not fifty-fifty. You know that you need my absolute control.’ Ach blinked in shock, swallowing hard at my sternness and the unfamiliar truth she faced. My eyes left hers to their blinking and drifted down her body. ‘Once you’ve given Miss a second orgasm, that bush of yours is to come clean off.’

‘You’re not trimming my bush, Elena, no.’

‘It’s “Miss” to you. And if you want more of my time and attention, you will be a good little bitch and do as I tell you.’ 

I’d seen enough in Ach’s eyes that day to know she had a deep longing for submission, even though she railed against it. All I had to do was to push her buttons in the correct order. Inexperienced as I was back then, I had studied tirelessly. I was remarkably clear on how to win Ach’s devotion.

Much as I admired Ach’s bush, it had to go. It was to be a sign of her submission to Miss. 

Even in her state of chastisement back in Gordon’s office, Ach had taken an evident pride in her bush. I knew it must be shaven smooth, as I knew she’d resist its removal. That’s why, from the first time I mentioned shaving it, I was resolute that one of the prices for having Miss around was for Ach to give up control of her bush. And Ach was desperate for the time and attention of Miss.

Over the coming weeks, Miss worked out the value of letting Ach grow back her bush to a limited extent. In time, I set specific rules and dimensions. She was to be shaved smooth from half an inch above the top of her vaginal crack downwards. The remaining strip of hair above was to be kept precisely one and a half inches wide. It was to protrude no more than an inch from her body. And if she displeased Miss significantly, the gap between the top of her vaginal crack and the bottom of her strip of pubic hair was to increase in half-inch increments until Miss decreed she could regrow it. In practice, this meant that when Ach displeased Miss three times in a row or on occasions when she erred so gravely that I declared that more than half an inch was to be removed, she would quickly be returned to her entirely smooth state. And a smooth state was a state of shame. Ach was reminded regularly that I desired her a little less when she was completely shaven. I let my pubic hair grow wild, as a mark of dominance. 

Miss determined that Ach was to be naked from the waist down at all times when we were alone in private together. This became fully naked at Miss’s whim. So Ach’s pubic strip was a barometer of her obedience and my approval. But all of that came in time. 

On that first night, when Miss had finished with the scissors and the razor and had removed Ach’s deliciously angry bush, Ach was instructed to inspect herself in a full-length mirror. I’d already pulled my skirt back down, so I was fully dressed, and Ach was more naked than she’d ever been as an adult. I stood behind Ach as she examined her newly denuded self in her bedroom. She was a little deflated; I could see her shoulders dropping. I took her fingers and guided them under my skirt, deep into my pussy.

‘You’re my hot little bitch. Feel what you’ve done to Miss, how wet you’ve made Miss? When you’re with Miss, you’ll hold yourself like the hot little bitch you are, whatever your state of dress or undress. Do you understand?’

I watched as Ach shook herself, gradually regaining her bodily confidence. I could see she was quivering with desire, desperate for Miss to feast on her freshly smooth cunt. That was when I chose to have her call a French restaurant and arrange for some food to be delivered. 

Ach, naturally, assumed she was going to eat with Miss. She struggled to accept it when I told her she’d serve Miss and eat leftovers later. She knew I was serious when I gave precise instructions for how I would be served: a freshly-ironed linen napkin, a starched tablecloth with pressed creases, and potatoes to be spooned in quenelles. I overwhelmed her with instructions, each one detailed and precise. Somehow, I knew that by giving her such specific orders, her mind would be so focused on the intricacies of pleasing me that focusing on her submission would become secondary. Not that she immediately complied that first time. I had to tease her and let her know her throbbing cunt would get no attention if she didn’t comply.

Given the lack of time to prepare, and the need to overcome her resistance, Ach did a decent job meeting my impromptu demands. I was clear about where improvements were expected in future while showing an understanding of the circumstances and limited time for preparation. Ach had pleased Miss sufficiently that, for pudding, I told her I would eat her cunt all the way to ecstasy; then I would be having second helpings. 

Ach had goosebumps on the mound of her cunt as it adjusted to its unfamiliar exposure to fresh air. I had her lay on the cool granite of her kitchen island to heighten her shivers as I took a jar of honey from her cupboard and watched her flinch as I poured a stripe of it along her slit. Then I helped myself to the honey mixed with her juices.

She was instructed not to move or speak, other than to request permission to orgasm. The outer lips of her cunt tasted clean, with the sweetness of the honey mixing with a touch of scent from the soap I’d used to shave her. As I worked back to the inner lips, an intoxicating musk emerged. I told Ach she was a filthy little slut with a wet and dirty little pussy. It tasted rich and delicious, flowing with juices that mapped the many desires and stimulations of earlier that day. 

She was close to orgasm, and her thighs began to shake. Before she could even ask, I made it very clear she would not be allowed her climax for some time yet. 

As she pleaded for release, I removed a small spatula from a pot of utensils nearby and started to spank the mound of her pussy. I struck hard enough to send her knees reeling towards her stomach but lightly enough that the pang would quickly fade to a tingle that would tease out her building orgasm. 

Ach thirsted for my tease and control just as much as I desired to dominate her.

‘Please!’ Her eyes glistered with sparse tears of frustration. Still standing, I lay my face down onto the counter next to hers, moving my forefinger in circles around her clit.

‘You’re going to be a good little bitch for Miss from now on?’

‘Ooo, yes. Let me come. Please, Miss!’

‘You’re going to do your duty and work hard to please Miss?’

‘Yes. Miss! Please! Miss!’

I gave the softest whisper close to her ear, ‘okay, be a good little slut, come for Miss.’

I circled her clit with the gentlest of touches as she came, directing each wave of her orgasm with carefully-timed revolutions. Ach released a series of faint screams, grabbing my arm as if unsure whether to keep me close or push my tormenting fingers away. 

I gave her a few moments to recover, then instructed her to lick the granite clean of her juices. When she’d finished her work, I directed Ach to order me a cab.

‘Please. Please stay the night… Miss?’

I’d required Ach to address me as Miss as a reminder that she was submitting to a much younger woman. But every time she said the word, I felt more powerful and in control.

I took her by the chin tenderly. ‘I’ll see my lovely little bitch again on Wednesday, not before. And I’ll be checking you’ve attended to certain… duties.’  

Waiting for the cab, I gave Ach clear instructions for how she was to present herself on Wednesday, and a tantalising idea of what to expect during the day. But I knew to keep her guessing too. Ensuring constant anxiety in a sub is essential to maintaining their fixation on your commands.

Preparing to leave, I picked up an expensive handbag that I’d taken from Ach’s bedroom.

‘I’ll be requisitioning this.’ Ach nodded, swallowing hard once again.

Then I pressed Ach’s naked body against my clothes, teased her newly smooth cunt, and turned and stepped through her front door. I left her alone to ponder her transformation.

Miss knew that by the following Wednesday, Ach would have regained much of her agency. But she’d also be captive to her longing for Miss. From that day on, in contrast to my previous record, I was careful to arrive first at the office.

By 8:56 am, when, as expected, a key turned in the lock of the outer office door, I was installed behind Gordon’s desk. The laptop Ach used was set up on the meeting room table. Next to the laptop, the files she was to work on were neatly organised in the order she was to attend to them. On top of the files was a page of notes I had compiled and printed at home the previous night. Miss had written these notes as clear, precise orders.

On Tuesday, as was routine, I took notes as Gordon ran through the work he’d like Ach to tackle the following day. But, this week, I was not simply passive. I pressed Gordon for further instructions, ‘in case there aren’t many calls, and Ach races through the work, as she sometimes does.’ With that encouragement, there was a good third more work than usual. And in my notes, I had given Ach strict instructions that all of the work was to be completed that day, in addition to her fetching coffee and buying and serving my lunch, plus a couple of additional attendances to my needs.

The door to Gordon’s office swung open, and Ach stepped in purposefully.

‘I’m sorry, Elena, I’ve been thinking. But, well, bringing our little game into the office isn’t going to work. Unfortunately.’

Without looking up, Miss smiled. Ach had no idea how diligently I’d prepared for this moment, nor how perfectly she was performing to my script.