Chapter 23: Dedication

7 November 2025

The glass and steel lobby of the bank was still echoing when Ginny swiped her security pass at 07:45. Usually, she was the 08:00 whirlwind — stumbling in with a latte in one hand and her phone in the other, already halfway through a gossip-laden text. Today, she was far more deeply focused.

She had spent nearly two hours in front of her mirror, but it hadn't been her usual vanity. It had felt like a consecration.

She wore a sleeveless silk top the colour of fresh roses. The top three buttons were left undone, a deliberate invitation that offered a provocative glimpse of the red push-up bra beneath. The pattern of her mid-thigh black and white chequered skirt contrasted stylishly against the intricate pattern of her fishnet stockings. As she walked, the stockings felt like a constant caress against her skin and her mind, held taut by the hidden snap of suspenders.

Beneath it all, her thong was damp and clinging. Her ride on the Underground had done nothing to calm the hum inside her, with every vibration of the train resonating through her. By the time she stepped onto the platform, she was shivering from a relentless arousal that had soaked through the silk.

She reached her desk in the silent anteroom of the executive suite. She was surprised how much quieter the office was just a few minutes earlier, before the other ladies had arrived.

She sat down and began to arrange her desk. Only this time, she didn't just tidy it; she aligned it with a strangely exacting compulsion. Pens were placed parallel to the keyboard. The stapler was squared to the edge of the desk.

Finally, she settled into place. She sat up straight and her head cocked to the side slightly. She was ready.

Her eyes focused on the closed door of Bob’s office. Now it was time for her to wait.

Thinking of him placed a heavy pressure on her chest, and she craved to be summoned so he could fill the silence that had steadily consumed her.

The silence of the office was broken by the sharp, mechanical buzz of the intercom.

"Ginny," Bob’s voice crackled through the speaker, deeper and more resonant than she had ever heard it. "Come to me now."

Bob’s voice didn't sound like it was coming through a speaker; it sounded like it was vibrating directly inside her skull. The command hit her like a physical blow. The dull throb of waiting had instantly sharpened into an irresistible spike.

She didn't answer. She didn't have the words, and she no longer felt the need for them.

She simply rose. Yet again, the sensations of the fishnets and suspenders against her thighs were overwhelming. Everything was sensory overload this morning.

Ginny didn’t try to walk any differently, but her body had other ideas. Her hips swayed sensuously. This wasn’t the playful sashay of a flirt. She was pulled by an irresistible magnet, and every step made her proximity to Bob more of everything.

She pushed the door open.

The office was dim, the morning sun blocked by the heavy blinds. Bob sat behind his desk, silhouetted against the slivers of light. He wasn't looking at his monitors though.

He was looking at her.

Ginny stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a soft, final click. She stood there, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the pale red silk of her shirt fluttering with every shallow breath. She looked at him, and couldn’t help but wait for her superior to address her.

Bob stood up from his leather chair, the movement slow and deliberate. As he crossed the distance toward Ginny, she shivered. She had never felt intimidated by this man since she met him. Yet now…

“Ginny, what are you wearing?”

“Sir?”

“I asked you a question, Ginny. What are you wearing?”

“Um… a blouse and a skirt, sir.”

“I can see that. I mean underneath. Are you dressed like a little tart underneath too?”

Ginny was speechless. He had never spoken to her like that. She had half a mind to slap him, or yell at him.

Instead, her insides were squeezing, and the trickle of arousal was warmly oozing down her thighs.

He moved within centimetres of her, his shadow swallowing her smaller frame. He was taller than she was by a good head, and she had to tilt her head back, her neck arching to look up into his eyes.

Bob reached out, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he grabbed her wrist. She didn’t try to pull away. And so he clenched her forcefully.

Possessively.

"I am your Master," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of an absolute decree.

The word hit her like a physical blow. A wave of power racked her body, starting at her head and travelling down to her heels. The last remnants of Ginny — the way she’d usually be taking the mickey out of the junior analysts, the flirtatious ego, the what the fuck? from the night before — were instantly incinerated.

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”