Just the beginning.

You smirk at her question. "Hardly. I'm just beginning," you say coldly. She bites her lip and stares at you.

You open a drawer of your desk and find one of the things you purchased this morning. Staring at her, you drop a pair of chromed handcuffs on your desk. She gasps as she realizes what they are.

You wait a moment to let her think about it, then reach into your drawer again and pull out another item, dropping it beside the handcuffs. Her eyes widen with the beginnings of panic as she recognizes a braided leather riding crop. Her gaze flickers from the crop to your face and back again unable to look in either place for long but unable to look away either.

"I want you to take a cushion off the couch and put it at one end of the coffee table," you tell her.

"Sir?" she asks, adding a look of puzzlement to her existing look of fear.

"It's a simple order, Meghan. Pick up that cushion and put it at that end of the coffee table." You point at the objects, shaking your head in dismay at her lack of understanding. Looking over her shoulder at you, she walks to the couch and picks up the cushion, placing it on the coffee table as instructed.

"Good girl, that wasn't so hard, was it? Now get on your hands and knees on the coffee table, your head at the end with the cushion." She complies, staring back at you with wide eyed worry. You pick up the handcuffs and walk towards her, seeing the panic start in her face.

"Sir..." she begins.

"Be quiet wench. Be quiet and do what you're told. Put your head down on the pillow, and bring your knees up a little more. Now clasp your hands together behind your knees." She obeys, her lips trembling. You reach down and snap the cuffs around her wrists, effectively turning her into a tiny bundle of naked woman, her round white ass in the air.

You enjoy the sight of her helpless plight, and the look of her frightened eyes for a moment before stepping back to your desk to pick up the riding crop. She gasps as you slap it against your hand, the popper at the end making a sharp crack.

You walk slowly towards her, locking your eyes on hers. You softly touch her ass with the crop, tracing it lightly over her skin. You see her shudder and her eyes start to fill with tears.

"You were exactly twelve minutes late for our meeting, Meghan. Twelve minutes. I think that calls for twelve strokes of the crop."

"Please Sir, I'm sorry Sir, please don't whip me, please," she pleads, tears on her cheeks. You raise the crop and land a moderate stroke across her ass.

"Oh please Sir, it hurts, please don't Sir, Ohhh God that hurts," she cries out as you land a second, slightly harder stroke. A fine red strip decorates the white globes of her ass cheeks. She's staring up at you, pleading with her weeping eyes. Mercilessly you lash her again, and her body winces.

"Oh God please stop Mr. Chandler, please. It hurts so much. I won't be late, I promise I've learned my lesson, I'm so sorry, OH GOD PLEASE STOP," she shrieks, as you lash her a fourth time. You're grateful that executive offices like yours are virtually soundproof.

"I can't take twelve sir, I can't, I'll die. Please sir, please have mercy on me. I'll be good, I'll be a good girl, I'll do anything you want, Sir, please sir, anything."