Things aren't all roses.

Unfortunately, not everything goes to plan. The email from Mr. Blackwood had been blunt. A major fuckup - largely out of your control - but a fuckup all the same, that critically endangered the relationship between your companies. And this was a man who controlled a significant chunk of your market. An apology wasn't going to cut it. It took a long phone call, but you convinced him to at least meet with you. So it was that you flew to his headquarters, with Gemma in tow. You wore your best suit, with Gemma dressed in a crisp white blouse and black pencil skirt. She looked professional, but the way the fabric clung to her left little to the imagination. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, her lips painted a deep red.

She knew what was coming. The rules were clear: when a client was displeased, Gemma compensated.

The door to Blackwood's office swings open, his expensive cologne filling your nostrils. His sharp suit, the way he carried himself - this was a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. And the recent shortcomings of your company were not what he wanted.

"This better be good," Blackwood says, his eyes fixed on you.

"Mr. Blackwood, this is my assistant Gemma," you say, gesturing towards her. "She's here to apologize for our recent mishap."

"Apologize?" he scoffs. "It will take more than just words to fix this mess. Especially from a mere secretary."

"No, no," you reassure him, placing your briefcase down on the desk in front of him and removing a small leather-bound case. "Much more than mere words."

Gemma removes her hair tie, letting her long dark hair cascade down her shoulders, and then begins unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her bra-less tits underneath. You flip the case open, revealing a selection of tools: a leather paddle, a slender cane, an electric shock wand, a silk blindfold, and a set of clamps. Blackwood's eyes glint with a hint of wickedness. By the time you slide the case over to Blackwood, Gemma's skirt is discarded, and she stands there, completely nude, her skin prickling with goosebumps from the cold air coming from the air conditioning.

“She’s all yours,” you say. “However you see fit.”

Blackwood doesn't hesitate. He gets up from his desk. The room plunges into silence, save for the soft rustle of his suit as he circles her, inspecting his "apology".