AFTER HOURS

She keeps a clean office. Her files are organized, her computer sparkles, she never leaves cups or food wrappers around, and her desk is dustless and uncluttered with everything in its right place.

After hours, her boss is in his right place, too. He sits across from her tied up with rope to a desk chair, hands behind his back, arms fastened down tightly, ankles bound to the chair legs. The gag over his mouth is one of her used thigh-high stockings that she keeps in a paper shopping bag by the coatrack.

He’s helpless, immobilized, just another piece of office furniture for her to use as she pleases.

She undoes his belt and pulls his expensive slacks down to his ankles. During the act, her hand brushes the bulge in his briefs, which makes it move. By the time she sits down across from him, crosses her legs and smiles, he’s got a cannon in his shorts and it’s pointed right at her.

That’s their game. Sometimes a man in charge craves a little submission. Office work is bondage anyway. May as well make it literal sometimes, just for fun.

He and his secretary don’t number their scenarios, but let’s call this one #3. The “Sexual Harassment Game”, that old classic.

After everyone’s gone home for the day, she bops around the office looking cute, all smooth skin, long legs, round ass, and breasts that push out against her dress. He comes on to her, she resists, says she doesn’t like bald men. Not discouraged, he grabs her butt and gives that peach a squeeze, to which she responds with a knee to his balls.

Does it hurt when she knees him in the balls?

God, yes. Neither he nor she can act worth a damn for the role-playing scene, but that knee to his testicles is real. So is his reddened face and the trauma that erupts between his legs and then blossoms up in his stomach.

Every time she knees him in the nuts—and she knees him hard—it’s a head-spinning ordeal, but he goes with it because that’s part of the humiliation. It’s supposed to hurt. It’s the double shot of whiskey in this heady sexual cocktail.

After he’s tied up (which is also real), she teases him. She gets him to squirm against the ropes and whine under his gag while a useless hard-on throbs between his legs. It's always up to her how she does it.

"It’s so easy for a woman to defeat a man," she says to him as she slips out of her dress.

She keeps a dildo in the back of the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. She bends over in thong panties with her ass in the air like a petunia in full bloom, to pull it out and then stands up. She turns around and looks at her tied-up boss.

"Most of the time she can do it simply using this"—she puts a finger to her temple, indicating her brain.

"She can also do it using this"—she puts her hand down her panties and rests her palm flat against her vagina. Then she tugs her panties down her legs, shakes them down to her ankles, steps out of them and kicks them to her boss. They breeze against his face and then tumble to the floor.

"She can also do it with these and this"—she grabs her breasts and then slaps her naked ass.

Her boss, his erection still raging, doesn't move, doesn't struggle to get free from the ropes. He just watches her.

The secretary sits down in a chair across from him. She takes off her bra, tosses it, and then spreads her legs and lays the dildo between her thighs.

"And sometimes," she continues, "all she needs to use is this, right in his balls"—she taps her bare knee and smirks.

And that’s real, too. She says it naturally, no acting necessary.

COMMERCIAL FOR A SITCOM

The camera loves her legs, her face, her hair, her breasts, her smile and everything else she's got.

That’s her, the brunette sitting on the couch on the set of a new husband-and-wife sitcom called Angie & Sam. Her smile is huge. Her eyes are sparkling oceans. Her short skirt shows all of her long showgirl legs while her famously large chest pushes out against a tight blue sweater that’s cut to show a wisp of cleavage.

Meet Angie.

"Hi!," Angie says, perky as can be, to the camera as the commercial starts, "I really want to tell you about my new show, but my husband is supposed to be here to do it with me and he’s late". She looks to the side as if addressing the camera crew. "Anyone seen him?"

"I’m here, I’m here," says a male voice off-camera.

A dumpy guy in jeans and a T-shirt and with a little extra weight on his gut bumbles onto the set. He pats down an unnatural-looking head of dark brown hair as he sits next to Angie and smiles at the camera.

Meet Sam.

"Uh," she says. "What is that thing on your head?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam acts confused by her question.

"The wig. You’re wearing a wig."

"No, I’m not. This is what I look like," he says, a nervous glare on his face. "Anyway, I want to tell everyone about our new show! It’s on Tuesdays at—"

"Wait," Angie interrupts him. "You’re not wearing that for our show. You’re bald. The audience needs to know that you’re bald." She looks directly into the camera, points to Sam and silently mouths the words "He’s bald.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he says to her. Then he looks into the camera and continues. "Sorry everyone, she's a little crazy. Anyway, we have a great new show Tuesdays at—".

Angie reaches up and tries to snatch the wig off Sam’s head. He leans away from her and deflects the grab.

"Ah, ah, ah," he says.

She tries again. He leans away again.

"Stop!" he says. "We have to finish the commercial! We don’t have a lot of time."

"All right," she says, rolling her eyes.

Sam gives it one more try. Great new show. Tuesdays at—

And then Angie quickly punches him in the balls. Crunch! He never saw it coming.

Sam’s eyes bug out comically and instead of saying what time the show starts on Tuesdays, he lets out a fluttering whine that sounds like “huuu-uuuuh-uuuh”.

His hands move to cover his crotch and Angie pulls off Sam’s wig with ease revealing his horseshoe-patterned bald head to the world. She tosses the wig off-camera.

"Okay, that’s better," she says while Sam sits stiff as a statue in a world of pain, eyes wide open in shock.

"So," she continues, beaming at the camera, "We have a very funny show Tuesdays at 8 o’clock." She looks at Sam. "Do you want to tell them what date it starts?"

Sam makes a noise similar to a mouse squeak.

"We start on October 7," Angie says for him. "You should check it out. You’ll have a ball. Or two". She elbows Sam lightly in the ribs, a huge smile on her face. He’s too wrapped up in his pain to respond. "We think you’ll go nuts for us!"

Angie reaches up and pats Sam's bald head.

"Don't worry about him," she says to the camera. "He'll be better by Tuesday."

Fade out.