Over The Boss' Knee Read Online Free PDF Page A

blackmailer. On one side
she was afraid, but the other more complicated side of her was hot. Instantly
slick ... panties wet ... hot . Oh God. How could she?
    "No
one is up on t-the eighth floor, it's under remodel," she stuttered.
    "My
wife will never believe me," Mr. Carlson stated, looking trapped. "My
kids," he uttered.
    He
wanted her to do it! And Tess felt horrible about his wife and kids, but
what stuck in her mind was about what people would think of her if those
pictures got out. She would lose her job. No one would want to hire her. She
was blackmailed too.
    They
both said at the same time. "I can't let you do this," he said. And
she said, "I have to do this."
    In the
end, her decision won. Then after a nerve-wracking hour wait, it was quarter to
six and time for her to go upstairs. Normally they'd both be gone by then, and
all but one or two late workers were in the main office. Mr. Carlson was
determined to stay and wait to see that she was all right.
    "Here
give him this note from me," Mr. Carlson said, thrusting it toward her as
they stood outside the elevators. "If you are not back here or have not
called me by seven, I'm calling 9-1-1. Blast the circumstances," he
declared.
    Tess
looked up at him feeling braver than she’d been feeling, having him in her
corner. She took the note, saying, "If it's just a spanking, I don't mind
so much."
    She
blushed and she pushed the elevator button. Once inside the elevator she tried
to calm her pounding heartbeat by reading the note. "I won't hesitate to
call the police if anything but a spanking happens to Miss Brown. I have my
finger on the number and I will call 9-1-1 at one minute after seven if she's
not back in good shape."
    "Wow,"
Tess whispered, awed that Mr. Carlson would be so forceful on her behalf. He
had so much to lose. They both had. "So I better make this work," she
muttered.
    Then the
elevator dinged the eighth floor and the doors swooshed open. She tottered on
her black three-inch heels. At least she'd worn her more serviceable long
pencil skirt that day. But it was what she had on underneath that made her
anxious.
    For
weeks now ... since the spankings had begun she'd been wearing skimpier, and
well frankly sluttier, underthings. Today she had on an extremely tiny pink
thong with a bow on the back of it, black stockings, and a ruffled garter belt.
On top she wore a pink-studded bra-lette that barely covered her nipples much
less her breasts.
    Tess
nibbled on her bottom lip as she hesitantly left the elevator. She’d convinced
herself that she shouldn't have to worry about what she had on underneath her
clothes or she was going to push the speed dial button on her Blackberry, set
to 9-1-1, which she had slipped under the waistband of her skirt. It was all so
unreal, but the fact she was walking toward another man who was going to spank
her was slowly making her pussy throb harder with each step she took.
    What
would the man be like? Young? Older? Handsome ...
    "You
need a date too bad," she muttered under her breath, and she
stalled at the door to the break room.
    Her hand
nervously straightened her long ponytail over her shoulder, and then she
checked the position of her hidden Blackberry. She was thinking of backing away
and not going in. She was so keyed up with different emotions that she took one
step backward, away from the door
    "Don't turn around!" a deep male voice snapped behind her.
    Tess winced,
turning her head with the natural instincts to look. She felt a large presence
behind her and suddenly a hand was covering her eyes. "Don't," the
voice hissed. "Look."
    She
squealed in fright, immediately beginning to struggle, but a muscled arm came
across her much smaller waist.
    "So
you want me to walk up to your boss' wife and give her those pictures? Or
e-mail them to everyone in your office."
    Tess
struggled less and less with each word the man spoke, until she just stood and
trembled in his hold. "No, please." Her voice was small, and then