Spanking Ms. Whitman (Play at Work) Read Free

ate at her. What could it hurt to take one little peek in his closet?
    No! I don’t even have the excuse of needing to pee anymore. Of course…who could know that? Before she could change her mind, she leapt up and sprinted for the restroom door. She closed it behind her, careful to listen to it click closed before turning to face the heavy cabinet that had driven her to such reckless behavior. Probably locked, anyway.
    Mona gave the handle an experimental tug and to her amazement, it opened. As she had expected, a clothes closet held a row of padded hangers, two business suits, and a tuxedo. A low shelf with a few pairs of men’s shoes and a set of built-in drawers completed the contents.
    She drifted her fingers along the clothes—a heather gray sport coat, the heavy, smooth weave of the tuxedo, and bent to gather a suit jacket against her face. It held the scent she had come to associate with Mr. Marks. Not that she made a practice of sniffing him, but sometimes in the elevator or when he stood near her while she gave him her reports… Cologne, woodsy, with a note of citrus, and the clean musk she recognized as his alone. She allowed herself the luxury of standing surrounded by his clothes, his scent, his personal belongings then, unable to resist, pulled the gray jacket off its hanger and looked at the tag. Covington House, London. Well, at least that much was true.
    With a sigh, she replaced the garment and closed the door, turning away to lean against the cool wood. Even if Mr. Marks retained her services, she shouldn’t expect to have any kind of an intimate relationship with him, ever.
    Nobody had ever accused the formidable Mr. Marks of less than professional employer-employee relations. And many had tried, women and men alike, to breach the impenetrable fortress, with no success, as far as she knew.
    She straightened to move away and froze at a thump from within the closet. Dear God, what if I broke something? She hadn’t seen anything fragile in there, but who knew? Grasping the edge of the door she opened it a crack, afraid whatever made the thump might fall and hit the floor, breaking for sure.
    Not seeing anything in the dark space, she let the door open a bit more and something dropped at her feet. What the hell? She bent to pick it up, puzzled. A long piece of smooth wood, light in color. She had no trouble identifying the item. Paddles played a big role in her nighttime fantasies, always wielded by her incredibly sexy boss.
    She opened the cupboard door, pushed aside the fabulous suits and found an empty hook along the back wall. The only unoccupied one, because the others were hung with a selection of implements that sent a rush of dampness to her panties. Her breath came faster as she touched each one. A cane, a birch rod, two other wooden paddles and one of leather—a dozen such tools, all of which led her to a fascinating conclusion. She and her boss were a match made in an alternate lifestyle heaven.
    The difference between them—he clearly practiced it, while she only dreamed of it.
    And it was time that changed.
    After she hung the paddle on its hook, she shifted the suits on their wooden hangers back into place and closed the closet door. Slipping across the office, she settled in the hard, wooden chair, feet flat on the floor and hands neatly folded in her lap. She remained uncomfortable, but now she had reason to wait. Reflecting on their conversation before he left the room, she started. Had he smiled? A little?

Chapter Two
     
    Randolph Marks had never intended to be gone so long. He’d left her sitting in his office for over an hour while he dealt with a client whose impossible demands had driven his customer service representative nearly to distraction. His most tactful diplomacy had eased both sides into a satisfactory arrangement. All good…but Mona—Miss Whitman—waited.
    And he’d left her in the most uncomfortable chair possible. He’d about decided the time she’d waited