I didn't let myself relax at first. It was too much to hope that it was well and truly over, and I expected at any second to hear the swish of the cane once again, and to feel a redoubling sting, that mounting, intolerable burn. The seconds stretched out with no sound except my own laboured breathing, the involuntary sobs that escaped my throat.
And then I heard a soft click as the cane was placed on the surface of the desk. Anderson's hands brushed against my ankle as he started undoing my restraints, first freeing my legs, then my arms, and then lastly removing the strap that ran across my back.
But even when I was completely free, I found that I couldn't move. I was exhausted, as tired as if I'd run a marathon. My backside was raw, the pain still fresh and biting, and I knew that any movement would only make it worse. And on top of that, as the immediate pain faded, I recognised in myself an arousal, a sheer, blinding horniness that was almost unbearable. I lay there waiting, hungry for him, longing to feel his hands on my skin, his cock inside me. I was helpless. With the pain that he'd given me still burning, I wanted nothing more than to have him take me.
"Get up," he said. And although a moment ago I was sure that I couldn't move I found myself rising stiffly to my feet. How could I not obey, after all? He owned me. He controlled me completely. My limbs shuddered, and my breath caught in my throat. I became aware of a slick wetness between my legs. I turned to face Anderson and it was all I could do not to move towards him, to offer my naked body out to him. Instead I kept my head lowered and waited for him to speak.
"Get dressed," he said. To my disbelief he turned his back on me and busied himself at his desk. I stood there, speechless. It wasn't fair. How could he not make love to me now? After owning me so completely, after destroying me, how could he not remake me...
He glanced up sharply. "Is there a problem?" he said. His tone was neutral, but the words hit my like a slap. Recoiling, I summoned up what little confidence I had.
"I want you to fuck me," I said. "Please." I could hear the sweet, tender need in my own voice. Anderson stood and moved towards me, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. I felt that if he came too close some form of unseen electricity would ark between us, searing me every bit as badly as the cane had. "Please," I repeated. Anderson was so close now that I could smell his cologne, that I was sure I could feel the heat of his skin. I felt sure, for a second, that he was about to kiss me. In anticipation I shut my eyes and allowed myself to drink in his scent, his heat, the presence of his body so close to mine.
But he didn't kiss me.
His voice barely about a whisper, his face inches from mine, he said softly, "Earn it." And that was all. By the time I opened my eyes he was seated back behind his desk, not even looking at me. I understood myself to be dismissed.
Hurriedly I put on my clothes, wincing as I pulled my panties up to cover my bruised and welted bottom. I was dizzy with confusion, hurting and horny and frustrated. And I wanted Anderson. I needed him. At the door I paused, willing him to call me back, to put his hands on me, to lay me out on his desk and lay into me...
But he didn't, and I left the office and stood in the corridor outside on the verge of tears, frustrated and desperate. Earn it, he had said. Well, that was just what I'd have to do.
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