Chapter 2

This is the anniversary of my initial employment as a full-time employee of the Foreign Office staff.

I was much encouraged by the fact that now I was fully covered under all of the many perks of full-time employment as a permanent employee and not just a probationary one as most office staff would remind me from time to time as I navigated my way through the bureaucratic morass that littered the landscape with little prigs and clueless bitches with no concept of how things worked in the real world because they had no desire to learn the rules of the game.

It was a constant source of irritation to me that I was often accused of “sleeping her way to the top” when it should have been obvious to even the most biased of investigators that I was nowhere near the top and was still down on the bottom rungs of the Foreign Office ladder.

Sure, I had done my share of “on your knees” duties but it was mostly with my complete accord and I did it mostly out of boredom at some dull and uninteresting duties that made one feel a bit lacking in excitement like an assignment that carried a certain amount of guilt and shame and that quick rush to the brain that signaled the tingle building between one’s legs.

My new boss was a guy with a lot of academic honors after his name and that stooped over look of someone that had been loaded down with either mental or physical stress or perhaps a combination of both. He was a stickler for making certain all classified papers were locked away properly and never left unattended in places open to non-cleared employees or the general public.

Shortly after he assumed his duties, I was called into his office and asked about my error in leaving two confidential and one secret document inside my in-box right on top of my desk. I was totally embarrassed because I had been on my knees in the department supervisor’s office thanking him for allowing me to leave early on Friday for my weekend at the shore.

His name was Mister Furkarty and the girls in the typing pool called him Mister Fukky because he was quite adamant that they make no mistakes on his official correspondence or they would be reported as deficient in accuracy right on the spot. I noticed that several of the girls just smiled and pretended that they were not affected and I was more curious about that fact than anything else being said in the discussion about his elusive management style.

One of the less pretty girls from the typing pool was called Diane.

I couldn’t help but notice that Diane was one of those nervous young things that had lots going for her down below the waistline but she was cursed with a terrible long pointed nose and a chin line that made her look like she was bobbing for apples.

A quick trip to the ladies for Diane and I had her bobbing something a little more substantial than apples up there between my French-scented legs with her schoolgirl tongue and submissive attitude that made my knickers drenched with anticipatory juices in true predator mode with panting gasps for air as we shared a booth together.

That girl was externally shy, wore horrible glasses and had a face that would turn-off a desperate felon, but when she was down there doing her business, all I could do was to run my fingers through her silky well-brushed hair and make little whining noises like I was a silly lost puppy looking for a loving home.

I must confess that even though at this point, I was taking full advantage of Diane’s submissiveness, I would become much closer to her in the future and I had her transferred from the typing pool to my office staff where she could do her business under my hundred year old desk with lots of room to get her head in a comfortable position nice and deep where I liked it the very most.

She informed me that the little prick they called “Mister Fuckee” that was preying on the sweet girls from the typing pool was making them bend over the desk whilst he dictated his letters and they had to produce the perfectly typed results in triplicate or suffer the consequences.

In this case, the consequences was in the spanking paddle that he hung behind his desk as a reminder that mistakes were not to be tolerated.

After careful consideration, I decided to create a situation that would end Mister Fuckee’s career of victimizing the poor girls in the typing pool. I assigned him a project that required a lot of extra reports and he was up to his elbows in bent-over typing pool girls when I videotaped him at his desk.

When he saw the visual evidence of his misogynistic ways, he realized that his job was in jeopardy and begged me on his knees for another chance.

I quickly explained that I would be willing to give him a second chance but that he had to bend over his own desk for me as I supervised the young girls from the typing pool in taking turns pegging him with my German black leather harness with the ten inch black rubber dick firmly angled for maximum penetration up bent-over buttocks spread open for retaliation from the overly-sodomized girls from the typing pool.

His tears were real and I did feel a bit of remorse for him because I had allowed several of the girls watch his week long suffering on top of his own desk. I also instructed the girls to make liberal use of the spanking paddle when he was too tired to perform for his pegging duties after several girls had taken their turns.