I work as a secretary to my boss. It was one of those places where you just do your job and go home. There weren’t many people in the establishment either. Among my various jobs, I have to check the business emails and send the important ones to my boss’ personal email id. It is an easy job, I am loving it.

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Sometimes I feel I was leading a double life. There I was, looking all somber at my desk job in the daytime. And when the nights came I put on my second identity. My BDSM life. People in the know called me Lady Tyranna.

But that changed one day. It was a boring afternoon when there weren’t many emails to check. I decided to check my own personal emails. I have a computer of my own, so that was not a problem. I logged in to my Lady Tyranna id and checked what was new. Much was new. About 12 emails. One of them caught my eye – “The punishment is still on, Lady Tyranna. Can’t wait for when you will come and untie me. – Your obedient slave, Cole.”

I enjoyed that one. The sight of slave Cole sitting with his legs and torso tied to the computer chair where I sat this morning made me horny. I shot a reply. “Don’t email. Your punishment increases. – Lady T.” As I hit the ‘send’ button, I became aware I was being watched. Indeed I was, my boss was staring on the moni! tor like a hawk.

It was a good 10 minutes after which he called me in. I was nervous, but not worried. What I was personally was none of his business.

However, it wasn’t that at all. He did some work talk, some small talk and then said, “I am one too.” I did not get it initially. Then he rolled his shirt sleeves up. I saw his wrists. I understood what he meant. The wrists were red and sore.

I am one of those few women whose bosses are their slaves. He calls me Lady T too. Right now, as I sit typing this, I am in his cabin, on his chair. He is sitting on the floor, naked, wrists tied to his ankles, back red from the recent flogging. He is watching fearfully at the big strap-on that I have kept on his desk, ready for him. It is punishment time for him.

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