1 INTERVIEW
Standing at the top of the stairs that connected the first-floor gallery to reception,
Connie Chau glanced down. Behind her, the party went on: the opening night of a new show
by a young South African video artist. The volume of conversation had risen appreciably
since the champagne waiters began to circulate with their silver trays, but Connie, the
forty-something, Anglo-Chinese owner of the gallery, had had enough art talk for one
night. She was more interested now in her young receptionist, Alex, who was sitting at his
desk directly below her. Unaware that his boss was observing him, Alex was intent on a
glossy magazine. Twenty feet lay between them but Connie’s dark brown eyes were keen. As
Alex turned a page she glimpsed a photo of a muscular black woman in a jumpsuit of red
rubber, and her features shifted into a smile.
High heels tap-tapping on the marble steps, she began to walk quickly down. Her smile
widened as she watched Alex snatch up the magazine and stuff it away in one of his desk
drawers. By the time she’d reached the foot of the stairs and moved to stand in front of
his chrome-and-glass desk, he’d managed to compose himself and was making an effort to
look professional. He wore a smart white shirt, which was open at the collar to reveal a
slender neck. Not for the first time, Connie wondered what sort of collar would look best
around that neck. A narrow band of soft leather, she decided, or else plain steel.
For thirty seconds she said not a word, standing a little in front of the desk where he
could admire the green suede boots that lent her a couple of inches and the matching green
leather skirt that stopped above her knee, emphasizing her svelte legs and hips. No longer
smiling, she stared across the desk at him until his pale cheeks flooded with colour. ‘You
were reading a magazine,’ she told him, her voice resounding in the wide empty space of
the reception area. ‘You put it in the bottom left-hand drawer. Show it to me.’
The redness of his cheeks deepened, and she had a sudden image of his pert buttocks
turning the same colour. ‘Please, Connie,’ he stammered, not meeting her eye, ‘it was
nothing. All the guests had arrived and I’d taken their coats and shown them upstairs. I
thought. . .’
‘The magazine!’
With a look of sheer misery, like a schoolboy caught reading a comic in class, he
reached down and pulled out the drawer. Removing the magazine, he set it on the desk’s
glass surface, face-down. Connie stepped forward to the desk and flipped the magazine over
with her tiny, manicured hand. Boss Lady was the title, and the picture on the cover
showed the same black woman, with hands on hips, in the same red jumpsuit. She began to
flick through the magazine. There were true stories, an interview with a Domme, and plenty
of pictures. It was all fairly tame. As she went on turning the pages, she leaned forward
over the desk so that her silver chain dangled loose from her neck. She knew that, in
spite of himself, Alex would be peeking down her grey silk blouse, trying to imagine her
breasts. Just as he had while she was interviewing him for the receptionist’s job two
months ago.
She closed the magazine and stood up abruptly. He had indeed been looking. Her fists
went to her leather-skirted hips, and she made him look her in the eye as she spoke. ‘Is
this what I pay you for, Alex?’ Her long red fingernail tapped the magazine cover. ‘To
read this filth? Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t sack you here and now?’
‘Please, Connie, I promise I won’t ever do it again. I need this job. I’ve got tons of
debts on my credit cards.’
She made him wait for her answer, because she could and she liked that. Her dark eyes
bored down into his pretty grey ones, savouring the expression on his face. ‘After the
party finishes,’ she told him at last, ‘you’re to lock up, wait exactly fifteen minutes,
and then come and see me. I’ll be upstairs in my office.’
Without another word she turned and walked away, heels tapping the marble floor. As she
walked she knew he was watching her, his eyes following the sway of her hips. Men were so
easy, but Alex was a pretty one. And one for whom she’d made herself wait, forcing herself
to be patient. Because she had something in mind for him, a rather special job. All her
instincts told her that Alex would be perfect for the position but, just to be certain,
she’d put him through his paces tonight.
As she climbed the stairs she realized she was wet and not just a little. She wished she
could call off the opening, tell everyone to go find a bar (there was no shortage of them
in Hoxton) and pay for their own drinks. At long last, she had Alex just where she wanted
him. The same place she wanted all of her men; all men in fact, but especially the young,
pretty ones. The only question was how far could she take him.
Her preparations for Alex took no more than five minutes. Practice had taught her to
move quickly, even if she preferred slow. As soon as the last drunken guest had departed,
she slipped into her office with its view of the canal over which a new moon had just
risen. Stepping through to the black-tiled bathroom, she examined herself in the
full-length mirror. Already her pulse had quickened in anticipation.
The blouse, skirt and boots would do admirably, she decided, but she felt like a little
extra. A little more leather to get her in the mood, enhancing her dominance while
ensuring his helpless submission. From the closet behind her desk she fetched a leather
bra and matching thong on which she’d recently spent three hundred pounds. Back in the
bathroom, she slipped out of her blouse and into the bra, admiring the way it raised and
revealed her breasts. Her small, dark nipples began to tighten against the cool leather.
Easing out of her boots, skirt and knickers, she turned to admire her neat, rounded arse
in the mirror before stepping into the thong. The fine leather met her pussy and slid
between the cheeks of her arse, and she gave a shiver of pleasure. She slid two fingers
down her flat belly, lightly traced her moist lips, and gave a slow sigh. Patience was a
virtue, but not one that Connie possessed in abundance. It took a great effort of will to
step back into her skirt and boots, and to put her blouse back on.
Moving back into the office, she switched on the spotlight that lit her broad, empty
desk like a stage, and turned out the other lights. The blinds she left open; her office
was not overlooked and she liked to watch the moon as it climbed the night sky. From her
closet she took a variety of implements, setting them on a stool in the shadows behind her
desk, where she could reach for them as required. As an afterthought, she slipped a long
pair of leather gloves over her hands and wrists, all the way up to the elbows, and fitted
a soft leather mask over her eyes. The mask she’d had made to order by a company in
Venice. Its shape accentuated her feline features.
Leaning back in her wonderful aviator’s chair, booted legs crossed, she sipped from a
glass of champagne. It was her first drink of the evening. Less than a minute passed
before a knock sounded on her heavy oak door. The knock was apologetic, as she’d thought
it might be. ‘Come!’ Her voice rang out loud and clear.
The door opened and Alex came into the office. Even in the shadows, she could tell he
was nervous. He moved forward towards the pool of light around her desk and as he did his
eyes widened, taking in the leather mask around her eyes. She was pleased to note that her
efforts hadn’t been wasted. What the hell is this? she could see him wondering, half
excited and half afraid, but she felt no need to relieve his curiosity just yet. He came
to a halt on the Afghan rug before her desk, grey eyes blinking like a startled rabbit.
She almost laughed, but managed to maintain her poise, gazing up at him from her chair
while she finished her champagne.
‘You said to come and see you,’ he said, shifting on his feet. One of his hands went up
to play with his wavy brown hair, a nervous habit she’d noticed before.
‘Put both your hands behind your back,’ she told him, not loud but commanding
nonetheless.
He blinked, and then he did as he was told, clasping his hands together against the
small of his back. ‘Okay if I sit?’ he asked.
She simply shook her head.
‘Look, Connie, I’m really sorry about that magazine.’
She slowly raised her right hand, showing him the elbow-length leather glove, to cut him
off. ‘Take your shirt off,’ she told him.
For a moment his face revealed the conflict that was going on inside. He ought to be
outraged, he knew that; he ought to tell her where to go, tell her to stuff her job, and
storm out of the room. Except that he was excited by her command. She watched as his long
fingers went up to his chest and found the first button. The fingers were trembling. With
lowered eyes, he undid each of the six buttons and slipped the shirt off over his
shoulders and arms, letting it trail to the floor.
‘You have a nice body, Alex,’ she told him, and it was true. The muscles of his arms
were well-toned and his shoulders surprisingly broad. On his chest was a light down of
hair, but that could easily be taken care of.
‘Thanks,’ he said quietly.
‘Thank you, Majesty,’ she corrected him.
He raised his grey eyes to hers, frowning, looking to see was she serious. He paused and
gave a little shrug, and then, with their eyes still joined, he said it. ‘Thank you,
Majesty.’
She felt a burst of pleasure that was also desire. It was his first true submission to
her—the first of many. ‘Good boy,’ was all she said. ‘Now your shoes and socks.’
He went down on one knee, unlacing one shoe and then the other before taking them off.
Stuffing his socks inside the shoes, he set them down neatly on one side of the rug. Again
he stood and his grey eyes looked into hers, full of questions.
‘Trousers!’
This time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers, still trembling, undid the buckle of his belt
and then his dark grey trousers were sliding down over his long thighs. She smiled as he
stepped out of them, folding and setting them down behind him with his shirt.
Again she waited for his eyes to find hers. ‘Take off your underwear,’ she told him.
His underwear was black and nicely cut at the top of his thigh, Calvin Klein or a CK
imitation. His fingers moved very slowly to his waist, but she didn’t mind that. He slid
his thumbs under the elastic and slipped the pants down over his narrow hips, his lean,
hairless thighs, and trim calves. Stepping out of them, he stood up straight, eyes
downcast, stark naked.
‘Feet apart,’ she told him, ‘I want to look at you. Clasp your hands behind your head,
elbows out.’
She watched with satisfaction as he did her bidding, displaying himself to her greedy
gaze. For several minutes, she simply studied him. He would do very nicely indeed. His
body was smooth and neat, flat-bellied, nicer even than she’d imagined it. His cock was
very pale, uncut, and pleasingly thick. She imagined it sliding up inside her. ‘Turn
around,’ she told him, ‘face the door.’
He turned, keeping his arms raised and his feet apart. The globes of his arse were
nicely packed. His back was lovely and sleek. She imagined running her fingernail down the
bones of his spine. ‘Turn around again,’ she told him after a couple of minutes. ‘Face
me.’
Once again her eyes went to his cock only this time, she let him know where she was
looking. He kept his eyes on the rug, but his face grew redder than ever. His pubic hair
was the same mousy-brown as the hair on his head and neatly trimmed. His balls, from what
she could see, were of a good size. As she went on looking, to her delight and amusement,
she saw his cock give a twitch. She shifted in her seat, re-crossing her legs, letting the
leather thong tease her pussy and the tight bud of her arsehole. ‘Look at me,’ she told
him. ‘Keep your hands behind your head.’
The look he gave her was one of helpless desire. His whole body was flushing hotly. Such
an innocent, she thought. She was fairly certain he’d had no experience, but she wanted to
be sure. And, besides, it would be fun to cross-examine him. ‘Have you ever been dominated
by a woman, Alex?’ she asked.
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