I had always thought I had the right attitude and the right intellect for law. I had an excellent memory, and everyone who knew me considered me to be a responsible and level-headed girl. I had become less certain of that myself lately.

I'm not in law school yet, but I have decided that that is where I'm headed when I'm done with my bachelor's degree. Of course, I've only just started that, with one year under my belt. I have quite a way to go. Considering that, it was an amazing good fortune for me to get a summer job at one of the city's most prominent law firms.

It wasn't a particularly important job, of course. I was simply a clerk brought in for the summer to replace all of their more experienced people as they went on vacation. And I'm talking about the clerks, not the more important people. Not the legal secretaries for example like the partners had.

When they went on vacation, the people who replaced them were usually much more experienced than me. I didn't exactly know their level of education, but I assumed they were actual law students. Maybe, I thought, that would be me in three or four years.

Assuming I didn't get fired first. And that was a distinct possibility. I was breaking any number of rules at work, after all. So was James, of course, but he was a partner in the firm. So most likely, if we got caught, I would be out, not him. Even though, realistically, it was all his fault.

What was I, after all, but an innocent, well, previously innocent co-ed? He was a partner in the firm, a full lawyer, half again my age. Or perhaps even more. I really hadn't inquired a lot. I had noticed him as being a very cute, very well-built man, but hadn't thought anything much beyond that until he started hitting on me.

Any serious relationship between us was impossible, of course. But that didn't mean there could be a different kind of relationship. One I was persuaded could prove very exciting, again, as long as we didn't get caught. I don't usually sleep around. I don't do casual sex. Usually.

But the thought of what kind of body was hidden under his tailored suits had intrigued me. As had the curiosity about whether an older guy would be different in bed than the guys I had known before. So think of it as a summer fling, or me giving into my hormones.

He was a large, broad-shouldered man, and I had never been with anyone as powerfully built. So I let him get away with things that I never would've let a regular guy get away with. Even a guy I was attracted to. Having sex at work was insane. Then again, wasn't youth the time to have wild times?

And they were certainly wild with James! His really excellent kissing, skilled hands, and gorgeous body had worked me into letting him show what he could do. It had been eye-opening, to say the least. James was an amazing... I won't say lover, an amazing... I won't say partner either.

There was nothing about love or partnership and in James did with me. It was all about battering down my inhibitions and making me lose control to the passion and pleasure he gave me. And that had happened an astonishing number of times in such a short few days that I could hardly believe it.

See, guys don't seem to quite understand this, especially the young ones. They get their pleasure very cheaply and easily. It's virtually guaranteed. Very little work is needed. It just isn't that way with girls. Most of the girls I know, and that includes myself, usually don't climax during sex. At least, not during intercourse.

We don't have sex with guys for that reason. We have sex with guys to test them out. We want to find out how gentle they are with their hands and lips, how kind and considerate, and whether or not we want to get involved in a serious relationship with them. That requires sex.

But this is why we aren't as eager for sex as boys and men are. We don't have that guaranteed fulfillment. It takes attention and effort on the part of the guys to make us come. And they're often so eager to get inside you that they kind of act selfish about ensuring that you enjoy it too.

But that's the way life is. Except James was completely outside that normal experience. He was absolutely determined to make me come. Often repeatedly. Great, right? But he was also into kinky games. Let's just say he liked to tie girls up and sometimes spank them. He liked to be in control. And he wanted me to admit he was in control.

The things he said to me would've gotten most guys kicked out of my bed. Of course, we never actually went to bed!

He took a kinky excitement at saying things that were, on the surface, degrading to me. Of course, in the context of his edgy little game of bondage and submission, they were entirely appropriate.

It still felt weird and a little outrageous for him to say things like calling me his slut or his bitch, never mind telling me that my body belonged to him! But when he had me say them, I can't deny that there was this strange, dark rush, a thrilling kind of escapism from reality.

Realistically, we were certainly not equals. I don't have a problem admitting that to myself. With all my previous guys, sex has always been a sharing and partnership. It'd been an exploration of mutual pleasure and developing a relationship.

There was none of that with him. He tied me up and did whatever he wanted to me. And so far, I haven't been able to refuse. Not because I was tied up, or even gagged, but because he roused me to such levels of passion and excitement, levels I had never experienced before, that I simply couldn't and didn't want to tell him no. No matter how outrageous he was being.

James was like riding a roller coaster. A really, really fast and high one that scared you in case something went wrong. There was always that possibility, after all. The possibility with James was that he might actually mean some of the things he said, as opposed to just saying them to mind fuck me. I didn't think that was likely, but when I contemplated that possibility, it was alternately either scary or even more thrilling.

I was watching how I dress more closely than usual now. I'd been given the message when I was hired that it was a good idea not to wear anything that might distract the males working there. I suppose that was kind of sexist, but I wasn't in a position to complain.

James had actually been surprised when he'd gotten my top open and found my breasts to be substantially more... substantial than he had expected. That's because I tried to wear clothes that were reasonably attractive on me but did not emphasize any of my body parts in particular. If you know what I mean.

My tops were generally loose, as were my skirts. Dress pants were never loose, because that would look bad, but I usually wore a longer top over them or even a blazer. I mean, I know that it was sexist of them to tell me not to wear anything that would distract the men, but I also know how distracting my body could be to men.

As far as I was concerned that was their problem, their fault, not mine. But this job would look better on my resume than working as a waitress at a sports bar or something like that for the summer. In fact, I had done that job the previous summer, and the instructions there were the exact opposite. To emphasize your body in order to get better tips.

That was sexist in its own way too, but at least it was well-rewarded. I had gotten great tips. Not as good as some of the sluttier girls, of course, the ones with low-cut, too-tight tops and very short skirts. But I had too much pride and dignity for that.

Or so I had thought. There wasn't a lot of pride or dignity in letting a guy tie you up and make you tell him that you were his slut and that he owned your body! In fact, it was the exact opposite of pride and dignity. So why did doing it excite me so much? Why did it feel so wicked and wild and edgy to say such things?

Maybe because I've always been someone who follows the rules exactly and precisely. Not just the rules that were set out on paper but the unwritten rules of behavior that a woman followed from the time she was a little girl. I was wildly outside the boundaries of those rules!

So much so that I had even decided to keep this wild, dark relationship at work secret from my friends. They wouldn't understand and they wouldn't approve. I didn't improve, either! I just didn't know how to stop it when my body thrummed with sexual energy every time I thought about what he might do to me next.

Anyway, the next morning, I inserted the butt plug he had given me the previous day back into my body and went to work like normal. I had given some thought to dressing in a sexier way, trying on various outfits to see how I looked in the mirror. But in the end, I rejected that. It clearly didn't matter to him, and it wasn't like I was looking for any other male attention!

I did, however, wear my sexiest underwear. Lingerie, I mean. Often enough, he removed them so fast it didn't matter what I was wearing. But I still wanted to look sexy, to feel sexy under my clothes.

I was certain he would want to do something today, probably related to that butt plug thing he had given me. I was looking forward to it with a mixture of excitement and dread. I didn't really want to experiment with anal sex. I'd tried it before and hadn't enjoyed it. But I was willing to go along with him to see if he could give me more incredible orgasms.

My anticipation faded over the morning, and a sense of frustration took hold. He had a lot of nerve having me wear the stupid thing if he wasn't even intending to do anything anytime soon!

At lunchtime, the area near him tended to clear out. Rich lawyers didn't usually eat at their desks, and there were a number of nice restaurants on the ground floor and basement of the building. Plus, meeting with clients was a normal thing, especially since they could then write off the expense. For all I knew he was doing one or the other but I decided to wander past his office anyway.

Nobody was around when I looked at his closed office door. So I tried the handle and found it unlocked. I eased the door open a crack and peeked in. I didn't see any sign of him, but it seemed odd that he would leave his door unlocked and walk away. He was not the trusting kind. I eased the door open a little more and stuck my head inside but it was definitely empty.

Disappointed, I started to withdraw only to back into something as a hand slid around me and covered my mouth. I repressed a scream as whoever it was pushed me forward. I almost immediately suspected it must be him. Whoever it was held me firmly against him with one hand over my mouth pressing my head back against his upper chest and the other around my body pinning my arms to my sides.

Of course, my pulse was racing and my heart was beating rapidly, but despite him not making a sound to identify himself I became certain it was him.

"Such a bad little girl to open my door without knocking," he purred into my ear. "That definitely deserves punishment."

He carried me just like that, my body pinned to his, over to his desk before setting me down on the floor again. Then he abandoned my arms for a moment, to pull open a drawer. I reached up to grab his wrist, the wrist of the hand over my mouth, only to have it pulled quickly away, shifting to my hair to pull my head back forcefully and make me yelp in pain. Just as I did so he pushed the ball gag into my mouth.

He was always pulling my hair! And the thing is, my hair is my crowning glory. I brush it and use special shampoo and conditioner so it gleams like spun silk. I part it in the middle of my forehead and it curves out and down around my head as if it were a perfectly designed frame for my face.

And every time I came into his office he pulled and yanked at it so it was a ragged mess!

Just like my mind!

"Stand still, employee. Your boss is about to decide your punishment."