Something had to be done about Dominique Steele, and Harry Nickles had to do it.

As the CEO of MarketTech, Harry was responsible for controlling his vice president of sales. True, Dominique's take-no-prisoners approach had not only kept Harry's mid-sized software company alive, it had given MarketTech a respectable market share in an industry where the big dogs ruled and the little pups knocked each other out fighting over the table scraps.

The problem lay in Dominique's abrasive attitude—in less than three years, she had managed to alienate just about everyone from her fellow veeps on down. Dominique had whipped her sales force into an elite unit, and she continued to keep it on the cutting edge, so firing her would do more harm than good. And traditional reprimands seemed to have no effect: Dominique had been called onto Harry's carpet many times, had promised to shape up—and had continued to do things her way.

Then Harry had learned about Dominique's little stock-trading scheme. Apparently, Dominique didn't know that Harry had access to the e-mail accounts of everyone in the firm. It was a privilege he rarely invoked, but desperate for ammunition against Dominique, he began to audit her messages.

The ones from her that authorized a "Eugenie Stevenson" to buy up large blocks of shares, conveniently before a MarketTech major release, caught Harry's notice. Once he learned that "Eugenie Stevenson" had the same home address as Dominique, that Eugenie was her middle name, and that Stevenson was the last name of her ex-husband, he figured her for some illegal insider trading.

Now he had the motive. Some items in a bondage-equipment catalogue, which inspired an unorthodox solution to the problem, provided the means. All he had to do was call her into his office and establish the opportunity.

Harry called Dominique into his office an hour before his Friday afternoon staff meeting. Even after three years, he still caught his breath at the sight of her.

Dominique swept through the door like she owned the place, her mane of raven-black hair streaming behind her. She looked stunning in her charcoal-gray skirt and black, high-heeled boots. Full mouth with a natural sneer, aristocratic cheekbones, and mesmerizing blue eyes that could emasculate a man at fifty paces. Her outfit concealed a thirty-six-year-old body kept lithe and limber by regular visits to the gym. Harry expected to get a much better look at that body shortly.

"Can we speed it up?" Dominique looked at her watch. "I've got some asses to chew before the meeting."

"Have a seat." Harry closed the door behind them and took his own seat behind his desk. "There's something I need to discuss with you."

"What's up this time?"

"I wouldn't take this lightly if I were you." Harry then proceeded to explain his findings.

Dominique's expression betrayed nothing; then she spoke. "So why the hell were you snooping through my e-mail, anyway?"

"It's my e-mail, Dominique, and that's not the point anymore."

"Okay, so I bent the rules a little bit—"

"—You didn't bend the rules. You broke the law, and if you think—"

"—Come on, Harry. Who's gonna find out?"

"What makes you think I haven't reported you already?"

Dominique's mouth dropped open, but she remained silent, wary.

"Don't you realize you could go to jail," Harry continued. "At the very least, you could get this firm in trouble with the SEC, and that I won't stand for. I have to take corrective action immediately."

Dominique had to play her trump card. "Does that mean you're firing me?"

"If I did, I would have to report you as well." Harry reached down and lifted a cardboard box onto the desk. "There's a way we can handle this in-house."

Dominique listened, incredulous, as Harry outlined his corrective measures. As he did so, he pulled out several items from the box. When he finished, she sat back and crossed her legs in disgust.

"You've got to be joking! What makes you think I'll possibly agree to something as outrageous as this?"

"It's that or I pick up the phone." He grinned. "You know, a sexy woman like you will have no problem making friends in prison."

"Fuck you, Harry! You're one sick bastard, you know that?"

Harry permitted himself a grin. "I take it that's a yes?"

Dominique glared at him, her jaw set. Then she closed her eyes and nodded.

"Excellent. We don't have much time so we'd better get started. Take your clothes off, but—" he winked at her, "—you can leave your boots on."

At ten o'clock precisely, Harry took his place at the head of the conference table. Already seated were the nine men and three women who comprised most of his staff; one chair remained empty.

"Before we proceed with our usual agenda," Harry began, "I'm pleased to announce a solution to the problem of our absent member."

"Does this mean you'll be interviewing prospects soon?" Jay Anderson, the chief operating officer, cracked to a chorus of snickers and agreements.

"No," Harry smiled. "Dominique has agreed to make amends to each and every one of you." He rose. "I'll be right back."

Harry disappeared through the door adjoining the conference room to his office. He reappeared with a leather riding crop in one hand and a dog leash in the other. The conferees emitted a collective gasp. Trailing from the leash was their vice president of sales as they had never seen her before.

Dominique was naked except for her boots. Her delectable body was bound with black leather straps. Her leash attached to the studded slave collar around her neck. An orange rubber ball filled her mouth, held in by a network of straps that wound around her face and head. Thick cuffs and a short chain hobbled her ankles. Clamps connected by a steel chain pinched her nipples.

But it was the spanking harness that held the most intrigue. It consisted of a thick belt locked around her waist, with straps that ran down each side and connected to another belt that cinched her upper thighs. Thick cuffs attached to the thigh strap locked her wrists to her sides. A thin belt ran between her legs and locked in the back; the astonished onlookers couldn't know that it held in two fat vibrators.

Her cheeks crimson, Dominique fixed the far wall with a determined gaze. A rivulet of drool spilled down her chin and dripped onto her chest, breaking her resolve. She tried to blink away the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes.

Harry jerked the leash and forced Dominique to follow him to the table. She hated the mincing steps allowed her by the bondage; it made her look even more preposterous. She stopped beside Harry's chair.

"After spending some time in my office in contemplation, Ms. Steele has agreed to let us handle the matter internally," Harry began, tossing the riding crop onto the table. "I'm sure all of us at one time or another have wanted to whip this bitch into line—" he tugged the leash for emphasis; Dominique grunted and shuffled in place, "—and today you'll have your chance."

Hoots and catcalls erupted from the table. Dominique flushed anew, her skin prickling from mortification.

"I don't have to tell you that this action doesn't leave this room," Harry continued. "And after we're done, I want all of you to give Dominique the same respect and cooperation you've given her previously. The difference is," Harry rose, stood behind Dominique, and began to unbuckle her gag harness, "Dominique should be much better behaved from now on."

Harry yanked the rubber ball from Dominique's mouth, unleashing another spill of saliva. She worked her jaws to relieve the ache. Harry picked up the riding crop and made her hold it between her teeth.

"Now, Dominique," his patronizing tone was all the more infuriating, "I want you to walk up to each and every member at the table, offer them the riding crop, apologize for everything you've ever done to them, and beg them to punish you."

Dominique glared at Harry with venom in her eyes. Harry stared back, unblinking. "Or I can make a phone call."

Dominique tossed her head once, then minced her way to the closest person. It was Mike Capelletti, the director of marketing. She bent forward, nearly toppling, and offered the crop to him.

"Mike," she began, straightening slowly, "I–I know I've asked your staff to, to support my sales team with a lot of—look, I'm sorry, okay?"

Harry interrupted. "You don't sound very sincere, Dominique."

"Hell, I just want to hear her beg me to whip her," Mike cut in with a leer.

Dominique swallowed. "Mike, w–why don't you punish me?"

"Sound like you mean it," Fred Harimoto, the MIS director, interjected.

Dominique swallowed again, then sighed. "Mike, pl–please whip me." She forced herself to look him in the eye. "I'm begging you to whip me."

"Turn around and bend over."

She did as she was told, exposing her high, round ass to him. Heart pounding, fists balled at her sides, she waited.

"Ow!" The first smack nearly took her breath away. But Mike was just warming up. He whipped her flanks like she was a filly in the home stretch.

"Ow! Oooh! Ow! Damn it! Stop it, Mike!"

Mike paid her no heed. Nor did anyone else.

Mike gave her one last smack. "Okay. I feel better. Who's next?"

Dominique didn't feel better. Her cheeks burned with a terrible heat, and this was only her first whipping. She fought to control her convulsive breathing, which was making it difficult to hold the crop in her mouth as she shuffled with painful slowness, her curvy hips twitching atop her high-heeled boots, to her next tormentor, Reggie McKinley, the veep for human resources.

Reggie had a thing for Dominique, a thing she had no intention of pursuing. This made it even harder to offer him the crop and beg for his punishment.

"R–Reggie," her voice quavered, "I–I know I've demanded a lot from HR in the past, an–and I'm sorry, so will you please—" she swallowed hard, "—whip me and make it better?"

"Yes I will." Reggie's smile was incandescent. "Turn around and bend your ass over, girl!"

Gritting her teeth, Dominique did just that. Reggie laid on several nasty strokes, which on top of the previous ones hurt like the dickens. "Oooh! Oooh! No! Stop! Please! Please stop!" Dominique hated herself for begging him to stop, but the stinging! She was unable to control her mouth.

With a wicked grin, Reggie put the crop between her teeth and sent her on her way. Her next stop was Frances Sokowski, the chief financial officer. Frances wasn't just exasperated at Dominique's fast-and-loose accounting methods—she resented Dominique for being not only a bitch, but a beautiful and sexy one to boot. She took the riding crop with glee.

"Don't turn around," she barked. "Why should we neglect your front?"

With that, Frances began whipping Dominique's spectacular breasts. This was a fresh kind of pain, one that made Dominique yelp, particularly when Frances smacked her clamped nipples.

"Nooo! Stop it!" Dominique wailed, dancing in place. "Ouch! That's not fair! You can't whip me there!"

"Fine," Frances shrugged. "I'll whip you here."

She whipped the insides of Dominique's thighs. Dominique hopped up and down as the tender flesh of her inner thighs reddened from the blows.

"Ahh! Ahh! Please! Stop it!"

The torrent of tears that Dominique had held back with sheer will power burst forth. She sobbed as Frances continued to whip her, alternating between breasts and thighs. Lips quivering, she accepted the crop and made her tortuous way to the next person. But her teeth were chattering so much that she dropped the riding crop on the floor. She looked at Harry, blue eyes shining with tears.

"Pick it up."

Dominique whimpered.

"I said pick it up, Dominique." Harry's gaze was stern. "I won't tell you again."

Still whimpering, Dominique dropped to her knees. She bent forward to grasp the crop with her teeth. It took several attempts, and she had to fight from toppling onto her side. She could feel the eyes of her peers on her naked ass, waggling at them as she bent over, her creamy cheeks painted red from the many strokes of the crop she'd endured already. Finally she held the tool of her punishment in her mouth, and rose with difficulty to her feet. She resumed her hobbled trek. Her legs were rubber sticks that threatened to collapse without warning.

Marcy Bainbridge, the office manager, awaited Dominique's arrival with relish. It was Marcy who, daily, had to kowtow to whatever demands Dominique made of her. Dominique could expect no mercy here.

"M–Marcy," Dominique's voice was thin and broken, "I know I've b–been a bitch to you in the past. I beg you—" her eyes shone, "—please whip me."

Marcy stood up, crop in hand. "With pleasure."

Dominique sobbed with each cruel stroke. Her body writhed, devoid of all control; her bound hands twisted. Her ass, thighs front and back, and tits were bright red from countless kisses from the crop.

"Ow! Stop! Please stop! I can't stand it anymore! Ow!" Pleas streamed from her mouth like the tears from her eyes. No one paid attention to either.

By the time Dominique made it halfway around the table, her whole body shook from continual sobbing. On her way to the next person in line, Dominique crumpled and fell to the floor. Hands helped her to her feet.

Harry disappeared into his office, reappearing moments later with padlocks and chains from the box on his desk. He pointed to the ceiling near a corner of the room.

"Take that hanging plant down. Then prop her up underneath that hook. Here," he handed a length of chain to Fred, "get on a chair and secure this end. We'll hang her up so the rest of you can have your licks."

Soon Dominique hung from the ceiling by chains connected to the front and back of her spanking harness. The toes of her boots just scraped the carpet. Her body weight forced the vibrators deeper into her ass and pussy; by now, Dominique was awash in sensation too intense to bear had she not been restrained and thus helpless to fight it.

"Harry," Dominique managed to wheeze. "Gag me. Please."

"Why?"

"So I can't beg anyone to stop."

Harry recognized the look in her eyes. He grinned. Then he strapped the harness ball-gag between her parted lips.

Panting and moaning with each fresh assault of the riding crop on her now-flaming bottom, Dominique bit down on the ball-gag she had implored Harry to stuff back into her mouth. The rubber ball didn't prevent noise from escaping her mouth—she couldn't help crying, "No! Please! Stop!" in response to an especially hard slap across her rump—only now it sounded like so much heated mush. The chains holding her up clanked and tinkled with her continual squirming; when exhaustion overcame her, she sagged, her head lolling forward, hums and whimpers issuing from her gagged lips, although her body still writhed, fueled by the fire spreading from hot, stinging ass.

When the last staffer had finished whipping her, they took her down from the ceiling. They chained her, still ankle-cuffed and locked into her spanking harness, still gagged securely, into one of the conference-room chairs and pushed her, face first, into the corner. Dominique was a naughty schoolgirl being punished before the class. With her haughty ass cropped crimson, she would remember this meeting every time she sat down during the next week; they forced her to sit for the next hour while the staff meeting began in earnest. They did, however, remove the nipple clamps, which brought fresh tears to Dominique's grateful eyes.

Dominique squirmed nonstop for the next hour, moaning and whimpering behind her gag. Harry kept her mind from wandering by toying with the remote control in his pants pocket, the one that controlled the two vibrators. No one else at the table suspected that Dominique's recurrent groaning was due to the periodic buzzing in her nether regions; she knew neither when it would begin nor when it would stop. Her hands clenched in anticipation of the buzzing; then they flapped in their cuffs as she gnawed on the rubber ball strapped into her mouth while she ground her ass into the seat in response to the vibrators. Harry seemed to know when she was nearing her climax, or maybe he was deliberately being stingy with the stimulation, because the vibrators, singly or together, always ceased before she could come.

After the meeting, Harry led Dominique, legs still quivering, back to his office. He pressed the intercom button on his phone. "No calls for the rest of the day, Judy. I'm in a private meeting and can't be disturbed." Then he pulled out the sopping gag from Dominique's sensuous mouth. "Have you learned your lesson? Or do I need to keep you locked up over the weekend?"

"I don't have any other plans," Dominique, busy working her jaw, pulled at her wrist cuffs, "And I sure as hell can't get out of these." Then she added, "Can't you think of something more interesting to gag me with, Harry?"

"You know I can," he winked. "But first—"

He bent to Dominique's chest, taking one of the nipples into his mouth and sucking it to hardness. Dominique moaned at the warm, wet feel of his tongue on her breast button, still slightly tender from having been clamped previously. After Harry had sucked her other nipple to hardness, she sighed when he produced those clamps again. The CEO wasted no time snapping the rubber-tipped steel clamps onto the now-stiff nipples of his sexy, restrained vice president of sales.

"What do you say?" He tugged on the connecting chain of the nipple clamps.

Dominique bit her lower lip as she winced. "Th—thank you for clamping my nipples, Harry."

Harry tugged harder on the chain, wresting a cry from Dominique's full lips. "Call me sir."

"Yes, sir," she gasped.

"That's better. Now, let me see how well you can use that dangerous mouth of yours, and I might take those clamps off before I lead you out to the car."

With that Dominique sank to her knees. "You know," mischief flickered in her big blue eyes as she gazed up at him, "I might have learned my lesson today, but I have an awful feeling I'll have forgotten it by next week's staff meeting. Sir."

Harry beamed at her as he unbuckled his trousers. "Then I guess I'll have to invoke my executive privilege again, won't I?"