Rodzo's Home Page artwork from
one of the world's leading
erotic artists
with text and stories
from Susan Strict
He stared straight up at her as she stood over him, wondering what on earth had made him say it. Argue with her? That would be complete madness. There she stood, legs apart and the spiked heels of her shoes either side of his head. He was bound, of course; totally helpless and naked with his wrists and ankles held wide apart by the restraints buckled round them and bolted to the floor of her office......
The pictures on these pages are copyright to Rodzo and are displayed here with his permission. If you wish to copy them for display elsewhere then please e-mail copyright@strictsusan.com
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His answer was barely audible.
"Speak up," she told him, "I can’t take dictation if I can’t hear what you’re saying."
His voice was muffled, but he was clearly trying to shout something. She shook her head sadly.
"No good at all," she said in a disappointed voice, "I suppose we’ll
have to abandon the dictation for this afternoon...."
"For goodness sake shut up," she said for the fourth time. "All you do is whinge and complain. I don’t know where your friends are and I don’t really care"
The telephone rang. She picked it up.
"Oh hello, Sandra," she said, "Yes, he’s fine. He does go on, though. I was just... bother. Hang on a moment."
She walked back towards him, ignoring his complaints that were becoming louder and louder. She sat herself down squarely on his face, and immediately the noise ceased...
She put down the telephone and turned her attention to the man at her feet. Really, it was too much when she was so busy at work. Quite inconsiderate of him to misbehave so badly when he knew she really did not have the time to spend punishing him properly. Ah well, priorities, priorities. And undoubtedly the first priority was to ensure he understood his proper place. After all, it would be no good him thinking he could get away with anything just because she had other pressing matters on her mind....
She returned from work to find him exactly as she had left him. She had not expected anything else. He was, after all, completely unable to move.
She wasted no time, taking off her
knickers and dropping them just behind the post to which he was
inescapably tied. His face was at exactly the right height, and without a
word she stepped forward and pressed herself down onto him. She looked
down into his eyes, full of fear and a desperate desire to escape...
She found out about his application.
He had not told her. He had gone straight to the personnel department and asked for the forms as soon as he heard about the vacancy. He needed the work of course, which was the only reason had had not quit years ago, but the opportunity to move to a different office was too good to miss.
It was not that there was anything wrong
with working where he was. It was only the office manager he had a problem
with. True she paid him overtime whenever she demanded he stayed late, and
true too that there was always plenty of ‘overtime’ available. The problem
was that her demands were becoming more and more frequent, and she made it
quite clear that his job depended on accepting the overtime requirement...
His doctor referred him to the clinic.
It was, the doctor had said jokingly, a ‘problem’ that many men wished they had, but to him it was making his life a nightmare and he desperately wanted a cure.
"I think they will almost certainly be able to help you," the doctor said as he wrote his notes. "It is unusual, but you’re not unique."
He took the appointment card, pleased that
he would not have to wait for the usual delay while the wheels of the
National Health Service turned interminably slowly and managed, as they so
often did, to miss a cog and lose him somewhere in the system...
.
"Come in," she said.
He pushed open the door and looked around the apparently empty office. It was a huge room. Rows of filing cabinets stuck out at right angles from the walls, with dozens of desks down the centre. On the far wall there was a clock, showing that he was exactly on time for his interview.
Then he saw her. She sat at the desk directly under the clock, tapping a pen impatiently on her computer keyboard.
He walked towards her, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he passed the empty desks and the blank computer screens.
"Sit down," she said. "You’re late."
He looked up at the clock. It was 6:31. His appointment had been for 6:30. It had taken one minute to walk from the door to her desk.
