Author’s note: I’ve got decent chops at twitter-scale short-form comedy writing, but longer-form fiction writing (especially smut) is very new to me — so please be gentle! Also writing in second-person is... interesting. This is a rough sketch of a daydream — the beginnings of a spicy femdom scene, just enough to whet one’s appetite. It’s a standalone though; please don’t expect a part two.
Quite why you’d pulled that little stunt, you weren’t entirely sure. Perhaps it made some sort of sense at the time but, as you were told to visit Her office, suddenly it didn’t seem so wise.
You took a moment to breathe before knocking. A last moment of peace before the inevitable.
Slow breath in.
Slow breath out.
Knock, knock.
An unnerving pause. Was anyone there? It wasn’t too late to turn b-
“Enter.”
“How could one person need an office so big, so... imposing?” you wondered to yourself as the door clicked shut behind you. The ceiling impossibly high, the walls lined tall with bookshelves, clearly buckling under their own weight. At the far end, ornate windows bathed the room in warm sunlight. And one could hardly ignore the potted plants everywhere, goodness, some were even hanging from the ceiling.
And there She was, behind her desk, sitting sideways, carefully painting her nails, her figure almost silhouetted against the sky.
She remained unstirred as you entered. Not looking up or turning to face you, not acknowledging you at all, save to ask bluntly “Why are you here?”
You stammered out some sort of explanation. Some sort of excuse. Some withering apology. That it had all been just a big misunderstanding and if you could jus-
She raised a hand and closed her fingers into a loose fist, cutting you off mid-thought, then extended a single finger and motioned sharply to a chair before you.
“Sit.” She snarled.
Still not looking up.
Still not turning to face you.
You’d just have to wait.
As you sat before Her, the tension in the air was palpable. Your heart, beating a mile a minute, while She seemed completely unaffected. Patiently, carefully, tending to her nails. Completely content to let silence hang in the air.
You tried to slow your breathing. Trying to calm your nerves. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? You’d heard tales, of course, but people exaggerate stories, don’t they? Especially the thing about the rope harness, that one had to have been made up... right? The hanging plants caught your eye again. Unless...
. . .
She placed the nail polish aside on her desk, and held her fingers outstretched, taking a moment to admire her handiwork in the afternoon sun.
Finally, She looked over, her glare striking fear in your heart. All those breathing exercises for nothing. She stood and walked, calmly, to the front of the desk. No sense of urgency. No need to hasten things. Reveling in the fact that She was already tormenting you without having laid a single finger on you. Besides, you’d get what you deserved soon enough.
Bowing your head in deference, she reached a hand towards you. Her fingers gently brushing across your cheek, lowering them until... a single finger outstretched, the nail digging into your skin, lifting your chin to face Her piercing glare.
“I hope that stunt was worth it.”