One Hour with Sir

One Hour with Sir (Ch. 04)

"What Goes Around Comes Around"

soppingwetpanties

This chapter can be read without the benefit of the prior chapters. This chapter contains humiliation, spanking and anal sex.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

Chapter Four

Sir and I were recently engaged. He was working full-time managing a staff of twenty in his commodities trading business and I was a partner in a Midtown Manhattan law firm. My relationship with Sir started at a private club in the City and soon blossomed into love. It was more of a shock to me that I'd fallen in love with a man and agreed to marry him than discovering I was a closet submissive.

I spent an hour a week, usually Friday at ten in the evening, at Sir's East Side brownstone, being trained in the art of domination and submission. After a year of training Sir proposed to me and I accepted. He's already bought me a magnificent engagement ring.

Sir and I had an open relationship, though the choice of the partners for us was His. We'd made the rounds with His circle of friends and on more than one occasion He chose a new lover for me, mostly men but sometimes a women. My most recent tryst was with our jeweler, who happened to be Sir's college roommate. Attie was his name, and he gave me a most memorable anal fuck.

I loved being His slut.

You may find it hard to believe that an Ivy League trained attorney making seven figures could (or want to be) a slut, but sex drive is not awarded by an academic institution, and for better or worse, mine was not in the mainstream. I craved the freedom of submission. Why freedom? Because every day of my life I'm asked to make decisions. What seems like thousands. When I was off the clock I didn't want to think. I didn't want to make a decision. I just wanted to feel.

How did I spend the rest of the time? In my office, representing large corporations fighting against other large corporations over nine and ten figure amounts. That kind of money paid for high price lawyers like me. I was a good trial lawyer, and loved to win. When I wasn't with Sir I'd be taking out my aggressions on opposing counsel. Despising the lawyer on the other side made me want to win more, and clients were all about winning. They didn't want to invest millions of dollars and years tied up in litigation to be on the losing side. Losers didn't have the kinds of clients I had.

I rarely made mistakes in my law career, but I allowed one to happen when I let my guard down for just a moment. It was just after Sir proposed to me and I was on floating on cloud nine. Being in love (and lust), was a huge distraction for someone pulling the strings on multiple complicated cases.

The whole mess started exactly one week after Sir proposed, and the day after I spent the previous evening buying an engagement ring and then having Attie fuck all of my holes while Sir watched. Needless to say I was a bit distracted the next day, and sore as well, when my trusted associate Trent Manion came into my office. He was on a partner track and reliable as a Swiss train. He was my number two on several of my large cases and was someone I envisioned taking my place when I moved on to greener pastures. I was enjoying my first cup of coffee while I had a ten minute break before my first phone call of the day. Trent came into my office and closed the door.

"I'm sorry to ask this," he said, casually leaning against the door, "but do you think we could get an extension until Monday on this motion we're going to file in the Caspar case?"

The Caspar case was a products liability case. We represented the plaintiff, a large Midwest agricultural company, which alleged that the defendant's food processing machinery was defective, injuring several of the plaintiff's employees. It was a several hundred million dollar claim. I was handling a half dozen of these size cases at the time. We were getting close to trial and were about to file a motion

in limine

to exclude evidence the defendant was requesting be presented at trial. It was a pretty important motion as the evidence was exculpatory to the defendant and I was confident we'd win the motion. It was due on Friday, so Trent was only asking for a weekend reprieve.

"What's up Trent? You're usually on top of these things," I said, surprised at the ask. Trent had never asked for anything like this in the five years he'd worked for me. He knew I hated asking for a favor from the other side if I didn't need to, even if it was something as trivial as an extension. Lawyers often gave each other short extensions as a courtesy.

"I'm sorry Cat, it's just that I'm getting married . . ."

I hadn't told anyone I was marrying Sir and I didn't know Trent had a serious girlfriend. As far as I could tell he was always in the office like me, but I never pried into his personal life.

"Trent, I didn't know . . ."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I haven't really told anyone in the firm yet. It's just that Tracy wants to pick out her wedding dress and the caterer. Her folks are in town from San Diego for this so I kind of have to go tomorrow."

If I was a putz I would have made stay at work until the motion was done and filed timely. But I happened to be in a generous mood.

"I'll make the call," I said, feeling good about myself. Not only was Trent going to get brownie points for kissing up to his future mother-in-law, odds were Tracy would fuck his brains out as well.

"You will?" he said, as surprised as I was that I'd agreed to his request.

"Sure," I said. "No problem."

The partner on the other side was a royal asshole, and it was a serious buzz kill when I realized I'd have to ask him for a favor. His name was Lawrence Metcalf III. His father and his father's father were the name partners in Metcalf, Metcalf and Flanagan, a rival firm to ours. Lawrence was a priss who rubbed me the wrong way. He was an arrogant SOB, who probably hated women. Maybe he kicked puppies in his spare time.

I dialed him up. His assistant answered. Some vamp he was probably boffing on the side.

"Mr. Metcalf's office."

"Is Mr. Metcalf available? It's Catherine Martin-DuPont."

"He's in a meeting," she snapped back, and not so politely.

"It's important," I said.

"Isn't everything?" she fired back.

"Who is this please?"

"It's Terri."

"Well Terri, I'd really appreciate it if you told him I was holding."

There was silence on the line. I'm sure I'd interrupted her from something important, like filing her nails.

"Who is this again?"

"Catherine Martin-Dupont. I'm opposing counsel on the Caspar case."

"Just a moment."

The counter on the phone told me I held four minutes before he answered. I was getting royally irritated but had to keep my temper in check. After all, I was asking him for a favor.

"Lawrence Metcalf speaking."

He sounded like the jackass he was.

"Hi Lawrence, it's Catherine . . ."

"I know who you are. What do you want?"

"It's nice speaking with you," I said under my breath.

"Excuse me?"

"I was calling to ask for an extension on a motion

in limine

we intend to file. The deadline is tomorrow but we'd like to have an extension until close of business on Monday."

"Fine," he said. "Draft up the extension and I'll sign it."

He hung up before I could say "thank you."

Asshole.

* * *

"So what happened?" Trent asked me. He was hanging outside my office while I made the phone call, hoping for good news.

"He said yes," I said.

"Great," he said. "I'll get on drafting the extension request."

"You owe me," I said.

"I know."

* * *

The extension request was sent out that afternoon. I wasn't expecting a quick turnaround, but Metcalf had all day Friday to sign and return it. I worked late and had Norman, Sir's driver, pick me up at the office just after 10 p.m.

Norman was waiting curbside, holding open the rear passenger door to Sir's Bentley.

"Tough day at the office?" he asked me.

"No worse than usual," I said. "The usual bullshit. Where's Anders?"

Sir was supposed to be travelling back from San Francisco that day. He was at a three day conference, which I viewed as a three day vacation.

"I dropped him off at the house right before I came back for you."

Even after being with Sir for more than a year, the prospect of seeing Him still made my heart race. I freshened up my make-up using a compact mirror and straightened up my outfit. The traffic was light and we arrived at Sir's brownstone in minutes.

"How do I look?" I asked Norman after he helped me out of the car.

"Ravishing," he said.

Norman was probably in his fifties, still fit, with graying temples showing below the brim of his chauffeur's cap. I kissed sweetly him on the cheek.

"Wish me luck," I said.

He chuckled. "You won't need it."

* * *

Sir was in his running shorts and a t-shirt, relaxing in the living room with a drink in one hand and a flogger in the other. He took a sip of his drink and waved the flogger at me.

"Look what I picked up in San Francisco," He said proudly. "The ends are knotted for more fun."

"I'm not sure I like that kind of fun," I said, eyeing the menacing falls on the flogger.

"You'll like it," he said to reassure me.

"My bottom will be the judge of that," I said.

Sir finished his drink and put His glass down. "I think the judging will happen shortly."

"Here?" I asked.

"Why not," He said. "By the way, you look absolutely ravishing."

"Funny. That's what Norman said to me when we got here."

"Norman's always right," Sir said.

"I'm getting that feeling," I said, agreeing with Him.

"What happens if you take off your clothes?" Sir asked me.

"Nothing but trouble," I said.

"I'm looking for trouble," He declared, none to my surprise.

He was looking in the right place. I stepped out of my skirt and took off my blouse. I wanted Sir to see me in my bra and panties, still in my heels. I felt sexy.

"Why stop there?" He asked me.

"I thought you'd enjoy the view," I said. I turned sideways so He could see my profile as well.

"You cut a fine figure Cat," He said. "But one of your best features is your lovely rounded ass. Put your hands on the back of the sofa and show it to me."

I did, spreading my feet apart and arching my back so my bottom presented an inviting target. He must have decided a bit of foreplay was in order because He lifted up the narrow strip of material of my thong panties and rimmed my asshole with His finger. It felt delicious. I wanted Him to fuck me there.

"There's always time to admire and worship beauty," He said. "So tell me Cat. How was your day?"

"It was fine, nothing earth shaking."

I proceeded to tell Him about Trent's nuptials and the extension request with opposing counsel. I didn't think He was listening to me because mid-sentence I felt His tongue had replaced His finger.

"Oh God . . . Sir," I gasped. His tongue was in my ass. Rimming, licking and making love to my asshole.

I wanted so bad to play with myself but Sir hadn't given me permission, even though He knew I was thinking of it.

"Oh . . . that's good . . . yes . . ." I babbled. Sir knew how to eat ass.

He came up for air, just as I was about to beg him for more.

"That was the appetizer," He said. "Now for the main course."

I was still spread eagle with my hands on the back of the sofa. Sir stood behind me and I knew He was dying to try out His new plaything on my defenseless ass. I heard the unmistakable hiss of the flogger right before its dozens of knotted leather ends kissed my ass.

"Fuck!" I cried out at the top of my lungs. I was glad the walls of Sir's brownstone were thick. It felt like a dozen bee stings all at the same time. My ass was on fire.

Sir moved closer to inspect His handiwork. His hand skimmed over the smarting flesh. I flinched at His touch.

"It might cause a few more welts. Just tell me when you want me to stop," He said.

I gritted my teeth when He lashed me again . . . and again. I had Him stop after three strokes. My ass was a raging forest fire. So was my pussy. The lips of my pussy were already open and weeping. The small triangle of material of my panties was drenched. This was not lost on Sir when He touched me there and felt the moist heat.

"I guess you liked it," He said, letting His running shorts drop to the floor. He wasn't wearing any underwear and His cock was getting hard. He knew where I wanted it. He came up behind me ripped off my sopping wet thong panties and tossed them on the floor.

"Who's your Daddy?" Sir asked me. We both loved hearing Him asking the question and me answering it.

"You are Sir."

He rubbed the head of His cock against my wet slit, making it slick for its welcome entry into my back passage. I stiffened my arms to brace myself against the sofa as I felt the incessant push, coaxing my anal ring to give way. The pain He had administered before helped mask what I was feeling then.

"Relax Cat," He said.

It was difficult to relax when He was trying to shove a baseball bat up my ass.

"Ughhhh," was all I managed to say.

Finally the ring gave way and His cock slid in, giving me an immediate sense of extreme fullness. My instinct was to push Him out but He wasn't going to let me do that. He stayed still, letting me adjust to the sensation before He began a gentle fucking motion.

"Go ahead Cat," He said to me.

He knew what I was thinking before I did. I balanced myself on one hand to free up the other to touch my needy pussy. I was soaking wet, droplets of moisture beading up on my pussy as Sir fucked my ass, going deeper with each stroke.

"Take it Cat. Take it all," He urged me though it was clear He was in total control. He took all of me, every inch of His manhood buried in my booty. The pain and the pleasure danced in my head, making me dizzy. The tingle started in my toes and exploded in my head. My legs started shaking uncontrollably, making me lose my balance. Sir caught me and helped me to the floor as my body heaved and spasmed. Sir held me until I stilled in His arms.

"I love you Cat," He said to me.

I gathered up the energy to move my lips to His, kissing Him.

"I love you too Sir."

* * *

Friday flew by. I had to argue a motion that morning in state court and had a filing on another case in federal court. I had to review the moving papers for the federal court case with Trent and remembered I hadn't seen the signed extension. It was mid-afternoon, and there was still time to get it done. I wasn't getting anxious . . . yet.

"So did we get it?" I asked him as I was marking up the federal court filing.

"Get what?" he asked me. We were working on four different files that day so the question was fair.

"In the Caspar case . . ."

"Oh, let me check with Jeanette," he said. Jeanette was relatively new to the firm and Trent's assistant.

He went over to my phone and dialed her number.

"Uh huh," he said. "Call over there and find out what's holding this up will you?"

Trent looked at me.

"What's Metcalf's assistant's name?"

I had to think for a second. Veronica? Thelma? It started with a "T." Then it came to me. Terri.

"Terri," I said.

"Call Terri and ask her what's up, OK, and tell us why we don't have the signed extension?" Trent requested of Jeanette.

"This fucker isn't going to stiff us, is he?" I asked Trent, showing my concern.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I've only seen him in court. I've never talked to him. He seems OK, maybe a bit nerdy and standoffish, but he's with a good firm."

He said the last thing because good firms don't play games, like pimping someone on a verbal extension. Trent said this all to reassure me but alarms bells were going off in my head. If I failed to exclude the proffered evidence it was going to make my case a lot more difficult to win. I was getting the queasy feeling I was going to get fucked in the ass without lube.

"OK," I said to Trent. "I've marked this up. Go ahead and make the changes and file it before close of business today. Have Jeanette call me directly after she's talked to Terri, OK?"

Trent left me. I had some other calls to make before the end of the day and started my next one while Jeanette called Terri.

I must have lost track of time and was tied up in a boring conference call when I heard an urgent knock on my door. Jeanette came in breathless. She was a shy, chubby blonde who I hadn't met before. She looked apologetic, which wasn't good.

"What is it?" I asked, pushing the mute button on my conference call. Voices continued to drone on in the background.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking sheepish. "I left you two messages with your assistant to call me. When I didn't hear from you I came down here. I'm so sorry to interrupt you."

The problem with being a hard charging attorney is that you project an image of intimidation. Jeanette was clearly cowed by me. I had to be careful.

"So what is it?" I asked again.

"Oh yes. I talked to Terri. She told me that Mr. Metcalf has no recollection of agreeing to sign an extension."

It was 4:45.

"When did you talk to her?"

"About an hour ago. I really didn't want to bother you."

I wanted to fly off the handle. I lost an hour. An hour where I might have had a chance to fix it. With fifteen minutes until the court closed at 5 p.m. I had no chance of doing anything. And it was my word against his. He was really rolling the dice with his firm's reputation. If I was general counsel for the defendant I would boot him for his unethical behavior. But this was on me. I gave in too easily to Trent. I could have gotten another associate to draft the motion. I stopped myself from further self-flagellation and took pity on Jeanette. She was probably going to pee in her panties if I started screaming at her.

I took a deep breath. "I'll deal with it Jeanette," I said in an even voice. "Thank you for telling me."

She looked relieved. "I'm sorry . . ."

"It's OK," I said, still holding my tongue. "I've got a lot to do . . ."

She closed the door behind her.

This ass fuck hurt. It hurt bad.

I detested Lawrence Metcalf III.

* * *

I went down the elevator mad and stomped out to Sir's Bentley. Norman looked at me and then his eyes went forward to avoid eye contact. He knew I was in a foul mood and thought it best to keep to himself. Norman had impeccable instincts. We rode in silence to the brownstone. Sir was supposed to be home early after attending some out of the office meeting that ended at three.

I was pissed. I wanted a drink. Then I wanted Sir to put me in my happy place. I arrived home half past seven, which was early for me. Sir was fixing Himself a sandwich at the kitchen island. Just seeing Him took the edge off my rotten mood. Sir could see it. He could read all my emotions by just looking at me.

"Hello kitten," He said, taking His first bite of a cold steak sandwich with a horseradish mustard. He wiped the edge of His mouth before He spoke again.

"Bad day at the office?"

"The worst!"

Sir went to the refrigerator and pulled out a half bottle of chardonnay that was left over from the previous evening's dinner. He reached into the overhead cabinet and retrieved a wine glass, pouring a full one. He handed it to me.

"Take this and tell me about it."

I gratefully accepted the wine and took the first satisfying draw. It was too cold but when it warmed it would be excellent. Then I launched into my tirade, telling Him about the extension request and then Lawrence Metcalf's renege on a promised extension.