There was simply no way to get Max Burton from her mind. Every minute of every day, she seethed, and fumed, and thought of him; but with all the emotion in her flying willy nilly, the one constant obsessive truth was-the whole damned incident turned her on!
As much as she wanted to forget her ridiculous scheme, forget Max Burton, and getting spanked, and the hundreds of flighty fantasies that had fueled this desperate effort, she had little power to push her obsession away.
The following Friday, at five o'clock sharp, she prematurely locked her shop doors and pulled down the shades. Going directly to her apartment, she stared for some minutes before the contents of her closet, carefully contemplating exactly what it was that Max Burton would want her to wear. Without understanding how he could grab hold of her so keenly, she found herself, propelled, even coerced by his command and his opinions. How could he possibly, in such a short time, take over so much of her day, her mind, her thoughts, her feelings? She hardly knew him.
And she knew what he wanted. It didn't take instinct or fashion sense to figure out his tastes. But to think that she would succumb to such traditional feminine garb!
"Oh, damn, Caroline," she sighed aloud, "what are you thinking, what are you asking yourself to do . . . you want to be spanked by this man, you want to put yourself in his dominant hands and let him have his way with you . . . is this a modern independent woman? Who are you kidding?" She turned to the mirror and stared at her face, her lips, her body, breasts, ankles, neck-was she as graceful as Burton's birdlike receptionist? Did she, too, that sweet young brunette, wear clothes to conform to her boss's tastes? And would she, Caroline Ashley, self-made entrepreneur, succumb to that kind of sexist nonsense?
She amused herself. Almost laughing aloud at the joke on herself.
From the start of this madcap adventure, she was breaking rules of conformity, and feminist codes, accepting thoughts about herself that were simply crazy for Caroline Ashley to think. Yet, the inescapable truth: if she was serious about this game, she needed to seriously play by its rules-Max Burton's rules.
From the back of her closet, Caroline pulled a pair of black dress shoes with 3" heels, a long black skirt with a thigh-high slit, and a cream colored blouse that drooped lazily between her breasts. Rummaging through her chest of drawers, she drew from the jumbled mess of lingerie a bright red bra-one shocking enough to show through the thin fabric of her blouse.
She hadn't worn these clothes in months, and she'd never put the red under the cream. But if that's what pleased Max Burton, that's what she'd wear. Could it be that she actually wanted to please him? That she was deriving some satisfaction from doing so? That even her body was responding with a seductive warmth that became more sexually delightful with each article of clothing she put on.
Perhaps Mr. Burton understood her better than she understood herself, and that was scary.
When Caroline arrived at the attorney's office, little had changed since the previous week. The young secretary was dressed differently, though the effect was still the same. Her suit was black with a deep lace collar and a white lace teddy apparent underneath her jacket. When she walked, it seemed as though her breasts jumped to the surface of her clothes calling attention to their fully sumptuous quality. From behind her, her thick high heels augmented the appearance of her rounded ass. The gentle jiggle of those two mounds could hardly go unnoticed since it seemed that she wore no panties, and with her hips swaying invitingly, it was obvious she wanted to be noticed. Following the two plump cheeks into Max's office, Caroline was forced to stare and forced to recognize the erotic impression they made on her.
"Good evening, Carol