He groaned again, louder this time. I cursed the interruption. Was Joe 'the boy' and, if so, what did Marianne want Desmond to do to him? I strained to hear her response.
'You know no one does it like I do,' she purred.
'Too true, but - Oh, yes, a tad tighter, darling. Yes, that's perfect. The thing is, the boy is extremely good. You saw those women creaming in their pants last night - the men, too, truth be told. Someone is bound to snap him up and make a big deal of him. He's a young Mel Gibson, a new Brad Pitt -' His accolade ended on a sharp yelp.
'You promised,' Marianne said, low and dangerous.
I heard a loud, fleshy smack.
'No so hard,' he complained.
She's spanking him, I thought, but even that revelation couldn't prise my ear from the door.
'You've been very bad,' said Marianne. Another smack resounded through the office, and another yelp. 'Going back on your word. I ought to beat you, you bloody, little man.
'No, no,’ Desmond pleaded, his voice hoarse with excitement. 'I tell you, Joe Capriccio's going to be somebody. If it gets out that I lured him to New York on false pretences and then abandoned him, I'll be ruined. Even you can see that.'
If they hadn't been so engrossed in their game, they would have heard my gasp of outrage.
'So deny it,' Marianne said, punctuating her advice with a sharp wallop. 'It'll be your word against his. Who's going to believe some wide-eyed fairy from Philly?'
I'd heard enough. I slammed the door open so hard, a picture fell off the opposite wall. Despite my fury, tine tableau that met my eyes temporarily shocked me speechless.
Desmond Gerrard was crouched doggy-style along the front of my desk, naked but for an assortment of metal-studded leather straps. What looked like clothes line secured his right wrist to one desk leg and his right ankle to the other. He didn't look as good without his power suit. His butt sagged a little, and his belly. Apart from the pink spank marks on his bottom, he was fish-belly pale. His erection, however, had to be the largest I'd ever seen - ten inches at least, and thick to boot.
He shrieked in horror at my intrusion. Kneeling up as well as he could with two limbs restrained, he tried to shield his scarlet monster from view. Even as he pressed the shaft down between his legs, it twitched violently and spilt a puddle of pre-come on to the floorboards. Intellectually, he might hate getting caught with his pants down, but physically, he was ready to explode with excitement.
My clit quivered with an inappropriate frisson of interest. All I could think was that nobody would make a mouthful of that humongous beast.
'Like what you see?' Marianne drawled. 'Bet you'd like a crack at mat swizzle stick.'
I turned to her for the first time and did my second double take. She wore a form-fitting latex dress, black and very shiny, with a long zip up the front, no sleeves, and a hem that failed to fully cover her fishnet-clad bottom cheeks. Five-inch heels encased her long, elegant feet and she gripped a ping-pong paddle in one hand. She smacked it periodically against her palm - keeping it warm, I guessed.
As usual, she looked great - hot as hell and completely in control. Even though I hated what she'd tried to do to Joe, I couldn't help admiring her balls. She hadn't turned a hair at my unexpected entrance.
Desi moaned, clearly inflamed by our battle of wills. Fat beads of sweat rolled into his cloud of silver chest hair. He clutched the shaft of his cock with his unbound hand, gripping it so hard his knuckles paled.
Marianne glanced at him and scowled. 'Bad!' She flicked him sharply across the chest with her paddle. Desi cried out as the blow stung the sensitive pinpoint at the centre of his pectoral. 'Did I give you permission to touch yourself?'
'No, mistress.' Desi bowed his head. He removed his hand from his cock. It sprang back against his belly. Struck dumb with fascination, I watched the huge phallus swell and contract with the pumping of his heart. Another trickle of fluid overflowed the winking eye. I expected him to come any second but - though he shivered like a wet dog - he managed to stave off that last crucial loss of control.
'Well?' said Marianne, returning her attention to me. 'I assume you overheard. Are you going to scold me now or ogle my slave?' She struck her palm with the paddle again, her eyes lingering coolly on my breasts. It didn't take a genius to conclude she longed to squash me under her five-inch heel as well.
I knew now why I'd always held back on forming an equal partnership with Marianne - despite her periodic requests to change our contract's terms. 'Pack up your desk,’ I said. Til mail you a redundancy cheque.'
She actually stomped her foot. 'You can't fire me. I'm the last friend you've got.'