Conduct a performance review.

By the end of the month, you decide it's time for Gemma's quarterly performance review. Gemma kneels in front of your desk, her posture perfect, hands resting on her thighs, back straight, her naked body glistening under the fluorescent lights. The only things she’s wearing are her black heels and the collar around her neck, the leash draped over the corner of your desk.

You clear your throat, flipping through the pages of her "performance review." The first item on the list is Punctuality. You tap your pen against the clipboard, your eyes flicking to the clock on your desk. She’s been kneeling for twenty minutes already, her skin flushed, her breath shallow.

"Punctuality," you say, eyeing off the page. "Needs Improvement."

You reach into your desk drawer and pull out a pair of nipple clamps - small, silver and attached together with a silver chain. You lean forward, pinching her nipples between your fingers before attaching the clamps. She gasps, her muscles ten, but doesn't pull away. The chain dangles from her breasts, a heavy, constant reminder of her failure.

"Next. Time Management."

You set the clipboard down and pull out a thin, metal ruler from your drawer. Without a word, you slide it between her thighs, pressing it against her clit. She whimpers, her hips twitching as you drag the ruler upward, the edge pressing against her sensitive skin. You tap the ruler against her inner thigh, once, twice, the threat hanging in the air.

"Unsatisfactory," you declare, glaring at her. You take your cock out of your pants and tap it against her lips. "You have one minute to make me cum with your mouth."

She doesn’t hesitate. She takes you deep, her throat working around your shaft, her hands gripping the base as she bobs her head up and down. You look at your watch, the cold metal of the ruler resting against her ass. At thirty seconds, you smack her ass hard with the ruler, the sound bouncing off the ceiling. She doesn't pull away. At forty-five seconds, you do it again, this time harder. At sixty seconds, you pull out, your cock glistening with her saliva, and she straightens back up.

Time’s up. She didn’t make you cum.

The ruler comes down with a sharp whip against her thigh, the crack echoing through the office. She lets out a pained cry as a red line blooms on her skin. You connect with her other thigh, then her pussy, over and over. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, her fingers digging into her thighs as she fights to stay still.