text: [Themes: love & dating]
  
  After you leave the restroom, you walk slowly and confidently to your desk, unmindful of any risk of others seeing you. At this point, all your dreams with Mr. Wheeler are starting to come true, and you couldn't care less if anyone judged you. However, voices as you pass by the Human Resources office shock you back to reality, and that feeling of invincibility engulfing you is shattered. You're not sure what's come over you, but a strange endorphin high is clearly clouding your judgement.
  
  You pause by the door, then dash across as fast as you can. You hear a gasp, but keep running, right out the door to your car, where you find your jacket and wrap it around your waist. You return to your desk, and there standing behind it, staring daggers at you, is Isabella.
  
  "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, Swanson? I saw you run out of the door with no bottoms. Are you fucking Mr. Wheeler?" Suddenly a cold chill fills your body. This stupid bitch knows, and she's going to use it to get you fired. Isabella walks from behind the desk, an angry smile on her face. "You think you're going to get away with this, you bitch? I took a picture as you ran." She pulls out her phone and shows you the photograph. It's blurry, but you can clearly see your half covered ass running out the door. "And you know what, Swanson, I'm going to take this straight to HR, and then when you're fired, maybe Mr. Wheeler and I will get to know one another better." She laughs and then flashes you an evil smile, middle finger raised in the air. Then she turns around and marches toward Human Resources.
  
  Now you know you're fucked. If she shows that picture to Human Resources, even Mr. Wheeler's clout at the firm won't save you. What do you do?
  
  > call Mr. Wheeler's office and ask for his help
  Desperate and out of ideas, you race to the phone and call the most resourceful, intelligent, powerful person you know: Mr. Wheeler. The phone rings are agonizingly slow as you wait for him to pick up. Just as Isabella gets to the door, the phone is answered.
  
  "Yes," answers Mr. Wheeler. In panicked tones you fill him in on what Isabella is going to do. You glance down the hall and see that Isabella was already knocking on the door. Finally Mr. Wheeler responds. "So you're saying she used her phone at work, contrary to our policy?" Dumbfounded, you answer affirmatively right before he promptly hangs up on you.
  
  Isabella is invited in to HR, and as she closes the door behind her, a sinking feeling begins to crush you like a medieval pressing. Knowing the end is near, you begin to organize your desk. Just before the tears start to fall, Isabella walks out of Gladys' office and turns toward Mr. Wheeler's. At first you believe the deed is done, and she's headed to Mr. Wheeler to show him the picture at the behest of HR, but the look on her face says otherwise.
  
  It isn't until Isabella leaves almost in tears twenty minutes later that you piece together what happened: As soon as Mr. Wheeler hung up on you, he must have called Gladys and had her send Isabella to his office. Why? Only one thing made sense: he told Gladys Isabella violated the cell phone policy, had her sent in, and then either fired or suspended her. Given the nature of the picture Isabella had, you are convinced it's a suspension. Wheeler wouldn't risk the situation escalating further.
  
  You sigh in relief knowing you won't be fired, but then a sudden dread crashes over you. Does this mean your relationship with Mr. Wheeler is at an end? Will he be too gun shy to push things further? You finish the day obsessing over this possibility, and when you get home, sleep refuses to come. By the time the alarm clock blares, you feel as if you'd barely closed your eyes.
  
  > About last night
  Isabella was suspended for one day, you find out in the morning. Clearly Mr. Wheeler doesn't want to push the issue and risk major controversy. In any event, the day proceeds as normal until 9 o'clock, when Mr. Wheeler calls and demands you come to his office. You had thought you were in the clear, but as you walk down the hall, you suddenly aren't so sure.
  
  You enter the office as nervous as the first time, standing just as awkwardly by the door. Mr. Wheeler ignores you for two full minutes before finally putting away his papers. "Yesterday's incident was unacceptable. I nearly had to fire poor Isabella, and I barely avoided a career killing Human Resources nightmare. What am I to do with you, Ms. Swanson?" The raging anger in his eyes betrays his calm voice.
  
  Suddenly he slams his fist on the table. "You raging idiot!" His yelling shocks you; you've never heard him raise his voice like that before. "Not only could you have gotten yourself fired, you could have ruined this firm. You still may ruin this firm, depending on whether or not I am able to appease Isabella when she returns tomorrow." He stands up, and again demands, "What am I to do with you?" Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. You can't meet his eyes, much less stammer a reply. He faces the window for a moment, his hands on his lower back, eyes looking toward the sky outside.
  
  He turns and looks at you with a look of pure malice. Without warning he almost runs over to you and grabs you by the wrist. He drags you to the front of his desk, kicks his chair out of the way, and bends you over it. In one fell swoop he pulls your skirt, tights and panties down to your knees; then you hear him fumble with cloth and hear his suspenders unsnap.
  
  Without warning he begins to strike you with them. The pain is completely unexpected, and each time the leather parts strike your tail bone you nearly fall to your knees. But Mr. Wheeler holds you up with each attack. You bend your knees underneath the desk in a desperate attempt to get away, but he holds you down and continues the beating. Time seems to drag as you openly weep, Mr. Wheeler's hand over your mouth keeping your screams from being heard outside the office door.
  
  Finally, mercifully, the beating stops. Leaning over you and breathing much harder than he should be based on the physical exertion of punishing you, Mr. Wheeler barks through clenched teeth, "Go home, Ms. Swanson, and think about what you've done. I expect you to be fully ready to work tomorrow." He lets you up and walks over to his chair, dragging it back to the desk. You move out of the way and fix your clothes, then walk toward the door. Turning back, you see him sitting at his desk with this fingers folded like a tent, staring at the wall behind you. Finding nothing else to say, you walk out the door.
  
  > Absolute Power
  You spent the better part of the night trying to figure out what happened in Mr. Wheeler's office yesterday, and despite considering both the heart breaking aspect of being such a colossal disappointment and the arousing part of being spanked in his office, you still couldn't make heads or tails of it. Fortunately, Isabella managed to stay out of your way for most of the day, and Mr. Wheeler had seemed a lot more calm and cordial to you earlier in the morning.
  
  You are sitting at your desk playing with the pens, still grasping for answers, when Mr. Wheeler calls you. The entire pile of pens falls to the floor, and you quickly scramble to pick them up, then walk to his office. You pause before his door and smooth out any wrinkles in your outfit, still hoping that he'd give you the kind of attention you crave from him. You enter, seeing him standing by the window, and turn to shut the door, but freeze when Mr. Wheeler says, "No, leave it open a crack." You comply, then stand before the door. "Please, sit down, Ms. Swanson."
  
  You move to sit in the chair opposite his desk. "No, Ms. Swanson. Sit in my chair." Confused, you again do as he says. His chair is a very comfortable leather affair; thick and soft yet supportive. "I want to have a conversation with you about power, Ms. Swanson. I thought this seat would be a good place to start."
  
  He comes up behind the chair and leans over it, placing his hands on your shoulders. His face right next to yours, he says, "Tell me, Ms. Swanson, do you feel powerful in this chair? Let me tell you, I certainly do." You don't really know how to respond, so you remain still and silent. "Did you feel powerful when you got Isabella suspended yesterday?" Slowly his hands begin to work their way down your shoulders to your chest, gently caressing. Sudden relief floods you, and you whisper a rather content "Yes" in reply.
  
  "Is that what you want, Ms. Swanson? To be powerful?" The sincerity of his tone surprises you. What is he really asking? You know what you want, and what you've wanted since you started working at Wheeler and Brandt. It isn't to be powerful. It's to be caught up in Wheeler's power. "No," you finally reply. He gently squeezes your breasts. "Do you want me to show you power, Ms. Swanson?" His right hand follows a path down your stomach, and you writhe back against his neck. Your voice husky with longing, you breathe, "Please, Mr. Wheeler."
  
  Permission granted, Wheeler suddenly lifts you up by your breasts, your arousal intensifying the sudden pain. Then he kicks the chair away and bends you over the desk. "The door is opened, Ms. Swanson, and I'm still going to do what I want with you. Someone can walk in at any moment, but I will control you anyway. No one will save you from that control, Ms. Swanson."
  
  Instantly your skirt is lifted and your leggings and panties pulled down. You hear his pants drop to the floor and feel him pressed against you. You're barely able to breathe, never before being this aroused.
  
  Through ragged breath, Mr. Wheeler whispers, "I take what I want, Ms. Swanson." With no further warning, Mr. Wheeler is inside you, but to your instant agony and shock, he's not inside where you expected. Your scream is muffled by his hands, and an animal instinct to avoid harm makes you fight him, but he holds you close and takes what he wants.
  
  As he grunts and thrusts, your eyes wide shut and jaw clenched, you keep asking yourself one thing over and over again: Is this what I wanted?
  
  > Aftermath
  The degree to which he hurt and humiliated you yesterday was far beyond any previous boundary. He even used your clothing to belittle you, ejaculating into your panties and keeping them as you left. You wanted him to dominate you, but was that too far? You kept yourself awake all last night wondering one big, horrifying question: were you raped?
  
  By most standards it was. You wanted him, but not the way he did it. You didn't ask for anal sex, and never would have in that circumstance. He forced himself upon you. But on the other hand, you did quite explicitly give him verbal permission to "have power" over you. Does that make it a consensual sex act? You don't know, and you spend the entire morning contemplating it.
  
  Mr. Wheeler barely acknowledges you when he arrives. He doesn't even look you in the eye. You get the sense that he knows he pushed things too far. But does what he feel even matter? You were the one who was raped, or not raped. You are angry that he did that to you, even if you wanted his domination. You are hurt, and a little frightened of him. You shouldn't have to feel this kind of dread and insecurity at work. You feel betrayed. But what are you going to do about it? You could turn him in. You could take it to trial and try to get him convicted. Or you could forgive his stepping over the line and try to salvage this strange relationship.
  
  You spend the better part of the day thinking about it, and then you make your decision.
  
  > Press charges
  Even if you ween't sure how you felt about being raped, you knew you couldn't just ignore it. What if he did it to someone else later? The man raped you, and he may do it again. You had a responsibility to file a report, even if you still were attracted to the man.
  
  As soon as you left work you went to the police station. The detective was rather rude, but eventually he began the paperwork and sent you to the hospital to have a rape kit examination done. At this point you no longer worked at Wheeler and Brandt. You were focused on the case. It was nearly a month before a warrant was finally issued, and shortly after Mr. Wheeler was arrested at work.
  
  Now, sitting in the court room, the trail was about to begin. You still are uncertain about how you feel, but you have a responsibility to women everywhere to see this through.
  
  > Trial
  The room was cold. The jury sat impassively, and Mr. Wheeler was just in front of you, his arms and legs in chains. You had been staring at the clock for almost a minute trying to find an answer.
  
  "Ms. Swanson," the prosecuting attorney asked again, "Did you or did you not have a consensual relationship with the accused?" Anger suddenly floods your mind and you snap back, nearly shouting, "What do you want me to say? Yes, we had a relationship, but it wasn't exactly consensual." The defense attorney smiles. "So you did have a relationship with the accused. And tell me, Ms. Swanson, did you ever feel threatened by Ms. Isabella Jones?
  
  "What? No. She never stood a chance with Mr. Wheeler. She was too assertive. He likes submissive women he can abuse." You feel good saying that. Like you are an agent of justice. But very quickly your confidence wanes. "But Ms. Swanson," says the attorney as he looks through some files, "we have records of you getting into an altercation with Isabella, an altercation she claims was over Mr. Wheeler. Did you just perjure yourself, Ms. Swanson?" The attorney looks at the judge and says, "No further questions for this witness, your Honor."
  
  Later in the trial, the defense finally brings Isabella to the stand. She goes into intricate detail about your rivalry with her, but her testimony is only the beginning. Woman after woman is summoned, and each paint a similar story: Mr. Wheeler is a misunderstood genius, and you were a jealous, vindictive woman scorned trying to bring down an innocent man. Even Gladys from Human Resources attacks you.
  
  But the nail in the coffin was Isabella's photograph of you. The entire court room sees your half-naked body blown to wide screen proportion. It's enough to convince the jury that you are just another angry slut, upset that your man got tired of your pussy and moved on to another woman. Another false accusation of rape.
  
  Mr. Wheeler gets acquitted of the charges, and you obviously get fired. Not only are you proven in court to be a liar despite telling the truth, Wheeler and Brandt sue you for every penny you have. They had to find some way to try to salvage the firm's image.
  
  Two years later you see Isabella in the distance at the train station. She has a massive wedding ring on her finger, but underneath her blouse is a huge dog collar, complete with spikes. You instantly know what happened: she married Mr. Wheeler, and every day lives the dream of humiliation and submission that you once desperately wanted.