“Jillian?” 
“Mmm?” I’m a bit busy now, she thinks, half-hysterically. 
“Would you mind terribly loosening your grip on my suit? It happens to be more expensive than what you make in a year.” 
“Uh–oh.” Jillian supposes that the fabric currently rubbing against her face is rather expensive. She loosens her death hold on Null’s pants leg, wincing as she feels more blood rush to her dangling head. 
“Thank you.” Smack. 
And Jillian, just as she has at every fucking blow since she found herself sprawled Null’s lap with her pants around her ankles, lets out a yelp. The throbbing heat between her legs flares, hard as she tries to will it out of existence. 
“How many was that?” Null asks gently. Or as “gently,” as Null ever does anything, which  
“S-six.” Was it six? Please let it be six. d“Good girl.” Null pats her stinging bottom and Jillian tries not to moan. Who knew that this kind of degrading condescension would be such a goddamn turn on? 
Smack. Fuck, Null isn’t even hitting her that hard. But restraint on Null isn’t the same as restraint from a normal person, and it still stings like a bitch. Jillian squirms, blinking back tears. 
“Oh, control yourself. You should be glad this is the worst you’re getting after that clusterfuck with Dr. Baker and those freaks.” 
Lindsey. Fucking Lindsey, this is all her fault. If it weren’t for Lindsey and the morals she’d grown out of goddamn nowhere, Jillian wouldn’t be in this position. Wouldn’t have been sent up to Null’s office certain she was going to die a slow and miserable death–or worse, get slated for improvement in the labs. 
But Null hadn’t done any of that. She’d just pointed at her lap with an expression like Jillian should automatically know what the fuck was going on, then rolled her eyes and said, honestly, don’t they have corporal punishment in those schools anymore? 
So Jillian, not wanting to end up with a few extra limbs or a catchy new ID, had bent over like a good girl. Now her face is as red as her ass and she’s thanking God Null let her keep her panties. 
Okay, look, it’s not her fault! She’s a red-blooded woman, she’s not above Devil Wears Prada / Secretary fantasies. Null is objectively hot if you look past the whole devil thing (seriously, what is with that? and other questions Jillian probably should have asked herself before taking this job) and Jillian’s always had an appetite for crazy. Lindsey was her one attempt at a port in the storm and look how that turned ou– 
Smack-smack-smack! 
“Eight…n-nine…ten.” She’s going to need a fucking cushion for days now. Those ones were hard. 
There’s a pause, and she wonders if Nun’s trying to torture her, dragging this out. Then she gives a short, abrupt sniff. 
Oh, shit. 
A finger slips under the hem of her panties and Jillian squirms. “What–what are you doing?” 
No answer. Null tugs, exposing the panty label to the air. “You’re buying your stuff from there?” she says. “We’ll need to get you something new. And in pink–it would go better with your complexion. 
That’s inappropriate, Jillian thinks automatically. She bites back a spurt of hysterical laughter. That’s inappropriate? 
And while she’s busy trying not to giggle at her own insanity, Null hooks a finger through the panties and tears them away like tissue paper. 
Jillian gasps as she feels cool air against her burning ass, hiding her face in the Very Expensive Pants. She can hear the sound of Null turning the shreds of her underwear over in those deadly bloodred fingers, studying the material, the texture. The dampness. 
Null tosses the underwear aside and reaches down again, rubbing her finger oh so slowly across Jillian's cheeks. Jillian bites her lip at the sensation, feeling almost impatient as Null’s finger slips down, down… 
It touches her wet, dripping cunt, rubbing at her gently. Jillian can’t hold back the moan back this time. 
“Look at that,” Null says thoughtfully, with the vague curiosity of a child about to crush an interesting bug. “You’re dripping all over my suit.” 
She is? She is. Oh shit, fucking hell, what a stupid way to die– 
“Stop sniveling and get up,” Null barks, smacking Jillian on the ass like a recalcitrant horse. She can’t quite choke down a whimper, but she gingerly levers herself off of Null’s lap, standing bruised and bare-assed on the office floor. 
Null looks her over thoughtfully, her gaze as cold and assessing as a butcher studying a cut of meat. Without breaking eye contact, she turns and sweeps a hand off the desk, sending several important-looking papers crashing across the floor. 
Her free hand blurs out and grabs Jillian, forcing her around and over the front of the desk. She yelps, reaching out to grab the edge of the desk as she tries to keep her face from smacking into expensive wood. The keyboard is digging into her ribcage and her cunt is rubbing up against the desk’s surface in the worst way possible, but she doesn’t dare move. 
From behind, she hears Null rise to her feet and kick the chair aside. Then the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone, and leather sliding through loops. 
“Madam Null–” 
“Quiet,” Null barks, her voice that kind of demanding register on the line between terrifying and sexy. Folded leather rubs gently over Jillian’s ass, before slipping down to press oh so carefully against her clit. 
It jerks away and Jillian’s got time to think, no, she wouldn’t, before the belt comes hurtling down between her legs. 
It doesn’t hit her that hard, but it’s still enough to make Jillian squeal like a goddamn pig. Her cunt feels like it’s on fucking fire, and her head smacks painfully against the desk as she lurches forward. 
Null snaps the belt upward–on the ass this time, and Jillian never thought she’d be grateful to be lashed with a belt on her bare bottom. She jerks forward again, this time just managing not to smash her chin against the edge of the desk. 
Silence. Tears drip from Jillian’s eyes, glistening against polished wood. There's more dripping from between her hot, aching pussy; she really hopes she isn't messing up the carpet.
“We’ll have to start again,” Null says thoughtfully. “Forty regular blows, and ten on that greedy little cunt of yours.” She hums, leather rustling in her hands. “And I’ll have to sprinkle in a bit of the buckle from time to time–wouldn’t want to risk wearing out the leather. You understand.” 
‘Yes, M-Madam Null.” Jillian rasps. Maybe if she’s lucky, her wanting, humiliated body will spontaneously combust before this is over. 
“Very nice,” Null says. “Keep up that pleasant attitude and maybe I’ll let you hump my foot when you eat me out afterwards.” Oh Christ. Jillian wants to rub herself to completion on the desk at that mental image.
(She can’t even imagine what Null’s cunt would look like: tentacles? Suckers? Maybe normal, but a bright fucking red to haunt her nightmares? Whatever it is, it makes her mouth water.)
The belt comes whistling down again, leather snapping with unforgiving strength against Jillian’s skin. She jerks with a whimpering sigh, not bothering to try and hide it anymore. 
“One,” she grits out, with so much more than simple pain in her voice. Null laughs at the sound, and a mad little voice in Jillian’s head whispers gleefully about how she’s done well.