Dark Fairy Tales

Rose

“Rose!” The cry of disbelief from Jake has me jerking away from Ji-hoon.

Jake had expressly forbidden me from going anywhere near Ji-hoon. What must he think? But I was only trying to help Jake! All Ji-hoon wanted was my help with translating some documents from Korean to English. It would have only made Jake’s job easier.

“Jake, I was just helping Ji-hoon.” I say, trying to sound much calmer than I actually feel. Something in the way he is looking at Ji-hoon makes me want to dive for cover.

“Step outside please, Rose. I need to speak with you privately.”

I follow him mutely, glancing over my shoulder at Ji-hoon, giving him an apologetic smile. The look on Ji-hoon’s face makes me uneasy. Why is he looking so distinctly guilty and annoyed at the same time? He doesn’t return my smile but starts to fidget with the papers lying on his desk.

“Look, I am sorry, I know you told me to stay away...” That is as far as I get before he grabs my arm and starts walking in the direction of his private office. I am unable to keep up with his long strides in my six-inch heels, and find myself stumbling. He doesn’t slow his pace. His firm grip on my upper arm is hurting me, but I dare not utter a word of protest. Fear has rendered me mute. I know what I did was wrong, but I was only trying to help! I try explaining it to him, but the more I try, the angrier he seems to get. If only he would give me one chance to explain.

“Jake, please...”

My words dry in my throat at the look he throws me over his shoulder. I see a vein throbbing at his temple and feel my throat constrict. I am finding it difficult to breathe, anticipating the worst. He had warned me.

On the very first day that I started working for him, he had told me quite clearly that if I ever disobeyed direct orders, I would be in deep trouble. And this isn’t the first time I have disobeyed orders, though this is perhaps my most serious offense till date.

In my defense, I have always found obeying orders extremely difficult, seeing how I am used to giving them. Rather, I was used to giving them in my country. A country I had to flee with only the clothes on my back and the jewels I was wearing, after a thwarted assassination attempt. I was, nay, I am a princess. At only twenty years old, I am a princess who was forced to flee her kingdom.

But neither my title, nor my jewels are going to save me from Jake’s wrath. I need this job! Aunt Immy and Aunt Tilly simply cannot afford to take care of me on their meager salaries as hairdressers. I have caused them enough pain as it is by showing up on their doorstep unannounced, perhaps endangering their lives too in the process. The least I can do is earn my own living. I cannot sell my jewels without the fear of being found by those who want to kill me. The jewels are unique and can be traced back to me. For now, I must remain in complete anonymity.

I force myself to take deep breaths. I cannot faint. I cannot make him think that I am weak. I have to face his anger. Whatever else I might be, I am not a coward.

Ever since I started working for him almost a month back, I had heard about his legendary temper, had even sensed the barely controlled rage underneath the charming exterior, but this is the first time I have actually seen it.

The plush carpeted corridor seems never-ending, and my arm feels as if it is going to come out of the socket any time now; his stride is unrelenting. Strands of my blond hair have escaped my professional French bun; I am certain I am looking thoroughly disheveled. I wish he would stop dragging me. I haven’t yet had the time to go shopping for clothes my size after fleeing my country, and am wearing a skirt suit that belongs to Tilly. We are somewhat the same size, but I am curvier compared to her nearly skeletal frame.

The skirt is chafing at my knees with the long strides I am forced to take and is in danger of bursting a seam. Dare I tell him to slow down?

Before I can open my mouth, he grabs the handle of a door and opens it forcefully. The heavy wooden door is nearly ripped off its hinges, and for the first time, I realize how strong he truly is, and even though he has a death grip on my arm, he has displayed remarkable restraint.

Shoving me inside, he locks the door, bolts the latch, and sits down on a wing-backed armchair on one side of the gleaming, antique wooden table with his elbows on the armrest; his fingers are linked in front of his face. Warm lights turn on automatically the minute we step inside.

Jake has closed his eyes and I can see that he is struggling for composure before he can talk to me. His jaw is clenched and his nostrils are flaring. The chiseled, handsome face is a mask of pure anger. I dare not sit down on one of the two straight-backed chairs facing him, though I badly want to. My knees are shaking.

To distract myself, I look around the room. This is not his private office. As one of Jake’s personal secretaries, I have been to his office plenty of times. It is a sleek, modern space with a floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk overlooking the Hudson River. This place on the other hand–it looks like a study from a bygone era. Gleaming wooden bookshelves line three of the walls. Right next to the door on one side is an antique chest of drawers. The wall above the chest of drawers is graced by several expensive Rembrandt's paintings. The floor is covered in an inch-thick Persian carpet. A velvet-upholstered settee is placed a little distance away from the desk, facing one of the bookshelves. Something tells me this is Jake’s private sanctuary. Does he come here between meetings to unwind? I didn’t know he liked to read. Or maybe he just likes to collect books. Despite his stand-offish and borderline rude behavior with me, I have been fascinated by Jake from the minute I met him.

There’s a wooden door on the wall on my right. I wonder what lies behind that door.

Studying the room has nearly calmed my nerves, but they return in full force the minute Jake opens his eyes and fixes me with a glare. I rub my damp palms on my skirt and try to smile. It will be a wonder if I am able to hear his words with blood pounding in my ears.

“I am sorry,” I say meekly, preemptively apologizing in a futile attempt to thwart his temper and forgo my punishment.

“You are sorry.” His words are a mere whisper, but they convey exactly how angry he is more effectively than any amount of raised voice can.

“I truly am. I was only trying to help!”

He holds up his hand, silencing me.

“If it were anybody else, anybody at all, they would not just have lost their jobs today, I would have also made sure that they wouldn’t land a job anywhere else in New York.”

My eyes fill with tears at his harsh words and my voice shakes when I beg him not to fire me. I need this job!

“If it weren’t for Immy and Tilly...” He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I feel hopeful for the very first time since he dragged me away from Ji-hoon. I am not going to lose my job after all! I suddenly feel faint with relief, and grab the chair in front of me for support.

“But you cannot go unpunished.”

I wait in silence, thanking my stars that I won’t be losing my job after all. No matter what the punishment might be, I simply will have to s*ck it up, and face it. So relieved am I that I am not losing my job, I almost don’t hear what he says next.

“Elbows on the desk. NOW!” The command startles me, making me flinch, but I stand rooted to the spot. I am sure I must have misheard him.

“Pardon me?”

Without a word, he gets to his feet, walks around the desk, shoves the chair away, and with a hand on the small of my back, pushes me towards the antique wooden desk. Applying pressure, he makes me bend at the waist and place my elbows on the table, so that my torso is pressed flat against the desk and my cheek is resting against the cool wood. I’m forced to grab the other side of the desk for support as I am wearing only one pump.

“What are you doing? Let me go!” I try to struggle and kick out my legs in the air, but other than dislodging one of my pumps, I have not achieved anything. One of his hands holds me firmly in place till the fight goes out of me and I stop trying to break free of him.

“You will do exactly as you are told if you want to keep your job. I am not going to say this again. Have I made myself clear?” Somehow, his quiet tone is very disconcerting and is making me tremble with fear. What is he going to do to me?

“Have I made myself clear?” He whispers again, bending close to my ear, so that I can feel his warm breath on my face and neck. I shiver involuntarily.

“Yes,” I manage to utter.

“ ‘Yes sir’”, he corrects.

I open my mouth but no words come out. He cannot be serious! We are strictly on a first-name basis here in his office! Nobody addresses him as ‘sir’. He is doing this to humiliate me! I will not submit to his unreasonable demands. I will not address him as ‘sir’. Anger is now added to the complicated cocktail of the emotions I am feeling.

I want to say ‘f*ck you’, but my courage deserts me and I end up flipping him off. Though I am unable to really see his face with mine being pressed against the table, I know I have truly p*ss*d him off when he goes absolutely still and his grip on my back firms to an almost painful intensity.

I suddenly realize how obscene I must look with my *ss sticking out in the air, with Tilly’s one-size-too-small skirt stretched to the hilt. Me, a f*ck*ng princess, of a f*ck*ng country, am utterly and thoroughly humiliated, and am at the mercy of an unhinged megalomaniac! He must be a megalomaniac. Why else does he want me to exercise his dominance over me?

For the first time perhaps, I realize the danger I am in. I am at his mercy in every way possible, and I have gone and angered him.

“Jake, I am sorry! I truly am! If you let me go, I will make sure that... Ouch!” I cry out as his hand strikes out and makes contact with my *ss. “What the f*ck, Jake?”

I am angry beyond words. Did he really spank me? He really is unhinged.

“ ‘Sir.’” he insists.

“F*ck you!” I am too angry to watch my mouth.

Smack! Another slap lands sharply on my *ss.

“Stop it!”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Blow after blow lands on my *ss as I squirm and struggle under his grip, but he doesn’t stop. How dare he! Tears of humiliation gather in my eyes but I refuse to let them slide down my cheeks.

“Stop! You can’t do this to me! Jake!”

My words have no effect on him as he continues to spank my *ss hard. After a while, I simply stop saying anything at all. Anger wars with pain and humiliation, and all I want to do is give in, to submit to his demands, but I refuse stubbornly.

“You. Shall. Obey. My. Orders.” He punctuates each word with a slap on each of my butt cheeks. “Do you understand me?” He whispers these words in my ears, and I nod mutely.

“Say ‘yes sir’.”

When I remain silent, he whispers in my ear again.

“Don’t make me get the cane. And it will be bare-bottom caning, Rose.”

Cane? Is he f*ck*ng serious? Bare-bottom caning? Just who is this lunatic?

“I am waiting,” he says as he caresses my butt, and to my utter disbelief, I feel wetness rushing out of my p*ssy. I cannot believe how my body is reacting to his touch.

But then, I have been attracted to him since the very first time I laid my eyes on him. My breath hitches in my throat as an unexpectedly sharp slap lands at the spot where my thighs meet my *ss.

"Yes sir," I say through clenched teeth.

His hand is making lazy circles over my *ss, making heat pool between my legs. What is wrong with me? Why am I reacting to him this way? I have never been so humiliated in my life, and yet all I want is for him to f*ck me.

Rose

Me, a twenty-year-old virgin and a fucking princess, is attracted to my thirty-five-year-old self-made billionaire boss. Even after I have spent the better part of the last half hour bent over his desk and being spanked, I am undeniably attracted to him. I also hate him with every fiber of my being. How dare he treat me like a truant child? He spanked me, for heavens’ sake! I mean who does that anymore?

I am angry, fearful, ashamed, humiliated, and so turned on.

Grabbing my shoulders, Jake roughly pulls me to a standing position. I try awkwardly to stand straight while wearing only one pump.

I am unable to meet his eyes, so I keep staring at the floor. He grabs my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.

His tawny eyes bore into mine as I defiantly meet his gaze through the sheen of unshed tears. My bravado doesn’t last long under the intensity of his gaze; I cast my gaze down. He is looking at me as if he wants to p