I spend the following day at work embarrassed. I had spanked myself so hard the previous night that I can’t sit properly on my ass. Worse, every time I shift and pain shoots up from my red cheeks through my spine, I think of my unknown dominator. I don’t even know his name! I guess I’ll call him Dom.

“Seems fitting,” I think, imagining Dom as a tall dark-haired muscular man. His broad shoulders tower over me, his chest hair covering rippling pecs. “Puts Jacob to shame…” I muse. I imagine he’s the type of man who lifts weights not to just impress girls but to be able to hold girls. Hold girls down. Own them. He controls them.

I imagine Dom striding through the office door. He’s calm, collected, and knows what he wants: me. I imagine his massive hand reaching out, taking hold of my arm, and pulling me in. His other hand roughly grabs my blouse, ripping it off. I struggle but it’s no use and he easily dominates me. Then—

“Anna? Anna?” comes the voice. I snap out of my daydream. My boss is smiling at me. “Want to come to dinner? With the rest of the gang?”

“N-no, sir,” I stutter, my face flush.

He laughs. “Sir? Come on, go home now. You look exhausted.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks away. I’m petrified. How long was I just sitting there staring off? I need to regroup. To sit and think. I hurriedly collect my purse and stumble away to the bathroom.

I find a stall, pull down my jeans and panties, and sit. The cool porcelain feels nice against my sore ass. What was I just dreaming about? I’m supposed to be an empowered woman. Why was I dreaming about a man ripping my shirt off? I wince as I notice how wet I am.

“Stop it,” I try to tell myself but I start daydreaming again as I imagine Dom again. This time he’s in the bathroom and no one is around.

“Anna,” Dom calls out, “I’m going to reward you if you’re a good girl.” He walks over to the stall and I see his shadow under the door.