"Afternoon, Mr Loverman," I said. He eyed me warily: I seldom came near him at work any longer. "I need your chair." He sat motionless, not understanding. I leaned forward menacingly. "Fuck off," I said, "get out of the way, I need to sit at your desk for a while." Finally, he showed some understanding and made to stand. "I know what you can do. Go round everyone in the room and ask if they would like a cake. Then go to the canteen and buy cakes for everyone. Okay? That would be a nice thing to do, wouldn't it?"

A look of horror crossed his face. He was still nominally a senior manager in the office and to be forced to act as the errand boy, fetching cakes for everybody, would be horribly demeaning. Wordlessly, I arched my eyebrow, smiling as he got the message and extracted himself from his chair with alacrity. I could hear laughter from around the office as the errand boy embarked on his mission, red-faced and humiliated. From Mr Loverman's desk I had a clear view of my office. Mostly, of course, it worked the other way around: from my office I had a clear view of his desk, which I used to my advantage when I emailed him and directed him to expose his cage-encased cock in the office. How he would squirm as people walked past, barely a glance away from discovering his secret.

It was a few minutes before five when Maria entered my office, trailing her hoover and grinning broadly enough for me to realise she was confident of success. She winked at me as she closed the door and I waited for events to unfold. Within a minute poor Stephen - little Mungo, as we now called him - approached, red-faced and clumsy, self-conscious to the point where he looked like he might implode, and opened the door to my office. He even paused, head around the door, clearly requesting permission to enter: such a polite boy, so out of his depth. Oh dear, if ever there was a moment which changed somebody's life that was it: Stephen opened the door and entered the gates of hell.

I waited a few minutes, but not too long: if we were correct and Stephen was a virgin, it would all be over pretty quickly, so I couldn't linger too long. Judging the moment to be right, I settled myself into character, fixing a stern gaze in my eye and a fierce grimace on my lips, and entered my office.

"What the fuck!" I exclaimed, closing the door so no-one else could see or hear. Maria was behind Stephen, whose trousers and knickers were at his feet. She was grinding against his backside, dry-humping him as her hand steadily wanked his pink cock. He was pretty small, it seemed, I could barely see his glans peeking between her thumb and forefinger: he wouldn't be demanding too much metal from Mr Fiorile when we came to make his cock-cage. They turned to me in unison and I could see Maria's hand tightening around his cock, squeezing it hard. He groaned in delight, screamed in fear and yelped in pain, pretty much at the same time, a look of terror crossing his face as he watched me approach. He tried to pull away, but Maria had her left arm gripped around his stomach. She continued to grind against him, her hand wanking him faster and faster, and as his face contorted I knew he was about to come. Adroitly, Maria wheeled him round so that his cock was over my desk, thrusting against him as though fucking him from behind, as he panted and groaned. He was unable to prevent himself, despite the horror of being discovered in flagrante, and I watched with amusement as his sperm jetted across my desk, six or seven hefty spurts leaving a voluminous trail of slime on the mahogany desk-top. He may have been small, but he packed away a lot of juice. He groaned and moaned as his all too public climax ripped through him, eyes tightly shut as though he couldn't bring himself to watch what was happening.

Maria released her grip on his cock, but kept her arm fixed around him to prevent him moving. His cock began to shrivel almost immediately, and in his embarrassment it seemed as though his body was too, shrinking into itself in an attempt to escape my censorious stare. I looked at the mess on my desk, and then at Stephen, and then at the desk again, noting with delight that he followed my gaze submissively. I suspected he might be very, very easy to tame.

"What the fuck have you done to my desk?" I yelled.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. He tried to free himself, buckling his knees in an attempt to reach for his trousers, but Maria was a strong girl and held him fast. She turned him round so that he was face-on as I approached, his spent cock dangling between his legs. I thrust my face towards him.

"Sorry? You've got spunk all over my desk, boy! I've got to work on that!"

"Sorry," he repeated. Mischievously, Maria gripped his penis and waggled it each time he spoke, making it look like he was talking through his dick. Which all men do, of course.

"Well, that's not good enough, sunshine."

"I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean it? What did you mean then, exactly? To give my desk a quick polish for me? To do a bit of filing? What did you mean to do, precisely, with your trousers round your ankles and your cock in the hands of the office cleaner?" He was on the verge of tears, poor boy, and I knew he was ours.

"Sorry," he repeated, as Maria waggled his cock in unison.

"Don't just stand there: do something about it!" He stared at me incomprehendingly. I had to decide: if I pushed him too far he would bolt for it, but if my suspicions were correct I could manipulate him at will. What to do? Would he flee or obey? I watched him, observed his demeanour, assessed his approach. His eyes, blue and soft, craving forgiveness, gave me my answer.

"Lick it clean," I said, my voice low but hard. I walked around the desk and sat in my chair, staring at him confrontationally. He made no response. "Lick," I repeated. "Lick it."

Slowly, Stephen lowered his head and began to lick his sperm from the top of my desk.