Along the way I discovered some accomplices. Maria the work cleaner, a woman so lowly that Graham scarcely knew of her existence, caught us in flagrante, and instead of reporting us joined me in administering a sound punishment to Mr Loverman's rear: and she quickly developed a taste - and a talent - for it. Pamela, the overweight office assistant had long adored Graham from afar but couldn't bring herself to speak to him, far less ask him out. Under my tutelage her confidence grew to such an extent that not only did she come to control Mr Loverman, she could even spurn his attractions: and indeed it was because of her that Mr Loverman spent the majority of his time with his little dick encased in a cock cage. Finally, there was the delicious Carina, a fox I discovered one glorious afternoon - a vision in black, dark and exotic, whom I approached and wooed and took for my own. They were my team, the women who were going to assist me in the overthrow of the Office.

Because, make no mistake, the Office was going to be mine.

It was, like most offices, a male-dominated world. The Managing Director, the senior Accounts Manager, Accountant, Secretary, Personnel Manager, all of them were men. Women were represented only in the lower management ranks, by people like me, people with more wit, knowledge and ability than our so-called managers but equipped, crucially, with rather fewer testicles. Not that I'm bitter, you understand: actually, far from it. That's the way the world is, and if you don't like the world you either shut up or you have to change it. I was about to change the world.

I needed a plan. The walls of self-interest wouldn't topple without concerted action: those in power would surely fight to remain so in the face of our onslaught. It meant we had to be cunning; we had to be ready.

"Who's the weakest?" I asked. "Who's most vulnerable?"

The four of us were gathered in the living room, stretched on settees and chairs, being attended by Mr Loverman. He was scuttling about, ensuring our wine glasses remained filled, being especially compliant in an attempt to save his arse from being flayed. As a special treat he had been allowed out of his cock cage for the evening, and the delight in his expression as I unlocked it was almost comical. He seemed incapable of understanding that such largesse could only be compensated by major punishment at a later stage: consequences seemed beyond poor Mr Loverman, but nonetheless by the end of the evening he would be screaming to be allowed back into his little cage. He was naked but for his pink apron - frilly and too short - his dimpled bottom showing the reddened scars of the ongoing beating he had endured all evening. Whenever one of us felt the urge, we called on him to bring a paddle, or cane, or slipper, and present himself for our delectation. Sometimes he was stretched over a knee, others he was made to bend over and grip his ankles, others still he was dealt with without any formality at all, being simply assaulted where he stood. The bulge in his apron suggested he liked it.

"Not Roberts," replied Pamela, bringing my attention back to my question. "Anyone but him."

"Agreed. He is the toughest. He has to come last." Roberts was the Managing Director, the man who had created the company which bore his name - Roberts Property Management. An arrogant bastard, devious and untrustworthy, he had built the company from nothing and revelled in the fear with which he was regarded by his staff. He was going to be a considerable challenge, a man not given to weakness and unaccustomed to defeat. Nonetheless, his fate was already sealed: he would, in time, lose this battle. He was mine - I already had a plan for him, and it caused a tingle of excitement to flicker through my body whenever I thought of it.

"I know who I'd choose," said Maria quietly, almost to herself. We turned to her. She was wielding a riding crop, flicking the end idly, a dreamy expression on her face. She grinned. Seeing that she had become the centre of attention, she was overtaken by a surge of bravado, her eyes - wide and excited - exhibiting a desire to show off. She indicated to Mr Loverman, who rose from his basket and approached, turning to reveal his bottom to his tormentor. She struck out, flashing the leather crop against his already bruised skin, the crack resounding around the room. She laughed and looked up at us again. "Mr Thirlwell," she said.

"Mr Thirlwell?" replied Pamela incredulously. "He's sixty. Going to retire soon."

"Just cos he's sixty, doesn't mean his eyes don't wander. Believe me, I know which ones are staring at me when I go past, and he is the worst of the lot."

"Never!"

"God, Pamela, you are naïve," I said, laughing.

"Guess I just never think about things like that."

"Well, you'd better start. We need to look for the weaknesses to exploit. And we have to start with the assumption that every one of them has a weakness: it's up to us to find them." My own weakness stirred by my side, the glorious Carina. She slid her hand down my thigh, nestling her head against my breast. Carina didn't work in the office - yet - and didn't know the people we were talking about. Bored, she was stroking me distractedly, and the scent of her hair, the brush of her breath on my arm, the touch of her hand, they were all combining to send my lust levels into the stratosphere. I needed to concentrate.

"Mr Loverman," I called, "here, now." He shuffled across and I indicated for him to stand before me. Sliding my hand underneath his apron I felt for his balls and gripped them. I squeezed tight and he screamed. Ignoring him, I squeezed again, and again, and again, settling my hand into a rhythm, my nails digging into his scrotum, palm pressing hard against his testicles. It was my executive toy, my stress buster, and I always used it when I needed to think.

Maria was right: Fred Thirlwell was the weak link. He was old and vulnerable, ready for retirement and resigned to disappointment. He could be easily manipulated - given the right circumstances - and his position, Customer Service Manager, was an important one: he was the public face of the company, Mr Nice who projected the cuddly, friendly image of an organisation with a mission to help its clients. As if.

And the fact that he would soon retire was useful, too.

I continued to squeeze Mr Loverman's balls carelessly as I mulled over the options. Carina raised her head and brushed her cheek against mine, drawing her mouth towards me, stretching, imploring. I kissed her long and hard, our tongues meshed together, our teeth clashing delightfully. She was the key, I felt sure: we had to get her working in the Office, to maximise our strength, to increase our options. I pulled away from her.

"Okay," I said. "I've got it. The first thing we need to do is get Carina working in Thirlwell's office."

"How?"

"Find her a vacancy."

"There aren't any."

"Then we have to make one. Have a new job created."

"How?"

"Only Thirlwell can do that: it's his department. So we have to encourage him it's in his best interests to do so." They waited expectantly for my explanation. I looked from Pamela to Maria to Carina, and gave Mr Loverman another squeeze, so hard he screamed in a manic, high-pitched squeal, and continued. "That means we need to seduce him, get him into a compromising position." There was silence. Seducing a sixty-year old was going to be a new experience for all of us. I smiled. "The question is: who does it?"

As one, three of us turned to the remaining member of the quartet. Maria gulped, her eyes wide. "Me?" she asked.

"Well volunteered, that woman."