Welcome to Part 2 of "Our Back Room." If you missed part 1, you can find it in our archives. But to get you started on part 2, here's where we left off.
[Disclaimer: This tale is in no way true. But I can't say it wasn't inspired by real events that have cropped up in the news from time to time -- real life, as we know, being always stranger than fiction.]

"I was in a corner of the room trying to fit these pieces of tile back into the floor where someone had kicked them up, when two of my young employees, Lynn and Jeremy, came in holding hands. They didn't know I was back there in the shadows." [And now for Part 2:]
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They stayed just inside the door, kissing. I watched their clumsiness, their unsureness. He put his hand on her breast -- no bra on this firm breasted girl, just a stretchy t-shirt under her blouse -- anyway, he kind of seemed like he was handling a loose knob that might fall off if he went at it too strong.

Thin, pale, the girl Lynn. Jeremy is more a nice brown. Nice contrast of skin tones as they ran hands on skin. I started getting horny. I watched. And a plan started to formulate. I'd put on this really mean face. "Get over here, both of you, right now!" They'd jump apart and be all body-shy as they came towards me. "I could turn you into the authorities for that behavior -- you ever hear of lewd conduct?" They'd shake their heads no. One of them would start to apologize -- we'll say Lynn.

And I'd come up to her and stare, mean like. "Did I just see Jeremy do this?" I'd squeeze her breast, "to you?" She'd apologize again, but sort of hunching over. My hand would stay on her breast. "You like doing this in public?" I'd say, squeezing her breast until I had the nipple pinched between my fingertips and palms. "You think this is OK to be doing? Hey?" And I'd look at him, so he'd be on the defensive and wouldn't be able to get all protective. I'd grab his hand and force it on her breast. "Don't let me stop you," I'd say. "I'll just report you, while you continue on, here, having your fun. I don't want to interrupt."

"Look don't report us," he'd say, because Lynn still lived at home and her parents were real strict and probably didn't know she was even dating the kid.

Then I sort of lost track of the real Lynn and Jeremy and I the fantasy took off on its own.

"Are you going to take the punishment for both of you, then?" I ask Jeremy.

"Punishment?"

I look at Lynn, deep into her eyes. "You like to have a man's paws all over your hot body, don't you?"

"Please!" she says and starts getting all baby girl on me.

"You better stop talking to her like that," Jeremy says.

"Strip, Mister!"

"What?"

"You heard me. You want to take the heat for this pussy? Cause if I tell her parents, she'll have hell to pay, you know." I turn to her. "Your daddy'll beat your ass, won't he?"

She just stands there ash white.

"I can take whatever you have to give," says the proud little gallant. "Let her go." And then he adds, "Please."

"No. She can watch me humiliate you. And as you take your punishment, Lynn can see if you're the man you pretend to be."

A caning I have in mind. We had these dowling rods back there that made for nasty canes. Because I know he'll have trouble with a caning. He's a firm strapping young guy, but he'll break down because he's never really had that kind of pain in his private places -- it's not like the chest punching where tough guys like to hit each other but in the humiliating places that hurt more.

"Get your pants off, now, Mister," I say.

He fumbles at his buttons, his girl is there crying. She goes for the door, I pull her back. "Oh no you don't," I say. I push her back behind where I'm going to beat her boyfriend and then I stare at her.

"Would you rather I go to your parents and to the police?" I say.

I turn as if going to the door. "Because that would be a whole lot easier. I have to keep you all in line. That's a heavy responsibility. We can't be having slutty behavior in our back room, you understand me?"

"Yes," she cries.

"Now I said you're going to watch, and I mean watch. And just to be sure you won't go anywhere and distract me during the beating -- which will make me do damage to your boy here -- I want you to take off your shirts and stand there with your little tits in the cold to remind you of your dirty behavior."

They protest for a while but I make some more threats and I tell the boy he'd better tell her to cooperate and he does as I say. And I'm thinking how the back room with its vacuum of sound, its ghosts, makes these two kids obey me blindly, cowering. I let her cry in girlish sobs as she pulls up the shirts, first outer then under shirt, and the little flesh patties and her pink nipples. They look good enough to pinch and clamp.

"Don't you cover those breasts, Missy," I stop her. "Keep your hands by your side and let us have a look, since we all know you love to show them off."

"No," she sobbers.

"Just get this overwith," Jeremy says. But he's hard, that bastard. He sees her nipples shuddering as she sobs and he's turned on. I point it out to her. "He's enjoying you like this. I lift up his shirt so she can see his hard-on. It bobs a couple of times for our eyes. She cries harder now. I prop up her nipples with a couple of little pats. 'This what you wanted to do, Jeremy?" I say. "Pat her titties?"

"No," he said. "So what are you going to do to me?"

"Turn around and bend over," I say. "And hold up your shirt."

I get the dowling rod and crack! Right on his sweet spot. He cries out. I love watching his butt cheeks clench. I love the stripe that starts to form there. And his girl, whimpering away is like rock music in a soldier's ears. Makes the violence more like dancing. I run my cane under her breasts. "You want to be next?" I say.

"No, oo," she blubbers.

I crack him again, again, again. He is really too easy to break down -- like about 6 strokes in he's on the floor begging and crying and saying all kinds of stupid things like he's about 4 years old and the girl is on her knees comforting him, holding him into her tits. Because they're not sadists or masochists. They're just dumb kids.

Whew. I come back slowly; the fantasy has jumped so far ahead of where they're at it feels like I've stepped out of a time warp. They're still groping and making out in their inexperienced way. Abstractly, just as an exercise, with no intent, of course, I considered what kind of authoritative stance one would have to maintain to trigger two kids' sheep response and have them kneeling before my wrath -- I mean someone's wrath. Anyone's wrath … hypothetically. Everyone has a sheep response -- that takes them off guard, that's born of the moment -- and when we look back on that moment we wonder, "how could I have been so docile? How did I let that person overrule my better judgement…"

And then I started to feel that in my mind, I was crossing a line. That back room made it seem so real. A nasty room with dark power, and me hiding in a corner heavy breathing over two awkward 21 year-olds groping each other…

I step out of the shadows. "What do you think you're doing?" I say tensely.

I half expect them to play out my fantasy. I'm actually terrified of it. Lynn jumps and screams. "Oh, my god," she pants.

"Where were you?" Jeremy says suspiciously.

"I was back here cleaning under my nails," I said. "So is this what you guys do in here when I'm not around?"

"Not usually," Jeremy says.

"Do you want me to write you up for this?" I say. I'm not going to initiate anything, but I want to see how far it will go, all on its own. If my theory about that back room was right, the room would find a way for those D/s moments to seep through.

[To be continued...]