The other partners were the same with their wives, most of whom were much younger. As far as the office went, there was a rigid division, with females serving exclusively in secretarial roles. It reminded Rob of those old shows out of the 1950's. They were even required to wear dresses or skirts and whenever they addressed a boss, they called him sir.
Rob's own secretary, Penny, was an efficient, well-groomed redhead, about twenty years old. She wore primarily white blouses and pleated skirts and always heels. She was punctual and meticulous. Rob had noticed a wedding ring on her hand, but when he asked about her husband, she apologized saying the secretaries were not permitted to speak about their home life while at work.
"We want them focused," Mark had explained to him after. "Females are too easily distracted without clear boundaries and expectations."
Mark spoke of women at times like they were a separate species, human, but just a little bit below the male. Rob knew he should be upset and offended by this, but it actually intrigued him a little.
A couple of times, he had found himself getting hard, thinking about Penny, and how hard she worked to get everything right. He was dying to get under that exterior of hers, to bare that trim little body and peer into her soul.
For now, though, he had his frustration to deal with. Crazy Miranda, who just would not get with the program. Sure, when they were dating, it was cool that she was free-spirited, a waitress who spoke her mind and made everybody laugh with her quick wit. She kept everyone guessing, made all the old men feel like kings, and managed to put off the advances of all the younger ones with grace and style.
Some of his friends thought she must be a prig for refusing to date, but from the start he knew she was the type to be the warmest, most loyal and devoted female in the world. To the right man. She had supported him, helping him all through school, emotionally and every other way. They had been an incredible team. Somehow she had stopped understanding what his career was all about. He had this great shot here. After just eight months, they were taking notice of him. Mark was dropping strong hints about his future.
If he just worked hard. Worked late and took on all the extra cases he could. And if he could just keep Miranda in line.
And would it kill her to support him, just a little? Did she have to make it about her all the time? Her needs and loneliness – like he didn't get lonely, too. Did she think he was happy about losing his sex drive? It was just par for the course, that's all.
Rob was just sitting at his desk, sinking deeper and deeper into a morass when Mark came in.
"Okay, Robert," his mentor sat across from him in one of the matching red leather wingbacks. "Spill it."
Rob looked at the well-groomed man in his dress shirt, slacks, silk tie and suspenders. "It's nothing, Mark, really."
Mark raised a brow. "Save the lying for court, Robert. I can see through it a mile away."
Rob laughed in spite of himself. "You're right," he confessed. "There is something, but it's personal."
"Ah, yes." He templed his fingers. "The fair young Miranda. How is the dear little thing these days?"
Rob picked up on the tone of his voice, the subtle dig at his wife's independence. "She's really into the real estate."
"Is she having any luck?"
"Well ... in terms of commissions, no. But there's a lot to learn about the business, you know? I'm sure she'll start selling soon enough."
Mark chuckled. "There's only one thing a woman has to sell, Rob, and if a man's smart, he'll put it under lock and key and save himself the trouble."
Rob cleared his throat. "I just meant–"
"I'm sorry," Mark cut him off. "I didn't mean to imply anything untoward. Miranda's a lovely woman. You've done well to marry her."
Rob's furrowed brow and frown spoke volumes.
"Robert, I want you to feel free to share with me," Mark encouraged. "I know I'm not quite old enough to be your father, but I am here to give any advice."
Rob sighed. "Sometimes I just wish it were ... easier."
"Easier?"
"Like you and Erin. I can't imagine the two of you having marriage trouble."
Mark smiled. "Ours is a different situation. I don't think you can compare it."
"Different," he probed. "Different, how?"
Mark measured his words. "Erin and I are not beholden to trends. We march to our own drummer."
"Like the other partners? You have traditional marriages, where the woman defers, right?"
"Something like that..."
"I really want to know, Mark." Rob wasn't sure why he was getting so excited. For some reason this seemed very important, even crucial.
"I can't speak about what the other partners do behind closed doors, Rob. That's between a man and his wife. We have a certain decorum we keep in public, and as you're well aware, we our not afraid to treat our female employees differently, as befits their sex."
"So you really don't think a woman can be equal." Rob had a hard-on. He was thinking of Penny and how he sometimes thought about bending her over the desk or putting her over his lap for a spanking.
"I think that's a question you should ask yourself," Mark countered. "When you see a woman, how do you think she should be treated?"
"Beats me," he mumbled.
"Oh, I think you know. You're just afraid to admit it. Which is unfortunate, because this is a bad time for you to be hiding your real inclinations."
"My ... real inclinations?"
"I know about the magazine, Robert."
Fuck. Mark had figured out about the copy of "Slavery For Her" he had pilfered. He meant to give it back, but then Miranda had found it and he ended up tossing the thing out all together.
"Magazine?" he parroted back, buying time.
"It was on my desk, in a stack of personal mail. I know you're the only one who could have taken it."
"What about Becca," he named Mark's secretary. "Could it have been her?"
Mark shook his head. "Becca is much too obedient to commit such an offense. Besides, there's nothing in there she doesn't live every day, anyway."
Rob contemplated the meaning of the cryptic remark. Was he suggesting that his pretty, perky little assistant was a slave? But to whom?
"Look, Mark, I–"
Mark held up his hand. "Apology accepted. Let's just leave it that you have an interest in the topic, yes?"
Rob swallowed. No point in lying now...
"Yes. I suppose I do."
Mark nodded. "It's about time to hear you say it. I want you to mark this day on your calendar. It's going to be the beginning of a new period in your life," he predicted. "And your marriage, too."
"I'm not sure I follow, Mark."
"You will. Come to dinner tonight at my house. By yourself. Can you manage that?"
He laughed at the irony. "Seeing as how Miranda is out showing houses, I guess that leaves me pretty free. But I don't want to put Erin out ... giving her an extra mouth to feed."
"It's not a problem," said the man with a certainty bordering on religiosity. Removing his cell phone from a clip on his belt, he hit a single button. "Erin? Rob will be joining us for dinner. I'd like it to be just the three of us, so please make arrangements for the children. You may expect us within the hour."
He paused for a moment, then replied. "Yes, that will be fine. I love you, too, sweetheart.
Just like that he disconnected, no argument or anything.
Rob whistled. "Now that's what I call a well-trained wife."
Mark was on his feet. "You don't know how true those words are, Rob."
* * * *
Cammie was cuffed, clamped, and coming. Standing in the middle of the floor, bare toes digging into the carpet, legs spread wide on command, the cruel pincering clamps dug into each of her nipples and her clit. The penis gag stifled her moans, a bedeviling mixture of pleasure and pain.
The buyer, John Falconer, was flogging her with the whip, slapping the leather strands against her gorgeous chest
, slick and glistening with the drool that continuously poured from the corner of her sensual lips.
Her inner thighs were glistening, too, stained with layer upon layer of female juices. John had been abusing her like this for what felt like hours, and he showed no sign of tiring.
Up to this point, he had left Miranda alone, but he was looking back at her more and more. She did her best to blend into the wallpaper.
"You know, you'd both be home by now," John pointed out. "If you weren't such a stuck-up cunt."
Miranda decided it was best to say nothing.
"I'm talking to you, cunt." John gave Cammie's pussy a thwack with the multi-stranded whip.
Cammie's eyes went wide. She made a new noise into her gag.
John had to hold her up, his hand in her hair. "Hold still, slut."
"Please, don't hurt her," Miranda begged.
This might be cool with Cammie, she thought, but it's not cool with me.
"You want to cut her a break? You have to do things for me."
She shook her head. "I already told you–"
"You think I'm fooling around?" John interrupted as he slapped Cammie, more than getting Miranda's attention.
"All right!" screamed Miranda. "Tell me what you want me to do!"
"Show me your tits. And do it nice and slow."
Miranda's hands trembled. It felt like slow motion, like she was watching some movie, but it was happening to her. She was really doing it, unbuttoning her jacket, taking it off, and her blouse, too.
"The bra," he said impatiently as she reached the pink nylon. "Get that off, too."
Miranda undid the strap and let the cups fall. Instinctively, she replaced them with her hands, protecting her nakedness.
John bent Cammie down and let her have it on the ass with the whip. "Don't play with me," he warned Miranda.
Miranda lowered her hands.
"Nice, hard nipples," John observed. "So this does make you horny, huh? I thought as much."
"No, I'm just cold," she denied.
Cammie paid for the lie on her ass cheeks. They were angry pink now from the various whip stings.
"Okay," Miranda said hastily. "It's true."
John gloated. "Hasn't been a woman born could resist me. I bet you're wet, too."
Miranda said nothing.
"I could have Goldie here check for me," John threatened, twisting Cammie's curls cruelly.
Miranda pictured the beaten blonde crawling across the floor, eager to do the man's will. The very idea of being touched by another female disgusted Miranda, but it also thrilled her, deep in her core. A dark and dangerous core she was only now discovering.
"Yes," Miranda spat. "I'm wet. Are you happy?"
"Not particularly." He maneuvered Cammie so she was directly in front of him, bent over at the waist. A line of drool trickled from the corner of her mouth, right down to the floor. Her tortured nipples were swaying, ever so slightly. "Maybe if I saw your cunt, too."
"I have a husband," she protested. "And he's a lawyer," she decided to play her only remaining card, flimsy as it was.
"Good. Want to call him down to join us?" John was unzipping his pants, pulling out his throbbing, fully resurrected cock.
Miranda felt the blood drain from her face. The man had called her bluff.
"What's the matter?" John asked. "Don't tell me your husband doesn't know what it is you're doing out here? Come on, Miranda, you must have told him about how you're one of Jeff Wright's special girls now?"
"I'm not anything. Just an agent."
"Whatever the fuck you want to call yourself, I don't give a shit. The only thing I care about is that I'm about to give little Goldie-cunt here the anal intrusion of her life. I can do that with or without the lubricant in my case. The choice is up to you."
"Use it," Miranda said without hesitation. "Oh, god, use it."
"It's not that simple," he shook his head. "First, I see you naked."
"You're a bastard," she hissed. "A total ruthless bastard."
"Jeezus bitch," he snorted. "Lighten up already. It's a fucking game."
"For you maybe," she undid her skirt. "You get to call all the shots."
"Sure, cause that's what turns me on. You gals on the other hand, are wired to be on the submissive side."
"Like hell," she snapped, though it was true, things were roiling inside, and the more the man took control the more she wanted to give in, to be soft and naked ... and abused.
Just like Cammie.
Miranda's skirt pooled on the floor. She slithered out of her pink, fragrant panties, lifting her bare feet one by one to slide the material over her trim ankles.
"Sniff 'em," John ordered.
Miranda blanched at the humiliating command. John moved swiftly into action, bending over Cammie's back to pinch one of her nipples through the clamp. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
Miranda got scared. "John, what if you're really hurting her?"
John undid the straps on the gag, popping it from Cammie's mouth. "What do you say, sister? You want to pack it up and call it a day? I got plenty of listings to see on the other side of the canyon – with All American Real Estate."
"I can ... take more," Cammie ground her teeth.
"Yeah," he laughed. "But you're friend can't." John moved his naked cock toward Cammie's asshole. "I think I'll make her take it dry," he told Miranda. "You're too fucking slow."
"Wait, I'll do it." Miranda inhaled deeply, pushing the wet material right against her nose.
"You like that pussy smell?" John wanted to know.
Miranda gave a half nod, scandalized at her own response.
"What was that? I didn't quite catch it," he prodded.
"I like it," she said hoarsely. Something was coming over her, like a spell.
"I'll bet you do, slut. Not lick them," he said. "Get yourself a nice taste."
Miranda's tongue touched the material of her panties. The surface tickled her tongue. The flavor was pungent and ripe.
"That's it, bitch. Eat 'em."
Miranda sucked on her wet underwear, taking it between her teeth.
"There you go," John encouraged. "All the way. Get it all in."
Miranda's eyes were watering. She pushed the panties into her mouth. It was the most humiliating, most arousing moment of her life.
"That's a good look for you," the man approved. "Gagged with your own panties. Now I want you to rub your nipples. Play with them."
It was like a dream, touching her own nubs, rolling them, hard and rubbery between her fingers. Being watched by a hungry-eyed sadist, who was about to ass fuck a young blonde. Shame flushed her skin, burning between her legs.
"You're some piece," John approved her efforts. "Your husband must get some pretty good action out of you."
She would laugh at the irony, if she wasn't gagged. Actually, Rob was the last person in the world who saw her as desirable these days.
"All right, you kept your end of the bargain. You can get the lube. It's in that upper compartment in my case."
Miranda made an "mmmphing" noise, pointing to the gag.
"Nah, you can leave that in," he told her.
The gagged Miranda, her mouth full of sopping wet panties, her pussy dripping, walked to the open briefcase on the floor. She squatted down as opposed to bending over. The last thing she wanted him to do was get any more ideas where she was concerned. Keeping her thighs as close together as she could, she opened the flap to the compartment in question and retrieved the small, clear tube.
Quickly, she tried to hand it off to John.
"No," he shook his head. "You have to do it yourself. Unless you think you're too good to touch my dick?"
The question was rhetorical, because of the gag. She looked at the man's thick shaft, the veins crisscrossing the surface. It was bigger than Rob's, straighter. The important thing, though, was that it wasn't his. Which meant she should not be within a mile of it, let alone lay hands on the thing.
"Last chance," John announced, as he undid Cammie's cuffs. Slapping her ass, he ordered her to grasp hold of her ankles and hold on. He was going to go through with it – a completely dry penetration.
Miranda moaned in futility. Much as she didn't want to do this, she couldn't watch Cammie suffer. She squirted out some of the gel. It was cold and slimy in her hands.
"What's that, bitch?" He lorded it over her as he slipped on a fresh condom for his trip up Cammie's rectum. "Deciding to humble yourself after all?"
Miranda nodded.
John stepped back from Cammie. Hands on hips, he turned towardsMiranda. "Go on, then, pay homage to my virility."
Miranda reached out, grazing the rubber coated tip of him with her fingertips. His cock leaped at her touch.
"Good start," he groaned. "Keep going."
Miranda was pulled closer, his hand on her arm. She circled his condom sheathed shaft with the fingers of her left hand. His cock pulsed, hot and hard.
"Rub it in, that's it," he encouraged. "Help your little blonde slut friend."
Miranda slowly slid her fingers, up and down. As he sighed, his chest rising and falling, she thought of Rob and how much she'd wanted to please him. She'd never grown tired in their early days of coming up with ways to make him hard, to make him want her, more than anything in the world.
Whatever it took: showing up at the door to greet him in nothing but plastic wrap, surprising him on an airplane trip with no panties under her dress or whispering into his ear at a formal dinner with her parents how she wanted nothing more in the world than to be down on her knees under the table sucking his cock.
Rob had responded to everything. She felt like the sexiest woman in the world. From the moment he first saw her working in the diner, as a matter of fact, and it wasn't just the lust. She knew he wanted what was between her ears, too, and not merely what was between her thighs. She'd resisted his attempts to date her, but it was mostly out of fear. She knew this man could be the real thing, and that terrified her. Happiness was not something she was used to. On the other hand, she thought he might break her heart if she let him in.
OBEDIENTLY EVER AFTER II Page 3
