“Yes, sir.”
“Come here.”
The office door was still open, so that anyone who came far enough down the corridor could see the scene that followed.
He turned me toward the wall. “Bend over.” A shudder of apprehension raced up my spine, as I spread my legs and obeyed the instruction, presenting my master with my naked ass, nicely outlined in a black garter belt and lacy stockings. Pushing up my short skirt, he opened my cleft and inspected the widened orifice. In the last few hours it had been reverting to its “pre-fucked” state.
Finished with that buried territory, he pushed me upright and briefly inspected the marks on my ass—far fewer than I expected there would be considering the amount of caning my butt received that Saturday night. After motioning me to the front of his desk, he reached in a drawer, pulled out a disinfectant cloth and wiped his hands.
“It’s a shock to the system, no doubt,” he commented tersely, “but you survived. And you’ll survive a whole lot more.”
I heard a knock on the door behind me. “Am I interrupting?”
I turned my head, seeing Joel McNary there, and my entire being flinched. For just an instant, I saw Ryder in his place, the same cocky attitude, the same smug pretty-boy looks. They were clones of each other in attitude and substance. Maybe I was wrong to color Joel McNary with the same shades and passions, but at least for an instant, they were the same man in my eyes.
“Not at all, come in,” Preston welcomed him.
Joel strolled forward. “And how’s the project?” he looked directly at me, while addressing Preston.
“Like any other novice. If I could only turn off her brain, I’d get better results.”
I realized then that they were talking about me. And when Joel eyed me with a knowing look and smiled, I wanted to shrink to the size of a mouse and scurry away.
“He knows?” I looked at Preston pathetically.
“Of course, I know, Miss Skye pose-in-the-nude-on-the-internet Sinclair. Pres and I drew straws to see which one of us would have you.”
Drew straws! Like I was some trinket? My heart beat so fast, I thought I would pass out. I couldn’t say a word, though dozens of nasty ones marched through my head—swine, rat, bastard, m’fucking asshole. Apparently, my angry feelings showed; certainly eyes were riddled with spite.
Joel turned grim, speaking to Preston again, “You’ve gotta put a lid on that temper of hers, Pres.”
“Think so?” He remained totally cool. “Maybe you’d like to help?”
“Help? Hell, you know me. I’ve been dying to get at that fat ass.” I shriveled a little more inside, while my anger grew. Paradox? Yes, but I was riddled with them that day. “Shall we close the door?” He didn’t wait for Preston to answer him—the need for privacy was obvious. Either that or the entire office staff was on to the game.
“Have at her ass, if you like; it obviously didn’t get caned enough on the weekend.” Preston casually added his two cents, and then melted into the woodwork, content to sit at his desk and observe as remotely as a judge.
Despite the humiliation that made me angry, that made me sweat and my stomach sour, my crotch was so engaged, so wet just from their nasty banter that I couldn’t hide the truth when Joel McNary pushed me over the edge of the desk. He flipped up my skirt to inspect me as Preston had just done. And with the cool touch of his hand on my cheeks, I practically came. When he felt between my thighs, the first orgasmic shudder rippled through my belly. No! I had to get my bearings. I had to stop myself. I couldn’t let them know how much I hungered for this degradation.
But then, my arousal was impossible to hide. Joel brought out the evidence of my lust—sticky, shiny, sex juice coating his fingers like honey. “Suck it, slut,” he presented his hand to my mouth, and I licked it clean.
“The cane, you say?” he turned toward Preston.
“In the closet.”
Joel moved to a cabinet on the side of the room, where he pulled out a rattan cane. Gripping it firmly in his fist, he strolled back to me, devious, evil, beautifully evil.
“You know, canes are the only implement for a busy office. Practically silent when they strike.” He stared at the long slim rod with admiration, while my whole body went rigid, knowing what it could do to me. “You worried?” he was apparently asking me but I didn’t know what to answer. “Cat got your tongue?”
“No, sir.”
“Then speak to me when I ask a question. You worried?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good.” He smiled again. “You should be. I wreak havoc with these things. My own preference is for the thinner kind, the baton. They do more damage.” I don’t know if he was joking or serious, although I didn’t want to find out. “But since this is Preston’s passion, we’ll use this one.”
He moved to my back and pushed my chest down on the desk at little further. I was facing Preston’s face. He looked back at me; his face unreadable, his thoughts if he had any, indecipherable.
“Yeah, you look at him, slut,” Joel charged me. “And while you do, get your priorities straight. Know who you belong to you; you could certainly do a lot worse. Think about it. You could have me as your master. At least he’s civil.”
Thwack!
The cane sizzled and stuck, biting my ass so I was sure it would bleed. I cringed, my muscles taut as piano strings. A small cry escaped my lips, and my face drew into a painful grimace.
“Get used to it, slut,” Joel informed me, “there’s nineteen more to go.”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! He rattled off several more cuts in succession, while I reached out gripping the sides of the desk. Otherwise, I would have fallen to the floor in desperation.
“Look at him!” Joel barked.
My gaze, which had fallen downward, returned to the man in front of me. I gritted my teeth and tried not to cry, at the same time, my sad tears were welling in my eyes. I recoiled each time the thwacking cane sliced another tale of woe on my behind. I couldn’t believe that the cruelty of the last three days could be surpassed. But for undisputed pain, this ruled. Maybe it was because I couldn’t utter a sound. I gurgled a bit, and gasped, and panted, and gulped down another load of fear, and then took more. I’d lost count in numbers and was still gritting and clenching and panting when Joel suddenly stopped.
“There!” he said with some emphasis. “That should leave some remnants to remember.”
I didn’t doubt that fact.
He rubbed my bottom, gripping it firmly and squeezing hard.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Preston said, to my amazement.
I turned my head just enough to see Ellington Lloyd walk in the room.
“Oh, my,” he noted the scene with obvious surprise. “Is this sex play, or some new kind of office discipline?” He was infinitely smooth, which only suggested to me that he knew about the younger men’s schemes.
“Discipline, El,” Joel informed him. “Miss Sinclair sometimes needs a few reminders.”
“Reminders?” He sounded a bit perplexed, maybe he didn’t understand what was actually happening in this office. “I always thought she was doing a damn good job.”
“For the most part, but she’s occasionally a little frivolous with company time. Isn’t that so, Miss Sinclair?” Joel poked me to answer.
“Yes, sir.” My skirt was still above my waist, with my nakedness on display and blooming with color.
“And you think this sort of treatment is effective?” Ellington asked the question as if he were considering it for his entire office staff.
“For some women,” Joel informed him, sounding as if he’d suddenly break out in a full lecture regarding corporal punishment. I hoped not. “And definitely for Skye.”
“Well then, gentlemen,” he said, as if he could easily pass this off as normal behavior, “don’t let me interrupt. I just came to remind Preston of the sales meeting in the morning. You need to be there. Eight o’clock.”
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“It’s on my schedule.”
“Good.” Ellington nodded his head and took one last look at my ass and left the room.
“Whew! The humiliation becomes her,” Joel exclaimed. “There’s nothing like the rosy blush on her face when she’s embarrassed… except perhaps the one on her ass.”
I hadn’t been told to rise, so I remained bent with my face toward my master. “Joel, you can leave now. I need a few minutes with Skye.”
“Well, thanks for sharing. We’ll have to do this again.” He walked out, much to my relief, although now I was faced with Preston alone. Once the door closed, my humiliation seemed to expand far beyond its previous limits.
“I push you because I know what you want, Skye.”
“Yes, sir.” He was absolutely right. He had me in the palm of his hand and I was helpless. My heart and loins beat for him. My dignity was gone. All I had to do was pull myself off his desk, walk out the door, and leave him forever. But I would never do that.
“You can stand.”
That was some relief.
As I followed the order, I took a deep breath trying to gather my wits.
“A question, sir?”
“What’s that?”
“Does everyone here know? About our arrangement?”
“Far as I know, Joel and I are the office perverts. Ellington? Now he knows something. But he won’t care, as long as he figures you participate freely, and we know you do.”
I waited for several uncomfortable seconds until Preston spoke again. “You can go now.”
“Yes, sir.” I left quickly, returning to my desk and sitting on my wounded bottom, remembering my humiliation every time I moved. I opened my email to find a message waiting for me, succinct and simple. From [email protected]
Be at peace, my Syke, there will be so much more you don’t expect.
Chapter Nine
Small consolations came in small doses. A quick email, a brief glance, the unexpected touch of his hand in public. Was I reading into these tiny acts a bigger relationship? I know I did. Even while I was imagining more from Preston Lockhart, I knew I was being foolish. But I couldn’t stop the hunger from surfacing. My appetite for him, for his instructions, his demands, his orders, his imperious looks, cool grim expressions and extraordinary energy of lust, only expanded with each day that passed. My hunger became my obsession—and Preston knew that. He knew he had me firmly bound by the promise of our erotic game.
He began to ask for me at lunchtime. He’d have me close the door behind me, drop to my knees and crawl to him, unzip his pants with my teeth and give him a blow job until he creamed my face with his cum. At first, it was strange being in such close proximity to his flesh. I assumed that he was rarely so intimate with women, and so I treasured the act, giving myself lovingly to his pleasure. I prayed for a night in bed with him—though that seemed to be far from his mind.
The oral sex was rarely passionate—just a way for him to release. He would tangle his fingers in my hair, sometimes push my face into his groin more deeply, at other times grip my scalp and give it rude, hair-pulling tug. The sensation radiated to my crotch, which lit up like a Christmas tree. Oh! How I prayed for a night in bed with him!.
Sometimes he’d slink further in his chair, drop his pants, and spread his legs apart. I’d suckle his balls, roll his weighty scrotum across my palm and tongue him deep inside his crotch, underneath. Quiet shudders would rip his body, shake it hard in the moment he came. One day, after we finished and he was put back together in his typically faultless way, I wiped my mouth, and he casually made an unexpected demand. “Bring me a copy of your house key before you leave today.”
“My house key?”
“Yes, your house key.” He hated having to repeat himself, but this time I was so surprised by the request that I couldn’t mask the fact.
I had lunch out of the office that day, spending the entire hour getting a copy made of my apartment key. When I handed it to him, I had to ask, “Can you tell me when you plan to visit?”
“No. I’ll visit when it suits me. Property doesn’t have the right to question. Property exists solely for the pleasure of their owner. Their single duty is to be available to fulfill their master’s needs.”
My life became colored by this new dimension of anticipation. My hours in the office had not been mine to plan for some months; now he took away the freedom in my private time as well. Though his demands on me in off hours were few, and often quickly over, there was rarely an hour in my day that I wasn’t waiting for his call, or the knock on the door, or more commonly, the turn of the key in the lock. I think he only called twice to see if I was home before he arrived, and even then, he didn’t tell me if he was coming for a visit. The first time he let himself inside no more than a half-hour later. The second time I waited up nearly half the night, and he never showed.
When he did come to my apartment, it was usually around eleven—and as often as three nights a week. He wanted the same sort of blowjobs he had in his office, but we got more explicit without the threat of exposure hanging over us. He would lay out on the bed, naked at his groin, and have me suck his dick to a huge erection… an act that took just seconds. I would move down to his scrotum, giving it the same loving attention I’d perfected in the office, and then sink deeper still. Lifting his ass off the mattress, I’d part his cheeks and rim his anus, jacking his dick until he was about to come. Then, with my fingers toying with his anus, my mouth returned to his cock, covering it, swallowing it, blowing it off until he shot down my throat. I gulped, taking every bit of his frothy jism.
His visits were no more than extended versions of the blowjobs in his office. Although that didn’t prevent me from the hope that soon, very soon, I’d have all of him in bed with me, loving me as much as I loved him.
***
During these first weeks of late night visits, the torture, bondage and humiliation ceased. The kinky games were set aside for sex. After a month, however, I was on assignment again, back at 42 North St. for a Friday evening.
I drove into the property as I had before, a little more confident about what I was doing, but probably more scared because I knew what might await me. I undressed at the door as I’d been instructed before and waited shivering until the old dame answered my knock. Hardly a thing had changed but the weather, and I was almost freezing by the time I was allowed inside.
“You’re late,” I was told abruptly.
Only because you wouldn’t answer the door, bitch! I exploded with anger on the inside, but didn’t say a word to her. I didn’t even sputter when she pushed me roughly into the kitchen and paddled my ass with a wooden spoon—just because she could, I suppose. It was just three minutes after the assigned hour. Late? I wasn’t late! She just wanted an excuse to abuse me herself, before the others in the house took over.
The scene in the living room was different this time, just a few men and women milling about the room where I’d been introduced before. As soon as I crawled inside, someone was there, clamping a thick iron collar around my neck and attaching it to a wrist cuff that was placed around my left wrist. My ankles were both cuffed in irons and attached with a chain. Either on foot, or on my knees, moving proved difficult. Once shackled, I was told to sit in a corner and wait. “Head on the carpet, arms behind your back.” This took a little work, since my one wrist was cuffed to my collar, but there was enough slack in the chain to make it possible, and I managed, if not as graceful as I would have wished.
I waited for some time, thinking, wondering, uncertain how I felt about the house, about the assignment, about this humiliation. It seemed so cold to me, so calculating. I suspected I was not aroused. But I realized later that I was just denying the facts as I had before. I must have drifted, my mind vacating for a time, while the room filled with people. When I was suddenly jerked awake, I moved up on my knees and stared into the eyes of the man who’d bound me.
“At the door, your master is waiting.”
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br /> My was heart instantly engaged, excitement, jubilation lifting my spirits. I pulled the chain back over my head so that I could crawl to the front door and greet Preston.
But it wasn’t Preston at the door—not the man, nor the attitude, nor the good looks, nor the cool dominant charm, which had so enticed me to my secret, sexy, kinky life. Instead, a stranger doffed his coat, expecting me to rise to my feet, take it from him and hang it on the hall tree. I did so dutifully. He was a big man, muscled, forceful, heavy jowled, with piercing eyes and confidence reeking from an explosive energy that both annoyed me and aroused me.
After hanging up his coat, I returned to his side, and he inspected me thoroughly, teeth, gums, hair, cunt, ass, flesh, skin, breasts. Pinching my nipples, he pulled them until I squealed—for which he gave me a stinging smack on my ass.
“Containment, bitch. Remember that. And say on your feet. I’ll tell you when I want you to grovel.”
I followed him into the big room, which was now filled with men, women and their slaves. There was chatter, back-slapping conversation, jokes, and typical cocktail party talk. I served my master a vodka martini, and when he slumped into a lounge chair, he forced me to my hands and knees, making a table of my back, where he precariously balanced his drink. I was certain that any second, it would topple off, and I’d be in for one hell of a punishment. He wasn’t the kind of man I wished to cross, or disobey, or disappoint. I probably would have pulled off the stunt, if I hadn’t glanced to the side of me and upward, realizing to my surprise that Preston was in the room, talking casually to a group of men. Some I recognized, some were strangers to me. The surprise jolted my body just enough to send the master’s vodka martini to the floor, where the half-drunk cocktail spread like indelible ink over the forest green carpet. Oh, it would clean up just fine, even though at the time it looked like a permanent stain. The drink had also splashed on the master’s boots, and before I could even think, he pressed my face to the leather and ordered me to clean it up. He held me by the collar at the nape of my neck. I could hardly breathe, but I managed to tongue his dusty wet boots to a shine, while enduring the nasty taste.
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