HostileTakeover

by Joey W. Hill

She didn’t flush this time. The color drained out of her face, her cheeks paling. He’d startled her, hurt her. He’d intended it. His gut told him that was the way to go, except he wasn’t sure if his intent was to drive her away, crush her spirit or test her mettle. He wouldn’t question himself in front of her though. He held her gaze, waiting to see the outcome, even while that gut twisted, telling him he was a complete and total bastard.

  No newsflash there.

  She wasn’t at all sure of this Ben, this cruel side. But one thing she did know. He’d spoken to her like a Master in front of Lucas and Matt. No, she hadn’t had much experience, but every time he exercised this side of himself, it resonated somewhere in her, in shadowed corners that were waiting for the right touch, the right motivation, to rouse that natural response in her.

  Earlier, she’d known to counter his will with defiance. However, this was a true chastisement. She’d pushed things too far, showing her ass in front of Lucas and Matt and now him.

  “I’m sorry, Master.” She lowered her gaze to the desk, feeling the strange need to push back tears. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

  “Call me sir. I’m not your Master.” But there was a pause there, making her wonder if that was what he really wanted to say. “Go into my office, to my desk. Pull your skirt up over that bare ass, spread your legs. Bend over, your nose and hands an inch above the wood. Do it quick. I only have five minutes and I don’t want to be late to this meeting.”

  He was brusque, glancing at his watch. She moved on jerky legs, but she hurried into the office, did as he said. It took some effort to get her skirt up to her waist, but it sort of underscored his point about its tightness, didn’t it? Bending down, nose to desk. Holding it that way required some precision, a little stress on the muscles. The air from the air conditioning vent in the ceiling put gooseflesh on the small of her back, her buttocks. She had brought panties. She just hadn’t worn them. They were tucked in the top desk drawer.

  The door closed, the locks clicked into place. The tendons of her calves quivered, making her heels wobble. Because of the shoes’ height and her position, her ass was tilted up, exposing everything between her legs. As she imagined what he was seeing, the spiral of anxiety and arousal in her lower belly grew tighter.

  “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

  She did. What felt like a rubber ball was wedged past her teeth. He cupped her skull to hold her steady, allowing him to push it in that space, because it was so large it pressed down on her tongue, held it fast, held her mouth open. He hadn’t used a cloth behind it, so saliva immediately began to pool around the ball. She would be drooling on his desk, nothing to stop the embarrassment of that, unless she disobeyed him and tried to wipe it away.

  When her fingers flexed, uncertain, his hands covered them, curled them into closed fists, hovering just above the desk surface. Her stomach muscles were tight, holding herself in the position, and it wouldn’t take long for them to start to ache. Ben would have made a hell of a teacher in an old-fashioned one-room school. She’d misbehave every day for his punishment.

  “You don’t make any contact with my desk. Keep your nose and hands where they are. As I do each stroke, you count it off with your fingers. It’ll be ten.”

  She was breathing hard against that ball. Her fists trembled in their suspended position. A trickle of response slid down her thigh.

  “Little slut,” he muttered. She reveled in hearing that hoarseness in his voice. That impressive cock was baseball-bat hard, she was sure of it. If only he’d let her go down on her knees, suck him off. She could make him come in five minutes. It would make her impossibly hot, knowing he was at his meeting with Matt and Lucas, her lipstick marking his cock. She’d savor the taste of him in her mouth for hours, the abrasion at the corners she was sure his thick size would cause.

  He’d removed something from the walk-in closet, and she caught it in the corner of her eyes. It was a short, slim cane, no more than ten inches long, perhaps made of carbon. Not so intimidating, but she revised that opinion as the first strike landed. Fuck. Like most canes, it hit fast and was gone, but the pain zinged through all her nerves.

  She bit down on the ball in shock and pain. There was no titillation in this, no soft flogger that hit with a nice slap and teasing sting. She’d played with one of those in her dorm room, one she’d made out of nylon rope, imagining him using it on her.

  “Count it, Marcie.”

  She managed to get the first finger out. She was pretty sure she was losing her mind, because she chose her middle finger. Damn it, he wasn’t going to break her, or scare her off, or…

  He chuckled, a dangerous threat. “You just doubled it, sweetie, and I don’t have time to slow it down. You better keep up with the count, or I’ll triple it. I plan to leave pretty welts on that rebellious ass of yours.”

  She didn’t think. She tried to push up off the desk. His hand clamped down on the back of her neck, and he pushed her cheek down to the desk surface, locking her down, like a schoolmaster holding down a naughty, struggling student in truth. She snarled against the ball, but it was too big for her to spit it out. Then she had no room to think, because he lived up to his word.

  Two, three, four…in rapid succession, striping over her ass in different places, setting her skin on fire. She started shuddering on number five, her fingers fluttering out on the one hand, palm pressed hard to the desk because she couldn’t balance herself with that powerful hand on her nape. He allowed it. She was crying out against the ball gag with each stroke, no way to bite it back. Her toes curled in her shoes.

  “Lift up against my hand. Don’t you tuck down like a beaten dog.”

  She arched her back, thrust her buttocks up defiantly, screamed as another blow landed. Six…seven, eight, nine… Teeth sunk into that rubber, saliva marking her chin, ass high in the air, legs spread. Every muscle clenched like iron against the pain, she nevertheless got her palms back up where he’d told her to put them, even as he held her face down. She’d show him she could do it. Oh God, there were ten more to go.

  She howled at the eleventh stroke, a direct slap against her labia. Her legs gave out, the pain overcoming her, but he caught her by the waist, her abused buttocks abraded by the summer wool of his slacks. But it also pushed his erection between them, against her throbbing pussy, making her whimper. She tried to rub, she couldn’t help herself.

  “Uh-uh, none of that. You’ll get your cream on my clothes. Be still or you’ll get the other nine now.”

  She stilled, because hell, she didn’t think she could do nine more, now or later. He guided her palms down to the desk surface, did a quick stroke and tug over her mussed hair. “Stay in the position you’re in. Keep your eyes closed.”

  She heard him move around his desk, unlock a drawer, come back. Then she swallowed against the gag as a smooth and thick plug was pushed into her pussy, worked in and out a few times, then removed to be inserted into her ass instead.

  “Figured you’d have enough honey to lube that up.” She made a wordless plea as another plug was inserted back into her cunt, with a piece on the outside that closed over her clit. She felt straps dangling against the backs of her legs, then they were run up between them, and around her waist, cinched tight so all of a sudden she felt those plugs held deeper, more securely.

  “A little chastity device to keep you from playing with what’s not yours, hmm?” Ben pulled her skirt down, a functional tug, gave her ass a firm smack. “Keep your eyes closed until you hear me leave. That to-do list better be finished before I get back today, or I’ll add another ten to the nine you owe me.”

  His footsteps, moving away. The door opening, then closing, the sound of him voice dialing Johnson’s office, telling them they were on their way, his voice steady, authoritative. It was as if he weren’t the least affected, though she knew he was. He was just that damn much in control. Marcie waited until she couldn’t hear his voice any longer, then she cracked open her eyes. He�
�d left the handkerchief he carried in his coat neatly folded up near her hand to wipe her mouth…and the tears.

  The considerate gesture against the ruthless nature of what he’d just done took her breath, almost made her knees buckle. She’d imagined so many things…but she hadn’t imagined this. He sent her spinning from one direction to another so effortlessly. She’d known she was in over her head, but this was like being at the bottom of the Laurentian Abyss.

  As crazy wild as all this was, she was sure of one thing. She wanted more. He claimed to be acting as her mentor, but that wasn’t the way she was viewing it. This was a job audition, and she was going to prove exactly what she’d said she would. That she was the slave he needed, that she could handle everything he dished out.

  Though that had certainly been more than she’d ever experienced before. When she moved, she winced at the light movement of fabric over her ass. Removing the gag, she moved to the full length mirror in his closet, where he kept spare changes of clothes. Holding her skirt at her waist, she twisted around to look at her abused flesh.

  Holy God. It was not only red, but she could see the individual marks of the cane, short lines, welts. It should horrify her. Instead, it made her pussy clench against that thick plug he’d put there, her anus contract on the other one. That night at Surreal, he’d left marks like this on the three women. Ben was a sadist who enjoyed exploring the top limits of pain. He wanted the women who served him to earn the pleasure he gave them. It was all tied up together. She thought she would endure almost anything for that. Her body was vibrating with stress, shock…and raging desire.

  He’d put a chastity device on her, so she’d keep herself only for him, preventing not only the touch of other men, but her own touch. Her body was his, not hers.

  She fixed her hair, her face, did some deep breathing. Nothing seemed to steady her hands. The plugs were short, so she could move in them, but that clit piece was sheer torture, rubbing against her as she walked. It wouldn’t move enough to make her come, but she’d remain hyperaware of the desire to fuck, to be fucked, to have an orgasm that would shake the foundations of the building with her screaming.

  He’d left something else at her desk. A small pillow. Like the handkerchief, the gesture made her smile, squeezed her heart. But when she lowered herself to it gingerly, she came back up just as fast. That was when she saw the note he’d left on her desk.

  “Sit on this to reinforce the lesson. Else you’ll be thinking too much of misbehaving. No perching on the edge. Square in the middle. If you need to go to the ladies’ room, you may remove what’s necessary, but then the plugs go right back in.”

  Passing her hand over the pillow, she felt the tiny pricks through the fabric, like a vampire glove. Not long enough to penetrate skin, but enough to make it feel as if she were being stuck with pins.

  Holding white-knuckled to the edge of the desk, she lowered herself onto it. When the barbs dug into her tender ass, she suppressed a groan. She could do this. She could. Though she really wished he’d given her a different punishment, like writing I will not sass Master a million times.

  A desperate smile crossed her face. No, that wasn’t Ben’s style. He wasn’t treating her like a child. That was what was important. He was making a point. If she couldn’t handle this, she needed to give up now.

  She took steadying breaths, picking up the file she was going to review, the first thing on his to-do list for her. Every minute movement of her body shifted her against that pillow, renewed the agony. One small mercy—the plug for her pussy and the covering for her clit protected those more tender tissues. Though her outer labia were pricked, the clit and inner petals were protected.

  Despite the fact she had no idea how she was going to endure this for the hours he was gone, she was all too aware of the fact she was soaking wet. All she wanted to do was hump herself against the clit piece until she came, screaming through the pain and pleasure.

  Yeah, she was twisted. Twisted for him, willing to endure anything for him, just for the right to call him Master to his face. She used his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that kept falling from her eyes, the result of stress and shock. Her mascara was wasted today.

  “I’m yours, Master,” she whispered, looking toward his office. “You won’t break me.”

  At least not that way. Not until the breaking had to do with him accepting her as his slave, now and forever, and breaking her down so that she could surrender to him utterly.

  She was well aware that wasn’t the most difficult problem she faced though. Could she make him believe she truly loved him? Even more challenging, could she get him to realize that he loved her? Because he did. She was sure of it.

  I know it’s silly, but I love hand writing letters. How many emails do you think they’ll find in the future, versus packets of love letters people have kept in their treasure boxes, tied up with ribbon? A dried, pressed flower in between them, the fading scent of perfume where a woman offered a man her scent? Plus, I think better when I write it out, and I like the way cursive looks. I could be one of those monks who did the calligraphy and hand printed each book.

  Marcie, letter to Ben, sophomore year

  (in cursive, on elegant, scented stationery)

  Not silly. Little things matter far more than big ones. We remember them longer. We can’t control the big things, brat. If you think about what’s happened in the past, it will be the small moments that come to the forefront, not the big transitions. The big things were just history. The small moments are yours. The books those monks printed are still preserved centuries after they were gone. Little things matter.

  Ben’s reply

  (in block print, on preschool writing practice paper, oversized and lined)

  Chapter Five

  “You going to explain what the hell that was?”

  Lucas asked the question as soon as Ben got in the limo. Matt had already lifted the privacy screen between them and Tobias, their driver.

  Ben wished he’d figured out some credible way to meet them there. He needed some space, big time. But his ability to keep every hair in place during a shit storm was one of the reasons Matt paid his exorbitant salary. So he sat square across from the K&A CFO, met his cool stare with one of his own. “You know exactly what that was.”

  Marcie might claim not to know what Cass had told Lucas, but Ben knew. Cass wouldn’t keep secrets from her Master, no more than Dana would. Though Lucas had reacted with aggression to what had happened upstairs, surprise at Marcie’s behavior hadn’t been part of it. So he knew Marcie was a submissive. He probably didn’t know whom she’d decided, come hell or high water, her Master was going to be.

  Jesus, she was a headstrong brat. He couldn’t believe that middle-finger maneuver—he’d barely been able to strangle back the laugh. But what sobered him, inflamed him, was knowing she was sitting her sore ass on that barbed pillow, obeying his every order. Every order except not to think of him as her Master. It made his gut twist in an unusual way, a way he didn’t like.

  “Yeah,” Lucas said, after a considering pause. That was Lucas. Like Jon, always thinking it through before shooting off his mouth, even when his emotions were involved. “But seeing you do it in the office, and with my wife’s little sister? That’s fucked up.”

  “How so? She’s pretty much a blood-deep sub. She responds to it, in the office or out. It was instinct.”

  “What are you doing, Ben?” Matt was sprawled out in the opposite corner, looking as usual like a very well-dressed hawk, the sharp eyes missing nothing, the lazy power of the body suggesting he could strike for the kill in less than a heartbeat. But that was in business negotiations. This was a look Ben knew. Matt was the only one who could make him squirm, even if Ben would rather key his own car than show it.

  His jaw set. “She’s asked me to be her mentor. Show her how it works. She’s ready to find a Dom, enter the scene. She hasn’t really done that yet, right?” He arched a brow toward Lucas, got a relucta
nt lip curl that admitted it. When it loosened something in his gut, he chose to ignore the inexplicable reaction. “I was one of her first real crushes, so it makes sense she’s hooked on me for that role.”

  Okay, that was a misdirect, but he was the one member of the pack most likely to get away with some minor dissembling. He was damn good at concealing his hand when he needed to do so. From Matt’s sharp glance, he could tell he didn’t quite pull it off, but Lucas seemed to be mulling it over.

  Her pussy had been soaking wet when he slid that chastity device in place, cinching it up good to keep her from playing with herself. He knew she’d do it up just as tight after any trips to the restroom. She’d follow his direction to the letter, until that pretty ass of hers was a raw mess and she was crying in her chair from the pain, all while hard at work on those files. Which was why he’d left a folded and sealed note with Janet to give to Marcie thirty minutes after their departure. It would tell her to replace the barbed cushion with the bed pillow from his private closet, where he kept linens for all-nighters.

  Those happened more often these days, even when he didn’t really have to work late. He’d dick around over this or that email, but then end up sitting on the couch, sipping his whiskey. He’d watch the lights of the New Orleans’ business district slowly wink out until all that were left were the lights of apartment hallways, the dwellings over the businesses. Lights shining on nothing, because people had gone to bed, leaving the small hours of the mornings to people like him.

  He turned his mind back to how badly her ass would be hurting from that punishment. He imagined laying her out on his couch tonight, putting cloth strips of cool balm on those luscious cheeks. He’d spread her hair over her bare shoulders, stroke through it, caressing the silken skin beneath while she lay completely still, on his orders. Her hair was lustrous thick and curled some, so it curved over her shoulders and lay just the right way to catch a man’s eye, make him think about the way it would feel on his skin. Particularly when he was moving her on a direct line down his chest and stomach to take care of his cock with her pretty mouth, the wet heat of her eager tongue.