by Dan Bruce
Her Nemesis Master
(Dark BDSM Erotica)
By Dan Bruce
Copyright Dan Bruce, 2013
Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Please note: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store the material where it cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Please also note: this ebook is a modified version of Jack Brighton’s ‘His Nemesis’ which in turn was based on Farlan’s ‘Used’ – with both the authors’ kind permission.
Chapter 1
It was a Wednesday – middle of the week in the middle of the month that fell in the middle of a British summer, and surprisingly it wasn’t raining outside – the weather was actually quite fine. But the vagaries of the London climate were irrelevant to Emily Johnson – personal assistant to Donald Harper, the man in charge of Infotron, a powerhouse in the field of global telecommunications. Whilst most of the staff had left for the day, Emily had been detained up on the top floor of one of the swankiest office blocks the capital boasted, where the temperature was kept at a constant twenty-two degrees of air-conditioned comfort.
Donald was heading off to the States at short notice and Emily needed to work late to ensure everything was ready for him. It was well after seven in the evening when she was finally happy that it had all been taken care of and that the trip would run smoothly as always. Tired, but pleased with her efforts, Emily made a quick call to her husband, Les, who worked from home as a free-lance writer when his wife afforded him the chance. Emily stressed how exhausted she was, the usual signal for Les to make sure he had the flat neat and tidy by the time she arrived home, and that there’d be a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge. It went without saying that Les would have dinner on the table once Emily had showered; then later he would offer to massage her feet as she relax and sipped her wine. It all sounded rather pleasant – nothing less than Emily felt she deserved.
Having filed everything away and made sure the office was left organised, Emily collected her Chanel bag, which like every other label Mrs. Johnson paraded, was actually the real deal. She headed to the washroom to check her appearance – something which Emily did regularly throughout the day to make certain she always looked immaculately fresh. Nothing was really needed, but the lips were still touched up to ensure they were full and glossy, and her expensively cut ash-blonde hair was shaken and ruffled to give it that ‘I never bother with it’ look. The rest she deemed fine having taken a few minutes to admire the new ensemble she was wearing. Be it from the front, the rear, whatever the angle, Emily reckoned it was perfect for the office – the balance just right between professional decorum and sensuous femininity. There was a strand of pearls that was a birthday present from her parents, above a white silk top that showed the necklace off along with some creamy flesh. The top hinted at the swell of her ever so fine breasts but revealed nothing of her cleavage, which was stunning underneath, but not something to be flaunted during working hours. And she really liked the new charcoal coloured suit, with a short-sleeved bolero jacket that emphasised her trim waist and generous bust. It was matched by a tight fitting charcoal skirt that stopped a couple of inches short of her knees and did a great job for her ass – Emily’s best feature, and that’s high praise indeed, given the quality of the competition elsewhere on her body!
Happy with what she saw, Emily applied a spray of perfume behind both ears and then Mrs. Johnson was ready to go.
In a walk that was second nature, having practiced it endlessly as a young girl, Emily sashayed down the corridor like a fashion model. She was in a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes with three inch heels, which Emily deemed to be just right – enough to lengthen her already long shapely legs without making her look like a high class tart. Passing the main demonstration room, she saw a couple of salesmen preparing for a presentation the following day. A nod was given and a curt little smile. The guys looked pleased that she had noticed them. Emily knew they’d be hoping she would mention their late presence to Donald, which was something she might do, or then again she might not – it was an example of her delicate use of power – and where power was concerned, Emily Johnson liked to play her part.
Running over the day in her mind, stroking her ego with the high points, Emily arrived at the elevator, called it and waited. It took several minutes before it came to the top floor, which was longer than normal. Given the lateness of the hour and the empty office, that should have come as a surprise to her, but Emily was too distracted with her self-congratulation to register the fact. Nor was she overly concerned when the elevator finally arrived and the doors opened to reveal a well built young man with dark sultry features. As was her want, Emily threw him a look that was verging on the scathing, making quick assessments that would prove to be hideously wrong.
She didn’t recognise him as a person. But that was no surprise as Emily rarely ventured out of the top floor to cross paths with the rank and file below. First impressions suggested that there was nothing unusual about this stranger to raise any alarm. He was dressed in a functional dark grey suit, white shirt with cufflinks that could have been real gold, and a white-on-blue polka dot tie that wasn’t passing as silk. All in all, it was the uniform of business, similar to all the other men around the office, so he was indistinguishable from the hoards who worked for the firm.
Yet one thing was unusual – he was there in the elevator. He had purposely taken it up when common sense dictated that he should have waited for it to go down. But this anomaly didn’t register in the brain of Emily Johnson, at least not until she had got in and the doors closed behind her.
Was that her first mistake? Or was that her first knowing step on the path she would take – a path to debasement and the filthiest sex imaginable? Flick the coin – for who can possibly say. But Emily got in alone with this man.
Whoosh!
That was the sound of the doors, quickly followed by the sound of Emily’s blood as she experienced an immediate adrenalin rush - the flavour of danger that heightens the senses and makes the heart beat faster. She could smell the musk that was natural, not bought - and taste the energy that frazzled in the air. And there was something else that Emily was aware of – some intuitive sixth sense coming into play, detecting a stare that burned her body. She had elected to stand at the front of the elevator with her back to the man, and Emily could feel his eyes looking through her fashionable designer clothes: she felt them on her back where her ash-blonde hair fell; she felt them on her legs – bare calves and covered thighs; and most of all she felt them on her ass – that fabulous booty that took the body prize, and was presented so beautifully by its owner.
Suddenly Emily was very self-conscious about the tightness of her skirt, and the fact that the jacket only fell to her waist so that her incredible shapely rump was being shown to best effect. It was the look that she’d wanted – Emily wa
s mightily proud of her derriere, and dressed for it to be admired - but being alone in the elevator with an unknown man gave her cause to wonder if perhaps the skirt was a little too provocative.
A little too provocative! It was like a red flag to a bull. But then Emily Johnson wasn’t the type of woman that many men dare charge with a threatening horn – at least not in the safe environment of her workplace. There are always exceptions, however, as Emily was about to find out...
The top floor of the office block was twenty stories up, so it was a long ride down to the lobby. As the numbers started falling from twenty through the teens, Emily felt increasingly awkward at being alone in the elevator with this musky scented stranger and his burning eyes - who now, that she thought about it, had no business coming up to the top floor, other than to accompany the person who had called for the elevator all the way back down. Accompany Emily to be precise!
To ease her tension and pass the time, Emily busied herself with her compact. She had already checked her makeup in the washroom, but it seemed like a smart way of ignoring her unwelcome travel companion. With her back to the man, she examined her face in the small mirror. The horror of her thirtieth birthday was approaching in a few years time, but Emily consoled herself with the knowledge that most people would guess her younger – she certainly was blessed with more youthful features despite her propensity to frown and scowl. She absently admired herself, feeling inwardly smug at her prettiness. Then suddenly she felt inwardly terrified when she heard the man’s deep gruff voice.
“Boy, you certainly are a piece of work! A real cockteaser and no mistake! Tell me, Blondie, do you take it up that lovely ass of yours? I hope so, because I’d certainly like to fuck you that way! It really is top class!”
Holy Mother! Now that came as a surprise! The prim and proper Mrs. Johnson was naturally outraged at what she had just heard, and more than a little afraid.
Emily looked to her right, totally gobsmacked. She was about to turn round and unleash a torrent of indignity, but she froze, quickly thinking better of it. It was a dangerous situation, to be alone in a confined space with an unknown man – a man who had the audacity to make a pass at her, and a disgusting one at that! Electing for caution, Emily decided to pretend that she hadn’t heard what the man had said, or if she had, then she was ignoring it – not deigning his vulgarity with a reply. She went back to checking herself in the small mirror of her compact, or at least that’s what she feigned. In actual fact she was trying to see the man’s reflection.
She succeeded! He was standing there grinning at her, smug and assured, staring back in the mirror, fully aware of what Emily was doing.
Now this was getting extremely scary. Worried, she flicked her gaze to the digital display above the door, hoping they might be near to the safety of the lobby, but much to her angst, they weren’t even halfway down. Her eyes darted back to the mirror. There he was again, inescapable in the confined space, grinning at her with filthy-minded intent.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Emily could hear her heart pounding in her chest, jiggling her breasts with the violence of the action, which probably wasn’t too smart. She gulped, battling for control. The situation was way out of Mrs. Johnson’s comfort zone – adrenalin was not something that usually flooded her system – Emily was more a Camomile Tea type of girl. But her heart was pounding now, by God it was. Then it almost stopped when the man in the elevator addressed her again.
“Yeah, you’ve definitely got a great ass, Blondie. Looks really sweet in that tight fitting skirt – no panty line either, so I take it you’re wearing a thong. Either that or nothing, you dirty bitch! How would you like it if I pushed the skirt up and stuffed that ass full of cock? You could watch me in the mirror as I buggered you from behind.”
OH! MY! GOD!
Emily was stunned and horrified to be hearing such foul disgusting language. What on earth was going on? Crassness like this had no place in her perfect little world. This wasn’t some building-site filled with course uncouth men where vulgar harassment might be expected. This was an office block in a prime London location where high paid professionals worked. How dare he say such things to Emily Johnson? Did the man not realise whom he was addressing?
Steeling herself, determined not to be intimidated by this boorish brute, Emily slowly turned round with an expression of disdain, hoping that the look she gave him would discourage him from saying anything else. It usually worked for her – Emily had a reputation for being able to turn men to stone with her Medusa glare and a haughty tilt of her pretty chin.
But the man wasn’t petrified. He remained a tower of living flesh that wasn’t in the slightest intimidated. And to make matters worse, he even had the gall to blow Emily a kiss!
As you might imagine, Emily was fuming by this point, and with anger came the courage to look the man over properly for the first time. He stood around six foot tall, six one at a push – just a couple of inches more than Emily in her heels. He had a solid looking build, hunky some might say, pretty tasty if you liked a lot of beef on a man, which Emily had never subscribed to in the past. His face was quite threatening with jet black hair and equally dark eyes, and black designer stubble that added to his ruggedness. Emily had to admit that he had a certain appeal, or at least he would appeal to women who liked a bit of rough. But he certainly wasn’t Emily’s type – or at least that’s what she’d have told you on the day of that first encounter - Mrs. Johnson professing to prefer more sophisticated sorts, so normally she wouldn’t look twice at such an uncouth man. Yet she looked at him now, and she looked at him warily. There was such arrogance to his countenance and fire in his dark eyes – a self confidence that defied belief. He absorbed Emily’s glare and smirked at her again then continued with his foul mouthed diatribe as he in return looked Emily up and down.
“Oh yeah... you’ve got a lovely pair of tits as well! And a real pretty face under that dyed blonde hair. The coral shade of lipstick really suits you. It would suit you even better if you were to get those tits out as I bet it matches the colour of your nipples...”
Emily gasped. How could he possibly know her reason for the shade? That was a closely guarded secret – a little bit of naughtiness in her prim and proper life that only her closest confidents had been told about!
“Really!” exclaimed the man - delighted at her transparency. He stared at the breasts where the nipples were hidden then back to the face with lips the same shade, fully on view and partially opened in complete and utter shock. “You saucy little minx!” he added. “And I bet you enjoy wrapping those coral painted lips around a fat cock. You look like the sort who gives really good head. I’ll definitely get you to suck my cock before I stuff it up your ass.”
Emily was mortified and totally stunned. It didn’t seem possible this was happening to her. She half expected the man to laugh and say it was all a joke – a crude piece of banter that got way out of hand. She could have handled the situation if that had been the case. She would have slapped him on the face and that would have been that. But the man didn’t laugh! He was actually serious about what he said! The whole thing was scarily surreal.
Affronted, Emily turned away and glanced again at the display above the door. There was a sigh of relief - they were approaching the 4th floor and almost at the lobby. To calm herself before arrival, Emily rested her hand on the bare skin beneath her pearls and felt the clamminess of her perspiring skin. A vein in her neck was pulsing, ticking out the beat of her galloping heart. She kept looking at the counter, praying for the numbers to fall to zero. Poor Emily didn’t know what else to do. Then suddenly a thought struck her.
As four moved to three on the digital display, Emily wondered if this was some sort of set up – an office prank at her expense. Perhaps that evil cow, Tessa Clifford, was testing Emily out, trying to get some dirt to use against her. Tessa was head of Human Resources, and Emily’s sole rival in the all female battle to be the company’s queen bitch. They hated each other with a passi
on, Tessa having vigorously opposed Emily’s appointment three years ago when an influential family friend had secured Mrs. Johnson an interview when the post of Donald Harper’s P.A. became vacant. Emily had interpreted this as pure jealousy of course – twenty pounds over-weight and fast approaching forty, it was obvious that Tessa didn’t want to see a younger, more attractive woman strutting around the top floor. The fact that there had been better qualified applicants for the post was irrelevant in Emily’s view - a smokescreen that Tessa threw up to hide her ulterior motive. But Donald insisted, and Emily got the job – social networking carrying sufficient weight to secure the appointment – the ‘Old School Tie’ coming into play, even in this day and age. War with Tessa had been declared from the very first day: a private war that was professional and backstabbing, underhand, and at times downright ruthless.
But would the evil witch organise something like this? Emily couldn’t imagine that Tessa would dare. But just to be safe, she turned to the man again and quietly stated that she wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer, and would he please refrain from speaking to her in such a foul and vulgar way.
The man laughed in return, but not in jest. It was a laugh that sent a shiver through Emily’s bones.
“Oh you’re interested,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I know your type, Blondie - a real slut for cock. I bet you service the boss and most of those other big shots up on the top floor. Part of the job description for a personal assistant, isn’t it – giving good head to relieve corporate stress. Good head, good cunt and good ass as well - perhaps all three at once. Why else did they hire a dumb blonde like you? But you should help out the ordinary guys as well. And by God, you’ll help out me! Don’t worry; I’ll have you begging for it in no time. In fact, why don’t we do it now?”
With this, the man leaned forwards and punched the ‘STOP’ button on the wall. The elevator came to a juddering halt between the 1st and 2nd floors.
