by JJ Argus
“I-I...I have no role! I'm leaving!”
“Walking home are you?”
She stared at him stupidly.
“There's no train before tomorrow, and what's more Patrick has taken the car, so you aren't leaving, not unless you intend to walk.”
She jerked her head away. “Please go away!” she begged between clenched teeth.
“No. It's my home and no one can order me about in it. Besides, hair of the dog that bit you, girl.”
He grabbed her wrist as he turned away, jerking her along with him effortlessly before she could even think to struggle. He wasn't a tall man, not like the men in her dreams. He wasn't even broad of shoulder or chest. But he was deceptively strong, and simply flung her into a stuffed chair where she landed with an indignant squawk of surprise.
“You're horribly ashamed and can hardly bear to look at me,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes. Well, the more you see me, the weaker that will get. Put it behind you like a good girl and we can get on with work.”
The colossal arrogance of the man took her breath away, almost distracting her from her humiliation!
“You – !”
“Oh do be quiet,” he said. “Don't tell me about how indignant you are at me. I'm Lord bloody Carling” he said, raising his voice. “I'm an arrogant, conceited, obnoxious bastard! Everyone says so and it's bloody true! Including all the women I've run through as though they were yesterday's socks. No one can stand me! Well, too damned bad for them!”
Hannah's eyes narrowed, shame giving way to anger.
“Now let's look at your options, Miss Quinn. I have no intention of forcibly confining you here or standing over you with a whip to make you organize my library. But you will do so regardless. Breaking the contract I've already signed with your employer will get you fired. What's more, if I have to tell them why you refuse to work here, well, let me suggest you won't be getting a very good recommendation from them.”
She colored again, furiously, jerking her eyes down.
“So, rather than you running back home to go on the dole because some horrible man saw you masturbating, why not act like a grown-up and get on with your bloody job?!”
“You are a bastard!' she hissed.
“Too bloody right I am! But I can afford to be. You see this place? It was a tumbling ruin up until a few years ago when I bought it. And how did I buy it? My father gave me a title and precious little else. I went to university, and I started up an electronics company, and I worked twenty hours a day and made myself a millionaire, and then a multimillionaire I'm worth a bloody fortune now and I have five thousand odd people working for me. I have a right to my arrogance, Miss Quinn,” he snapped.
He smoothed his face and examined her. “I had planned to offer to double your salary, by the way, if that's any consideration.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You want to double my salary because...”
“Oh don't be absurd,” he said with a sniff of disdain. “I double the salaries of everyone who works directly with me. It's because I'm a right bastard to work for, you see. I realize it. I acknowledge it. I can be arrogant, overbearing, insulting, bullying and disrespectful – frequently. That leaves me with two choices with regard to those employees who come in frequent contact with me. Either I must routinely hire new people to replace the ones who quit in outrage, or I pay higher salaries to compensate people for putting up with me.”
“Or you could just modify your behavior and act more respectfully,” she growled, staring at the floor.
“Out of the question! I act the way I want to act and to hell with anyone who doesn't approve. At least you'll know when I say something good, Miss Quinn, it's honesty and not mealy mouthed politeness.”
He got up and headed for the door. “Dinner is at five,” he said. “You can pick up your meal and bring it back here if you're too ashamed to eat downstairs. And oh by the way, there's an instruction manual for the electronics in the night table.”
He paused at the head of the stairs, reached down, and picked up the bottle she'd flung against the wall, which had rolled out into the open. He raised his eyebrows at her as her face flooded with heat again, then tossed it underhand onto the bed before descending the stairs.
Hannah glared after him. Bastard!
She got up and began to pace rapidly back and forth, trying to decide what to do. Unfortunately, as he'd pointed out, she had few options, none palatable. Running back home and abandoning the job because he'd accidentally seen her masturbating - with that bottle buried in your pussy, she thought with a groan – was just not on.
She would just have to face him. She had already faced him, after all, and hadn't died. And how much time was he going to spend around her anyway, with all his boasts about the thousands who worked for him? He must have far more important things on his hands.
She went to the bed and sat down, glaring at the bottle hatefully. She was still horribly embarrassed, blushing right down to her chest, but what else could she do but stay on!? And double the salary? If he was serious about that it would certainly help her out a lot!
Her mind was resisting, with little success, painting mental images of what he must have seen. God! He had seen everything! Had heard everything! How could she not flee!? How could she stand such humiliation!?
She used the remote control to force the TV to descend back into its cabinet. At least then she didn't have to worry about him peeping at her while she moved around. Not that he hadn't already seen everything!
Could he have planned to surprise her? Well, possibly, but there was no way he could have predicted what she'd be doing at that time. She might as easily have been sitting at the desk writing a letter.
She gazed suspiciously at the computer at the desk and the monitor over it. Was that also capable of seeing her? She sat down and examined it, and found a webcam attached to the top of the monitor. She wrapped a scarf around it distrustfully, then returned to pacing.
She fetched her dinner at five, meeting James, who told her there was, in addition to the pool, which she could use as she wished, an exercise room with modern equipment. She hurried back to her room to eat alone, finally turning on the TV again and flicking through channels. Her humiliation was never far from her mind, though.
She always masturbated before going to sleep, though usually not with the bottle, but not tonight. She might be too traumatized to ever masturbate again, she thought.
She woke with light flooding her room, sunlight in her eyes, and rolled away. She got out of bed, dressed, and then brushed her teeth before heading down for breakfast. It was such a gorgeous day it was hard to feel gloomy and depressed, and she sat in the kitchen with the two maids, both not much out of their teens, if that, and both very clearly and obviously lower class girls from their tones and words. They were both also quite attractive, though, and she let herself cynically wonder if Carling had hired them to do more than the dusting.
That was not the case with her, of course, for she was a plain girl, she thought, and not a long haired, big boobed cutie like both the maids.
She made her way to the library, dressed in gray slacks, white sneakers, and green top, and spent the morning sorting through the books, considering how many of what type there were, and whether they were organized in any pattern at all.
Her love of books let her lose herself in the job for several hours, hardly thinking about Lord Carling and what he'd seen.
And then, suddenly, there he was, striding into the room without any hesitation.
“All right, Quinn, so tell me what you intend doing here,” he demanded.
Startled, she jumped up, and her face flamed again at seeing him.
He clapped his hands together. “Now!”
“Uhm, ah, well, you have a number of very old books,” she said, still embarrassed.
“Tell me what I don't know.”
“Some of them may actually be rare books, and worth quite a bit of money. Those ought
to be separated out from the rest and perhaps put under a display case of some sort.”
“No display cases.”
“Well then a shelf with glass doors. Some may need environmental protection to keep from deteriorating. At the moment I would recommend separating the books by subject, as there are a number of broad subject matters I've discovered, then of era within that division.”
“Can you provide me a list of subject matters?”
“Broadly; science, geography, history, and literature. You would have sub-categories within those of course, such as psychology, geology, chemistry and anatomy under science. Really, what I need to do is make up a list of all books first, then we can discuss it further.”
“Right, then do it.”
And just like that he was gone.
Hannah returned to her work. It would take many days to catalog them all, but every book was a new hope of discovery, as she examined each in turn for age and type.
She spent all day at it, then returned to her room, stiff and more than a little sore, and feeling a bit dirty from sifting through so many old, dusty books. She went downstairs in her robe and took a shower, glancing nervously at the door lest Lord Carling abruptly rush in. There was more than mere nervousness, of course. Being nude in a semi-public place was, as before, a strangely arousing undertaking.
She did not, of course, masturbate, but her mind was filled with thoughts of construction workers coming in and catching her all naked and soapy, or Lord Carling doing so. Her shower was quicker than before, and she donned her robe in relief as she made her way back upstairs.
She watched TV, did some cataloging, surfed the internet, and then slept. The next morning she was back at it, working all day to identify all the thousands of books in Carling's collection. She had a small computer which she used to type in each name, author and publisher, and publishing date, and it was sufficiently mindless she forgot all her other problems while doing it.
Again that evening she went back to her room to spend the time alone. She found the guide Carling had spoken of, and read through it carefully, noting when the videophones could operate and what warning signal they gave off. The first thing she discovered was that the TV could be set to automatically answer, or to automatically block a call until and unless someone answered it by pressing a button on the control box. She immediately changed the setting, of course, and that gave her some relief.
At least she knew he wouldn't be able to dial in while she was sleeping or changing!
But then, in reading the guide and exploring other options, she horrified herself by discovering that the video phone messages were recorded automatically. And what was more, they could be played back – both sides. She literally began to tremble as she pressed the sequence of buttons, and then gasped as Carling's head and shoulders popped up on her screen.
Then, the bottom falling out of her stomach, she pressed another button – and saw what he had seen. Her face filled with heat and she moaned aloud as she stared at the call from the beginning, as she saw his view of her body, naked, breasts bared, back arched, legs spread, her fingers thrusting into her pussy, then pushing the bottle into her body.
She heard herself moaning and gasping and grunting as she drove the bottle deeper. She saw herself roll quickly over, saw her bottom rise high, legs wide, saw herself pumping the bottle, fingering her clit, saw herself sit up and back and sink down on it, riding the bottle.
She heard her muffled cries of pleasure as she buried her face into the pillows, and she imitated her screen image, burying her face in the pillows, mortified.
She had to get out! She had to run! She couldn't possibly face him again! Ever!
She erased the phone call, heart pounding, face a mask of distress. And then she realized that he must also have a recording like this on whichever screen he had used to call her!
She couldn't leave! And how would she explain to him her running off after two days of work? Did he know about the video recording? Of course he did! Bastard!
Did he watch it again and again, maybe masturbating himself to the video? The pervert!
A small, back corner of her mind caught at the thought, finding it both revolting and oddly, darkly arousing to think of him, to think of any man, so aroused by the sight of her body, the secret, forbidden sight of her, that he would become uncontrollably aroused.
She tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep thinking about that video, thinking about it getting on the internet, and people she knew seeing it. Yet she couldn't possibly talk to him about it!
Where had he called her from? He must have an office, probably on the main floor, and probably off on the other wing. She looked at the clock. It was past two in the morning. Everyone else was asleep. She pulled on her jeans and a black t-shirt, then stepped into tennis shoes and crept down the stairs.
The lights were on in the corridor, but dimmed low. She was able to make her way down the to the main entrance hall, then down the stairs and, slowly, quietly, down the other side hall. She stopped to peer into rooms, reasonably confident no one's bedroom was on the main floor. She discovered an immense oval room with a forty foot ceiling. The floor was polished hardwood, and there were couches and chairs and tables scattered up and down along the walls, and a stage at one end. A ballroom, she thought wonderingly.
Nice to be rich, she thought in irritation.
She found several large drawing rooms, rooms with paintings on the wall and an assortment of antique couches, tables, desks and chairs, the exercise room James had spoken about. It was large and carpeted, with a dozen pieces of equipment as well as free weights, chin up bars and other assorted gear. She played around with it a little, experimentally, then moved on to discover a billiards room, with a pair of enormous tables, a card table, dart board, and shuffleboards. There was also a movie theater with buttery leather sofas, and a sun room filled with flowers, small trees and bushes.
The next pair of broad doors she opened gave into a darkened room, with a distinctive smell to it. She flicked on the lights, and found herself in an indoor pool. The lighting was by large wall sconces. The floor was marble, and the pool itself was tiled with postage stamp sized tiles. The water lapped gently at the edge and she sighed as she looked out the large, floor to ceiling windows onto the darkened back lawns.
She let herself fantasize a little about living there, about being Carling's wife, having all this at her disposal, bringing over some of her 'unfriends' to show off her new status in life. She kicked off her shoes and dipped her toes into the water, finding it warm.
A tingling began in the pit of her stomach. At first denied, it grew, and she felt her nipples beginning to tingle in turn. It was a bad idea, a daring idea, but one which she began to find oddly irresistible. No one was around. No one was nearby. It was the middle of the night. If she turned off the lights the only light in the room would be the moonlight coming through those big windows. She did so.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and, with her heart pounding, she peeled her shirt up and off, then skinned out of her jeans and panties. Nude, she stepped to the edge of the pool, then sat down, and slid into the warm water.
Gliding through the water was like a dream. It caressed her naked skin as she turned slowly, diving beneath, then arching up again, swimming slowly, easily, gliding, floating. She felt sensuous, and more than a little aroused. She fingered her nipples lightly, then arched back and dove under water, kicking her feet strongly.
After a minute or so she reached the edge and gripped the bars, then began to climb out.
And it was then the lights flicked on, blinding her, and she saw a figure coming forward from the door.
She squealed in shock and threw herself backwards into the pool. Unfortunately, in her panic, she slipped off the stair, and even as she tried to throw herself back her foot dropped down between stair and wall. She wound up going straight back and down and hitting the back of her head on the bottom of the ladder. Since it was under water, h
er momentum was greatly slowed, but she still saw stars for long seconds.
Strong arms slid around her waist, hands gripping her just below her breasts, and she was pulled up and out, then turned and draped across something – a shoulder, as she was carried, sputtering and moaning up the ladder and out of the pool.
He laid her down and she blinked up at Carling's face, trying to clear her eyes, coughing, chest heaving – naked.
For a moment she was sufficiently distracted by the need to breath, and coughing out the water she'd swallowed, to pay that little attention. But with that accomplished she knew another drawn out moment of horrified embarrassment, and tried to cover her naked body from his eyes.
“Miss Quinn, you are becoming an interesting challenge,” he said waspishly.
Hannah sat up, jerking her knees and arms up to cover herself.
“Not that I mind seeing your naked body, of course, as its quite attractive, but it is causing me some temptation to do things you might not exactly approve of.”
“D-Don't t-touch me!” she sputtered, gasping, looking up at him warily.
He snorted and turned away. “For your general fund of knowledge, Quinn, there is a safety alarm in the pool in case someone who can't swim or is quite young accidentally falls in. You might turn it off in future.”
He paused at the door and gave her a smirk. “Or not.”
Chapter Three
It was horrible having to see him the next day, and she blushed furiously when he came into the library.
“Well, got your clothes on this time, I see,” he said drolly.
“That's not fair!” she gulped, staring down at her shoes.
“Fair? What's fair got to do with anything. Tell me about the books.”
“I-I'm uhm, I'm not finished cataloging them yet.”
“What have you got? Come on. I've been paying you and it's been three days. Unless you're going to prance about naked all day where I can see you I expect genuine work to be done.”
