8 comments/ 125136 views/ 12 favorites Blackmailing Jessica Ch. 01 By: Seattle Zack Chapter One Jessica sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to ease the headache that was already threatening to overwhelm her. It would be a long day. Still six more candidates to interview -- and none of them particularly impressive, by the looks of their resumes. Glancing at the next one on the pile, she pressed the intercom button on her desk. "Denise? Send in Andrew Carson, please." A few moments later, the door opened and he entered. Tall, with an athletic build, dark hair, a tailored Brooks Brothers pinstripe suit. His tie was tasteful and knotted perfectly. Still, she sensed a little unease on his part, as if he wasn't entirely comfortable in the expensive clothes. Older than the others she had interviewed as well. He had a quick easy smile with a current of ... something ... behind his blue eyes. He moved with the ease of an athlete, someone comfortable with his body. His grip was firm and dry as he shook her hand and introduced himself, then sat down in the office chair, his briefcase in his lap. Jessica shuffled some papers on her desk, letting the silence build. An old tactic, but effective. It was always interesting to see how they reacted to the tension -- some felt compelled to speak immediately, filling the emptiness. Others fidgeted nervously, looking around the office. He did neither. Rather he sat in the chair, slouching a bit indolently, looking at her with a slight smile on his face. She cleared her throat. "OK, Mr. Carson --" "Call me Drew," he interrupted. "Everyone does." "Very well," she said, a little nonplussed. The other prospective copywriters had been so eager, falling over themselves like puppies to please her. This guy was too cocky, he acted like he was interviewing her. She scanned his resume again. "I see you've done some freelance work for several West Coast magazines ... and three online advertising firms. I hope you brought some samples of your work." She looked at him expectantly. "No, that was bullshit." He waved his hand dismissively. "I've never done any copywriting. I'm a fiction writer. Some non-fiction for a few specialty mags, but that's it." She blinked several times. "So, you have no advertising experience?" she asked slowly. He grinned. "None at all. But advertising is fiction, right? I can pick it up in no time. Oh, but I did bring a sample of my writing," he said, opening his briefcase. Jessica stood up. "Mr. Carson, let's not waste each other's --" She froze as he tossed a magazine on the desk, landing with a thump in front of her. She stared at the lurid cover. Bondage Chronicles. The photo was of a young blonde woman, ropes crisscrossing her body in an intricate harness, her lips spread wide around a red rubber ball strapped between her teeth. Drool dangled in a thin line from her chin. "Sluts Bound and Humiliated!" promised the tagline. "Is this a joke?" Her tone was icy. His grin widened. "Not at all. My story is on page 39. 4200 words -- pretty good, if I do say so myself. Not a real innovative plot or anything, but they pay quite well." "Look, Mr. Carson, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said firmly. "This isn't funny." "I told you, call me Drew," he reminded her gently. "I'm going to call security." She picked up the phone. "How about this?" he asked. "Reddened Bottoms? Maybe you remember this one." She froze, her hand gripping the receiver. Oh God, no. It couldn't be. But there it was, in his hand. She had hoped, prayed, that she'd never see it again. Flipping through the pages, he found the pictorial he wanted. "Let's see ... 'And sassy Cassie loves to have her naughty butt spanked,' or so it says here." He flipped the magazine open on the desk, exposing the pictures. "She looks familiar, doesn't she?" The photos showed a slender, tanned brunette, dressed in a plaid skirt, knee socks, and white button-up shirt. She was bent over, fingers laced together behind her knees. The skirt was flipped up over her back, revealing her bare bottom. A man in a suit and tie stood behind her, wielding a large wooden paddle. There were several close-ups of the poor girl's exposed buttocks, the bright red imprint of the paddle evident against the paler skin. One shot in particular caught Jessica's eye. The photographer had captured the girl's face just as the paddle struck -- her head was back, eyes wide with pain, teeth clenched. The resemblance was unmistakable. "Give me that!" she snapped, grabbing for the magazine. He pulled it away at the last minute, tucking it back into his briefcase. "Get out!" she hissed, pointing at the door. Her heart raced as she struggled to remain calm. "Have a seat, Jessica," he suggested. "Or should I call you Cassie?" Legs trembling, she lowered herself back into her chair, and put her face in her hands. "Please. Just go," she whispered. He stood up and strolled around the office, looking at the copy of her diploma, the award plaques on the wall. "I've done a little research on you, Jessica," he commented. His familiarity was infuriating, yet she forced herself to remain quiet. "Majored in business at Washington State, and then an MBA in marketing from UC Berkeley. Graduated at age 22." He raised an eyebrow. "Quite an accomplishment." Jessica closed her eyes. It was her worst nightmare come true. She had struggled all through college -- the loans and grants were never enough to keep up with the costs of tuition and books and rent and food and so much more. The ad in the student paper had promised no nudity, although she soon found out that the payment was much more lucrative if she agreed to pose naked. Five hundred dollars for a two hour photo session. The spanking hadn't been so bad. In fact, you kind of enjoyed it, accused the voice in her head. "Hired by Aston-Fremont, one of the biggest advertising firms in Seattle," he continued. "In only two years, you became a director of marketing. Youngest in the firm's history." He turned around and dropped back in the chair, looking at her. "Very impressive." The bondage shoots had been the worst. She shuddered, remembering. The sleazy photographer in the tiny studio in Redwood City, how he had tied her tightly and then leered and pawed at her as she struggled. No one would ever see it, she had reasoned. No one she knew would ever buy a filthy magazine like Bound Bitches or Tortured Teens. Her past had come back to haunt her. "So, let's talk, Jessica," he said quietly. She took a deep breath. "Are you suggesting that that's me in those photos?" Even to her own ears, the protest sounded quavering and unsure. "Of course it is." He reopened his briefcase. "Shall we look again? The hair color is different now, of course, but I can tell by the little mole on your neck. Perhaps you can prove it to me, show me you don't have those three freckles on your inner right thigh." He smirked. "Well, what if it is?" she countered. "That was a long time ago. Lots of college girls experiment with ..." Her voice trailed off. Where was she going with this? What could she say? He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "Here's what's going to happen," he said firmly, his gaze locking with hers. "You're going to give me the job. I know I can do it. If you don't, then copies of those photos will go out to all your major clients. I'm sure Hansen Chevrolet -- the owner's a fundamentalist Christian, you know -- would be quite appalled." She dropped her eyes. Olaf Hansen was one of the firm's biggest clients, with nine car dealerships in the Puget Sound area. What Drew said was true. She would be disgraced, ridiculed. It was largely because she landed the Hansen account that she had been promoted over several others in the firm with seniority. Her rise to director had been quite contentious; she knew many of the senior employees at Aston-Fremont would revel gleefully in Jessica's debasement and fall from grace. "A porno star," he chuckled. "Yeah, I bet old man Fremont would love to know how his newest director paid her way through college -- by getting tied up and spanked for whack-off magazines and spanking videos." Oh, fuck! He even knew about the two videos. She realized now it had been a mistake, but at the time it seemed there was no other option. With her heavy courseload, she hadn't had any time for a conventional job, and the money had been very good. But now she was ruined. Her career was over. "I can pay you. Give you money," she pleaded. "Please don't do this to me." "No, I told you what I want." He snickered derisively. "You're mine now, Jessica." Goddamn it, get control of this situation. Don't let him push you around. Crossing her arms defiantly, she stood up. "I won't do it," she said firmly. "Go ahead, tell whoever you want. I can get another job." He shook his head. "You're not a very good poker player, Jessica. Maybe you need a little demonstration." Leaning over the desk, he pressed the intercom button. "Denise? I'd like to schedule an appointment with Mr. Fremont, please." "Stop that!" She lunged for the intercom, knocking his hand away. He grabbed her wrist. Although she struggled to free herself, his grip was like iron. She stared at him defiantly over the desk for a long moment. There was no mercy in his dark green eyes, only determination. The intercom squawked. "Miss Landers? Did you want something?" "No, that's fine Denise, I hit the button by accident." Without waiting for a reply, she snapped the OFF switch. "Come here." Still gripping her wrist, he dragged her from behind the desk, surprising her with his strength. He twisted her wrist up behind her back, forcing her to her toes. "You're hurting me!" she hissed, trying to push away from him. As close as she was, she couldn't help but notice his masculine scent, a woodsy outdoor aroma. "I think you need to realize who's in control here, Jessica," he said softly, looking down at her. "You really have no other option." He grinned. "Besides, I saw the videos, Jessica. You liked it, I could tell." He released her wrist and she stepped back, rubbing her shoulder. Her mind raced wildly. "This is extortion! You can't get away with this!" "Of course I can." That arrogant smirk, how she wanted to slap it off his face! "I've got you over a barrel, Jessica. Figuratively, of course, but soon literally as well." He chuckled. She shook her head, not understanding what he meant. "Look, Mr. Carson --" "Drew." She sighed. "Look, Drew, we're two reasonable adults. We can work something out." "Sure we can." He pulled the chair from in front of the desk, its back facing towards her. "But I think you may need a little persuasion. Bend over the chair." "What?" Surely he couldn't be thinking ... "I'll call the police," she said bravely, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. Smiling, he shook his head. "And have everything made public?" He glanced at his watch. "I have a program running on my computer at home. If I'm not there in an hour to stop it, then an email will go out to every executive in the firm, with a link where they can buy Sorority Punishment 4. Starring one Cassidy Hartley. It's on DVD now, you know." He snickered. Jessica's mind whirled. Word would travel fast, especially about a juicy bit of salacious gossip like this. She'd never get another job in Seattle, or the entire West Coast for that matter. "Bend over the chair," he repeated firmly. His voice and his eyes would brook no resistance. Anxiety and excitement fluttered in her belly. Numbly she did as he had directed, leaning over the back of the chair, her palms on the cushion. "I don't think --" "Of course you don't," he interrupted. Placing his hand on her upper back he pressed her down firmly, then yanked her skirt roughly upward. "Stop it!" she squealed. She tried to struggle free but his strength kept her pinned in position. "Very nice," he commented, rubbing his hand over her pantyhose-clad ass. "Oh, yes, you've been a bad girl, Jessica." Her face flushed with embarrassment at the familiar little tickle between her legs. "Please! You don't have to do this!" she pleaded, her exposed bottom tingling with anticipation. "I know you're quite familiar with what happens next, Jessica," he commented. "Let's get started, shall we?" SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! He spanked her quite firmly, his large hand leaving a stinging imprint with every strike. Jessica's fingernails dug into the seat cushion as she struggled not to make a sound. I won't give him the satisfaction. Although it stung terribly, the humiliation was the worst part. Here she was, a high-profile executive making six figures a year, being spanked like a naughty schoolgirl. In her own corner office, no less. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Biting her lip she threw her head back, fighting to remain silent. She hoped that the loud reports -- they sounded like gunshots to her ears -- could not be heard outside at the reception desk. Each impact flared hotly against the curve of her butt, overlaying and intensifying the previous one. The pressure of his hand was firm against her back as he held her in place. She squirmed, one foot off the ground, as he continued to punish her. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The relentless rain of blows continued, turning her ass into a bright mass of pain. Finally she whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks. Mercifully, he desisted, pulling her back to a standing position by her upper arm. Unable to meet his eyes she reached back, rubbing at her blistered bottom. Heat radiated against the palms of her hands. Even more degrading, she could feel the rush of arousal dancing through her belly. He caressed her cheek, wiping away a trail of tears with his thumb. "There now, don't you feel better?" he said softly. "I know I do." She glared up at him, wanting to spit in his face. Truthfully, though, she was angrier at her own responses than she was at him. He knows. The realization sent a thrill through her. Picking up his briefcase, he turned to go, one hand on the doorknob. "I'll expect to hear back about the job within a week," he said. "Don't cross me, Jessica. Don't even think about it." With that, he turned and left. She leaned against the desk for support, breathing heavily. Fuck! What the hell was that! Still quivering from the adrenaline coursing through her, she maneuvered slowly behind the desk and sat down, wincing at the sensation. She put her face in her hands, fighting the urge to weep uncontrollably. What have I gotten myself into? What am I going to do? There was a knock at the door and Denise peered in. "Miss Landers? Are you all right? I tried buzzing you --" "No, I'm OK, Denise," she said, attempting a smile. "Just a bad migraine. Came on all of a sudden." Denise nodded uncertainly, looking at the chair turned sideways in the middle of the office. Jessica stood up. "Reschedule the other applicants, would you Denise?" Oh shit! She grabbed the bondage magazine and swept it into a desk drawer, hoping her secretary hadn't noticed. "I'm going home early." Denise gave a halfhearted smile, her brow furrowed, then closed the door. Jessica hated to even touch it, but she picked up the magazine with two fingers and dropped it into her leather satchel before she left. It certainly wouldn't do to have the cleaning lady discover it. She resolved to burn it as soon as she got home. Stepping into the small private office bathroom, she splashed some cold water on her face, then saw her reflection in the mirror. You look like shit, Jessica. Turning around, she pulled her skirt up and slipped her pantyhose down, looking at her reddened butt in the mirror, the flaring print of his hand across her ass and thighs. It had not been an especially severe spanking, she realized; he had merely wanted to let her know who was in control. Well fuck you, Mr. 'Call me Drew.' You don't know who you're messing with. On the drive home she gripped the steering wheel of the BMW tightly, her emotions churning. You'll figure some way out of this. You're a smart girl. She remembered his cruel mocking tone. You're mine now, Jessica. Shuddering, she drove even faster. This is a novel length manuscript I'm trying to revive/rewrite. The editor that I've pitched this to, she wants it tight and streamlined. So, I thought I'd throw it up here, get some feedback. More chapters on the way, please let me know what you think. Thanks! --Zack Blackmailing Jessica Ch. 02 Blackmailing Jessica, Chapter Two © Seattle Zack Chapter 2 "Oh, and one last thing. The copywriter position." She placed a manila folder on the desk. "I really think he's the best one for the job." Jessica was in Clarence Bowman's office, a floor above her own. He was one of the firm's vice-presidents. "I don't need to see the file, Jessica, I trust your judgement." He had a deep voice and a thick mane of gray hair. "You've checked all his references?" Afraid her voice might expose the lie, she merely nodded. He's gotten me into it now. If anyone finds out about his fake resume, I'll go down with him. "All right," said Bowman, glancing at his watch. The meeting was over. "Send the paperwork down to HR, then he can start on Monday." Back in her office, she took a deep breath as she picked up the phone. Looking at the office chair, her face flushed as she remembered his hand smacking painfully against her bottom while she struggled. Get a grip, Jessica. Don't let him manipulate you any further. "Denise? Get me Drew Carson's number, please. He was one of the applicants for the copywriter's job." He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" His voice sounded distant. "Did I wake you up?" she asked sarcastically. He chuckled. "Cassie! How's your ass, my dear?" She gritted her teeth. "Well, you got your wish. You start on Monday." "See, I knew you could do it." "Look, it stops now," she said forcefully. "I've done all I can. You can sink or swim on your own merits. In fact, I bet you'll get fired in a week! I don't want to have anything more to do with you." "We should celebrate," he said, ignoring her. "Meet me for lunch." "I will not! I told you, this is the end of it!" "That wasn't a request," he said dryly. Jessica sighed. "What was it, another 'order'? I refuse to let you control my life like this -- I'm not your slave, you know!" Slave. Just saying it sent a tremor through her. She could still feel the word in her mouth, the delicate caress of her tongue and lower lip against her teeth. A shaming tickle of arousal flickered down in her belly. "Just a suggestion," he responded. "Making sure we get things off on the right foot. I'll be at the Metropolitan at noon." She heard a click as he hung up. Goddamn him. Furiously, she stared at the buzzing receiver in her hand. The Met was one of Seattle's finest restaurants, a pricey steakhouse on Second Avenue. Resolutely she slammed the phone down. I won't be his little pawn. For the next hour she tried to work, but the memory of Drew's "interview" made the spreadsheet figures blur in front of her. You've been a bad girl, Jessica. The way he had controlled her, exposing her dark secret -- she hated being manipulated so easily. So why couldn't she stop thinking about it? Even that very morning in the shower as the soapy water cascaded down her body. I saw the videos, Jessica. You liked it, I could tell. She shook her head. Don't let him get to you like this. The spanking had been a painful and humiliating experience, but somehow strangely liberating as well. She squirmed in her seat. Finally, she glanced at the clock. You know you want to. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she walked down the street. The Met was only about six blocks away from her building, and it was a nice spring day. She enjoyed the energy of the city -- the noise of the traffic and all the people hurrying this way and that. Normally, she worked through lunch, ordering a salad or sandwich from the deli in the building. She had to admit, it was refreshing to get out of the office. The restaurant was crowded and she eased through the crush at the door. He was seated at a booth near the back, the New York Times crossword on the table in front of him. He glanced up as she approached. "You're late, Jessica." "I got hung up at the office," she replied defiantly as she slid into the booth. That quiet, commanding tone was really beginning to piss her off. "You're lucky I decided to show up at all." He raised an eyebrow, not responding, as he looked at her. She reddened a little under his gaze, remembering the scene in the office. You've been a bad girl. "I'll just have a Caesar salad." "No, I ordered for both of us." He smiled, revealing white, even teeth. "The London broil lunch special, it's quite good." He poured some red wine from a bottle into the glass in front of her. "I don't eat red meat, and I don't drink." She shook her head, then lowered her voice. "And where do you get off deciding what I'm going to have for lunch?" "Look on the seat next to you," he said quietly. She looked down. Oh shit. It was an eight-by-ten photo, a video capture by the fuzzy look of it. She recognized it immediately. The now-familiar brunette was naked, in a hogtied position on a couch, her wrists and elbows roped tightly together. Her ankles were crossed and pulled up behind her, secured with another length of rope. A scarf was knotted tightly between her teeth, and her eyes were frantic over the makeshift gag. "You son of a bitch!" Quickly grabbing the photo, she folded it several times before stuffing it into her purse. "I told you, this has got to stop!" As she reached for her glass of water he grabbed her wrist again firmly. She struggled a little, glancing around the crowded restaurant. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying attention. "Let me go!" she hissed. "Here's what I want you to do," he said softly. "Go into the bathroom. Take off your panties. Bring them back here and give them to me." Shocked, she stared at him, mouth agape. She shook her head. His grip tightened on her wrist, making her wince. "I have more copies of that picture, Jessica." He smiled. "Shall I distribute them? I'm sure you know a few people here today." Wildly, her gaze roamed around the room. Yes, there was Richard Braun, a vice-president for Seattle First Credit Union. He had asked her out on a date once, even though he was thirty years her senior. He would love to see a picture of me naked and tied up. And Linda Carlton, the founder of Carlton Realties, another of the firm's clients. She trembled, realizing she had no choice. "I've got nothing to lose," he reminded her. "You do." Drew released his hold on her wrist and returned his attention to the crossword, tapping the pen idly against the paper. Her fists clenched as anxiety tumbled through her. He knows how wet this is making me. Face flushing, she slid from the booth and made her way through the crowd to the restrooms. When she returned a few minutes later, the food had already arrived. It felt very different to be out in public with no underwear. Such a shaming, slutty little secret. The fabric of her linen slacks caressed her gently, the rough texture stimulating her as she walked. Sitting down, she felt her cheeks grow warm again. No doubt he knew what kind of effect this was having on her. He smiled, enjoying her embarrassment, then pointed. "Set them there." Reddening further, she dropped the wadded ball of fabric on the table beside her. He chuckled, noticing the black lace. "Very nice. I knew you'd turn out to be one of those Victoria's Secret shoppers." "Goddamnit," she whispered, "put them in your pocket or something, you fucking pervert. Use them for whatever deviant purpose you want later on!" She shuddered. "I don't even want to know." He smiled again. He's enjoying this, my distress and humiliation. And the worst part is, he knows how much it turns me on. "Have some wine," he suggested. "Relax, Jessica. It will be fine." Her hand was shaking a bit as she picked up the glass, gulping down more than she intended. It was quite good, a red Merlot from a local Washington winery. "Eat your food," he said. "It's getting cold." As if on cue, her stomach growled and she realized that she was starving; she hadn't eaten all day. The food would help counter the effects of the wine already warming her body. Obediently, she picked up her knife and fork. Obediently. Another ripple of arousal ignited in her belly and she pressed her thighs together. Jessica hadn't eaten red meat in more than two years, but the London Broil was one of the best meals she had tasted in her life. All her senses seemed more alive; she relished the juicy rough texture of the beef in her mouth, the smell of the wine, the hubbub of conversation from the other diners in the restaurant. They ate in silence, yet there was an easy familiarity between them, as if they'd been friends forever. At one point, the waiter came by, making his regular inquiries. Her cheeks flamed hotly as she caught sight of her panties, sitting next to her on the table. God, I'll die of embarrassment if he says anything. She kept her head down, not even wanting to make eye contact. After the meal, Drew poured her a second (third?) glass of wine. Glancing around, she noticed the crowd thinning out as lunch hour ended. Perhaps the wine gave her the courage. "Can I just ask you one thing?" He seemed surprised. "Sure. Ask me anything." "Why me? I mean ..." she struggled to get it out, "... how did you find me?" Who are you? Leaning forward a bit, he lowered his voice. "Just blind luck, Jessica. Did you read my story in the magazine?" "The story? Ah, no." Yes. "I threw that trash in the incinerator." He laughed. "I bet you read it. You're too curious not to." Her face flushed. "Well, maybe I skimmed it," she admitted. "What did you think?" It had been quite well written, actually, with a flair for description and much more character depth than the other two amateurish stories in the issue. It was an account of a slave auction at the palace of an Arabian emir. The protagonist was a blonde Californian college student, who had been kidnapped while on a cruise, and the story was about the various indignities and tortures she endured as she was captured, tied up, whipped, and finally sold to a Moroccan prince. "Like I said, I just skimmed it," she snapped. "I didn't know what to think. I'm hardly a porn connoisseur!" "You're a sassy girl, I like that. Sassy Cassie." "Don't call me that," she pleaded, looking around. "Anyway," he said, continuing, "I did a story for a similar publication, and they sent me a complimentary copy of the magazine with their check. It had a reprint of the Reddened Bottoms photo spread. About three days later, I happened to find myself next to you in an elevator. In your very office building." The Bank of Seattle Tower was an 86-story black monolith dominating the southern skyline of Seattle. Jessica's office was on the forty-fourth floor, with a view of the waterfront area. "It was about six months ago." He put his chin in his hand, remembering. "I was visiting a lawyer, a copyright infringement thing I was working on, and I rode down with you in the elevator. You were talking to your friend, a short Hispanic woman." That would have been Carmen, from accounting. She was twenty-three, and a little firebrand. She and Jessica, in an office filled with middle-aged divorced men, had quickly found each other. They often ventured down together to the Starbucks in the lobby for their mid-morning caffeine and the latest bit of office gossip. "You were discussing some guy you were seeing, a college professor, as I recall," he went on. "I still remember the comment you made. 'He really can't afford me.' Then you laughed, like a spoiled little rich brat, and I saw your profile for the first time, and I realized that I had seen a younger version of you in the magazine. And I also realized that I had something on you." She shook her head slowly. Just a coincidence? Well, you knew this day would come, Jessica. All through school and especially since graduation, she had always been terrified that someone would recognize her, stop her on the street or in an office and ask, "Aren't you Cassie Hartley?" "So, I did some research on you, a little background check," he said. "Found out how aggressive you are, how you're completely focused on your career. Always in control. And everything I uncovered confirmed my first impression, that it would be quite a turn on to dominate you like this. To control you for a change." She cleared her throat. "So, how long does this go on? This little game of yours?" How do I stop it? Do I want to stop it? "Until I get tired of it." He grinned again, that cocky smirk. "And I'm not tired of it yet." He stood up, scooping the panties from the table as he did so. "Let me settle up, Jessica. You wait for me outside." The bright sun, after the darkness of the restaurant, made her squint. She should have brought her sunglasses after all. Moments later he emerged from the door of the restaurant wearing a black leather jacket. "Walk me up to the parking garage," he suggested. He had his hands in his pockets as he walked; impulsively, she slid her arm through his. He glanced down at her and grinned. Another warm flutter went through her. He knows. Strange as it seemed, it was somehow comforting that someone else knew her shaming secret. She had never told anyone, not even her college roommate. She had tried to pretend it never happened, still dreading the day she was recognized. Until now, she hadn't realized what a burden it had been all these years. "In here," he gestured. "The elevator is on the right." He pressed the button for the fourth floor, the lowest level, then turned to her. He pushed her back gently against the wall. His hand brushed a strand of hair back from her face, caressing her cheek gently. Jessica's breathing quickened. He loomed over her, dominating her with his presence. "Please, Drew," she whispered. Please what? Reaching behind her neck, he slid his hand up into her hair, tightening his grip into a fist. She gasped as her head was pulled back. The elevator slowed to a stop as he whispered in her ear. "You were disobedient today, girl. When I tell you to be somewhere on time, I expect you to be there." Roughly he pulled her out of the elevator and down the line of parked cars. Crying out, she struggled to keep her balance in the high heels. His grip in her hair was uncompromising. Wildly, she rolled her eyes. Surely someone would see! He stopped in front of a gold Lexus, holding her in front of him, arching her painfully back. She grabbed his wrist, trying to dislodge his fist, but her strength was no match for his. "Let me go!" she hissed. "I'll scream!" He sneered. "Go ahead. If we get caught, it will all come out. You'll be the laughingstock of your industry, Jessica." He reached around her with his free hand, fumbling with the buckle at her waist. "God, no," she whimpered. Struggling, she pressed back against him as she dropped her purse, feeling him harden as she squirmed. After getting the buckle free, he rudely pulled her slacks down. He released his grip, pushing her forward. "Bend over the hood, girl." Cool air washed over her backside and legs as she stumbled, trying to keep her balance with her slacks down around her ankles. Tentatively she put both hands on the hood of the car. "No, all the way." He pressed her forward, her hips against the fender. The metal was cold underneath her breasts and belly. Her bare ass wiggled as she squirmed. All he has to do is touch me to see how aroused I am. Frantically she looked around. This was crazy! "Seven minutes late, seven strokes," he announced sternly. She heard him unbuckle his own belt. It was an unmistakable sound, masculine and authoritative. The backs of her legs tingled with anticipation. She began to cry, the tears trickling down her cheek. "Please," she whispered. Please fuck me now. "This should help keep you quiet." Abruptly he grabbed her hair again, pulling her head back. As she gasped he stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth. She recognized it immediately by the texture: her black lace panties. She tasted the slight tang of her own body. "Keep those in there, girl, or we'll have to start over." Anxiously she nodded. Just get it over with. Probably security cameras everywhere -- they were bound to be discovered any moment. Without warning, the belt hissed through the air and struck the rounded curve of her ass, branding her skin with the painful contact. She bucked on the hood of the car, dancing from one foot to the other as the sensation flared through her. sssss-whack! The sound echoed through the concrete parking garage, a searing impact on the other side as the belt struck her again. Jessica sobbed, tears falling from her face. She felt his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her down in position. sssss-whack! The lethal strap struck her across the very tops of her thighs, one of the most sensitive areas on her body. Every muscle convulsed as she tried not to make a noise, putting her hands behind her, palms up, trying to shield her vulnerable ass from the next blow. "Hands, Jessica," he said firmly. "Palms on the hood." Sobbing helplessly she did as directed, cringing inwardly as the upcoming cruel kiss of the belt. The next four impacts came quickly, each bright stripe of pain flaring hotly before the last had receded. As much as she wanted to scream, she struggled to stay silent. The horrible thing was, on a deep level, it was somehow satisfying to be punished so severely. You've been a bad girl, Jessica. She jerked in response to each blow, dancing and squirming, the belt impacting hotly against her exposed butt. As the pain of the last two strokes tore through her, she began to "drift" a bit. It almost felt like she was leaving her body, sort of floating. Gradually, she came back to awareness, feeling the metal of the hood against her cheek. She opened her eyes, blinking. "Pull your pants up, slut," Drew directed from behind her. She was still dazed: it took a few moments for the words to register. Numbly she stood and reached back, wincing as she felt the raised welts criscrossing her ass. She spat the wet ball of fabric from her mouth. Legs shaking, she reached down and pulled up her slacks, fumbling with the buckle, then looked up at him. "Don't forget your purse," he said pointing. There was a motorcycle in the next parking spot and he turned, opening the side compartment, then removed a helmet and pulled it over his head. Don't go. He grinned at her and pressed the starter, the distinctive Harley rumble filling the enclosed space. The vibration reverberated through her, intensifying in her clit. She felt another rush of warmth between her legs. "See you at the office," he called. With that, he gunned the engine, pulling around the corner and up the ramp. She bent over and picked up her purse, then looked down at herself. Her linen blazer was filthy, covered with road dirt from her undignified sprawl across the car. Suddenly realizing that her panties were still on the hood, she picked them up. She considered throwing them away -- they were sodden with her saliva -- but she slipped them into her pocket instead. I must look like a mess. Pulling out her compact only confirmed her fears. Her hair was disheveled and tears streaked her cheeks. She could hardly go back to the office like this, half drunk and looking like she had been gangbanged in an alley. Her legs trembling, she made her way back to the elevator. Back up on the street, she hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. The office was on her cell phone speed dial and she made some lame excuse about a family emergency, asking Denise to reschedule her meetings for the afternoon. Finally, she took a deep breath and leaned back in the seat. Goddamn, it hurts like hell to sit down. Blackmailing Jessica Ch. 02 She noticed the driver looking at her curiously in the rearview mirror. "You okay, lady?" he asked. "I'm fine," she snapped. "It's just been a long day." She turned and stared out the window. Like a tropical storm, Drew had uprooted her entire existence. Her life had spun completely out of control in less than a week, and she had no idea what she was going to do next. She winced again at the pain in her butt. "I'm fine," she whispered. Blackmailing Jessica Ch. 03 Carmen was a short and voluptuous brunette, with long hair and dark eyes that sparkled as she spoke. Jessica had no real close friends to speak of. She had always been quite reserved, and tended to keep people at arm's length emotionally. Still, she and Carmen, because of the similarity of their ages, had grown to enjoy each other's company over the last year. As an administrative assistant to several account managers, Carmen was the source for office gossip. She had an uninhibited sexuality that sometimes embarrassed Jessica, yet also provoked some envy. Always giggling and flirting, she attracted quite a bit of male attention around the office. And she dresses like a slut. Carmen rarely kept a boyfriend for more than two months -- often, she dated three or four guys at a time. As they enjoyed their lattes at the Starbucks in the building lobby, Carmen described one of her latest flirtations. "And I told him, you know, that I didn't want anything to do with no married man." She waved her hands expressively in front of her. "Not me. So you know what he did?" Jessica shook her head. "He sent me flowers! To my apartment! Can you believe that?" "What did you do?" Jessica asked. Carmen laughed merrily. "I sent them to his house! To his wife!" "You did not!" Jessica was astonished. "I did." Carmen nodded empathetically. "No note or anything, just the flowers. I bet that will get him the message. He won't bother me again." Jessica's mother would not have approved of Carmen. A strict Catholic, she had raised Jessica, her only child, by herself in a small farm town in eastern Washington. Her father had departed when Jessica was quite young -- she had never asked exactly why, but given her mother's fury at "scheming jezebels," Jessica could only imagine that her father had become tired of his dour, spiteful wife and run off with someone else. Jessica was a virgin when she went off to college. Her first sexual experience, with a drunken frat boy in the back of his VW van, was a disaster. She remembered crying uncontrollably for hours afterwards. During her first year in college her mother died from lung cancer -- probably caused by all those years sitting in that smoke-filled bingo hall. Even years after her death, the fierce, dominating persona of her mother continued to haunt her. Jessica had only been with four men. Probably as many as Carmen sees in a weekend. For a moment, they both sipped their drinks in silence. "Can I ask you something?" asked Jessica impulsively. "What do you think about men and women? About the power dynamic between them?" Carmen looked puzzled. "The power dynamic? At the office?" "Oh, I don't know," she replied vaguely. "Just in general, I guess." "You don't want to know what I think." "What do you mean?" Jessica sat back in surprise. Carmen sighed. "You're always going on with that feminist nonsense, how women are oppressed by men. It's ridiculous." "It is not ridiculous!" Jessica declared. "It's a real problem in this country! Why, compared to women, men make --" Carmen held up a hand, silencing her. "See what I mean? I told you. All you do is lecture." "But it's true, Carmen! If you only knew what women have gone through --" "What, you think I'm just some stupid Latina bimbo?" Her dark eyes flashed. "I went to college, Jess. I even have a degree in psychology. Graduated with honors. I know about the women's rights movement." Jessica was surprised and a little embarrassed. She had assumed that Carmen merely had a high school diploma, possibly only a GED. You're not racist, Jessica, you're not. "What I think," Carmen said, tapping the tabletop with a dark red lacquered nail, "is that the man should be the boss. At home and at work." "No, not at all!" Jessica was empathetic. "It should be equal!" "It's not equal, and you know that. You want to work for a woman? I don't. I have before, and it sucked." "That's not true." Jessica crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, a little confused. "I have plenty of men in my department and we work very well together." "No, you don't." The little brunette shook her head. "You think you do, but you're wrong. They hate it. Think you're a ball-busting bitch." Jessica was silent. She had heard the rumors about her nickname. Ice Princess. Of course, they'd be somewhat resentful. Another thing a successful career woman had to endure in an industry dominated by men. Carmen giggled. "They probably secretly fantasize about bending you over the desk!" "Carmen!" Jessica blushed, remembering the man who had done almost exactly that. "You're terrible!" "There's nothing wrong with being feminine. I like being a woman. You want to be a man? I don't. I like men, Jess. I like them because they're strong, and they take control, and they tell me what to do." Jessica shook her head. "You can be feminine and still be strong, Carmen." Carmen lowered her voice. "It's a turn on. You can't tell me you don't like it when a man takes control in bed? Slaps you around a little bit ... pulls your hair and spanks your ass ... pins you down and ravishes you?" Jessica couldn't respond. Spanks your ass. Her face reddened even more. "I'll bet Daniel wasn't like that." Carmen made a disdainful brush-off motion with her hand. "No," Jessica replied, somewhat ruefully, "he wasn't like that at all." Daniel was Jessica's former lover, a dot-com millionaire ten years her senior. Even with all his money, he still had no social skills at all. They never went out together, only saw each other two or three times a month. The sex was almost robotic, passionless and unimaginative, which was exactly how Jessica wanted it. She had abruptly stopped seeing him several months previously. Truth be told, she secretly despised him, a dorky nerd with money. The last thing she needed was to get mixed up with some guy. Her career was the important thing. Carmen leaned forward, almost whispering. "I tell you, Jess, if a decent rich guy came along, a guy that liked having sex, wanted to marry me, I'd do it this quick." She snapped her fingers. "A beautiful house to live in, nice car, don't have to work, could raise kids, spend my days at Nordstrom's and Gene Juarez " She sighed dreamily. "I would do anything he told me to. I'd cook for him, clean for him. Mierda, I'd suck him off every morning and take his dick in my ass every night if he wanted!" "Carmen!" Jessica exclaimed. Her friend could be so graphic sometimes! It excited and unsettled her. "Then you'd be nothing more than a slave!" Slave. Carmen shrugged. "So what? It would make me happy." Her dark eyes softened. "How about you, Jess? Are you happy?" Jessica sighed. The truth was, she'd felt more alive over the past two weeks than she had ever felt in her life. Since you met Drew. "Come on," Carmen pressed. "You should go out on the town with Maria and I one night. We'll show you how to have a good time." Oh sure. Probably something involving a bottle of tequila and a funnel. "No, Carmen, I appreciate the invitation --" "When is the last time you had an adventure? Something wild and unpredictable?" Carmen waved her hands again. "Probably been awhile." Now that you mention it, just last week, a man whipped my naked ass in a public parking garage with his belt after buying me lunch. Does that count? Jessica was silent a few moments, remembering. Carmen re-crossed her legs with a swish of nylon, adjusting the fall of the skirt on her thigh. "So, how about the new guy in your office? Some of the girls think he's a hottie." "Who?" Jessica asked distractedly. "The new writer. Drew." Carmen pretended to fan herself. "Pretty cute gringo." "Oh." The name hit her like a punch, dazing her with its impact. "Him. Yeah, I hadn't noticed." "I heard he even played golf with Bowman last weekend," Carmen confided in a low tone. "Old man Bowman?" Carmen nodded. Jessica slowly turned the information over in her mind. How the fuck had he managed that? Jessica hated golf. Despite a thousand dollars in lessons and three times that much on clubs, she could never get the hang of it. It seemed so stupid, hitting a ball around with a little stick. She had tried, because so many deals were made on the golf course, but it was one of the many things she despised about the male-dominated world of business. She preferred kickboxing. Releasing her aggression on the heavy bag was certainly therapeutic. "Why do you bring him up anyway?" she asked, irritated. "'Cause he's over there," Carmen said, pointing. Her heart pounded as she looked up, seeing him approach. They hadn't had any contact since that afternoon in the garage. She knew where his cubicle was, but she had made it a point not to even go near the bullpen. Still, she'd heard about him, from one of the firm's directors. Apparently, he got along well with the other writers and the managing editor. The client had effusively praised his first assignment, some writing content for an outdoor equipment catalog. Jessica had hoped he'd fail miserably, his inadequacies readily apparent. She could have passed off her recommendation of him as merely a lapse in judgement. Apparently, that was not to be the case. "Hello, ladies." He looked at Jessica. "I thought I might find you here." "I was wondering when I'd meet the new guy," said Carmen, smiling and extending her hand. "I'm Carmen, and this is Jessica." No need to stick your tits out like that. Jessica blinked several times. Where had that come from? "I'm Drew, very nice to meet you. I already know Miss Landers," he said, a slight smile on his face. "She interviewed me for the position." "Oh, I didn't know that," said Carmen, somewhat accusingly. She glanced at Jessica archly. "How are things, Drew?" Jessica tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Getting settled in?" "Oh, it's great." He grabbed a chair from a nearby table, turned it backward, and straddled it. "You've got a good bunch of people here, I must say. Very talented. Much better than the last firm I worked for." You mean, on your bullshit resume? Jessica clenched her fists. Her eyes darted back and forth. Carmen was smiling broadly, leaning slightly forward. Slut. He looked at Jessica, that little smirk still on his face. "I wanted to let you know, there's a package on the way for you from FedEx. Probably here by now." He made eye contact with her. "I expect you'll have it in place for the brainstorming session," he said firmly. Oh no. Anxiety churned in her belly. What now? There was a meeting scheduled for later that afternoon, with several writers and account executives, as well as one of the marketing managers, about a new product line for a client. Jessica had been dreading it all week, from the moment she saw his name on the agenda distribution list. "I'll see what I can do," she replied tersely. "Nothing like waiting until the last minute, huh?" He chuckled and stood up. "I'll see you at the meeting, then." "Nice ass," Carmen whispered as he walked away. "I can see why you hired him, Jess." "It's not like that," Jessica snapped. "He's just a writer." "I don't know." Carmen raised her eyebrows. "I saw how he looked at you. Maybe he has a thing for redheads." The package. Jessica stood up abruptly, grabbing her purse. "I have to go." "So soon? We just got here! And I haven't even told you about my date with Kevin!" "No, I have to take care of something." Denise opened all the mail -- she had to get to her office and intercept the damn package. Who knew what was in it? The familiar tickle started in the pit of her belly, that mixture of resentment and trepidation. She strode quickly towards the elevators. Goddamn you. She could almost hear his little chuckle as she quickened her pace. Thankfully, Denise was away from her desk and the small blue and white box hadn't been opened. Jessica snatched it up and went into her office, breathing heavily. The return address was some place called Orbit Enterprises in Seattle. The object inside was grotesque. It was about six inches long, a rubbery black shaft with a slightly bumpy texture. From the rounded end, it flared slightly down its length, with a smaller flange at the bottom and a flat base. Jessica turned it in her hand, puzzled. The other item in the box was a small tube, and she picked it up. Lubricant? Her pulse began to race. "Oh, my God, no," she whispered. Her ass tightened involuntarily as the realization hit her. She had heard about such things, but never even dared to imagine what one might look like. Heat rose in her cheeks as she set it down quickly. Surely, he doesn't ... Of course, that was exactly what he wanted. I expect you'll have it in place for the brainstorming session. This was too much. Her stomach churned. There was no way she could go through with it. Standing abruptly, she paced around the office, fists clenched. She needed to move, to think! The intercom buzzed. "Miss Landers? Mr. Bowman called while you were out. He was wondering if you had the revenue-share numbers completed yet." As she stared at the hideous rubber object, the words hardly registered. Get a grip, Jessica. She fumbled for the intercom button. "Yes, I have it, Denise. I'll run them up there right now." "And there was a package," her secretary continued. "I signed for it, but it's not on my desk ..." "Don't worry about it. Just some product samples from a client. I took care of it." Opening her desk drawer, she put the lubricant and buttplug inside, shuddering as she touched them. Better hide the box, too. When she picked it up, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. She bent down and retrieved it, expecting some taunting note. You're mine now, Jessica. Instead, it was an order form, with one item circled. Her hand began to tremble. "Now on DVD!! Sorority Punishment 4." She sucked in her breath, trying to steady herself, then tucked the box and the slip of paper into her drawer and slammed it shut. Grabbing the file from the desk, she strode resolutely from the office. Clarence Bowman was Jessica's mentor at Aston-Fremont. In fact, he had lobbied quite heavily for her appointment to director. He seemed to regard her as one of his own children. Jessica knew his interest wasn't sexual -- he had been married for almost thirty years, and had five daughters of his own. Over the past several years, they had developed a genuine friendship. He smiled as she entered the office. "Jessica, my dear! How are you?" For a few minutes they discussed the data from the online advertising revenue information she had collected. Finally he nodded, satisfied. "Looks good, Jessica. You're always on top of things." "Thank you, sir." She smiled, pleased at his compliment. "Oh, by the way," he said with a baritone chuckle, "I met your new writer last weekend. Drew. At the country club." Her smile was now a frozen grimace but she forced herself to nod, dreading what was to come. "He's quite a golfer, you know." Bowman stood up and pantomimed swinging a club with his hands. "A six handicap. As it turned out, we need a fourth. Drew and I partnered up -- Clark couldn't make it, something came up at the last minute -- and we kicked the crap out of those two ambulance chasers." Jessica knew he meant Bud Driscoll and Jack Sawyer, two attorneys and avid golfers who worked in the building. What the hell was Drew doing at the country club? And how had he "happened" to run into Bowman? The Cascade Ridge club was quite exclusive. A yearly membership was over sixty thousand dollars. "How ..." She cleared her throat. "I mean, is he a member?" Bowman shook his head. "No, but apparently he used to give lessons there. He's a friend of one of the club's board members. I didn't even know who he was until he came up and introduced himself." "How interesting." A golf pro, too? Who the hell are you? Bowman laughed again, remembering. "I'll tell you, he had some damn funny stories. Quite a guy. There was one shot he made on the fourteenth, just out of the rough ..." She smiled and nodded as he continued, not hearing a word. To her, the only thing more boring than playing the stupid game was listening to a long-winded story about it. What did he tell you? About me? Of course it wouldn't do to ask. She kept the smile plastered to her face, nodding occasionally as he talked, the thoughts whirling through her. "... and then when he chipped in from the fringe on eighteen, I thought ol' Bud was going to blow a gasket," Bowman concluded. "Took 'em for fifteen hundred each." "That's wonderful." She surreptitiously glanced at her watch. The meeting she had been dreading was only thirty minutes away. I expect you'll have it in place ... Imagining the menacing rubbery plug sitting in her desk drawer, she shuddered. "So, you're still coming to my anniversary party next month, I hope?" he asked. "Oh, I wouldn't miss it," she assured him. "Feel free to bring a date, Jessica." He looked at her slyly. "Are you seeing anyone?" "No." She was empathetic. "Why do you ask?" "Because you've been," he shrugged, "distracted lately, it seems. Missing work, that sort of thing. Very unlike you. I thought there might be a little romance in your life. For a change." "I don't have time for that." She shook her head. "An attractive woman like you, Jessica ... you need to have a little fun, once in a while. A little adventure." She sighed, remembering Carmen telling her the same thing. "I don't need any more adventures. Trust me on that one." "Oh, I invited Drew to the party as well," he said casually. "I hope you don't mind. It's just that we got along so well." The pit of her stomach dropped away. "No, that's fine," she chirped. "Why would I mind?" I have to get out of here before I throw up. Luckily, the phone rang at that moment. As he picked up the receiver she stood up, her legs wobbling a bit. He waved silently to her as she left. Back in her office she closed and locked the door of her private bathroom. She picked up the rubbery object, then set it back down quickly, recoiling inwardly at the very thought of what she had to do. It's not like you need an instruction manual, Jessica. Just get it over with. She scrubbed the hideous thing clean with soap and water, then dried it with a paper towel. Reaching back, she pulled up her skirt, then slid her pantyhose and panties down around her thighs. Her hands were shaking as she opened the tube of lubricant and squeezed a small amount over the rounded tip of the rubbery shaft. Jessica bent slightly over the sink, reaching behind her with both hands. She shuddered as the slimy tip touched her, the muscles contracting involuntarily. He likes humiliating me like this -- he's probably imagining it right now. It was her most intimate and private area. She had never allowed a man to even touch her there. "Relax," she whispered, taking several deep breaths. Slowly she increased the pressure, feeling it enter her. After only an inch or so, the stretching became quite painful. She pulled it out and set it back on the counter, blinking tears from her eyes. There was no way she could fit this disgusting thing inside her. Anxiously she glanced at her watch -- the meeting was less than ten minutes away. I expect you'll have it in place ... Questions tumbled through her mind. How would she hold it in there? What if it slipped out? Would her jacket cover her ass? Will the outline show through her skirt? Obviously, he wasn't going to check -- how would he know if she didn't comply? He'll know. Blackmailing Jessica Ch. 03 Briefly she considered leaving work, skipping the meeting entirely. After Bowman's comment earlier, she knew that wasn't an option. This was an important client, and she had a responsibility to the firm. To her career. He'll punish me if I disobey. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through her, and she realized she was breathing heavily. This couldn't be turning her on -- she wasn't some craven, despicable slut! "I hate you, Drew," she muttered. She couldn't take the chance of the DVD ending up in Bowman's mailbox. It was only another obstacle to overcome, no different than any other she had conquered. Resolutely she squirted the lubricant up and down the length of the loathsome thing, coating it liberally. Bending over, she spread her ass cheeks with one hand and pressed the tip of the slick rubbery missile inside her with the other. Her rectal muscles tightened and she forced herself to relax, gasping shallowly. She eased it slightly out then back in even further, feeling it stretching her. That seemed to be less painful and she began sliding it in and out, pushing further inside her with every stroke, and causing a rush of excitement between her legs. She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, grimacing as she eased the plug even deeper. Her mother was undoubtedly spinning in her grave right about now. Firmly, she pressed the slippery, intrusive thing up deeply inside her. Panting, she placed both palms on the counter, the adrenaline rush making her heart race. It was firmly lodged within her, the muscles tight around the smaller flange at the base. It felt like a brick in her ass. It made her want to pee, especially with the anxiety flooding through her. She winced as she stood up, feeling it move. This would be even more difficult than she had anticipated. After pulling up her pantyhose she smoothed the skirt down around her legs. Cringing with every step, she left the bathroom and gathered her laptop and a few other things she'd need for the meeting. With one hand on her office door, she took several deep breaths. The diabolical object invaded every aspect of her consciousness, that impaling shaft deep inside her, the ring of muscle stretched painfully around its base. Her heart was pounding. It would take all of her concentration just to appear normal. It's showtime, Jessica. Composing herself, she put a smile on her face and opened the office door. A quick right, then down the hall about fifty feet to the stairs. It rapidly became apparent that she couldn't walk at her normal swift pace -- she had to move rather cautiously, lest the horrible thing shift too suddenly inside her. She imagined it slipping out, leaving a horrible bulge in her panties. Or worse yet, having to bend over and pick the despicable thing off the carpet. What would she do with it then? She glanced to either side out of the corners of her eyes, checking to see if anyone was looking at her. The Ice Princess, right here in the office, with a rubber plug shoved up her ass. A hot flush stole into her cheeks. She passed a junior ad executive in the hallway. "Good afternoon, Jessica," he said. She nodded abruptly, not making eye contact, as she continued down the hall. It seemed she was forced to move her butt back and forth even more than normal as she walked in her high heels, and she desperately hoped it wasn't obvious. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the stairway. The conference room was on the next floor down. She winced a bit as she took the first couple of steps. It was very difficult to do even the slightest thing, with that repulsive object inside her! Goddamn you, Drew. I'll get you for this. Awkwardly she made her way down the stairs. At the bottom, she held onto the railing for a moment, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. A file folder slipped from under her arm and dropped to the floor, its contents scattering across the carpet. She struggled not to cry out, whimpering slightly as she bent down, and began gathering the papers with her free hand. "Here, let me help you with that." She jumped, startled, not having heard anyone approach. Drew crouched down next to her, gathering up the file and putting the stack of papers inside. She could feel the plug move inside her as she stood up, a tingle of excitement and embarrassment making her blush. He was wearing a denim shirt with a colorful tie, cartoon characters or something. He handed her the file, the familiar little grin on his face. Under his gaze, her face reddened even more. The last thing she wanted was for them to be seen together. She looked around, but the hallway was deserted. "Goddamn it, Drew," she hissed. "You've gone too far. Not at work, do you understand?" "I wasn't sure you'd go through with it," he said in a low voice. "Good girl, Jessica. I like it when you're obedient." "I'm not some little puppet you can manipulate!" she whispered fiercely. "You've had your fun, you got the job, now it's over. This stops now. Got it?" He glanced up and down the hall. "Come here," he said quietly. Gripping her arm firmly above the elbow, he steered her into a little alcove containing a copier and several vending machines. There was a door at the back, leading to a small closet where office supplies were stored. She stumbled as he pushed her into the closet and closed the door behind them. The space was tiny, and Jessica fought to control the claustrophobia welling up inside. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Now, look, Drew --" Without saying a word, he took the laptop and file folders from her trembling hands and set them on a shelf. She gasped as he spun her around. He put his hand around her neck, pinning her back against him. His hand was large, and he held her easily. She remembered his strength, pinning her down on the car hood in the garage. Although his grip wasn't restricting her breathing, she could feel the authority behind it. Jessica was terrified. She had a special fear of being strangled or drowned, and she desperately tried not to make a sound. Her muscles were locked in panic. He could easily squeeze the life out of her if he chose. "Just relax," he murmured in her ear as he pulled her skirt up. He spanked her sharply, making her whimper in protest. "No pantyhose from now on, girl," he whispered as he caressed her ass. "I want you in stockings. Understand?" He spanked her again firmly. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely. Goddamnit, her butt stung! He gave a low chuckle. "I may even let you wear panties occasionally, if you're a good girl." She groaned softly as he reached down and teased the plug gently. He pressed it further inside her, forcing her to her toes. "You like that, don't you, slut?" he murmured. Slut. The dangerous nature of her predicament only seemed to excite her further. She moaned as he reached around her waist, rubbing her lower belly, before sliding his hand inside her pantyhose. "What a naughty slut you are, Jessica," he chided, gently teasing her. She was unbelievably aroused. She squirmed, pressing back against him, feeling his own excitement. He could certainly tell. The humiliating wetness between her legs was obvious. It seemed he knew exactly how to touch her, just the right pressure. His hand was firm around her neck, pinning her against him. She panted shallowly, grabbing onto the shelf in front of her with both hands, as a shudder went through her body. "Please don't," she begged, her voice breaking. "Not like this." He slid a finger inside her and she gasped at the sensation. She was ready to explode. "Your slutty cunt belongs to me now, Jessica. I own you," he murmured. Cunt. How she hated that word. Her body spasmed underneath his touch. "You're a filthy little slut, aren't you Jessica?" he continued. "Tell me what a filthy slut you are." "God, no," she pleaded. He had such control over her! It's true, Jessica, you are a filthy slut. Her body was betraying her. She despised herself for it, for her weakness. "Say it," he whispered. "I'm a ..." She tried to force the words out. "Say it!" he repeated. "I'm a filthy slut," she whimpered. "Your filthy slut!" She thrust her hips forward, against his hand. He released his hold on her neck and clamped his hand tightly over her mouth as she climaxed explosively. As she jerked and squirmed, the intensity of his domination and his control excited her even more. She was perversely grateful for his hand muffling her cries -- surely, someone would have heard her out in the hallway. It seemed to go on and on forever, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside her. Her muscles contracted around the intrusive rubber thing lodged inside her, pulling it even deeper. Finally it subsided. She became aware that he was keeping her standing, one hand around her waist. Her trembling legs could barely support her, and she leaned against the shelves, gasping for breath. Her lips felt numb, and she doubted she could speak. She had never experienced anything like that in her life. Of course, she'd had orgasms before, but that didn't even seem the right word for what she'd just gone through. The totality of it shocked her, and frightened her a bit. Every nerve was tingling. He released his hold over her mouth. "Good girl, Jessica," he murmured in her ear. His praise sent a second orgasmic rush through her belly. She had complied with his disgusting order and Drew was pleased with her. She felt satisfied and somehow proud, still too woozy for her diligent rationality to retort. Dazed, she tried to gather herself together. As he released his hold on her she turned around, stumbling a bit, leaning against the shelves for balance. He lifted her chin so he could see her face, then gently kissed her on the lips. "We'd better get going," he whispered. "Or we'll miss the meeting." The meeting! She had forgotten all about it! Desperately she looked at her watch. They were nearly thirty minutes late! "Don't worry, Jessica." He chuckled. "They moved the meeting back a half hour. You should check your e-mail more often. We're right on time." He turned and opened the closet door and stepped out into the copier room, whistling to himself. Jessica tried to compose herself. Her entire body was flushed. She gathered up her laptop and the files, and then followed him out the door. The horrible plug continued to wordlessly violate her, reminding her of its presence with every step. Shakily, she followed Drew down the hall to the conference room. The entire meeting was a blur. She hardly said a word, tapping aimlessly at the keys on her laptop as everyone discussed the upcoming advertising campaign. Jessica was the only woman in the room -- she felt intensely female, waiting for someone to notice, to ask if she was all right. Maybe they could even smell her. Crossing and recrossing her legs as the meeting progressed, she desperately tried to appear nonchalant and unaffected. Every now and then Drew would glance over at her, that little grin on his face. She looked away, blushing hotly. and squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Finally, mercifully, after more than an hour, it was over. The client, a short Asian man (she couldn't even remember his name), shook her hand and made some comment about looking forward to working with her in the future. She smiled and said something in reply, unable to think coherently. Without even looking at Drew she left the room, hoping she could maintain some semblance of normalcy until she got to her office. Her whole world was coming apart. Getting up the stairs was especially difficult and she gripped the railing tightly, willing herself not to cry out. If anyone said a word to her, she felt like she would burst into tears. You can do this, Jessica. Just get to the office and you're home free. Gritting her teeth, she climbed up the last few steps. Once in her office, she stumbled gratefully to the bathroom and bent over the counter. After pulling down her pantyhose, she eased the repugnant thing out of her, gasping in relief. She dropped it into the sink with a grimace. Legs trembling, she sat down on the toilet, the seat cold against her bare butt. She put her face in her hands and fought the urge to weep uncontrollably. Filthy little slut ... I own you. The words reverberated in her head. Cunt. Jessica took a deep breath and stood up, pulling her pantyhose up over her hips. She reached back and massaged her ass gently, wincing a little. Her image in the mirror looked haggard. "I hate you," she whispered defiantly. She had to regain control. It wasn't a game anymore. This was rapidly escalating to the point where it could destroy them both. She wasn't a filthy slut -- she was a smart, ambitious, career woman. No man had ever gotten the upper hand against her, and she'd be damned if he would be the first. To be continued ...