From stbush@iglou.com Thu Mar 20 12:45:38 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!panix!news.panix.com!panix.com!eli!not-for-mail From: stbush@iglou.com (S THOMAS BUSH) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Subject: BOMBADIL: "Whitewash" Part 1 of 3 Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Date: 20 Mar 1997 17:45:38 GMT Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Lines: 861 Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Message-ID: <eli9703201246@qz.little-neck.ny.us> NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/349> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Xref: news1.infoave.net alt.sex.stories.moderated:261 alt.sex.stories:173378 Whitewash - 1 / 3 [M/F, MM/F, F/F, Semi N/C, Lampoon] Story #4 by Tom Bombadil (c) Dec 1996 Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer. This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives. You've been warned. I give permission for anyone to share or archive this story. Author's note: Here's my entry into Celeste's Third Annual Writing Contest. Maybe it will help ameliorate those post-holiday blues, or at least assuage your hurt feelings because you received only mundane gifts. Personally, I become rather lethargic after all the dinners and indulging in all those non-erotic forms of hedonistic pleasure. Also, my belt becomes quite constrictive. Over the years I've become rather adept at dodging the acerbic comments my friends and family make about my post-celebratory slothfulness - so much so that further barbs are both redundant and fatuous. Some have accused me of being impervious to their prolific insults, but such is not truly the case. I blithely accept all their criticisms as nothing but egregious blathering. There is some guile in this, since I would probably become quite irascible if I accepted their apocryphal slights credulously. Well, enough of these dilatory ramblings. Here's to the incipient festivities. Merry Christmas (or whatever your personal holiday is) to all. Tom Bombadil (PS: Too bad the intro doesn't count for word use!) This is a rather unusual sendup of the usual blackmail/forced sexual slavery type stories. The narrator, who happens to be the woman who got shafted, definitely doesn't think most of what happened to her was funny. Or nice. Or sexy. Regular readers of the n/c type will probably get a chuckle, as will those who don't usually like this type of fare. Personally, I think it's hilarious. Then again, some of my friends think my sense of humour is positively bent. They may be right with this one ... When I started writing this, I had some specific ideas in mind, including having this as close to a Deirdre style story as I could make it. Well, after the first couple of dozen lines, all that went out the window. Jane took over the storytelling completely. I felt more like a proofreader than a writer! She has a strange way of telling us what happened. As usual in my stories, the people are what matter. I think I'd probably like Jane and John if I met them in real life. I've never met anyone quite like Dick, though I do know a few people who are similar to him in different ways. ******************************************************************** Here are the words (all taken from one of those SAT study lists): acerbic 1,1 adept 1,1 ameliorate 1 apocryphal 1 assuage 1,1 blithe 1,1 constrict 1 credulous 1 dilatory 1 egregious 1 fatuous 1 guile 1 hedonism 1,1 impervious 1,1 incipient 1,1 irascible 1 lethargy 1,1 mundane 1,1 prolific 1,1 redundant 1,1 (Added by me: Bastard 20 That should help my score!) ******************************************************************** It all started just over two years ago. John and I had been married for almost a year and had bought ourselves a tiny little house all of our own. We could afford it, barely, because I was doing good in my job, and he was getting lots of construction work. He's a carpenter's apprentice. Most people would have considered our new home too small, too old, and too run down to be worth buying, but that just meant the price was within our reach. The owner really wanted to sell for some reason, so he used his influence down at the bank to make sure we got our loan. We were in love, we were in lust, and we were in heaven. Then things started to go wrong. Little things. Certain contracts that I thought were cinched fell through, only to be saved by my boss, the head of the sales department. That cost me prestige, and more importantly, cost me commissions. Then John got laid off for a while, and when he got back to work, he got fewer hours than before. We dipped into what little savings we had, until they were gone. We cut back on everything. Still, we started falling behind on our mortgage payments. Not much, but enough to make the bank manager nervous, and he let us know in no uncertain terms what that meant. He was pretty irascible at the best of times, and our constant excuses didn't help his temper, or his digestion, at all. One thing I should tell you is that I was in charge of the expense accounts in our department. Why me, and not my boss, I didn't know, but that's how it was. And that's how I got into trouble. It started small. I padded a bit on one call. That gave us enough to make ends meet that month. I worked harder to compensate, because my guilty conscience bothered me a lot. The next month, John's hours were cut back again, so I did it again, only a bit more. Nobody seemed to notice. The third month, my husband's hours were up, but a big sale I'd been working on, one worth enough commission to cover several mortgage payments, went poof. My boss, Richard Small, again managed to save the day (and collected *MY* commission!). I had to pad my expenses again. Two months later, after a fair bit more manipulation, Dick (my boss likes being called Dick, for some reason) called me into his office. He had a folder on his desk, and a very serious expression on his face. He made me nervous at the best of times, with his sinister, beady little dark brown eyes, his pencil moustache, and his leering mouth, but something in the set of his shoulders told me there was big trouble. I sat down. He looked at me. "Jane, I've been going over the expenses for the last six months. We've been over budget regularly, and someone in accounting wanted to know why. Well, I found out. These are all yours, I assume?" He pushed the folder over to me, open, and I looked through it. There in front of me, in black and white, were all the forms and receipts I'd doctored, along with copies of the originals. Shaking with fear, I looked at him. "This company has a policy of 100% prosecution for theft or fraud. You've committed both. I'm afraid your career is over." He stared at me with such a dead-pan face that *he* frightened me as much as the thought of what was going to happen. Visions of court, of jail, of losing our house, of losing my husband, and of what John would do when he found out (he has a nasty temper) ran through my head. I couldn't help myself. I broke down and started crying, right then and there. After my tears slowed down, he asked me a question. "Why?" The look he used, much gentler than his normal and completely guileless, seemed to almost plead for understanding. For the first time, he genuinely looked like he cared. So I told him. About our house, our mortgage, the lost commissions, John's loss of hours, the scrimping and scraping, everything. When I'd finished, he became very thoughtful for a while, then looked at me again with a strange gleam in his eye. "You've given me a lot to think about. For some reason, I feel a little sorry for you and your husband. You don't seem like the type that would normally do something like this, but I can see how such difficult circumstances could cause you to fall prey to temptation." He paused again, seemingly lost in thought as he stared at me. I sat there, almost in shock. My entire life was about to be blown to pieces, and that man sat there, scratching at his chin, deciding whether or not to light the fuse. Finally he spoke again, and I hung onto every word like a lifeline. "A decision like this isn't something to rush into. I'll need some time to sort through the implications. See me again tomorrow afternoon, at four thirty, here in my office. We'll talk again." I nodded like a crazed woman, thanked him profusely, wiped the tears from my eyes, and practically ran out of there. I went home. That night, my husband noticed the strange mood I was in and asked me what was going on. I lied and said it was just some trouble with a difficult client. No way could I tell him the truth! I slept very little that night, and most of the next day was a blur. At four thirty precisely I was in Dick's office, sitting in a guest chair, waiting for him to say something. He stared at me for a while, setting off my nerves again. At that point I felt like anything he asked of me was within reason. I'd thought about how important my husband was to me all night, and thought about how he'd react to the news of what I'd done. Losing him seemed a certainty if I was prosecuted, and I loved him far too much for that to happen. Dick spoke. "You realize, of course, that if I cover for you, my ass is on the line as well. I'll be an accomplice, and could face jail just as easily as you. Then there's the matter of making good with the company. You'll need to do something to compensate for the losses. Don't you agree?" I nodded my head, and agreed wholeheartedly with everything he said. It wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done. The evil leer that slowly worked it's way onto his face should have warned me, should have made me run. I was too credulous to realize what was happening. "You agree to do whatever I tell you? From this point on?" Fear and hope fought for dominance inside. Hope won. With more than a little hesitation, I agreed. "Good", he said. "Stand up and turn around. I want to take a really good look at you." I did it, even though it embarrassed the hell out of me. It wasn't as though I was ashamed of my body or anything, because I wasn't. If there was one thing I knew, it was that my body was terrific. At twenty three, I had looks to spare. Long, blonde, wavy hair, green eyes, and a trim, fit, very tight body. At 5'6", my 35C-22-34 frame filled out my clothes wonderfully, and even though my figure wasn't overly padded like some others were, it looked hot and ready for action. My husband said so all the time. So did the guys down at the construction site where he worked. So had my old boyfriend. So had the many guys who'd tried to date me when I was in university. He still made me blush, undressing me with his eyes. He got out of his chair, walked over to his door, and locked it. My eyes must have betrayed my fear. "I don't want us to be disturbed. Now take off your dress." It was with a look of shocked disbelief that I stared at him. He just looked at me with a deadpan expression, expecting me to obey. "Y-you can't be serious", I asked. He was. I said no, plainly, clearly, and rather more sharply than I had intended. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said "I guess that makes my decision quite simple. It was nice working with you." "No! Wait, please." I couldn't believe myself! I did it! Right there in his office, I took off my dress. That left me in bra, pantyhose, panties, and heels. Dick was only the third man to ever see me undressed (as an adult). He had me stand in the middle of the office while he circled around and examined me from all sides. "Take of the pantyhose." It seemed silly to balk now, since I'd already gone so far. I resigned myself to the fact that he'd end up getting me naked. After that, I didn't know what to expect. The sharp knot of fear in my stomach grew worse. Slipping out of my heels, I did what he'd asked. He finally saw my bare legs, and realized that I didn't need to wear the things. My legs are naturally long and slender, and they were still decently well tanned from weekends spent sunning out in the back yard. He whistled, and then had me put the heels back on. "Now the bra." With tears falling down my face, I dropped my plain white bra on top of my discarded dress. Dick now saw that I didn't need to wear one of those either. My breasts rode high and firm. Tipped with long, pink nubbins that hardened to their half-inch lengths because of the cool air, they were perfect handfuls. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Now the last of it." His voice was husky, sounding a bit gruffer than usual. The look on his face was one I didn't recognize. It was scary. I didn't waste any time dropping my panties and stepping out of them. He stared, he leered, he licked his lips. He was disgusting. I have to admit, though, that I was a little bit turned on by the situation. There I was, stark naked in the middle of his office, being stared at, having all of my most secret places ogled by a rather obscene man. The worst part was that I knew he could see everything between my legs, since I kept my bush closely trimmed and my lips shaved for the tiny bikini I loved to wear. Again, he circled around me, slowly taking in every curve, every slope, every bit of exposed skin. His first touch came as a shock, and I jumped a bit. It was just a light brush of his fingertips against my bottom, but it burned like he'd slapped me. Trying to compose myself, I stared straight ahead. I didn't want him to know how much that touch had affected me. Next, his fingers traced their way over my left hip and across my stomach. Then up my side to my neck, from one side to the other, then down, and before I realized it, he had my left breast in his hand. My breathing was getting a little shallow. His was getting a little heavy. Despite myself, I looked down. His slacks looked like they were about to explode. He caught my brief glance, and leered even more. I felt a little queasy. His other hand touched my shoulder, ran down my arm, across my hip, then in between my legs. I couldn't suppress the shudder that caused. He grinned some more. I supposed that he thought I was getting heated up. I was, but only in embarrassment. "Spread your legs." I moved them apart about six inches. "More" he said. I shifted them another few inches. He kept insisting on more until my feet were spread wider than my shoulders. His fingers finally had complete and free access to my most intimate places. He pushed one finger into me, and I stepped away from him. That had hurt! Dick simply stepped up, put one hand on my ass, and pushed one finger of his other hand inside again. I moaned with the pain. His thumb played with my clit, causing more pain. He probably thought he was getting me aroused. "Go bend over my desk, face down." That order caught me by surprise, though I should have seen it coming. "Wh-what are you going to do?" A sudden feeling of dread, and of helplessness, washed over me as I realized what his intentions were. "I'm going to fuck you, Jane." I shook my head in denial. "No, please. Not that. I've never had anyone but my husband. I'm a faithful wife. I can't do it!" Tears ran down my cheeks. It was true. I was a virgin on our wedding night. My previous boyfriend and I had reached third base a number of times, but I had never felt comfortable enough with him to go all the way. We broke up after the one night he became insistent and I walked home. Dick shook his head sadly, picked up the folder from his desk, and walked to the door. "Where are you going?" The desperation in my voice must have been very apparent. "Mr. Dougherty's office. It's obvious that you didn't mean what you said earlier. Think of it. By this time tomorrow, you'll be in jail." My heart stopped for a second, fear gripping me like an iron fist. "Wait! Please, no. Isn't there anything else? Some other way?" He just stared, then started to open the door. "All right. All right! I'll let you! Just close the door." He closed and locked it again, then just stood there, waiting. After a moment or two, I took the hint, walked over to his desk, and lay across it, staring at him over my shoulder. He was staring at my ass, and at my exposed sex. With my legs spread apart, everything was on display. "You'll let me what?" I couldn't believe it. The man had far more control than I'd given him credit for. "I-I'll let you d-do what you said." "What was it that I said? Say it." God, it was the most humiliating few minutes of my life. "I'll let you f-f-fuck me." He sneered again. I was starting to develop a true hatred for that expression of his. "Not good enough anymore. Now, you have to ask me. Ask really nice." He didn't say or else. He didn't have to. The threat of him still standing by the door was good enough. "Please, Dick. Please fuck me." There, I'd said it. His look got even more despicable. "You can do better than that!" The bastard was making me beg to be raped! To be unfaithful to my husband! What choice did I have? "Please Dick! Come fuck me now! I need your cock inside my hole. I need to feel your sperm shooting into my womb! There's a fire inside me and only you can put it out! I want you, now!" Those idiot videos my husband and I watch did come in handy. At least I knew what words to use. They had their desired effect. He finally walked over towards me, and as I faced forward again, I heard his zipper open up. It was pretty tough, hunched over his desk, just waiting for the first painful thrusts from his cock. I was dry as a bone, and knew that no matter how rough or gentle he was, my pussy was going to feel pain. First contact was an utter shock, and I gasped and jerked when I felt it. Something warm, wet, slippery, and very much alive was moving in between my lower lips. He was licking me! Nobody, not even my husband, had ever been allowed to do that. It was disgusting! My late mother would have turned over in her grave if she'd known! Despite my horror, the sensations were incredible. He obviously had done that before, and sooner that I would have believed, I was wet and panting hard, just aching for my release. The feelings were fantastic! That's when he stood up and rammed himself inside, pushing until we were belly to bottom and he was as deep as he could get. I think I screamed, but I'm not sure. It hurt! He sawed in and out a dozen times or so, pulling on my breasts for leverage, grunted, then shivered and gasped. I could feel him pulsing, pushing in slightly with each spurt. Any good feelings, anything that might have been like arousal, had been destroyed by his brutal penetration. I felt used, abused, and horribly debased. What made it ten times worse was that he made me turn around and lick his cock clean. Once I'd finished, he put his member away, then he put that damned folder away. "From now on", he said, with that leer again, "I don't want to catch you wearing pantyhose. Ever. In or out of the office. Nylons are acceptable. You will also wear only skirts or dresses. You will also go buy some sexy panties and bras. I'll be inspecting you daily. This is all part of your punishment, and I expect full cooperation from you. Do you understand?" After what he'd already done to me, that didn't seem like much of a problem. I nodded, then said yes. "Good. Be in my office at a quarter past eight tomorrow morning for your first inspection." I suddenly realized that he meant immediately. "B-but Mr. Small. Dick. I don't h-have anything like that! I ..." I was trying to make him understand that I was a good girl. Other than my bikini, everything I owned was practical, businesslike. Plain white bras, plain cotton panties. My husband had asked a few times, but I had ignored his requests to buy something sexy. Besides which, we had no money and couldn't afford any. I guess my look of despair was enough to telegraph my meaning. He pulled out his wallet and placed a hundred dollar bill on the desk beside me. "I expect you to be properly attired tomorrow morning." He paused on his way out the door. "Oh yes, one more thing. I prefer red or black, and lacy. See you tomorrow." With a final chuckle and sneer, he left. Sobbing to myself, wondering how I'd managed to get into such a predicament, I used his bathroom to clean up before getting dressed. The thought of what he'd done made me throw up, so I had to rinse out my mouth too. Luckily I had some gum in my purse to take away the horrid taste. ********** That night, after I got home late, after I'd hidden my purchases away, John again asked me what was wrong. If I couldn't tell him the night before, then it was absolutely impossible for me to say anything that night. I could just imagine what his reaction would have been had I told him I'd been raped - that I'd begged to be raped! John Smith, my loving husband, has a temper. It is deep, it is long lasting, and sometimes it is vicious. He rarely lets it show, and rarely lets it get the better of him, but I have seen it in action. One time at a frat party we attended, one of the college guys cornered me in a bedroom and started trying to force himself onto me. He probably figured that either I would blithely go along because I was horny, or because I didn't want to cause a scene. I screamed. John came in, found the guy pawing my breasts, saw my ripped blouse, and went wild. Steve, the frat, was bigger than John by a good three inches and probably forty pounds of meat. My husband is no small guy, at six two and two hundred and ten pounds of lean, hard muscle, but Steve was the university's star defensive football player. He was big. John picked him up and threw him across the room, into the other wall. Literally. The wall ended up with a big hole in it, and Steve ended up on the floor, dazed. We left. I didn't dare tell him what Dick had done to me. ********** The next morning, Friday morning, Richard was waiting for me in his office. When I got there, right on time, he had me lock the door. "Strip" was the only thing he said. His evil leer seemed rather fatuous at that point, since I already knew he was a filthy scumbag. I took off my blazer, then my blouse, revealing my new red lacy bra. He said nothing, and his expression never changed. I slipped off my shoes. Next came the skirt, the calf-length navy wool one that shouted business and matched my navy jacket. He never even blinked when I revealed my new red lace bikini panties. I had even bought the semi-transparent kind! When I paused, he motioned for me to continue, but told me to leave on the nylons. I was wearing navy blue thigh-highs with elastic tops. My bra was next. Then my panties. There I was again, basically naked, standing in the middle of his office. He motioned for me to walk around his desk and stand in front of him, so I did. "When you're being inspected, like now", he said, "you are to stand with your legs spread and your hands clasped behind your back. Do it now!" I did. His hands explored my body, from ankles to scalp. Not an inch went unviolated by his damp touch. Despite the revulsion I felt for the man, his caresses did feel good, especially when he gently ran his fingertips over my breasts and across my nipples. They, of course, were standing at attention, like little traitors to my will. At one point he was sucking on them, alternating sides, squeezing and pulling on the one that wasn't in his mouth. Finally he was finished with that part. I was happy, in spite of being a little turned on, because I thought I would be allowed to get dressed and leave. He had other plans. "Lie down on my desk. Right there. Pull your knees up and spread your legs. Put your feet up on the edge, just like that. Yeah. Now don't move." That's when hhe moved in with his tong again, runnning it uppand down, insideandout and all over, over and over and overa gain, all aroun dmya clit, circling endlesslyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Circling endlessly, sending me soaring, despite the hatred I had for him and for what he was doing to me. The feelings were incredible, wonderful, fantastic! I had never felt like that before. He licked, and sucked, and tongue-fucked me until I had an absolutely incredible orgasm. My juices coated his mouth and face and dripped from his little moustache. Only then did he totally wreck things. Just as I was coming down, when everything was super sensitive, when the glow was just perfect, he stood up and jammed his cock into me. Just pushed it in as hard as he could. The pain! All the nice feelings ran away. All the pleasure. I was lubricating freely, so the hurt went away fairly soon, but he'd already ruined everything. I think that was the moment when I knew I hated him. He crushed his mouth onto mine, and I tasted blood from a cut lip. His hands mauled my breasts, painfully pulling and twisting on the nipples, and he just rutted into me, over and over again. I thanked God it didn't take him long to climax, because otherwise I would have had bruises. One thing I will say is that the office jokes about "Mr. Dick Small" were all inaccurate. His cock was big enough to be in one of those porno movies my husband and I sometimes watched. I guessed at probably eight inches, and thick, according to the size estimates John gave out when we watched those shows. After making me lick him clean again, he let me go into the washroom to clean up. I had to get dressed in front of him, though. I imagine that was one way he got his jollies. The perverted bastard. "I'll see you bright and early Monday morning," is what he said as I left. "Make sure you're wearing a new garter belt." He'd given me another hundred dollar bill. When I asked him what that was for, he said "I like to see my sluts well dressed." "I am not a slut!" I cried, standing there, half-dressed, in the middle of his office. "Until this business is settled, you are whatever I want you to be, including a slut. Is that clear?" The tone of his voice left no doubt as to what the consequences would be if I disagreed. Crying in shame, I nodded my head. The arrogant bastard. My husband and I made love that Saturday. We did it in the missionary position, as usual. It was nice, as usual, and he got me off, as usual, but it was nothing like the explosion I'd felt in Dick's office, with his tongue buried in my pussy. Sunday I felt tired and worn from all the worrying, so rather than the usual, I sucked and jacked John off. As usual, I pulled off at the last minute and let him spurt all over his chest and stomach. He seemed happy, and fell asleep with a smile on his face. For some reason, though, I started to picture what his expression was like when we watched those movies, with the women doing all kinds of rude and disgusting things. He always had this intense, concentrated look on his face, like his eyes were seeing what was on the screen, but inside his brain something else was happening. He was always eager and excited afterwards, wanting just a little more than I was willing to give, but settled for our usual. I began to wonder if he was picturing me in those movies. ********** Monday, Dick made me give him a blow job. I was completely naked, of course, and he made me hold my hands behind my back. "Use only your mouth," he said. That was a new experience. He told me how he liked it, when to suck, how to take it in deep, how to use my tongue on his glans and the underside of his cock. Towards the end, he had his hands in my hair and was basically shoving my head onto his cock, so there wasn't much I could do except try and keep from choking and gagging. He kept pushing down farther and farther until the head was in my throat. That hurt somewhat, but not nearly as much as when he fucked me, so I endured. As if I had a choice. He also told me to swallow all of it, saying that he'd give me a lash with his belt for every drop I missed. It tasted pretty disgusting, but I did what I'd been told. One drop ran down my chin. True to his word, he pushed me down over his desk, pulled off his belt, and whipped me. It hurt worse than when he fucked me! The cruel bastard! By the end of the day, the pain and the red mark were gone, so I realized that he hadn't hit me nearly as hard has he could have. Tuesday he fucked me, without any preparation. Very painful. I rubbed myself in the washroom afterwards, trying to assuage the pain. It didn't work. Wednesday, another blow job. I was getting better at not gagging, and I never missed a drop. Thursday, a brief tongue lashing, then a fucking. It still hurt. Friday - well, Friday I remember as a bit of heaven. He licked me. Then he licked me some more. I had an orgasm. He kept on licking until I came again. When I was still recovering, he put two fingers inside, started wiggling them around, and licked me some more. I exploded, seeing stars and comets and little dancing things for the first time in my life. He left me lying there on his desk in a puddle of my own juices, dazed, confused, and barely able to comprehend what had happened. I knew then that all the sex I'd had in my life was a shallow imitation of what was possible. I truly hated Dick at that point. The rotten bastard. Later in the day, he stopped in at my cubicle and placed another hundred on my desk. "Buy a sexy outfit. I want you wearing it when I see you Monday morning." There was no way I could hide any type of new clothing from my husband, and I told Dick that. He told me not to worry, that I could keep my new things in the storage room in his office. The situation was degenerating, but he had an answer for every one of my objections. The ultimate one, of course, was that I could simply say no and take the consequences. He knew I couldn't face that. He ignored my rather acerbic looks, pretending not to see the anger and hatred I showed. The slimy bastard. ********** Saturday night, John rented a couple more of those movies he likes to watch. To his surprise (and mine!) I cuddled up with him on the couch, wearing nothing but my nightgown. It was a first. His hands and fingers wandered all over my body, including my privates, all through both movies. I could tell he was getting much more worked up than usual, probably because he could touch and feel and lick and taste some of what was on the screen. His kisses were intense, and very passionate. I still didn't let his mouth go any lower than my nipples though, because that still seemed rather dirty and disgusting. Even so, I watched the TV avidly any time there was a woman with someone's head between her legs. I could finally understand the fantastically tortured expressions their faces went through. The memory of what Dick had done was still fresh and clear, and I could picture myself showing those same emotions. Our coupling that night, though intense, was the same as usual. Despite my orgasm, I felt rather unsatisfied, restless. It wasn't the same, knowing what was possible. I hated Dick for what he'd done to me. ********** Monday he had me wear my new outfit. It was a cream coloured silk blouse with a rather daring neckline matched with a similarly coloured miniskirt. The lacy edges of my new black bra were visible if I turned the wrong way or bent over, and the hem of my skirt revealed stocking tops and garters if I leaned right over from the waist. Revealing, and much more daring than what I usually wore. Dick liked the new look, and gave me another hundred to buy more. I didn't think he realized that the change was going towards John and my mortgage payments. Sometimes, back then, I didn't think he really cared. He spent more on me over those two weeks than I had spent on myself in the previous six months. He demanded another blow job, wanting me to do it in my new outfit. I was starting to get used to the feel of his cockhead deep in my throat, with his pubic hairs tickling my lip. The taste was still pretty gross, but at least I wasn't trying to lose my breakfast when he spurted in my mouth. ********** Tuesday was one of the worst, and best, days of my life. It started with Dick getting another blow job. Like I said, I was getting used to them, and it wasn't so bad any more. I guess you can get used to just about anything. Afterwards, he sent me, still naked, into the bathroom to clean up, and told me not to come out until he called for me. Nervous? Me? Nah - I was scared stiff. Something different was happening. He had new plans afoot. A short while later I heard voices in the other room. Dick was talking with someone else, another man, but I couldn't tell who it was or what they were saying. The twenty minutes or so that I waited seemed like a lifetime. That's when he called my name, and told me to come out. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I stood there, frozen with fear. There was nothing in the bathroom to cover myself with, as the towels were just those little oversized washcloth things, hardly big enough to dry your hands with. He called again, then came to get me. I couldn't move, but I also couldn't resist when he pulled me out into the office. My fears were justified. Sitting there in his office was Tim Wakefield, the senior V.P. of our biggest, and richest, customer. Their contract was up for renewal. "Tim, I'm sure you remember Jane, and Jane, I know you remember Tim. All you talked about for a week after meeting him was how much of a prick you thought he was. Well, now you're going to be nice to him and help me win the contract. Aren't you." He didn't say it as a question - it was more like an order. I had no idea what he was expecting of me. My clothes, which I'd left on his desk, were gone. The other outfit was at home, in the laundry. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. My heart sank, and I started to cry. My face was burning with shame and embarrassment. Dick led me behind his desk, then pushed me onto it, until I was laying flat out on my back. He kept pushing until my head was hanging over the far side. After pulling my legs up and apart, opening me up to both of their gazes, he reached under my knees and pulled my hands down by my sides, holding them captive. That's when he started licking me again. First, my thighs, on the inside, where they're really sensitive. Then the crease where leg met crotch, especially the little divots on either side of my tendons. I closed my eyes to shut out the world. His lips and tongue were almost mystical. He took lots of time, showing a great deal of patience, working me out of my misery and into a state of arousal. He brought me cclose, so close to theedge, righton the edge of cclimax it wa sso goood and power ful I just couldnthelp mysel f he held me there fforsoo long so longgggggggggggggggggggggggggggg He held me there for so long, I was squirming and wiggling around, trying to get him to pay attention to my clit. My need was there, and all of a sudden, so was Tim. He started playing with my breasts, pulling and twisting my nipples, but softly, making me want more. Dick wouldn't let me come. Tim kissed me, his tongue invading my mouth, searching for and finding mine, and then duelling with me for ownership. I was so hot, I didn't care at that point. But when Tim pressed his cock to my mouth, that took off quite a bit of my passion. Dick's eager lips and tongue soon had me squirming, and Mr. Wakefield managed to get his cock into my mouth. He was much smaller than my boss, what John called 'average', maybe six or so inches, so I had no problem taking him in right to the balls. The man spent no time fooling around and just started pumping hard. When his sperm erupted in my mouth, I swallowed. I was becoming quite adept at that, after my lessons from Dick. That's when my boss finally took me over the edge, sucking my clit into his mouth and running his tongue all over the tip. Once again, stars, comets, little squiggly things, and even a red haze, occupied my vision. I heard them talking, but didn't pay any attention to what they said. A door opened and closed. Dick put a pile of clothes, my clothes, on the desk, then he left, locking the door on his way out. Eventually my daze receded. I cleaned up, got dressed, and started my own work day. John spoke with me in private later, and told me I'd done just fine. We had the contract, and I was the 'intangible benefit' that had secured it. He was proud of me. The heartless bastard! I felt like slapping him silly! Then he said something that shut my mouth up fast. He was going to split the commission with me, and estimated my share to be five thousand dollars. Five grand. Three month's salary. Enough to catch up on our mortgage, and on all the other bills. All it had cost me was my pride and self respect. I hated that man, but I would take the money. The manipulative bastard. ********** Wednesday and Thursday he fucked me hard, with no preparation. It hurt, a lot, and he noticed. His expression was cruel, and scary. "Jane, I noticed that you don't seem to be getting into the swing of things. Starting tomorrow, I want you in here fifteen minutes earlier. Lock the door, get undressed, and lie down on my desk. I want you to masturbate yourself until I get in. That should make things a lot better for me." The asshole wanted everything from me. He had stripped away my pride, my self respect, and my honour. Now he wanted my last shreds of dignity. He seemed impervious to the black looks I gave him. Friday morning, I did what he wanted. When he walked in, I had one hand playing with my breasts, and the other in my crotch. Two fingers were sliding in and out of my hole, and my thumb was rubbing back and forth over my clit hood. Having him walk in and stare at me took away the little bit of excitement I'd built up, so I stopped. "Keep going. Close your eyes and imagine anything you like, but keep jerking off until you cum." So that's what I did. I don't know where he watched from, or even if he moved around to different vantage points. It pains me to admit, even now, that fantasizing about my husband didn't help in the least. Only when I started thinking about what Dick's tongue was capable of did I start to heat up. With that memory foremost in my mind, my passion rose. And rose. And rose. Finally, I exploded again. It wasn't as good as when he did it to me, but it was still better than any other time I'd ever done myself, other than the very first time. Once again, before I had a chance to recover, before my sensitive clit and vagina were back to normal, he jammed himself inside in one massive thrust. It hurt, and I let him know that it hurt. He smiled and kept pounding away. Regardless of how loose or wet I had become, slamming something the size of his cock inside like he did was going to hurt, and he knew it. He enjoyed my pain and humiliation. I could see it in his eyes. Once again, he finished off quickly inside me. I did not enjoy his penetration, or quick fuck, in the least. He left me sore again. The unmitigated bastard. ******************************************************************** -- Story Submission: <URL:mailto:story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Moderator Contact: <URL:mailto:story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Newsgroup FAQ: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/faq.html> Archive site (could be better): <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>