He pushed his hips up against her. He was shaking, ejaculating. Sheila was drowned in semen. She swallowed, spurt after spurt, trying to keep ahead of the flow. Some of it was leaking out of the corner of her mouth. She was too small, there was too much of the stuff.
It was dribbling down her chin, and still, he was coming. Sheila gurgled, her sex so empty and needy. She was ashamed for wanting this stranger inside her, for wishing he would abuse her pussy like this, ending her sham of virginity and allowing her to climax at last.
The Italian held her fast by the ears. He made to sure to get out every drop, and then he made her lick him clean. After this she had to collect the spilled come and eat it, too.
“Va bene,” he said, sounding mollified. He pointed to the coffee cup and said something else. Sheila awaited the translation on pins and needles.
“He still thinks you should drink the coffee,” explained Stone. “But he’s willing to let you sip it.”
“Thank you, Master,” Sheila croaked. “Thank you,” she looked up shyly at the Italian.
He motioned for her to put his cock away for him. She did so humbly and reverently.
“May I walk back?” she asked Stone.
“Yes.”
She retrieved the coffee cup. He stopped her when she went to drink from it. “You must place the cup on the floor first, Sheila. Those are the terms.”
Her knees went weak. She would have to lap at the coffee like a dog. “Yes, Master.”
Sheila bent down and put the mug down onto the floor. She was in a state of terrible excitement, her bra hanging open in back, her turtleneck pushed up, her pantiless crotch dripping feminine liquids. Lowering herself back onto all fours in front of the two powerful men, she put her lips to the mug.
The Italian voiced disapproval.
“He said turn sideways,” ordered Stone. “Flip your skirt up. He wants to see your ass.”
Sheila scooted to the correct angle. It was a little difficult to get her skirt up over her bare ass in her current position, but she managed it by putting her whole face down on the floor.
Bracing herself between her elbows, ass sticking enticingly in the air, she took a sip of the coffee. It was warm and sweet but no longer hot. Sheila found it surprisingly good. She took another sip, allowing the liquid to trickle down her throat into her come filled belly.
“Shall we return to our review of the contracts?” Stone asked his guest after they had watched her a few moments.
The Italian indicated his agreement. Thus they did turn to business, scarcely noticing the humiliated young woman, forced to drink at their feet. Sheila was happy for the momentary respite from their sadistic impulses, though she quickly realized she was facing a new problem.
She could not reach all the way into the mug with her tongue and mouth. She was pretty sure she had to finish it, and Stone had told her it had to be on the floor. What was she going to do?
As her efforts grew more noisy, she drew a reprimand.
“Sheila, mind your manners,” said Stone. “Polite young ladies do not slurp out loud.”
Sheila’s heart pounded in her chest. She pushed her face down quietly. It was impossible to reach. Surely they knew this.
She was going to have to say something. She was going to have to interrupt. She was terrified to do so, but she was even more scared to be caught out in an act of disobedience.
Meekly, she crawled to Stone’s feet. “Master?” she whispered.
He peered down around the side of his chair. “This had better be important, girl.”
“Yes, Master, I’m sorry, Master. But...I can’t finish the coffee.”
He looked at her with cold, unforgiving eyes. The lines of his mouth indicated his displeasure. “We will attend to you presently, slut. Strip and stand in the center of the room.”
His tone was eerily calm. She quickly thanked him and scampered away. Removing her shirt, bra and skirt, she stood at attention, precisely where he had told her.
The men continued with their conversation, bestowing on her nude form absolutely no attention. Somehow being ignored like this made her feel as hot as if she were being leered at. She was an object, a toy in storage, on wait for their amusement. She would feel pleasure...or pain at their whim.
Or she would feel nothing at all.
They were speaking in Italian, which made her feel even more left out. She might as well have been a pet. Eventually they looked in her direction and laughed.
“My guest would like a cigar,” said Stone to Sheila. “Offer him one.”
“Yes, Master.” The box was on the edge of his desk. She walked to it, her nerves on high alert; her bare feet prickling on the carpet. The box was made of fine wood. The cigars were the expensive kind, of the sort kept in aluminum tubes.
Presenting the box, bending humbly forward, Sheila awaited the Italian’s pleasure. It was her breasts that had his attention at the moment. Heavy and dangling. He made them shimmy, to and fro, applying the flat of his hand. Sheila could do nothing but stand there, holding the box. He was watching her face, looking for a reaction. She tried to remain stoic, pleasing.
He chuckled, taking a cigar. Very slowly, he unscrewed the top. She didn’t dare move. Putting the unlit cigar in his mouth, he put the tube to her lips. Sheila opened to receive the smooth metal, cool and kinky. He slid it inside, letting her suck. He pushed it in about halfway and left it there.
“Go,” he waved her off. “Give one to your Master.”
Sheila proffered herself, along with the cigars. She was careful to keep the Italian’s cigar case where he’d left it. Stone took a cigar for himself, unscrewing the top.
“Put the box on the desk,” he ordered.
She did so, full of trepidation. The look in his eye told her he had some new mischief in mind.
“Turn around, bend over. Touch the floor.”
The posture put her ass directly in front of him, completely vulnerable.
“Relax your muscles,” he recommended. “It will go in easier.”
“Master?”
He leaned forward lightly smacking her ass. “Silence, girl.”
“Yes, Master.” She felt a strange warmth inside her. He had spoken to her with a familiarity, a possessiveness that made her want to be very pleasing. She was his, and he was letting her know that. He owned her, and he was showing her off to another man.
At that moment, Sheila was sure she loved her Master. She wanted to do this for him; she wanted to take the tube inside her.
“Sheila is a virgin,” said Stone to the Italian. “I’m saving her cunt. I thought you might like to see the asshole in action, however.”
She shuddered as he pushed the tube into her pussy. Hadn’t he just said he wasn’t going to fuck her? No, he was just lubricating the tube, making it easier to fit in the narrower passage.
Stone slapped her ass again, telling her to concentrate, to make herself ready. She did her best. The tube was very rigid, and it felt so much larger this way. She let out a gasp as he thrust it up into her, a single push to claim her narrow canal.
“That’s a good slut,” he praised. “You’re a natural born anal slave.”
Sheila moaned, her mouth consumed by the tube. She wished she could speak to him. If she could, she would thank him and beg him to take her.
Stone went in with the tube another inch. She felt the pressure, tight against her walls, a sensuous, relentless invasion. It was starting to hurt, but Stone had his own agenda. In and out, like he was fucking her. If only he would put it in her pussy.
The Italian was saying something else, chuckling wickedly.
“An excellent idea,” said Stone. “Sheila. Please go to my guest. Provide your services as an ashtray.”
Sheila straightened herself, the tube still inserted up her ass. The Italian had lit his cigar and was puffing away. Sheila did not understand the order. How could she be an ashtray?
She looked at Stone in confusion. “Master, I don’t know w
hat to do.”
“It’s quite simple, slut, even for a simple brained woman like you,” Stone said.
He proceeded to enlighten her, step by step. Sheila nearly fainted. “Master, I beg you...” She spit out the cigar tube.
She stopped short, seeing it on the ground. She had released it without permission. Panicked, she picked it back up. “Sorry, Master...”
“Defy me again, slut,” he smiled as she pushed it deep between her cheeks. “Give me an excuse to shackle you to the bed in my apartment behind that door and call every male employee in the building up here to fuck you to his heart’s content.”
Sheila nodded vigorously. She thought of Johnny seeing her like that, semen leaking out of her violated hole, her lips swollen from sucking, her nipples misshapen from all the grinding teeth and pinching fingers. This, above all else, scared her...and excited her.
“Really, I don’t see why you’d be so upset,” said Stone. “My guest is honoring you. Never forget what you are. It’s not only for sex that you will be used. Your holes will serve lots of purposes over time.”
Sheila moved to the Italian to require the assumed position. It was awkward, not to mention terrifying. She was to make a bridge of her body, arms behind her, palm down, legs up, offering up her belly, legs spread so as to reveal her sexual opening.
The Italian ordered her closer, forcing her to put her hip directly against his seat. Sheila broke into a cold sweat. Every time he gestured with the cigar, he extended it over her flesh. The ash was red hot. She was terrified of the sensations it would bring should he drop it on her poor pussy.
He was letting the ash get longer. It was dangling, threatening to drop. Sheila whimpered, pleading for him to spare her. As if in answer, he flicked the ash over her belly. She clenched tightly on the tube in her anus. The cigar ash was warm, but it did not burn.
Sheila’s fear of the ash was quickly superceded by a new problem. Fatigue in her limbs. Her arms and legs were already cramping and aching. A bit of liquid dripped from her pussy, down her inner thigh. The weight of it, miniscule as it was, felt almost too much to bear.
She nearly slipped but managed to readjust herself before the men noticed. The Italian had more ashes, meanwhile. This time, he did aim at her crotch, tapping his finger directly over the end to release a bit of gray, white ash onto her inflamed pussy lips. Sheila mewled at the sensation.
The Italian kept right on smoking, building up a new supply of residue. This time he aimed for her chest. He managed to land it on her left nipple. The ash slid down the slope of her globe all the way down to the valley between her breasts.
Sheila’s belly button was treated to the next flick. She was making protest noises, trying to warn them that she could not stay up much longer. They ignored her. She finally went down, her sweat covered ass impacting on the carpet. She struggled back into place, though not without losing some of the ash.
Stone ordered her onto her knees. “Take the tube from your mouth, girl,” he said curtly. “Put your head back and open wide.”
Tears dotted her eyes. Sure enough, the Italian flicked his cigar onto her tongue. Humiliated, she let the ash sit until finally it began to dissolve, bitter and chalky. She swallowed it down. Twice more he repeated the action until the cigar was worn down enough for him to put it out.
To her great relief, he used the glass ashtray for this and not her poor skin.
“Sheila,” said Stone pleasantly, as though he were making the most minor of inquiries. “Would you like to lose your virginity now?”
She choked slightly on the answer, both from the ash and from the irony. “Yes, Master,” she replied, as though her own wishes meant anything.
“My guest has graciously agreed to attend to the matter.”
Her head swam. “Yes, Master.”
Was she not to be taken by the man who owned her?
“You may thank him, Sheila.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.
“Is that how a slave says thank you? Put your head to his feet.”
Sheila did so, her hair spilling about his shoe. “Thank you,” she murmured.
The Italian said nothing.
“Crawl to the shower,” Stone ordered. “Wash and dry your body thoroughly for my guest’s use. Wait for him in bed, on all fours.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I will be out of the office,” he said, adding to her feeling of impending isolation. “My guest will use you as long as he likes, and he will tend to your punishment as well.”
Sheila crawled across the carpet, soiled, miserable, and sick with the prospect of having the Italian’s huge cock in her. At the same time, she was more aroused than she had ever been in her life.
She was really a slave now, compelled to the most degrading of tasks and situations, without regard to her own desires. And yet it was in the thwarting of her desire that her true passion was born.
As she exited Stone’s office, using the doorway into his back apartment area, she felt a sense of dark readiness. This was it, she thought. The moment of truth. By the time she turned the shower on in his little bathroom, she had a dark smile on her face.
Soon she would have a man inside her. She’d be a slut for real and not just in her imagination. There was only one tinge of regret, one little fleeting sense of loss. And that was Johnny.
He could have been the first. If only he’d been bolder.
CHAPTER SIX
Jeremy Stone was not especially pleased with his new slave. It was not that she was failing his impossible commands. This was as it should be. How else would he break her spirit and set her up for grueling punishment? No, it was just that everything was going too easily, too smoothly. This girl was already a slave, already a crawling, cringing little bitch in her imagination.
As he walked down the hall from his office, he considered the matter. Was he becoming sated, was he requiring a greater challenge? This might be the case, but there was something about her, too. She was unusually romantic. The concept made his sick, but it was true. This poor, pathetic little female actually believed in love.
He ought to derive some satisfaction seeing her hopes dashed. But somehow he doubted that was possible. He had seen that look in her eye. The one that said she would only love him more no matter what he did to her.
A pity. He was going to have to dump her quicker than he had expected. The Italian could have her virginity. It was a splendid way to cement the acquisition of the man’s company, and it would give Stone a chance to get some fresh air.
He was at the elevator when the young man approached him.
“Mr. Stone, Sir? I was hoping to have a word with you, if I could?”
Stone regarded him. “You’re Johnny Tremaine, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Stone’s ears pricked. This was the same young man that Sheila was smitten with. Interesting. He smiled indulgently. “What can I do for you, my boy?”
“I hope I’m not out of order, Sir, but this has to do with your secretary.”
So...the lad had balls. Yes, this could be very interesting, just the entertainment Stone needed.
Stone feigned ignorance. “With Sharon, you mean?”
“Sheila, Sir, yes.”
“Of course, how silly of me. What about her?”
“It’s...I’m afraid it’s with regard to her personal life,” said Johnny, looking troubled.
“Her personal life? I hope it’s not a morals problem. Has she been having sex with other employees?”
Johnny tried to hide his angry reaction. Stone loved making his workers suffer like this. “No, Sir, she’s not that kind of woman.”
“Oh, I see,” Stone nodded innocently. “Well, she hasn’t been here that long. I don’t know her that well. She just strikes me as a little over anxious to please, shall we say. It’s obvious what men would want her for, and I wonder if she’d have the will power to refuse.”
Johnny’s ill disguised agitation revealed his
deeper emotions. The lad was in love. How charming. “I am concerned about her life out of work,” Johnny attempted to ignore the insults against Sheila. “Has she mentioned a boyfriend to you? Has she been acting strangely at all?”
“A boyfriend? No. And what in the world do you mean by acting strangely?” Stone knew perfectly well, of course. Obviously, Sheila had run into him earlier and told him the cover story, about having a Master on the side.
“Well...I almost hate to say it, but do you think she’s being abused? I mean I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but the way she seems to be covering things up, I’m suspicious.”
“What is she covering up?”
Johnny hesitated. Exactly what had Sheila shown him?
“Johnny, what is she covering up?” he repeated.
“The marks. She has marks on her,” said Johnny reluctantly.
“Marks? Where?”
Johnny frowned.
“I need to know,” Stone said, “or I can’t help.”
“They’re on her...posterior.”
Stone pursed his lips. “Sheila showed you this?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I know, that sounds bad, but it wasn’t...sexual. It just happened.”
“Yes,” Stone smiled. “I understand. And what sort of marks were they?”
“Welts. Red lines.”
“She was beaten?”
“By her Master is what she said. Though I think it’s just some abusive boyfriend she’s covering up for.”
“So Sheila claims to be a slave? A consensual one?”
“Yes. But that can’t be.”
“It can’t? You don’t believe in such things?”
Johnny furrowed his brow, trying to gauge where his boss was going with this. “I can’t say for everyone, I’m just concerned for Sheila.”
“Sheila is a submissive, you know. Her greatest joy is to please a man. That is clear in her work. I imagine it would apply in her love life as well.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Stone?”
“I’m not saying anything,” he shrugged. “Just that we can’t jump to conclusions. Tell me, my boy, did she look good with a whipped ass?”
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