“Sir?”
“Did it seem right or fitting? Hell, did it stir your blood? Did seeing a pretty young lady in such blatant subjugation make you want to do things to her yourself?”
“Mr. Stone, this is not why I came to you.”
“Isn’t it? Then how about explaining to me how it came to pass that you were gazing at my secretary’s ass? Did she seek you out to show you her boyfriend’s handiwork, or did you seek her out? Which is it, Mr. Tremaine? Are you the company ass inspector? Do all the single females submit to your scrutiny?”
Johnny clenched his fists. Stone wondered how much more he would take. “I asked you a question, Mr. Tremaine.”
“No, Sir,” he said, with remarkable self-control. “I don’t inspect women. Sheila is a friend.”
Stone laughed scornfully. “Yes, quite a friendship there.”
“I’m sorry to have taken up your time, Mr. Stone. Good day.”
The lad was neither picking a fight nor standing there and taking it. Unusual. “Mr. Tremaine, wait a moment. I might be able to help you.”
“Sir?” He was understandably wary.
“I will take it upon myself to make inquiries. For her well being. But there is something I must ask you.”
“What is that, Mr. Stone?”
“What are your intentions toward Sharon?”
“It’s Sheila. And my intentions are good.”
“You are interested romantically?”
“I haven’t made a secret of that with her. And I won’t with you, either.”
Stone considered him. “What department are you in?”
“Accounting.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Eighteen months.” He sounded ready to be fired.
“I’m going to talk to your supervisor. I think it’s time we looked at a promotion.”
“Thank you,” said Johnny, tentatively. “And may I ask if you’ll get back to me about Sheila?”
“You’ll hear from me soon enough.” Stone liked his attitude. This was a man he could trust to push through deals. Assuming he could cure him of this being in love business. Risking everything for money was one thing, or power or even sex, but to protect the honor of a slut? That was sheer foolishness.
Johnny inclined his head. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.”
Jeremy watched him walk down the hall. Yes, he was going to have fun testing this boy further. He would certainly get more mileage out of Sheila with him around.
It was all economics, really. Seeing a return on investment, turning a profit. A woman was like any other commodity. And so was human suffering for that matter.
This philosophy was what made Jeremy Stone great.
Not to mention feared.
Feeling better than he had all week, he got on the elevator. It was time to check on a few irons in the fire elsewhere. The Italian, meanwhile, would take of Sheila and break her in.
He was tempted to watch, but it would make her suffer worse to have him absent. One day, she would thank him for his efforts, as would her future users.
Maybe Johnny would thank him, too, if he managed to show the mettle required to win the woman from him. Sheila was a good prize, he supposed, for a young man in love. He must take her as a slave, though. He must possess her in strength, ready to abuse and control her.
This was manhood, this was the key to success in the world.
Johnny would learn this.
Or not. Life was survival. Some made it, some didn’t.
As for Jeremy, he would always be on top. Until his very last breath on earth.
Jones was waiting for him out front, holding the back door open to the limo. “Where to, Sir?”
“Just drive,” he said. “I need fresh air.”
Too much love, too much devotion, that was the problem. He thought of Sheila, writhing, in anguish, the sweet mix of pleasure and agony, the Italian squeezing and abusing her tender body.
He felt better already.
***
The Italian was communicating to Sheila in the universal language of pain. Hard smacks to her ass upon arrival told her she was to turn over, laying on her back for him. His hand on her breasts, slapping back and forth mercilessly told her to put her hands over her head, palms up in a posture of submission. Further slaps to her defenseless pussy served as the cue for her to open her legs for him.
She was so slow in grasping his desires. Tears streamed down her face as she begged for patience. He showed none. Grabbing her poor tit in his hand, he mauled it cruelly.
“Take cock, slut,” he warned menacingly.
“Yes, I’ll take it,” she promised. “Please, stop hurting me.”
“I’ll hurt you plenty,” he struck her cheek.
“Yes,” she moaned. “I’m sorry.”
“You better be wet, slave.”
“Yes, Sir.” Sheila was wet, all right. Her virgin pussy was dripping; her scent was filling the air.
“I’m gonna fuck you hard,” he warned.
“Oh, god, yes...”
The Italian’s hands clamped down on her wrists. “Wider,” he growled, wedging his knee in her crotch.
Sheila gasped, trying to spread further. He ground his knee cap into her pussy. She screamed.
“Take it, cunt.” The Italian slammed home, breaking her hymen with such force that Sheila nearly fainted. She couldn’t believe she could absorb that much cock.
The man gave her no breathing room. Sheathing himself to the hilt, he rose again and thrust down, driving her deep into the mattress. Her pleasure meant nothing. She was a fuck object, pinned underneath him, little more than a rubber doll to sate him.
Her pussy was on the verge of explosion. This is what she had craved, this very callousness. The roughness, or his hands, his hard body. He was having sex with her with no more respect than he had dumping ashes on her body. Ashtray, sex partner, it was all the same.
He gave no warning when he came. It was a private release, thunderous and so intensely personal that she felt like she was intruding to be here. Grunting, he filled her with voluminous amounts of come.
She feared he might fall asleep on her, but at last, he rolled to his back. Grabbing her hair lazily in his fist, he forced her head down onto his still half hard cock. Sheila understood she was to lick him clean of her own juices and his semen, too.
He kept her there, even after he was glistening and pure. The Italian was wanting a second hard on, and she was going to give it to him. Sheila kissed and sucked at him until he was like iron once more. Satisfied with her oral efforts, he lifted her head and pointed.
“Sir, I don’t understand, please tell me,” she begged.
The Italian growled impatiently. Grasping her hips, he picked her up like a rag doll and set her down on his cock. She began to orgasm at once. He slapped at her breasts, re-focusing her on his pleasure.
She couldn’t help herself, she was emptying out, completely helpless and overcome. She was a slut, a dick loving slut. “S—so good, Sir,” she hissed.
Enraged, the Italian lifted her off and tossed her backwards, clear off the bed. She landed on her side on the floor.
“Stupid whore. You think I am here to get you off, like a gigolo?”
“Forgive me,” she cried, the pain screaming up her body.
“Bring my belt,” he ordered. “Run.”
Sheila staggered to her feet. “Yes, Sir.” Her fingers trembled as she pulled the belt free from the loops. No man had ever been this big in her fantasies, or this angry.
“Here you are, Sir,” she presented it, placatingly.
“Get on your back,” he snatched it from her, unmollified. “Spread wide, lift your worthless cunt in the air.”
Oh, god, he was going to whip her pussy. “Sir...Master, please, don’t...”
The Italian bared his teeth. “Move it,” he lashed out.
He struck her on the ass and again on the belly. She sought relief through obedience, putting her naked body on the
bed as he wanted it. But this only opened her to real punishment. Nothing in her reality or her dreams could match the sensation of the leather sailing down onto her tender lips. She cried and begged and pleaded. She would do anything, anything at all. It hurt so badly. Deep inside, a burning that was made that much more infernal because it came matched with fresh sexual heat.
She was doomed. Doomed and damned.
He stopped whipping her short of orgasm. She continued to twitch as though a red hot cock were striking her. A poker, burning metal, invading, piercing.
Calling her a name in Italian, he ordered her down off the bed. His next order was coarse, harsh and humiliating. Sheila did not hesitate, however, not for a second.
He made her lick his ass for a long time. Slow and lingering, interspersed with kisses and heartfelt thanks. She was never so happy to be in place, servicing a man. The Italian could not punish her anymore while she was doing this. And she could always hope she was managing at last to make him happy.
“On the bed,” he told her. “Ass in the air.”
Woozy as hell, she did as she was told. She didn’t know if he wanted to beat her more or what. It turned out he wanted to get off inside her again. It was a straight pounding. Sheila just braced herself, anticipating his second load. Her pussy ached, but she didn’t come. She wanted to be a quiet, non-responsive hole.
A pure slave who wouldn’t dare enjoy.
The Italian withdrew just before ejaculation. She felt his semen on her ass, warm, hot squirts.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you...Master.”
The Italian found a pair of handcuffs. Securing one of her wrists, he dragged her off the bed. Holding her hand over her head painfully, pulling her up to tiptoes, he made her use her other hand to scoop his come off her ass.
“Eat,” he ordered.
Sheila licked the semen from her hands until it was all gone. The Italian found a hook in the ceiling from which to hang her. He did so, threading the chain through and securing her other wrist. She was up on tiptoes, stretched painfully.
The Italian slapped her belly and gave her a wink. “Not bad...for a virgin.”
She lowered her eyes, surprised to find a modicum of modesty still left in her. The Italian laughed at this, seeming to enjoy it almost as much as had coming inside her virgin hole.
He left without another word, closing the door behind him.
Sheila was alone. Deflowered, dripping semen, sporting fresh wounds across her pussy. She was exhausted enough to sleep a year, and yet, were her Master to come for her now, she would eagerly lay for him, doing all the work, pleasing him and making him want her.
She belonged to him, now more than ever.
If only he would come and abuse her, so she could show him how well she could take it, how much she wanted and needed it.
His slut. Stone’s whore and bitch and cunt.
And his secretary, too...if he ever let her get back to work.
She smiled a little at that, thinking of how naïve she had been masturbating under her desk.
A million lifetimes ago, that’s how long it felt.
A million down...and a million more to go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jeremy was catching the late news on the plasma television in the den. Sheila was with him, multi-tasking. She was naked, naturally, and squatting so as to be able to hold the tray at the correct height for him to reach his drink. Being a piece of furniture was only the beginning of her value, though. She was also offering idle entertainment, taking weights on her nipple and labia clamps.
Lead sinkers, which he was adding one by one to the tiny suspended trays. She had good firm breasts, though they did tend to distend after a while. Pulling the channel changer from between her teeth, he changed to a different news network. He replaced it, noting as she clamped down delicately and obediently.
A lot was riding for the little slut on her behavior and she was indeed trying quite hard. If she managed to please him enough the rest of the night, he would allow her to sleep chained at the foot of his bed. If she fell short, she would be leashed outside on the roof of the penthouse, in the pouring rain.
Poor thing wasn’t going to last, though, not holding up the tray and enduring the weights. Especially the ones on her labia. Pulling and distorting the needy flesh.
Sheila whimpered for mercy, imploring with her eyes, like the sweet little pet she was.
“Not like your dreams, is it?” he chuckled, sitting comfortably beside her on the easy chair.
She shook her head no.
He removed the channel changer. “What sort of blow job could I expect from you right now?”
“The best, Master,” she abased herself with convincing sincerity. “Please...I beg for the opportunity.”
“Can I count on a sweet, hot mouth fuck?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Or shall I call Mr. Jones again?”
The slave quivered. She had not had a good experience with Mr. Jones earlier this evening. “Please, Master, I will be your hot hole. I beg to lick and suck and swallow you. Use your slave.”
Stone took the drink and the tray but left the sinkers and clamps. “You may attempt to satisfy me.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” Sheila scooted over and went to work, oblivious of the pain to her body. She was servile and attentive, infinitely more aware of herself as a pleasure vessel than she had been just a night ago.
The sum of her experiences were taking a toll, teaching her and beating her down into a place of fear and need and true slavery. Each use was proving worse for her than the last. The culmination was Mr. Jones, who had methods, unspeakable ways of breaking a female. He had learned his craft in the Orient, where women have been regarded as pets and property since the dawn of recorded history.
A single session with Mr. Jones was all it took to change a woman. Thereafter, she would cringe in his presence, shrink from his gaze, turning hot shades of red and purple. A single pointed finger, a raised eyebrow, a cross word would cause her to go down, whimpering like a dog.
Jones was his secret weapon, his dark agent allowing him to take the more enjoyable role of Oriental pasha, cruel but light spoken, gently refined in his tortures. It was enough for little Sheila to know Jones was at hand, and that she could be returned to him at any point.
Sheila inhaled his shaft. She worked her tongue furiously. How much more active she was now, so obedient and cooperative, looking up at him for approval.
“Good slut,” he patted her head, flipping through the channels.
Sheila responded to the positive reinforcement with gusto. Long, slow motions, excellent suction.
“Getting to be quite the little trained cock sucker, aren’t we?” he mused. “But pray tell, how do you respond to a little curve ball?” Stone plugged up her nose, leaving her no breathing avenue but her mouth.
Her eyes widened, but she kept on fellating him as long as she could. Finally, she grew short of breath. Catching her trying to inhale as her mouth moved to the tip of him, Stone grabbed her hair in his fist and pushed her back toward the thicker end.
“Uh uh, my little too-smart-for-her-own-good bitch. You don’t get out of it that easy.”
Sheila made little gurgles. She looked at him, helplessly submissive. A day ago, she would have been fighting for her life, now she was throwing herself on his mercy, knowing he had the right to gag and choke her as long as he wished.
“If I were you,” he advised, “I’d make me come quickly.”
Sheila worked her mouth, pressing desperately from every angle, trying to finish him off while she had air left. It was the complete and total domination of the situation that allowed him to ejaculate. Spurt after spurt, down her greedy throat.
He held her until he had nothing left. Releasing her, he gave her a moment to gasp, gulping down fresh air as she had his come.
“Clean,” he held up his cock.
His trained slut fell to work, running her tongue
all over him, removing all traces of semen.
“Submit,” he barked a second command, one of several she was learning.
The lovely Sheila went to her belly, no doubt feeling the agonizing pull of the clamps. But what could she do? She was a pet, and she did not want punishment.
Her tiny lips kissed at his feet, completing the action required for the Submit command.
“Kneel up,” said Stone. “Time for your treat.”
Sheila’s eyes watered only slightly as she accepted the treat, hard and crunchy between pearl white teeth, her hands held up like paws. Two things had changed since he first started training her with the dog biscuits. First, she had endured a session with Mr. Jones. Second, she was flat out famished, far too hungry to resist even the most demeaning form of nourishment.
Keeping her unfed since breakfast was part of his overall plan. A woman fixated on food, knowing herself completely dependant on a male to receive it, was an aroused, eager to please woman. Only the strongest and least malleable of males was capable of taking such control over his female.
Far from resenting him, a woman got wet, hot and eager.
Simply ordering for a woman could often be enough to get her in bed. Lean across and whisper that she is to eat only at his direction, no more, no less and you will be lucky to get her out of the restaurant without having to fuck her silly.
“Does Sheila like her treat?”
Sheila crunched the biscuit into manageable pieces, swallowing it down, like come--to join the come already in her belly. “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
“You are quite welcome, my dear.” He smiled broadly. “By the way, have I mentioned your date tomorrow evening?”
“My date, Master?”
“Yes, darling Sheila. You will be going out to dinner with Johnny Tremaine.”
“Johnny?” she repeated. “From work?”
“The very same. I trust you won’t mind too much?”
She bit her lip. “I...It’s just that I won’t know what to say, Master.”
“You’ll just tell him all about your fictitious Master. I’m sure he’ll ask plenty of leading questions. Be sure and get him nice and turned on. Not that it will take much.”
Worry clouded Sheila’s eyes.
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