by Dan Bruce
Of course it was normality that Emily sought, preferring to be busy in the office rather than idle at home with Les fussing over her as if she was an invalid. Having resolved to do so, she needed to get back to where she once was – become the old Emily Johnson again – a tight-assed, sharp-tongued, proper little madam who was strong and assertive and didn’t take crap from anyone, including some minion who worked on one of the floors below. She needed to obliterate the memory of Her Nemesis and free herself from the chains of his mastery.
Not an easy task after all that had happened! But nevertheless, Emily made a stab and attempted restoration: of a prim and proper mind that had gone so terribly astray; and of a body that ached for a variety of reasons and in places that had no business hurting. In order to keep away from temptation, she introduced some immediate changes into her routines; like making sure she left work at a reasonable time, keeping an eye on the office to ensure that there were always people around for her to leave with. If she was to succeed in her plan to free herself from her ruinous addiction, Emily knew she could never allow herself to be caught alone again in the elevator, easy prey for the man who seemed to know her every move and could play her like a hooked fish on a line.
For the next few days, Emily followed this strategy, using time and people to protect her from Her Nemesis and her own depraved nature that was being determinedly subdued. The elevator had been the tool – the initial arena for their verbal intercourse, and the means to take them to a physical level. By neutralising the weapon, Emily hoped she might win the battle she was fighting. Even still, she was nervous when she entered the elevator with co-workers, dreading that the man would be there to torment and goad her with his mean dark looks that were ever so fine, his manly musk that drove her wild, or even some words spoken in public – humiliating with revelations that she could never deny in his presence. Thankfully that never happened.
All through the following week Emily went about her business, though a few other changes in her behaviour were observed. At home she was a darn site more civil to Les, her hard put upon husband from the Welsh Valleys, rarely ever bossing him around or showing him discourtesy which had been the norm for most of their four year marriage. But she was also less sexual – the month of passion that she had treated him to, playing the dirty slut, demanding endless fucks, even going down on Les and sucking him off, came to an abrupt end. It was only when she received the relieving confirmation that she had not contracted any disease that Emily made an effort and allowed Les to screw her, which happened in the dark with tears in her eyes. Les didn’t comment on any of this behaviour – he was used to such vagaries, and he had always thought of Emily as his darling angel and not as his dirty whore.
At work Emily appeared to be normal, efficient and aloof – a tight assed bitch in other words, which was what most of her co-workers thought of her. But behind the professional facade of cool efficiency, Emily was edgy. Every phone call she took was done with apprehension, each knock on the door was greeted with alarm, when she walked along a corridor she would flick glances all around; her days were filled with dread and trepidation... and as the week progressed - a sense of disappointment.
Chapter 3
It came on a Tuesday.
Almost two weeks had elapsed since Emily had taken the journey down to the basement and surrendered to a man and the depravity of her nature. She had succeeded to a degree in fooling herself that she was actually putting it all behind her and that her life was returning to normal. She had even managed to kid herself that she was happy about the fact that no subsequent contact had been made – sold herself the ridiculous notion that she wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered that the man had probably moved on to some new tasty prey and had consigned Emily Johnson to history, another notch on his belt that was quickly forgotten having had his evil way with her. Emily had refused to acknowledge the growing anger that she’d been dismissed and forgotten so easily - that no attempt whatsoever had been made to engage again and reclaim the stake he had made – to use his bitch as a master should and treat her to those hours of promised rutting. It was only in the shower, alone and naked, that the naked truth occasionally surfaced and Emily absently played with herself, recalling the sex that she vowed could never be repeated, scratching an itch that just wouldn’t go away.
Neither would Her Nemesis! He was never going away. He was a man with a plan who was just biding his time, waiting for the next strike.
The strike came on a Tuesday, catching Emily by surprise. She had planned to go to lunch with some of her bitchy professional girlfriends, daring to face them having gathered her strength and veneered herself with comforting lies. It was supposed to be another step on the way to rehabilitation, but it all went up in smoke when the internal mail arrived containing a simple printed memo from an unknown source. Emily read it with shaking hands and a galloping heart in her chest.
‘Mrs Johnson. I am pleased to inform you that you will be working late tonight. You may leave at 6:45p.m. Have a nice day.’
The first reaction was joy – he hadn’t forsaken her! Then came excitement – he was going to use her again and give her all that she craved. Then came the voice of righteous indignity – he was going to use her again and take her back to square one – the very fabric of her life was a risk! Finding resolve, Emily crumpled the paper up and threw it in her waste bin then quickly retrieved it, worried it might be found and embarrassing questions asked. Before feeding it to the shredder, she pressed it out flat and read it again, seeing the same words. There could be no mistake about the meaning. It screamed out from the sheet, stark in black and white... Her Nemesis Master was telling her to get in the elevator at 6:45p.m. There was no threat, no attempt at blackmail – just a simple command. And Emily knew without doubt that she would be there despite all her resolve to ignore the message.
Why?
She didn’t analyse it. You might just as well have asked her why she had to breathe – it was a necessity – simple as that.
For the rest of the day it was constantly on Emily’s mind. She kidded herself that she would defy the command and leave at her normal time, but in her heart she knew she would do no such thing. She excused herself from the arranged lunch on the pretext of pressing work. Instead she went out and bought a new set of clothes so she had something to change into – just in case. She also bought some toiletries and a basic first aid kit which she placed in her Chanel bag to join the essentials she kept in there.
All through the afternoon Emily was restless, constantly checking her watch. Five o’clock came then five-thirty then six. She watched as the top floor emptied but made no attempt to leave. By six-thirty she was panicking and thought to make a dash, but the only place she went was to the restroom where she ensured everything was in order with regard to her bowels – again just in case – then she spent five minutes fixing her make-up and hair, even though she knew it would end up a mess. Her last act was to send a text message to Les to say she would be working late – probably very late. She wondered if she would actually go home.
At the appointed time Emily was standing at the elevator, Chanel bag in hand. She didn’t call for it. There was no need. The digital display showed that it was on its way. Her breathing became a bit laboured as she took on board the situation and gazed at the numbers as they steadily increased, announcing the elevator’s pending arrival at the top floor. She was feeling flushed and flustered, anxious yet expectant. She hated herself for buckling so easily – obeying the summons without question. But there was also excitement and wetness between the legs, for deep in her heart she knew what she craved. Emily swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and wiped away the sheen of perspiration from her brow. She felt like a teenager of on a big date. She felt so incredibly alive.
Then the bell dinged softly and the doors slid open.
WHAT!!!
Emily stared in shock and disappointment at a tall and exceedingly well built man. He was standing at the entrance,
a formidable figure, dressed in a very expensive black suit. He had more of a continental than British look about him, with olive coloured skin on his freshly shaved face that still hinted of dark manly stubble. Italian like his clothing was the conclusion Emily reached as she gawped at the towering hulk before her. His shirt was white and immaculately pressed. His tie was black and funereal. He wore dark sunglasses that prevented Emily from seeing his eyes, and his jet black hair was slicked back severely. This wasn’t Her Nemesis as Emily had expected, that ruggedly handsome dark haired hunk that Emily had called Master – but if anything this man looked scarier. Mafia hit-man was the initial conclusion and a shiver ran the length of Emily’s spine as she formed this impression. Then she shivered again as she made her own alternative assessment, electing on a Greek god, as was this classical scholar’s want. And if any man embodied it then this was the one – here stood ‘Hades’ god of the underworld – harbinger of doom and death.
She gazed at him, definitely wary and somewhat confused, wondering what on earth was going on. He probably gazed in return but with the shades it was difficult to tell. There was a frozen moment then he stepped aside to let Emily in. It was then that Emily spotted Her Nemesis Master who had been standing behind this larger man, concealed by his massive frame. The man who had used her a fortnight before, leaned forward to push the ‘hold’ button, all the while grinning at Emily. The woman stalled, her mouth hanging open, raw lust raging in her loins. She wanted to rush to him, but took a step back. This was not what she had expected – to have any sort of company. Yet again the man was changing the rules, and this new version wasn’t to Emily’s liking.
The man grinned. He absorbed her shocked gaze with nonchalant indifference, as if this new scenario was perfectly natural. “Hello again, Blondie,” he casually stated. “Or should I call you Mrs. Johnson? Please! Step inside! I trust you informed Les that you would be late again tonight. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take care of the cats whilst we take care of you.”
Emily gasped in shock, horrified to hear him using her name, even though she was a well known figure in the company. She was even more horrified that he knew the name of her husband and that she was the owner of two cats. What else did he know? Family connections – her bullying older sister, her hard put upon mother, her domineering father!
Emily began to stammer and shake her head. Was this a thinly disguised threat to expose her if she didn’t play along? The other occupant merely stared, or so Emily assumed, standing quietly with his hands clasping each other in front of him. Hades he was not, for that was only mythology, but mafia hit-man was still a strong possibility. That didn’t make Emily feel any more at ease.
She was determined to back away, but Her Nemesis Master reached for her, grasped her wrist lightly and tugged her into the elevator. She didn’t resist except to shake her head as her eyes instantly welled up with tears. She stumbled into the elevator and the doors slid quietly shut behind her. In her panic, Emily happened to notice the buttons on the panel, and the basement was the only one illuminated. There could be no question – they were going to the changing room again, and this time they would have an extra player! A threesome! Now that was new territory Emily hadn’t considered, but she’d assumed another woman, certainly not another man.
Emily choked out a sob and looked at Her Nemesis, still shaking her head and trying to protest. The man laughed and reached out to cup Emily’s breast, squeezing gently before moving his other hand under her skirt to find Emily’s pussy drizzling in the gusset of her thong.
“Now don’t be coy, Blondie,” the man harshly growled whilst groping Emily roughly. “I know you want this – the cunt never lies. I bet you’ve been climbing the walls for the past two weeks, wondering why I’ve not been in touch. Did you miss me? Have you missed my cock? I bet you’ve been thinking about it all the time, masturbating whilst dreaming about it, frigging your pussy and your filthy ass wishing it was me ramming my dick inside you... Good news about the results from the clinic, by the way – I bet you were relieved. It was a relief to my friend here as well because he doesn’t want to wear a rubber when he stuffs his cock inside you.”
So that was it confirmed – she was to be pimped by Her Master. Emily looked to the mafia hit-man who stood dispassionately staring straight ahead, apparently ignoring the lewdness before him and the statement that he’d soon get involved. Having registered the blankness that screamed confirmation, Emily returned her look to Her Nemesis and shook her head. She began to sob louder, stuttering a protest that she didn’t want to do this again, and certainly didn’t want to involve a third party.
Her Nemesis moved in closer to Emily and she instinctively stepped back from him, but the man just pressed himself against Emily as her back hit the wall. The man’s cock was hard beneath his trousers, and he grinded it slowly against Emily’s groin, rocking sensually back and forth as he roughly fingered her gushing pussy.
“Don’t be silly, Blondie. You know fine well that you want to do this. You want more rough and dirty sex. You want my cock riding you hard. You want to be abused and treated like shit, and that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”
Emily groaned quietly and turned her head to the side as the man spewed out this filth and humped away at her groin. Her bag slipped from her fingers and Emily raised her freed hand and gripped at the man’s shoulders, half-heartedly trying to push him away. She could have used that free hand to reach out and press the ‘lobby’ button, but she made no such attempt. Instead she allowed the man to continue to hump and grope her, putting on a show of vulgarity for the newcomer who looked like a mafia gangster, but was actually a rich banker from Milan. His profession was irrelevant; Emily would think of him as Hades, god of the underworld – for it was to the basement she was sinking – her own private hell!
DING!
Emily gasped at the sound that announced their arrival. Whimpering like a child, she saw the doors slide open – she cowered away shaking her head, but the man grabbed her wrists and turned her around. Emily stumbled out into the hall, darkened and deserted. Her Nemesis pushed her roughly through the space and she fell onto her hands and knees. She looked behind and saw Her Nemesis get out and much to her horror, Hades followed behind carrying the Chanel bag she had dropped.
“Please don’t do this to me again. Please!!” Emily wept - her fear and shame prevailing over the lust that still raged for this man. “I’m not the kind of woman you think I am. I have a husband that I love! You can’t do this to me again! I don’t want to be here. Please, let me go!”
Her Nemesis smiled at Emily’s pleas and tears then reached out to stroke her hair in a mark of affection that she assumed was pure fake. He calmed her for a moment with this tender display then lowered his hand to Emily’s neck where her trademark string of pearls hung. The pearls were softly grasped and Emily chokingly pulled towards the man’s face so he could whisper in her ear.
“Don’t be silly, Blondie. Of course you’re that kind of woman. You can’t fool me. I know you want to be here and get used and abused again. Why else were you standing waiting for the elevator at the time I told you? You’re a cock loving whore, Blondie, and you’re addicted to mine. You want my cock in your mouth and you want my cock in your ass. And you certainly want my cock back in your cunt. Remember what I promised you? Hours of hard rutting – the best fucking of your life with more orgasms than you thought possible - and now’s your chance to earn it. You think about it constantly. I know this. You’re a dirty, dirty, cock loving slut! And most importantly – you’re my bitch! I own you, Blondie, so cut out the crap! I need you to do this for me, and that’s the end of the matter.”
Releasing the pearls and backing away, he stroked the side of Emily’s face with the back of his hand as he allowed his words to register. And sure as eggs they did! Memories were stirred, truths were awoken, that torrential lust was brought to the surface and Emily knew she could never refuse. She wanted the sex and she wanted the hurt, she w
anted the humiliation. But most of all she wanted to please – this was Her Master and he had used a telling word: ‘need’! He needed her to do this, and that gave her a worth that was more precious than her pearls.
It was a clever ploy, for Emily would need such help. That was made clear when the man reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew something chunky that glinted in the poor light. At first Emily could not discern what it was, but when it was held in front of her she let out a heart-wrenching cry.
“No! No! Please no!”
Speaking loud and clear for the benefit of all, Her Nemesis gave an answer. “Pearls are all very well for up on the top floor, but this is what dirty bitches should wear in the basement. Now be a good cock whore and let me put it around your neck.”
Emily shuddered and sobbed, she hung her head in shame, making it all the easier for Her Nemesis to dress her in the thick leather collar which was attached to a chain leash. She sobbed even louder as the chain was chugged and Emily was dragged on her hands and knees towards the changing room, compliant but rueful, in a torrent of emotion. Hades followed a couple of paces behind, like a shadow of death even though there was little light, his shaded eyes fixed to the bitch’s tight ass. Emily failed to hear it above the panic screeching in her head, but for the first time in her presence the new man made a sound – a deep throaty growl of beastly anticipation – for that fabulous booty hugged tight in the skirt was everything he’d been promised and had earned the right to enjoy.
Crawling like a dog, she arrived at the changing room and was led inside. The fluorescent lights buzzed above her head; she noticed that one of the bulbs was blown so the room was cast in a dimmer light than before. The floor was still dirty and wet; she could feel it on her hands and bare knees. If anything, the room was even grubbier than during the first incident, which was a damning indictment indeed! There was a major difference this time however: the bench by the wall under the clothes hooks was now in the centre of the room and a towel hung on one of the hooks.