by Paul Blades
Devlin was on the telephone arguing with someone about pricing and delivery dates. Anna did not see the servant leave and knew that she had been left alone with the fearsome man only when she heard the sound of the heavy door closing behind her. She stood for a moment, watching Devlin’s animated face but tuning out the conversation. Her heart was beating wildly and her arms were trembling. She was standing at the corner of the desk and was unsure of whether she should take a chair or await her prospective despoiler’s command. Devlin looked up at her, his eyes roaming her body knowingly and then directed his attention back to the call.
“I don’t care what your problem is,” he said. “You promised me Tuesday and it better be Tuesday or we’re going to have to revisit our relationship!....No, I don’t understand….Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it…I’m just going to say this one more time. Deliver the goods on Tuesday or don’t deliver them at all! And the price stays the same, got it?” He slammed the receiver down into its cradle.
Devlin looked at his watch and then up at the primly, but elegantly dressed, young woman. “You’re five minutes late,” he noted with disdain.
Anna was taken aback by his hostility. “I, I’m sorry,” she began to sputter. “I was…”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Devlin interrupted rudely. “When I say seven o’clock, I mean seven o’clock. Understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin,” Anna replied meekly. Things were not getting off to a good start. Maybe this was all a mistake, she thought. Her trembling had spread from her arms to her knees and she hoped that the callous man didn’t notice it.
“Did you bring the letter?”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin,” Anna answered. She could not suppress the tremulousness in her voice.
“Give it to me,” he ordered.
The frightened, nervous woman edged her way closer to the desk and reached into her small handbag. She had written four or five versions of the note, trying to set down the terms of the confession that the man had demanded in a way that would at least give her some wriggle room should it be disclosed and setting forth what she hoped would be extenuating circumstances. She had settled on a short and sweet statement: “I, Anna Addunizio, admit to embezzling the sum of $227,475.28 from the Wayne County Young Women’s Center.” She had signed it but left it undated as per Devlin’s instructions.
Anna leaned over the broad desk and handed the note to Devlin. While he perused it, she took a seat in one of the straight backed, padded chairs in front of his desk. As she sat down, she wiped her sweaty hands on her soft, light tan skirt.
Devlin looked up. “Who told you you could sit down?” he asked accusingly.
“N-no one,” Anna replied.
“Then stand up while I read this.”
“Y-yes, Mr. Devlin,” Anna answered obediently.
“And don’t give me all of this ‘Yes, Mr. Devlin. No, Mr. Devlin,’ crap. When I give you an order, just do it.”
Anna felt her eyes begin to water. Humiliated at the man’s coarse tone and brisk manner, she suppressed her polite reply to his churlish instructions and stood. She gripped her handbag tightly in her right fist as Devlin read the note twice. He put it down on his desk.
“Okay, that’ll do,” he said with finality. Anna felt like some terrible threshold had been crossed. He looked over Anna’s trembling form. “I thought I told you to get all dressed up,” he said, disdain in his voice.
“I-I did, Mr. Devlin.”
“You don’t get it Anna, do you? You’re a whore now. An expensive one, I’ll grant you that, and maybe, to your own mind, for a good purpose. But you’re a whore nonetheless and you’ve come dressed like your going to a PTA luncheon. I assume that that’s the best that you have.”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin,” Anna squeaked out. She was mortified both at Devlin’s coarse assessment of her new status in life and his insulting evaluation of her best efforts to look sexy. This was not starting well at all.
“We’ll have to do something about that. Have you eaten dinner?”
Anna was surprised at the question. She had, actually, eaten dinner—a bowl of soup. She had promptly thrown it up. She doubted that she could keep anything down now, although she was hungry.
“No, Mr. Devlin,” she answered.
“Okay. We’ll eat,” the man announced, matter of factly. He pressed a button on his phone. A man’s voice answered.
“Yes, Mr. Devlin?”
“Is dinner ready?”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin.”
“Set a place for Miss Addunizio. She’s to be our guest for the weekend.”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin.”
Devlin began to rise from his chair. Anna felt a surge of courage. “Mr. Devlin, you haven’t said anything about the money. How do I know that you’ll pay it?”
The sharply dressed man looked at her angrily. “Are you doubting my word?”
Anna courage took a steep dive. “N-no, Mr. Devlin. But the money needs to be deposited by Monday. I have to pay the Center’s bills and make payroll.”
Devlin sat back in his chair. “You’ll get your whore’s wages Monday morning, Ms. Addunizio. It will be all cash and deposited in your personal bank account. You will then write a check to the agency. This will ensure that there is proof positive that you took the money. Is that all right with you?” His question was clearly rhetorical, but Anna answered it anyway.
“Yes, Mr. Devlin,” she replied.
“All right then,” he said. “Come with me. Leave your pocketbook here. You won’t be needing it.”
Devlin led her from his study back to the foyer and then down the long hallway to the right of the stairs. They entered a small, elegantly appointed room with a dark blue rug and light green, pastel walls. In the middle was a small, mahogany table set with fine china for two. Tall, crystal glasses of water sat at each place setting with sparkling, silver utensils on each side of the elegant plates. Devlin indicated Anna’s chair and she sat down. He sat down across from her.
Dinner was surreal after the coarse greeting the man had given her. His servant wheeled in covered dishes on a cart from the adjoining kitchen and served them both. Devlin peppered her with questions during the meal. How old was she? Where had she come from? Where did she go to college? His tone was, if not amiable, at least polite. Anna answered, at first, in short, direct replies, but when the conversation came to the Center and how she got it started, she became more expansive.
The meal started with a fresh, crisp, Waldorf salad and was followed by medallions of veal covered with a light, white wine sauce, small, roasted potatoes with rosemary sprinkled on them and crisp stalks of asparagus. Anna watched as Vincent, she had heard Devlin call his servant by name, poured out large servings of the pleasant, dry, white sauvignon. Devlin encouraged her to drink it down and insisted that she have a second glass. Anna welcomed the softness and warmth the wine brought to her body. It would make what she had to do later just that much easier to have her senses dulled. It also made Devlin seem just a little less foreboding, a little more attractive.
Vincent had cleared away the remnants of their meal and had served Anna a decaffeinated latte at her request. Devlin ordered and received a demitasse of espresso and a snifter of cognac. He leaned back in his chair after taking a long sip and perused Anna’s body. The room was ominously silent.
“Okay, Anna,” he said after a few moments. “Let me see your tits.”
The order was shocking in its callousness, especially after the refined and civilized meal they had just consumed together. Devlin’s insulting attitude back in his office had faded from Anna’s mind. This brought her right back to reality.
“Here?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course, here,” Devlin replied. “Are you stupid or something?”
“B-but, Vincent...”
“Let’s get something straight, Anna,” Devlin said harshly. “You’re my whore. For one year. You do what I say, when I say it. If you’re not willing to do that
you can get out right now. I have your confession. It’s all I need. You’re not my lover. You’re not my girlfriend. You’re my whore and you better start acting like one. If I tell you to strip, you’ll strip. If I tell you to suck my cock, you’ll suck my cock. Do you understand?”
Anna’s eyes had welled up with tears. This was not what she had hoped it would be. She had been deceived by Devlin’s brief, polite treatment of her.
Anna’s unhappiness was compounded when Vincent reentered the room. He had a small plate of mints and, setting it down on the table, he started to brush up the crumbs from the delicate, lacy tablecloth. When he was finished he stood by the side of the room awaiting his employer’s desires.
“I’m waiting, Anna,” Devlin insisted. “Don’t worry about Vincent. He’s seen tits before. And I’m guessing yours aren’t anything special anyways.”
Anna leaned back in her chair. There was about four feet separating her from Devlin across the small table. This was the moment of truth. Either she complied with his coarse demand or she didn’t. There would be no negotiation. Any chance that she would be able to convince the authorities that she had nothing to do with the theft of the Center’s funds was lost as a result of her confession to Devlin. So it was either suffer the shame and humiliation of being her cruel benefactor’s plaything or the scandal of being exposed as a thief.
Stifling a sob, Anna took up the soft, elegant, cloth napkin from the table and wiped her lips nervously. She placed it down and, after casting a troubled look at Vincent, seized the hem of her tight, knit sweater. She took a deep breath and began to pull it upwards. It rose over her breasts, up over her face and then over her head. When it was clear of her long, flowing, black hair, she dropped it to the floor next to her chair.
Anna had firm, ample breasts, not showgirl sized, but more than enough for a handful. She had worn a white bra that covered her nipples and areolas. There was a pattern of fine lace etched on the filled cups and a trace of lace along the tops. Her stomach tightened and soured as she reached behind her to loosen the hook that connected the straps. As she did, she noted unhappily that her breasts jutted out invitingly from her chest. Reluctantly, she let the shoulder straps of her delicate garment hang loose on her arms and then, crossing her hands in front of her, drew them down. Her soft, smooth mounds were revealed to the eyes of the men. She dropped the bra to the floor on top of her sweater and then leaned back in her chair, erect.
Devlin’s eyes were drinking her up. He had his snifter of cognac in his hand and he swirled it a couple of times and took a sip. Anna was trying not to cry.
“They’re better than I expected, Anna,” Devlin said appreciatively. Anna’s areolas were wide and smooth, darker than her Mediterranean skin. Her nipples were short and fat. They had stiffened from fear.
Devlin looked at Vincent. “Give her a snifter of cognac,” he ordered. “I think that she needs it.”
The tall, silent servant took a large, round glass from the dark, mahogany china closet along the wall and placed it in front of Anna. The cognac, a forty year old Napoleon, was already on the table and he pulled the cork free, pouring Anna a good two inches of the amber colored liquor.
Anna was grateful for the proffer of the booze. She leaned forwards and took the glass in her sweaty right hand. As she moved, she felt her breasts sway and regretted it. She knew that their movement would draw Devlin’s attention and when she looked up at him, her assumption was proven correct. Devlin’s eyes were fixated on the round, exposed mammaries.
The unhappy woman took a long drink of the liquor. She wanted to blot out, if possible, her feelings of humiliation and self disgust. It would probably take the rest of the bottle to do the job right, but any little bit helped. It was so strange to be half naked in this cultured, well appointed room, Devlin’s servant standing obsequiously on the side. It was like some kind of movie and she was an actor in it. Could she play the roll of a brazen whore? She had to.
Devlin was staring at her almost unnaturally. “Take another drink,” he ordered. Anna compliantly absorbed a large mouthful. The liquor burned as it went down, but it sent a welcoming numbness to her brain.
“Finish it up,” Devlin instructed her. Anna brought the elegant, curved glass to her lips and, leaning her head back, let the balance of the cognac pour into her mouth and then down her throat. She closed her eyes as it went down in an attempt to blot out the reality around her, but she could not erase the vision of her exposed breasts, rising as she tilted her head backwards, and then falling again as she lowered the glass and opened her eyes.
“You can go,” Devlin instructed his servant. Vincent gave a nod and quietly left the small room. The door to the kitchen swung closed behind him.
When Vincent was gone, Devlin turned his attention back to his whore. “Come here and suck my prick,” he said coldly.
His words hit Anna like a fist. This was not what she had expected at all! Suppressing a sob, she slowly rose from her chair. Here was the moment of truth, the moment that she had been dreading. But it was better to get it over with than to be dangling on a precipice all night wondering how and when her initiation as Devlin’s slut would begin. She felt wobbly on her high heels as she crossed the short distance between her and her owner. “It’s all for the Center,” she told herself, tying to steel herself for the unpleasant task ahead. “I have to do this. There’s no other choice.”
Devlin had turned his chair and had his legs spread as she approached him. His eyes were focused on Anna’s naked, swaying breasts. Without preliminaries, Anna knelt between his widespread thighs, his shiny, black, hand tooled shoes on either side of her. Resting herself on her heels, girding herself for her odious duty, she reached towards Devlin’s lap, took hold of the fly to his well pressed, black slacks and lowered the zipper. Once it was open, she freed his tumescent cock from the slit in his boxers and eased it out.
Before addressing Devlin’s long, fat meat, Anna gave a last, beseeching look at the man in whose power she had put herself. She didn’t really expect absolution from her obligations, but hope springs eternal. Seeing only the man’s lust filled face and his hard, fierce determination, Anna lowered her head into the man’s lap and took his hardening tool between her lips. She gave an unconscious, but audible, moan of self disgust and misery as the tube of flesh crossed her lips and entered her mouth.
Devlin emitted a sigh of satisfaction as Anna closed her soft, warm lips around his manhood. It rose quickly to its full length and hardness. Anna let the meat fill her, until the tip brushed against the entrance to her throat and then pulled her head back slowly, tightening her lips’ grasp around the insulting pole, letting them flow over the smooth, flat glans and then suckling at the meaty head. She placed her right hand around the stiff shaft and paid homage to the fatty helmet, tracing her tongue across the tiny slit at its top. Her stomach roiled at the taste and smell of the man’s arousal. She wanted to get this over quickly, but she didn’t want him to be critical of her efforts. Until the money was actually paid into the bank account of the Center, the agency was still at risk. Once that was done, maybe she would change her mind about the whole thing. What would Devlin be able to do about it, sue her? She tried to think of herself as giving a $225,000 blow job. Maybe she was a whore, but she was, as Devlin had said, an expensive one.
Alternating between servicing the head of Devlin’s fat prick and sliding her lips up and down its shaft, teasing it with her tongue, Anna felt a slight tingling in her loins. Devlin was a handsome, sexy man, not some slob in the back room of a bar. She knew that sometime tonight he would fuck her and she began to wonder what it would be like. It had been a long time. Could she assuage her shame at her forced prostitution by experiencing pleasure? Her body felt loose and warm from the cognac and she began to get into the rhythm of her task. She had sucked cocks before. By the time she left her oppressive, abusive home, she had been well taught. There wasn’t much difference between the duty she was performing now and the duties
that she had performed then. Maybe some. Now she was a full adult and had learned what true sexual pleasure was. It had taken years of therapy, but she had put her unpleasant experiences behind her. She had lived through that and she would live through this.
Devlin had placed his hand on her head and he was running his fingers through Anna’s long, jet black, silky hair. She could feel his movements under her, his hips shifting slightly, his knees widening. He was moaning steadily, calling out softly for her to “Keep sucking! Slower! Do that again!” She sensed that his climax was close and the thought that she had produced such passionate responses in the man gave her a strange sense of pride. Her free hand drifted over her thighs and she pressed her knees closed tightly together, squeezing her warming conch. She was chagrinned that sucking Devlin’s cock was stoking her passions. Her naked breasts had hardened and she felt them sway and tremble as she worked at her master’s rigid pole.
Anna didn’t think twice as the fat cock in her mouth began to jerk and pulse, spilling Devlin’s creamy seed within her. She swallowed it dutifully, ignoring its piquant taste, the feel of the hot meat slithering over her tongue and across the tender nerve endings of the roof of her mouth. She increased her tempo at his loins. Devlin moaned loudly and grunted each time his cock sent another spurt of his essence into her. His hand had tightened in her hair and his firm grip pulled at their roots, causing the young woman to moan in pain. She did not stop, though. She matched each jet of Devlin’s sperm with a hard, rapid descent of her mouth on his prick until, finally, the counterthrusts of the man’s hips began to wane and his hold on her hair began to loosen. When she sensed that the aftershocks of his orgasm had subsided, she quickly pulled her lips free. She had done it. It wasn’t so bad now that it was over.
“What are you doing?” Devlin asked angrily.
Anna looked up at his face with surprise. The taste of his sperm was still reverberating in her throat.