by Dan Bruce
“My mind at rest?” echoed Emily, her hopes rising again. Perhaps another summons was about to be made - this evening, or sometime soon. “My mind at rest about what, Master?”
“About the two things that are troubling you right now, airhead... Firstly the Italian with the massive dick - of course he was clean! So no need to sneak off to the clinic again... Well done for resisting the temptation to go there this morning. That shows an element of trust, Blondie – or at least enough intelligence to work it out that I’m not some suicidal Kamikaze who would stick his bare cock up an ass where some diseased piece of meat has just spurted inside.”
“Thank you for telling me, Master,” Emily answered with obvious relief.
“I won’t put you at risk, Blondie. Not in that way at least. I suppose loads of slime-balls would say the same, but you can believe me because I’m not one of them. A bastard, yes, but not a slime-ball... So you can absolve yourself of the one piece of guilt where that husband of yours is concerned... Now, regarding the second matter...”
“Which is, Master?” Emily asked, a touch of mischief to her voice, praying that this matter would be another encounter in the basement for more hot steamy sex. She was to be left shocked and disappointed by the answer.
“Oh stop acting the innocent... the collar of course. I take it you still have it and have brought it to the office.”
“Yes Master,” said Emily, her guts twisting in dread. This was the horror she had battled to suppress.
“That’s good! That’s saved you a punishment. If you had answered me wrongly then I would have beaten the shit out of you after work, without the compensation of a fucking at the end... So where is it?”
“It’s in my bag Master, along with the leash.”
“Not wearing it then!” the man sternly accused.
“No Master,” Emily fearfully admitted.
“Don’t you think you should?”
“Please, Master! Please! Don’t make me! Not at work!” Emily bleated.
“Ha! I knew that was your other big worry!” the man triumphantly claimed. “Well all right, Blondie. As you performed so well yesterday and made such an impression on our Italian friend to whom I owed a big favour, I’ll do you this favour in return: I’m not going to embarrass you in front of all the folks on the top floor by insisting that you wear the collar at all times. I’ll only expect you to wear it in my presence.”
“Thank you, Master!” cried Emily with relief. It was a relief that she was granted for only a few seconds.
“So make sure it’s round your neck this afternoon. I know it’s not my place, what with me being part of the rabble who actually do some work in the company - but I thought it might be nice to take a look around the top floor. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other, and I expect you to be properly dressed when we do... Hey, just think about it, Blondie – what if your boss was there as well. That would be funny - your two ‘masters’ together. Bit of a dilemma though, wouldn’t you say – what if we were to give you conflicting orders. Which ‘master’ would you obey?”
The line went dead without waiting for an answer.
Emily squeaked in horror. Her mobile phone fell from her hand to land on the bench with a thud. Tears welled in her sapphire eyes.
Her secret life had just taken a hideous turn and moved on to a new and frightening phase. From verbal abuse in the elevator to rough sex in the basement – that had been phases one and two. Now Her Nemesis had taken things out of the office and had made contact in the park. That in itself wasn’t so bad – it had been quite thrilling in a way after the initial shock. But the spectre that haunted her wasn’t going to stop there. All Emily’s suppressed fears were coming home to roost, following her back to the office to confront her in her sanctuary of power. Her Nemesis Master was coming to the top floor, and not only that... he was coming with demands!
Chapter 5
There was a strong temptation to claim illness and go home – Emily certainly felt sick and looked as pale as a ghost, so it would be a credible story to make. But she didn’t dare defy the man who expected to see her this afternoon on some pretext for visiting the top floor. So instead, Emily rushed back to the office – her stomach in turmoil, her mind racing around possible scenarios, each so hideous it would make an encounter with the four horsemen of the apocalypse seem like a pleasant day out at Ascot races.
Flushed on arrival, Emily entered the building. She joined the small group of people waiting in the lobby for the elevator, too panic stricken to take any note of them. The elevator arrived a few moments later. People spilled out to be replaced by a dozen others, each pressing or requesting their respective numbers on the panel by the door. Emily pressed twenty to take her to the top floor then retreated to the rear where she skulked in a corner.
The doors closed and the ascent began. Ignoring the gaggling conversation of some women that filled the claustrophobic air, Emily mentally ran over the C.E.O.’s schedule for the afternoon, anxious about a possible encounter with Her Master. Her boss, Donald Harper, was at lunch at present, entertaining important clients at a restaurant Emily had personally inspected. He was expected back by two o’clock when he would meet with Barry Norris, the Financial Director. It was their weekly get together which normally lasted an hour, although if the numbers looked bleak it could overrun by some way – sadly for Emily that wasn’t the case at the moment as the company had just reported a whopping great profit that had sent the share price soaring. At five Donald was scheduled to attend a product launch at the Savoy, which would take him twenty minutes to get to, so in theory he would be free from around three till half four – that was the danger time when the worst could happen, and two men might collide and destroy Emily in the carnage! But normally Donald kept himself shut away in his office during such periods in the day, working on strategy, replying to e-mails and making telephone calls as he generally ran the company. There was a risk they could meet, but Emily considered it to be low: highly unlikely that Donald Harper would stray into the corridor just at the very moment Emily’s Nemesis Master was passing, and be there to witness some embarrassing situation. Surely Fickle Fate wouldn’t be as malicious as that!
Her thoughts were jolted by a pinging sound. The ascending elevator came to a halt and the doors opened to allow a quartet of chattering young women to pile out, taking their conversation with them, but leaving behind their lingering perfume. A lewd comment was made followed by a burst of laughter, but Emily’s gaze was already searching for the topic of their sluttish mirth. Drawn by some mysterious force, she saw it through the gap the departing women had created, and found it no laughing matter. Fickle Fate wasn’t malicious, Emily decided – it was a complete and utter bastard! For there stood Her Master waiting to come in: devilishly smart and achingly handsome in a new and rather expensive looking suit!
Their eyes locked. Emily gawped. Then with a rush of blood that flushed her cheeks, Emily nervously looked away.
“Mrs. Johnson!” the man cried then excused his way through. “How are you? I take it you’ve been outside enjoying the fine weather.”
“Yes... yes I have,” Emily muttered, averting her eyes as the man came and stood directly beside her. He sided up to within inches, unnecessarily close in the generous sized elevator which was now far from cramped - invading personal space in a way that would normally be frowned on, even when someone was claiming an acquaintance. Emily made no protest however, nor did she try to move away. She held her spot on shaking legs, fearful of a grossly impolite comment, a vulgar remark or even worse - an order for some inappropriate action, or a demand for his title to be used. It would be the end of her. Word of even the slightest impropriety would spread like wildfire though the gossip hungry office, into the ears of Tessa Clifford who would then hound her to resignation.
But Her Master said no more as the doors hissed together and the elevator resumed its ascent. With the group of women gone, the people that remained tried to ignore each other and cre
That could never be the case though for Mrs. Johnson! And it wasn’t Fickle Fate that would see to that!
Emily felt a contact. She sucked in a breath of electrified dread as her arm was brushed by Her Master’s. The man had moved to fold his hands behind him, placing them out of sight. It was an innocuous stance, outwardly innocent, but for Emily it was dangerously threatening given the proximity they shared. The menace was heightened by some subtle pressure, the man pressing his arm into Emily’s.
With this trigger, awareness flowed as senses enlivened. Emily could smell Her Master’s familiar scent – a rich musky aroma of pure masculinity and did the oddest things to her sex. But there was something else that was new to her – subtle and expensive – a good choice of aftershave in Emily’s opinion, splashed onto his trademark black stubble. She could feel Her Master’s heat through the material of their clothes. She could hear his steady breathing above the pounding of her own heart. The man radiated confidence and an aura of virility – just his presence was enough to thrill Emily to the core – Her Master’s strength winning over the young woman’s fears of the moment.
There was another ‘ping’ which broke Emily’s sensory trance. More people got out at the seventh floor, leaving only a couple of men standing a few yards in front of them, both facing away. More silence ensued as the ascent continued. Like before, there was no attempt to engage in conversation, although Emily and Her Master remained pressed together – the man refusing to use the extra space that had just been created. It was awkward. But Emily was gaining some confidence in the bizarre situation as it would appear Her Master didn’t intend to humiliate her by some public display of authority.
Then that blossoming confidence was shattered when Emily felt more movement. Out of sight, behind their backs, the man reached over to fondle Emily’s ass – stroking the buttocks, giving the buns a good grope, and forcing his fingers into the crack to prod at the hole he’d claimed as his.
Emily was shocked. She was utterly stunned by the audacity of the act. She wanted to flee but she knew she was trapped. All she could do was stand and accept what was happening – keep still as a statue and pray that nothing was detected by the other people in the elevator.
The groping continued, and despite her terror of being exposed as a shameless slut who had allowed this display of public indecency, Emily could feel herself getting embarrassingly aroused – her pussy oozed and her nipples hardened – a sexual flush coloured her face.
Then more horror struck. She could feel the material of her skirt being grabbed. The man pulled it up so the hem rose at the back – it rose at the front as well! From a few inches above the knees, it crept higher and higher in a shameless display. With her fears growing, Emily looked to the panel where only two lighted numbers glowed – ‘twelve’, which they were approaching, and the other being ‘twenty’.
Panic struck. It hit Emily like a fist hard in the solar plexus. Soon they would stop and the doors would open. Would Her Master get out? That seemed unlikely – this was obviously the visit to the top floor he had threatened. The other men would leave though, which would be a relief. But one of them might turn round to make a parting nod, and if he did he would surely spot Emily’s dishevelled state and put two and two together. Or even worse - perhaps there would be someone waiting outside, directly facing – someone she knew, going to the top floor. It would be mortifying beyond belief.
Emily turned to Her Master and mouthed the word ‘please’. Tears of shame welled in her eyes. She got a grin in reply along with a slow shake of refusal. The hand wasn’t removed. The skirt remained disgracefully raised and Emily silently cried.
Ping!
They were there! The twelfth floor had arrived. Emily held her breath as the elevator doors parted, dreading a familiar face with a pair of shocked eyes. But there was no one outside. The corridor was empty. Her luck continued as the final two men left, exiting the elevator without turning round. After an eternity of anguish the door finally closed. Emily breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“That was exciting, wasn’t it Blondie?” laughed Her Master once they were safely alone.
Emily let out a nervous croak in response, before managing to utter an affirming, “Yes, Master.”
“I thought you would enjoy it, you filthy slut! Now get down on your knees and show me some cock worship. I expect proper thanks for giving you such a thrill.”
“But...”
“No buts!” snarled the man, spinning round on Emily and raising his fist in blatant threat. “Now hurry up. We’re already passing the fourteenth floor. You don’t have much time, and I don’t have much patience for slaves who don’t obey me!”
Emily knew it was no joke. And she knew she had no will to defy this man even if it led to total disgrace. She sank to her knees before Her Master, and in a blur of motion that looked whorishly hasty she pulled down his zip and battled through the flies, under the briefs to the heat of his cock that had bloated into a fine semi-erection – wonderfully large, but thankfully still pliable. Emily managed to pull it out.
“Sixteen and rising, Blondie,” laughed the man, seemingly impervious to his own perilous state that would see him sacked on the spot for such degenerate behaviour, no matter how impressive the dick he was exposing.
Numb with fear, burning with lust – Emily pulled the foreskin back to fully expose the knob. Whilst the generous sized shaft hardened in her hand, Emily slurped the swelling head into her mouth and lashed it with her tongue, tasting the flavour that oozed from the eye.
“Eighteen, Blondie – we’re almost there.”
Emily made to pull away, assuming this was her cue and the permission to stop. But Her Master grabbed her head and thrust with his hips, stuffing his cock that was now solid as a rock, all the way into Emily’s gagging throat.
“Nineteen, Blondie!” the man brazenly chortled as he made a few pumps then quickly withdrew, leaving Emily gasping for air. “Now lick my boots like you did yesterday evening. Carry on licking until I tell you to get up. Show me that I own you, even here on the top floor.”
Tears streamed from her horror struck eyes, but Emily obeyed – how could she not. Despair smothered her in a doom laden cloak as she envisaged the scene that was about to be exposed. It wouldn’t take an encounter with Donald Harper for this man to end Emily’s career. It would be over in a moment, as soon as the elevator stopped and those bloody doors opened with their bitchy little hiss. For in the area directly outside sat a receptionist at her desk – a right little floosie who loved to chat, and was particularly friendly with Tessa Clifford – the evil witch who headed Human Resources and who would then use this information to gleefully crush Emily Johnson with.
Through the blur of tears Emily heard Her Master fumbling. The man rushed to put his cock away as Emily licked the leather of his boots – a pair of highly polished brogues that looked new and expensive just like his suit. Then Emily heard a ping followed by the hiss of doors. Her world had surely come to an end.
“No! You were wrong, Mrs. Johnson!” exclaimed Emily’s Master loudly. “It’s not on my shoe, I see it over there. Please, get up – what must that poor girl behind the reception desk think!”
Emily was helped to her feet.
“Wipe your eyes,” the man whispered before he moved away. He then bent over and pretended to pick something up from the elevator floor.
“Contact lens!” he brightly claimed, addressing the gawping receptionist. “Darn things are forever popping out – I’ve lost two already this year. Mrs. Johnson thought she saw it on my shoe and was kind enough to try and retrieve it. But her eyesight must be as bad as mine.”
Emily was given a courteous nod for her supposed kindness then the man walked away.
“I’m here to see Mr. Ross,” he told the receptionist. “He’s expecting me of course.”
Having taken the advice and quickly dried her eyes before turning around to step out of the elevator, Emily watched all this in a state of bewilderment. The receptionist fluttered her eyelashes, happy to swallow the story, probably happy to swallow a darn site more the way the brazen hussy was flirting, sticking out her surgically enhanced tits, hoping to impress Emily’s Master.
“It’s the office at the end, to the left then round the corner,” she purred, following it up with a sensuous lick of her glossy lips and a flick of her shoulder length hair.
She was given a filthy grin and a devilish wink for her efforts. “Thanks gorgeous,” the man said, making the receptionist’s day. Then he strutted off manfully like a boxer approaching the ring - two pairs of eyes watching him intently. After a few steps he turned around, raising his right hand in salute to Emily.
“Oh, and thanks again, Mrs. Johnson – it really was most kind of you to get down on your knees like that. So unusual for a woman in your position! But then life is full of little surprises. You just never know what’s going to happen next.”
A moment later he was gone, having disappeared round the corner. Blushing, Emily set off in the opposite direction, stunned that her legs were up to the task.
Chapter 6
It was only when Emily reached her own office that the significance hit her – the important meeting Her Master had mentioned was with none other than Willy Ross, a ruthless Scotsman who had moved through the company ranks with meteoric speed and was now the Sales Director. It all fell into place: the new expensive suit, the shiny shoes, the dash of aftershave, the big break in his life he was hoping for - it all pointed to one thing. It had to be an interview.
Emily mulled this over. It would be one heck of a break if Her Master managed to swing it. Salesmen were the golden boys of the company – the silver-tongued rogues who brought in the big ticket deals that generated the wealth to line shareholder’s pockets, and who got rewarded for success with ludicrous amounts of commission – sums that would make even a Libor fixer blush. A move into sales was an opportunity not to be missed for any ambitious young man.
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