Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
The Office I
(*****, M/F, Severe, n/c discipline, sex)
A young businesswoman learns that the price of high finance can be quite an emotional experience. (Approximately 6,116 words. Originally published 1996-02.)
Courtney was hot under her stiff black dress. The high heels made her ankles ache, and she was frustrated, deathly afraid, yet desperate. She sat stiffly and watched the efficient secretary inside her glass cage. At four o'clock sharp the woman spoke on the telephone and motioned for Courtney to enter.
"He'll see you now," she said without emotion.
As the heavy doors closed behind her, Courtney felt like she had entered forbidden territory. The room was large and immaculate. A huge conference table took up a full side of the room; the other side consisted of a well-stocked bar, a massive entertainment center, and a giant desk near the bay window. Mortimer Johnson stood behind the desk, rising to greet Courtney.
"Welcome, Miss Fletcher. Would you like something to drink?" The question was routine, but something in the way Mort spoke suggested he disliked pleasantries. Courtney hated them too.
"No thanks, Mr. Johnson. I know your time is invaluable, and I appreciate your accepting my appointment. Please, let me get right to the point."
He smiled and waved her to a chair. She nodded but remained standing, and he came from behind his desk and sat opposite her. Somehow even sitting down he radiated authority. Courtney felt herself becoming flustered, and forced herself to regain her composure.
"Mr. Johnson," she began.
"Call me Mort."
"All right. Mort, I am sure you are aware of the situation that Union National is in. I won't kid you: we are desperate. We've had too many large companies defaulting on their loans and we can't take any more. I am also sure you have heard of the condition of Brown-Saunter. If _they_ go under, _we_ will go under. And thousands of innocent people will be hurt: there will be massive unemployment, the courts will tie our finances for years; in short, the state will be in chaos.
"However, you Mr., I mean, Mort, have the power to prevent this from happening."
He looked surprised. "I do?"
"Yes. It's not a question of money. No amount of money could pull Brown-Saunter out of their slump. What they need is leadership. You could provide that leadership. What I am suggesting is that you invest in Brown-Saunter, obtain a controlling interest, shall we say, and run Brown-Saunter from afar. You can save the dying company. And in the process you will prevent one of the largest state banks from going out of business."
She paused for breath and held it, watching him. He seemed almost amused. "What do I get out of it?" he said suddenly. She almost smiled. A man after her own heart, always the bottom dollar.
"An interest in Brown-Saunter. If you run it well you stand to make a considerable sum. You can buy it for a song. With its bid on the government contracts coming up, it's sure to rake in a fortune--if someone can keep it going long enough, and if the government feels like it is a stable company. Right now the government wouldn't hired it to clean toilets, let alone design buildings. But with your reputation behind it . . ."
"Ah, _my_ reputation." It almost seemed a smirk, as though he couldn't believe she'd fallen for the same ruse everyone else had. "And what is the cost to you, Miss Fletcher?"
Courtney looked surprised. "Why, uh, there isn't a cost for us, exactly. We, of course, don't really have any money right now. But if you're willing, we could arrange something for the future."
"The future's a long way off."
"Well, anything in my power to give you is yours."
"_Anything?_" Something in the way he spoke sent shivers down her spine. Though a number of unpleasant possibilities of what "anything" meant quickly popped into her head, it wasn't that exactly that bothered her. It was the enjoyment, the way he relished saying the word, toying with her.
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Yes. Anything."
There was a long pause, in which she became more and more worried, more distraught. If he didn't agree, her whole company, everything her father had left her, everything in his life and her life, would be gone. She was utterly dependent upon this man.
She looked at him. He was handsome, in a sort of rude way. Strict, overbearing. He looked like a fighter. He was tall and muscular, though not overly athletic. He was middle-aged. She knew he over forty-two, but seeing him up close, she would have guessed him thirty. His clothes were elegant and expensive, but he wore them without vanity or style. They were clothes. His attitude seemed to be that he would be just as comfortable naked.
She checked the thought immediately, blushing at the idea. She looked out the window, trying to be brave and strong. She prayed he hadn't noticed.
"You are a rather attractive woman, Miss Fletcher." From his tone he might have said, "The sky is blue today." She startled and turned to him. He stood up and approached her. "You have lovely blue eyes. And that blond hair is so graceful the way it fall down her back like that. And those breasts are magnificent." At this point his hand reached out and slowly fondled her left breast. Courtney was too stunned to move.
"Anything, Miss Fletcher. You did say your price was _anything?_" His tone was pure sarcasm and disgust, as if he didn't believe for a second that she really meant what she had said.
Composing herself, Courtney smiled and forced herself to remain relaxed. "I believe I did say 'anything' Mr. Johnson. And I do mean _anything_." Her blue eyes stared unshaken into his dark orbs and he slowly smiled. His hand slid off her breast, around her back, and slowly traveled to her buttocks, where he paused and patted them gently, lovingly.
"You have very elegant buttocks, Miss Fletcher. Firm, but not too firm. Large enough to handle, but not awkward. Smooth and silky, smooth and silky. And very naughty!" This last was hissed as he brought his palm across her bottom with terrific force, the loud slap echoing in her ears before she felt the stinging pain.
Courtney gasped and grabbed her bottom and moved away from him, her composure and resolve lost. "I thought so," muttered. "You didn't mean what you said at all. I do not deal with people who do not mean what they say. Good day, Miss Fletcher. My secretary will escort you out." He returned to his desk without another glance at her.
She ran to the edge of the desk, her mind racing, her desperation showing across her face. "I meant what I said, Mr. Johnson. Anything, any price you ask I will pay."
"Be here at seven o'clock, Miss Fletcher. Come as you are. If you really are prepared to pay anything, that is." There was that contempt, again, as if he still didn't believe she'd show. She'd show, all right. She'd show him!
* * * * *
It was five to seven and the secretary was gathering her belongings and leaving. Everyone else on the floor and probably the entire building had already left. There were only the security men thirty stories down, Courtney thought. And him and me.
The secretary spoke emotionlessly to Courtney as she passed on her way to the elevator. "He's on a call. He'll usher you in himself in a moment."
Suddenly it was deathly quiet, and Courtney began to wonder why she was here. This is insane, she thought miserably. I can't be reduced to this. But in her heart she knew that she would do anything to save her business. Her business was more family to her than her family. Her brothers weren't interested in it. It was hers. And she couldn't let her father's dream die.
The double doors opened and there stood Mort, roughly handsome as always, his grim smile rather foreboding. Courtney passed through the doors. She shuddered when she heard him lock them behind her.
"I see you are prepared to pay. Is that correct?" His manner was formal, all business. She nodded and he smiled. "Then take off your clothes."
She swallowed. This was a little faster than she had expected, but she did like getting right to the point. At least he wasn't going to mess around. She set down her purse and began to strip. First she took off her shoes and hose, delightfully wiggling her toes in the deep carpet, then the awful dress. Standing in her underwear she glanced at him, but he seemed both impatient and indifferent at once. Without ceremony she slipped off the bra and pulled down her panties.
At once she felt chilled, cold air from the air conditioner brushing her naked skin. Now Mort stepped forward, examining her closely. He pulled back her hair and studied her face, her teeth. He toyed with her breasts, weighing them with his palms, and comparing them to see if they were as identical as they appeared to be. He passed his hand between her legs, and forced her to spread them wide, and fingered her buttocks, his fingers lightly spanking her. She held her breath, not sure what to say or do.
"Courtney, you are now my slave. You will do everything I say the instant I command it, or face dire consequences. Do you understand?" It was not a question. He was utterly serious, and she felt afraid. What have I got myself into, she thought. But a vision of her bank in ruins flashed over her eyes and she steeled herself. She nodded.
"You will not speak unless I tell you that you may. You will only nod and obey." She nodded again. As he led her over towards his desk, something in her stomach began to grow cold. She felt within her a complex series of emotions. She was stimulated, excited, but she dreaded what was to happen.
Suddenly her undefined fear took shape and became a cold reality. His voice echoed in her mind. "You are still too proud. You require discipline. Severe discipline." His enjoyment and satisfaction caused her terror, but she also felt linked to him in their mutual excitement. She shivered as his hand felt the roundness of her buttocks and the smooth skin of her thighs. "Your skin is too pure. It must be reddened properly."
He motioned for her to lie across the desk. She did so immediately, still wondering why she obeyed so willingly. Was she so afraid? Or did she want it in some way?
She stretched out awkwardly across the empty oak desk. It was so large she was easily able to fit. Mort placed her hands behind her neck and she understood that she should keep them there. This position forced her breasts cruelly into the hard desk, and she wasn't sure which hurt more: the stimulation of her sore nipples or the pain.
"You are a very bad girl, Courtney. You are very, very, naughty. You are going to be punished good." His hands were feeling her bottom, kneading it softly, gently rubbing it with his knuckles. "I am going to spank you hard, Courtney, very hard. And you are not going to cry out. You are going to moan and groan and wiggle this pretty little ass of yours, wiggle it like crazy. You are going to make it dance for me, just to show me how much you appreciate the spanking, and how much you know you deserve it, and how much you are paying for my little favor. Do you understand?"
Numbly, Courtney nodded. Her heart was full of dread and fear just like she'd known as a little girl, taken to be spanked by her loving father. She trembled now, tears already forming in her eyes.
The first few blows shocked her with its force, but didn't really hurt. Mort was using his hand. Each blow could barely cover both of her buttocks, but he dealt them hard and furious, switching the focus from one cheek to the other. Soon her bottom was throbbing. She could feel the heat it generated, and she realized she was no longer cold. No, she was hot. Very hot. Sweat poured off her body, and in agony she struggled to keep her hands tightly clenched to her neck. She didn't know what would happen if she moved them, but she didn't want to find out. The pounding on her bottom was just aggravating the furious desire between her legs.
The blows were coming even harder and faster now, as Mort began to relax and really let go. Again and again he spanked her, sometimes near the top of her buttocks where the thin skin caused her to groan loudly, other times cupping his swinging hand against her lower bottom, catching her buttocks and lifting them, the force jiggling her entire bottom and reawakening the stinging skin elsewhere.
She groaned and wagged her bottom for him, desperate he should see her cooperation and obedience and have mercy. But he continued to spank her, harder than ever it seemed, and her groans grew louder than the spanks. She couldn't believe a hand spanking could hurt so much. Her ass was on fire, throbbing and stinging without relief. She could feel her desire increasing, the wet between her legs spreading onto the table. Groaning, she wiggled her bottom, pleading without words.
Suddenly it stopped. It was so sudden she could hardly believe it. It seemed a dream. For a moment it seemed like all her life she had been lying there, being spanked. It was as though she had never been anywhere else. Vaguely she heard a voice telling her to stand, and a sudden painful slap on her bottom woke her fully to reality.
Standing by the desk, shivering in the chill and her heat and pain, she watched as Mort stepped over to the bar. After a moment he emerged carrying a container of cream. This he promptly spread over Courtney's red bottom and her breasts. His massage elicited groans of pleasure and pain from her, as he relived the burning skin and stirred her libido but reminded her how much she hurt. He forced her legs wider, and told her she was never, _never_, to put them together.
Next, he had her kneel and he blindfolded her. In the dark she suddenly felt a thick finger slide into her mouth. In revulsion she realized what it was, but complied, sucking on it like a baby with a bottle. In horror she felt stings striking her backside and she realized he was beating her with an object, a strap or whip. The blows were thin, but raised tiny welts wherever they laid. She shrank from the whipping in despair, but the cock was still in her mouth and she was forced to satisfy it, the whole time encouraged by the whip.
Suddenly he came and she almost choked, gasping at the sheer volume and intensity. Her mouth was free, but a hand promptly forced her chin shut, and with reluctance but relatively few blows of the whip--she was learning quickly--she swallowed.
Now she was allowed to stand again, and the blindfold was removed. Mort stood there, still in his formal suit, not a hair out of place. That turned her on, somehow, and she ached to put her legs together, to achieve satisfaction somehow. She could almost feel the liquid dripping down her legs, but of course that was just her imagination.
With another grim smile, he motioned to the desk. With a terrified look she gasped and fell to her knees. "No, please. I'll be good. I've been good. I'll be good. Please, no more." She was weeping at his feet.
He slapped her face, hard. She stared at him in awe and terror. "You are not to speak!" he shouted at her. "Now get on the table immediately. You will take what I give you and enjoy it. You will never beg me to stop, except through your tears and groans and by wagging that ass of yours in supplication!" He shoved her toward the desk and she practically leaped onto it and assumed her former position immediately.
Her heart was a flutter of confusion, of terror and fear, of desperation, both to stay and to run away, of desire and of dread. She didn't know what to do. So she obeyed. It was easiest to simply obey. Then there was no struggle. She had no rights, no action was possible. She would simply obey.
But her heart went cold when she saw Mort returning from the bar with a large wooden paddle. She began to struggle, wiggling on the table and groaning. He laughed, a contemptuous laugh that told her he despised her, which somehow made her feel sad. "It won't do no good, pretty lady. I'm gonna bring some color into those cheeks if it's the last thing I do!"
With that he rested the paddle gently on her rump, and she felt her bottom swell and the heat throbbing. Her ass was huge and red, she could feel it. Then he lifted the paddle high and brought it down onto her buttocks. As far as people experienced in such things would judge, it wasn't that hard of a blow. But for poor Courtney, it was devastating. Her ass hurt so much she actually thought she would die or pass out. Her bottom just kept stinging and stinging and she thought it would never stop.
But another blow landed, quickly followed by another. In moments she had forgotten about the first one, and concentrated on wiggling for the others. The moaning and groaning she was having no problems with: they came unsummoned to her lips and poured out of her like a soul during confession.
She bounced under the paddle, her body actually lifting itself off the desk by several inches at a time. The wetness between her legs was almost splashing over her thighs and stomach as she bounced up and down on the desk. The blows were hard and frequent, and it was all she could do to remember to breathe.
Her hands were frozen on her neck. She was too petrified to move them, but her fear was that they'd move of their own accord. The paddling continued, the loud smacks deafening to Courtney's uninitiated ears. Harder and harder it came down, the heavy wood slamming her to the desk and, like a magnet to iron, lifting her off as it withdrew.
It was ecstacy. It was torture. Courtney had never felt anything quite like it. She was terrified that it wouldn't stop. But she was also afraid that it would. Oh, to be brutally beaten like this, thrashed constantly and thoroughly, day after day, week after week, year after year, chastising her more completely than she'd ever been before. To receive something you know you want but can't bring yourself to receive . . . yet here she was, willing allowing herself to paddled and spanked by a complete stranger!
Arrrgh, she groaned after a particularly heavy blow. It seemed that her bottom must have broken under that blow, she thought. She couldn't understand how she could be taking this kind of pain. This had gone on for hours. No, it couldn't be hours. But . . . how many blows had she received? She tried to count, to estimate, but she couldn't. Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred? It could have been any of them. If could have been their sum. She had no reference, no way of knowing. She knew that she was in utter agony, but she had been in agony moments before from the hand spanking, and that had been love pats compared to this.
Finally it stopped and she was permitted to stand. She lifted herself off the desk, her breasts sore and bruised from the pounding, her face and hair soaked with tears. Every movement brought agony from her buttocks. She tried to stretch even though she knew it would hurt, but suddenly she was forced to bend over slightly, her legs spread extremely wide, and Mort spoke to her.
"You spoke to me a moment ago. That is forbidden. You shall be severely punished for that. That's worth several spankings like you just received for that offense alone. But you _pleaded_," he spat the word as though it had burned his tongue. "You asked for mercy. I'll give you mercy. Now stand still and if you fall over I'll give you fifty extra!"
The paddle slammed into her, and Courtney almost fell over right then. Her ass hurt so unbelievably much that the new pain, blinding as it was, scare made a difference. She almost wanted to laugh. "Na, na, na, na. You can't hurt me any more! You can't hurt me any more!"
But the paddle continued to strike her, and in the standing position it seemed to find new life in her poor rump, sending incredible rivers of pain through her body. On and on and on the paddling continued, until Courtney was sure she'd received at least fifty more blows, and she wondered desperately how many more were to come.
She danced for the paddle, waving her bottom from side to side, wiggling and twitching her buttocks, moving her hips in and out in grotesque and degrading motions that caused her to blush in spite of her pain. Her breasts were bouncing and flying with her dance. But nothing stopped the terrible flow of pain that Mort was administering.
Again and again the paddle came up, striking her rump and lifting her into the air. So many times had her bottom been struck and jiggled that she felt it should be ready to fall off at any moment. It was so sore, so raw, she could barely breathe when she thought of it. And that was about all she could think of.
Suddenly she noticed that the blows were less frequent, and perhaps even less strong. Mort, it seemed, was tiring. The blows were slow and steady now, good solid spanks that caused groans to effortlessly pour from her mouth, but she no longer had to bit her lip to keep from screaming.
Then Mort took the paddle to the backs of her thighs, alternating between each side. On this virgin skin the pain was unendurable, and Courtney found herself dancing without trying. When her thighs were thoroughly red, Mort moved on to her calves. Then back to her buttocks and thighs.
It had to be over soon, it had to, she thought desperately. But the steady rain continued for several minutes more. When it finally stopped, her heart was light even when she heard Mort say that that spanking was a good start toward her punishment. She was just so happy that it was over for now she could hardly contain herself. And her desire was so huge and desperate she felt could mount a telephone pole to satisfy her cravings.
Mort applied more cream to her buttocks, commenting that they were coloring nicely. "Got some good welts there, girl. Excellent. Keep you in line, those welts. A touch from my hand will feel like a sound blow from a paddle."
He turned her around and began slapping her breasts. Not especially hard, but stinging blows that brought color to her breasts and made them feel huge and awkward. Courtney couldn't help but feel the breasts bouncing on her chest. It made her feel sexy and desired, like she was a lingerie dancer. Unconsciously she began to move with blows, a slow, uninhibited dance.
"Good, excellent!" cried Mort. "Keep it up!" He stepped away from her and she continued the dance feeling cheap and vulgar and she closed her eyes to block out the sight of the man she was learning to hate.
Suddenly a blinding pain to her left breast awoke her and she shrieked and clutched at her breast. It felt like her nipple had been sheared off! She stood frozen in terror and stared at Mort. He stood in front of her with a soft smile on his face, a long thin riding crop in his right hand. "There's plenty more where that one came from," he said with a cruel smile. "Now put your hands back behind your head and dance!"
Somehow Courtney obeyed. She thought of her father and the company and everything she had already "invested" in this evening and knew she'd have to pay whatever he asked. She danced and winced when he lifted the crop. The flapper on the tip caught her nipple perfectly and waves of pain flooded Courtney's body. She shivered and moaned and shook her head violently. Her hands ached, literally ached to grasp her poor, tender breast and console it, but she instead danced and wiggled her body to please her angry master.
Her right nipple was greeted with the crop next, and then, in a blur of pain and confusion, Courtney felt her mind leave her body. She was aware of the pain only distantly, and she watched herself quivering and shuddering with each stroke from that crop. She was aware of every part of her body: the pulsing hunger between her legs, the aching of her fingers which were clenched far too tightly, the wild, uncontrolled beating of her heart, the skin of her legs and buttocks that tensed and stretched and screamed in pain as she wiggled and danced. She knew what she felt and yet did not feel it. She was lost in a haze of desire and pain and as she watched herself, she felt that explosion building between her legs, fueled by the passion ignited by her stinging nipples and swaying breasts, and she felt that explosion tear through her body and she screamed in astonishment at the engulfment it produced, a wonderful, filling, satisfaction that warmed her entire body and then in a flash it was gone, and she was only Courtney, naked and dancing before a stranger, her body covered with welts and stripes of pain.
Mort paused. He took the crop and pushed it between Courtney's spread legs and found her pussy and entered, rubbing her delightfully with it. She cringed and moaned and desperately wanted to squeeze her legs together and scream. She had an impulse to rip to crop from Mort's hand and thrust it up into herself as far as it would go and masturbate until she turned blue and fainted.
Suddenly the teasing crop was pulled away and then, like the tongue of a serpent, it licked at her sex. A stunningly raw source of pain filled her body. Courtney screamed like a dying bird and her hands broke from her neck and she felt to the ground moaning, her hands between her legs rubbing at the incredible burning. She distantly felt the crop landing all over her body and Mort's shouting and cursing. The crop struck her legs, her buttocks, her back, and then fell across her front, striking her arms and legs and belly and the sides of her breasts, but still she could not move, could not release herself.
Another orgasmic explosion passed through her body and in a moment Courtney was free, sobbing, being pulled to her feet. The crop struck her between the legs again and again and again and Courtney couldn't help but spread her legs and offer herself to it, luxuriating in the delicious kiss of crop against her naked sex. The pain was now synonymous with pleasure, a wild, uncontrolled pleasure she had never before known, an engulfing, mindless pleasure, animal in its intensity and human it its depth. The pain made her body move but did little else.
She felt herself being thrown onto the desk, hands and feet bound to the four corners, but she did not care. A blindfold covered her eyes but it did not matter. The crop played with her body, torturing her breasts and nipples and her hips and legs and belly. It did not matter.
Then she felt the thick pulsing finger of Mort's manhood throbbing against her thigh. It was stiff and hard and she wanted it. She moaned loudly and screamed, "Give it to me, please, don't tease me!" The cock entered her easily, thrusting through her entrance with a passion that defied reason and began to pump and probe at her insides. She had never before felt so engulfed, so entered, so completely and utterly pierced and consumed. She flailed wildly and pumped back at Mort the best she could with her body pinned flat against the table. There was a fantastic groan and then a cry of tremendous pain and suddenly she felt the full weight of Mortimer Johnson against her body. His body was shuddering violently and she could feel his cock pulsing and exploding inside her and she soared and peaked and with a desperate sigh she came and he came and in a daze they laid there silently, exhausted and spent.
It was late. Courtney opened her eyes. She was naked but no longer bound or blindfolded. She was lying on Mort's couch. She quickly examined herself and found that other than an indescribable soreness that filled her entire body from pussy to headache she felt fine. She was sticky with sweat and juices, though, and longed for a shower. She wondered if Mort had a private shower she could clean up in.
She saw him and watched him silently. He was standing by the far window and staring out at the world below. He was fully dressed as she'd seen him earlier and he didn't look at all like he'd been fucking like a maniac rabbit only minutes earlier. Or was it hours? Courtney had lost all track of time.
She stood and stretched and went to go get her things. Mort turned to her. "One more thing before you go." Courtney froze. She watched him in silence as he walked over to the bar and picked up a long, thin white cane.
"How many do you want?"
She stared at him and did not answer. "How many do you want?" he asked again.
"O-One?" she tried and he only laughed.
"Since you will not cooperate we will let the dice decide. He pointed to a pair of dice on the counter of the bar and she walked over and picked them up. It was like a dream. She did not have any control of her actions. She felt she no longer had any control of anything. She didn't even know who she was any more.
"The first die will be the number of strokes per set. The second die will be the number of sets."
Courtney rolled. A six. Mort smiled gleefully and rubbed his hands together and took a practice swing with the cane. Courtney shrugged. It almost did not matter any more. She threw the second die. A four. Four sets of six. Twenty-four strokes. Ouch.
"How do we do it?" she asked quietly, amazed at her calmness.
"Over to the chair," he ordered, almost drooling in his lust. "Climb over the back and grab the arms and let your beautiful legs dangle behind the chair. Your bottom should be right up near the top."
Without a word the girl obeyed, mounting the chair as instructed. It was quite awkward and difficult but she finally managed, feeling quite shameful at the way her bottom was thrust up and outward. She waited, scarcely able to breathe.
The first stroke sounded like a firecracker and the horrible line of pain across her ass made Courtney's eyes water. She bit her lip at the second and third crack but the fourth made her cry out. "Please!" she screamed but Mort only laughed and gave her five and six.
Number seven he gave her from the other side and she soon realized why. The tip of the cane held the majority of the force of the blow meaning that the far buttock took the brunt of each stroke. By switching sides Mort now punished her left buttock with six brutal blows.
Next he gave her two from each side at angles so that the blows crossed the welts of the earlier parallel strokes. These took her breath away they hurt so badly and it was here she began to sob. Then he gave her three even strokes across her thighs from each side, and then a sharp angled cut that went across her left thigh and struck her right buttock. He repeated that last from the other side.
Slowly Courtney got down from the chair and stood awkwardly on wavering legs. Her buttocks and thighs felt like they had been torn to ribbons. Her whole body ached but she was astonished to realize that now, after the horrible, agonizing flashes of pain from each stroke of that cane, that her sex was wet and oozing again. She blushed and hoped Mort wouldn't notice.
"There's my private bathroom over there," whispered Mort suddenly, his voice low and husky. He had his back to her she saw with surprise. "You can shower and get dressed. You are free to go."
Courtney saw where he pointed and ran to the bathroom. The shower was luxurious after all the pain, and when she emerged, fresh and clean and dressed and again looked like a classy businesswoman, she felt almost human again. She did not speak to Mort but left quickly, silently.
He heard her go and did not turn around. Tears filled his eyes. He watched from the window and saw her finally emerge and go to her car. She walked quickly and with purpose and soon was gone. He shook his head. She was so beautiful. Why did she have to be so goddamned gorgeous?
He grew angry and threw his martini glass across the room, watching it shatter near the bar. He stared after it sullenly. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way," he thought miserably. "She was supposed to be a stuck-up bitch, a whore in office clothes, and I was supposed to dominate her and punish her and that was that. She wasn't supposed to cooperate and be so goddamned _willing_ and _accepting_!" With a growl Mort paced the office and finally threw himself into the chair.
It was so unfair. From the moment he had first seen her he had wanted to see what she looked like under her panties, and now he had done that but wanted more. He wanted to get to know this woman, to understand her. Why would she endure all that just for some business deal? Was her company really so important to her? He doubted he'd pay that price for any one of his own companies.
He shook his head. It just wasn't fair. He was falling for this quiet, reserved blonde and he had just ruined everything. She'd never speak to him again, not as a man, only as a business partner. He could force her, of course, but that was not something he desired any more. He no longer wanted to dominate her--he wanted to love her. And he wanted her love in return. Could she ever forgive him?
He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. "Hector? Get me Brown-Saunter. Yeah, the company. I know that. Just get it. Yeah, the whole thing. Buy it outright. Do it openly, obviously. We want everyone to know that Brown-Saunter is stable and will meet all of its debts. Yes. Set up a meeting with Valentine at the DOT for next month. We're gonna get those contracts if it kills us! Right. Bye."
He spun the chair and watched the office revolve around him. He had impulse to pick of the phone and dial Courtney Fletcher's number. But what could he say? His mind replayed the scenes from the evening, admiring her form, her grace, her dignity even as he thrashed her skin. God, what a woman!
He had to have her. Somehow he had to have her. His impulse was to grab her. To simply take what he wanted. After all, that was how he got most things. But he knew that that was not the way to get her. He wanted her heart, and you couldn't just go take that. He had to conquer it, seduce it.
Slowly a smile came over his face. He knew what he'd do. Miss Fletcher would someday be his!
*** Is there more to come...? Encourage me! ***