I woke with a moan that Monday morning, a hand reaching out blindly from under my covers to slap at the snooze button on my blaring alarm clock. It subsided back into blessed silence and I sank gratefully back under my off-white comforter, nestling down into my sheets. I needed to get a cat, I decided. Some other warm body that would help take the edge off chilly October mornings. My toes ached when I flexed them, trying to bring a little life back into them- even under the covers, I was still cold. With a sigh that felt as if it expelled all the air from my body, I realized there was no point to staying in bed when the bed itself was cold, and that I had best climb into the shower, where I could at least warm up.

       It took a long moment of self-encouragement before I finally slid out from under the covers, satin nightgown hugged to me as I darted across the cold floor for the bathroom, snagging my bathrobe off the back of a chair as I went. Into the bathroom, quick, dancing onto the bathmat to avoid the freezing cold floor before I leaned to turn on the little space heater that would make the small room bearable by the time I got out of my shower. The nightgown was dropped to the floor, the water started and brought up to an acceptable temperature before I stepped over the edge of the tub and into the stream, teeth chattering by that time and my nipples feeling as if they were about to fossilize. The shower sputtered, the old plumbing rattling before settling back into its rhythm, and I stepped automatically out of the way of a gout of cold water, then back into the now-warm streams. My ability to predict the misbehavior of my plumbing was depressing. Someday, I promised myself, I'd make enough money to replace this stuff. White marble. A whirlpool tub. A shower with double heads and a sliding glass door instead of a worn-out curtain starting to show ineradicable mildew. Someday.

       I shampooed my dark hair, my one vanity- I'm unremarkable, really, just a slightly plump girl of average height, my breasts small but my ass fabulous- all right, one of two vanities. But the hair I love, coming down to mid-back in tousled waves, dark as deeply varnished wood against my absolutely pale skin. I'm a stickler for sunscreen, and my body shows it- I'm white as milk, as terrible a cliche as that is, and although I'm near-blinding in sunlight, I like the effect it has with dark hair. Hazel eyes. A few freckles on my cheeks. As I said, unremarkable.

       I took as long as I could justify in the shower, knowing I had only perhaps five minutes of hot water before the damn water heater would give up the game. The water was already getting cooler by the time I shut it off and stepped out, legs freshly shaved, smelling of orange blossoms. Good body wash is my one real luxury, that and fresh food. I may be broke, but I'm not a barbarian. The heater had turned the bathroom into a little oven by now, and I reveled in it while I blew my hair dry, then slipped on the robe and headed out for breakfast, in my little kitchen that desperately needed a new tile floor.

       One hour later, I was out of the house- it's tiny, and it's in disrepair, but it's mine, and that means the world. I'm always a little sad to leave it, but not entirely so when I'm on my way to work. Work is good- it brings in the money I so sorely need, secretarial work is not exactly rocket science, so it's not too hard, and...well. There's Craig. Craig is the boss at the small construction company I answer the phones for. He's tough- demanding and a stickler for the rules, hence why I was mincing down the sidewalk to the bus station in heels, pantyhose, and an actual dress instead of jeans and a pair of sneakers. Craig cares enormously about the dress code in the office- at least when it comes to me, the only woman there. I'm also the only non construction worker there, and the one the customers see first, so I suppose I understand the inequality. He pays well for the minimal work I do, though, and I can't complain. Besides...I get to spend all day watching him go in and out of the building. All 6'3" of him, well-muscled and masculine, but somehow elegant in an always well-fitted pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I love his blonde hair and his pale eyes, such a light blue they're almost gray. Still, Craig is more fun to watch than to talk to, a still and quiet man with an air of internal authority. Even the toughest workers, guys with so many tattoos they make bikers look like Mr. Clean, defer to him naturally. I barely spoke to him in the normal course of the day, only telling him his phone messages and who stopped by.

It had taken all my courage, the day before, to send Craig an email asking for a pay raise. My reasons were good and just, my language impeccable- I've always prided myself on being able to word a letter nicely, and I was sure I hadn't been too demanding or too subservient. I was worried that desperation might have crept in, though. I'd sent the email at the end of the day, too chicken to wait all day on tenterhooks for a reply. Better to give him the night to think it over, I'd rationalized, ducking out the door. Now I was hoping I would have my answer, my leg jittering as I sat on the bus, heel clicking the floor until the driver raised her eyebrows at me and I stopped, embarassed. I only had ten minutes to worry, then the bus disgorged me in front of C.E. Simms Construction, Inc. Craig is, of course, the C.E. Simms in the name. I've never asked him what the E. stood for.

I stood outside the door a moment, lingering in the chilly air until I realized how silly I looked and pushed through the heavy metal door, putting my shoulder to it as usual. A meaty hand caught the door from the inside and held it easily, and I found myself almost stumbling into Pete, one of the less savory of the workers. Pete looked clean enough- a minimum of tattoos, not too much fat on his large, bear-like frame, a clean uniform, and a neat crew cut- but the mind that leered out from behind dark eyes was filthy. "Morning, darlin'," he drawled, flashing a toothy smile as I regained my balance.

I shot him a cold look, one that had stopped many a would-be suitor dead in bars and nightclubs, when I was still going out to such places. "My name isn't darlin', Pete," I replied, much to his apparent amusement. His grin stretched wider, but he stepped back with a mock salute and let me pass. I was acutely aware of his presence as I passed him, feeling his gaze boring into my back- or, more likely, somewhere slightly lower than that. My chair welcomed me, and I slid behind my impersonal desk with real relief, the gauntlet run for the morning. Or so I thought.

I'd expected an emailed response from Craig. What I got was a neatly written note, a grey Post-It stuck to my monitor. "See me." He hadn't even bothered to sign it. My heart leapt, and not in a pleasant way- it seemed to stick in my throat, banging painfully there. The two words were curt, and my mind began to race, wondering if I'd offended him. How I'd offended him, rather, since I plainly had. I shot a look over to his office, and saw that he was in- his blinds were down, but light came from under his door. Knowing he'd only get irritated if I kept him waiting, I stumbled to my feet, prompting a snigger from the guys hanging out by the water cooler while they waited for the last of their numbers to arrive. Pete was one of them, of course. I gave them a venemous look, then clicked for Craig's office on high-heeled shoes and tapped on the door.

"Come in." It wasn't barked, or even said very loudly, but it was an order. I hesitated only an instant, then turned the handle and slipped into the office, shutting the door carefully behind me before turning to face Craig's wide, impeccably polished desk. It was a thing of beauty, made of dark-stained oak by Craig himself. Pictures of his wife used to decorate it. Since their divorce a year ago, it was clean of everything but the usual slight detritus of a neat but hard-working man. Right now my boss was tapping a pen against his appointment book as he looked over at me, pale eyebrows slightly raised. There was a moment of silence as each of us waited for the other to speak. I was finally the one to break it.

"You wanted to see me? Sir?" I hated for my voice to sound so little-girlish, but Craig always seemed to bring that out in me. Craig didn't seem to mind. He nodded, as if he'd been reminded of something he'd forgotten; something trifling and unimportant.

"Ah. Samantha...yes. You requested a raise." His voice, quiet and urbane, gave no hint as to what his thoughts on the matter were. As he spoke I moved hesitantly across the room, finally standing in front of his desk, my hands folded behind my back.

I waited through another silence, then finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, sir, I did. Have you, ah...given the matter some thought?"

"I have." Craig set his pen down, the tapping ceasing, and folded his hands. Pale eyes peered up at me. "You have a sister."

My stomach plummeted. How in the world had he known...? But I couldn't deny it. "Yes, sir." Craig had always insisted on being addressed so formally, by the workmen as well as myself. Someone had told me he was former military, and still expected the respect that rank was due. That fit with his neatness, and his straight posture. "Penelope. Penny."

He gave a tic of a smile when I called Penny by her nickname, blonde head inclining slightly. "Penny, yes. Severely brain damaged and in need of constant medical attention, isn't that right? From an accident when you were a child. Your parents were killed in the same crash, when you were ten and Penny was five, and you were raised by your grandparents, who subsequently died a few years apart. Your grandfather when you were fifteen, your grandmother when you were twenty, upon which event you were awarded custody of Penny. Six years ago. Penny, who lives in a quite costly institution." He made a disarming little gesture, manicured hands spreading as he offered me another brief, calculated smile. "Is that all correct?"

I had stood quite still through the recitation of facts, and by the time it was finished I was sure my jaw was dropping. I picked it up with an effort and stuttered out my reply. "Sir, I...yes, but..."

"Never mind how I know. Suffice it to say that I do." Craig picked the pen up, turning it between his hands, his eyes down on that for the moment. "I'll give you a raise. Quite a substantial one, in fact." My heart soared, my hands clenching tightly behind my back, but something in his tone of voice held me back from squealing in celebration. "On a condition."

I didn't answer verbally; I'm sure my eyes told him to go on when he glanced up to check my reaction. His voice was smooth as he continued, as sane and reasonable as if he were offering me a raise in exchange for new coffee duties. "I will pay your sister's medical bills- all of them- for the forseeable future, as well as your current salary. If-" and here he paused, head mildly tilted as he stared up at me. "You will agree to allow me use of your body. Unconditional use."

For several seconds, I was sure I hadn't heard him correctly. Use of my body? Unconditional use? It sounded like...

"Sexual slavery, Samantha. That's what I am asking for," he clarified, sounding and looking faintly amused. He studied me over the top of the pen, then rested it on the desk again and waited politely for my answer.

I felt lightheaded, as realization sank in, and took a step back to fold clumsily into the other chair in the office. Craig simply watched me, like a scientist with an interesting specimen, as I regained my breath. "Are you...joking, sir?"

"I assure you, I'm perfectly serious. Your sister's care, everything you could want, in exchange for complete control of your body. I've been coveting it for quite some time, Samantha." A touch of impatience crept into his voice at that, and he began to rise. "Unless, of course, you're uninterested."

"No!" The answer popped out, startling even me. He hesitated momentarily, then sank back to his seat, gesturing for me to continue. I stood, always a little clumsy in heels, and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. Six years of poverty and anxiety were overwhelming me, a daily burden that had felt, at many moments, too much to bear. And here was an opportunity to let it all be washed away...gone for good. No more worry about how long I had until the electricity would be cut off; how late I could safely be on mortgage payments. No more worry that Penny's insurance would finally run out, leaving me with outright payments far worse than any deductibles I was already struggling to make. No more..."No. I mean...yes. Yes, sir. I'll...take it." The words fell like lead on my ears, muffled as if they had come from some other room. Some other mouth than mine.

Craig permitted himself a smile then, as I'd seen on his face before when a business deal went well. "Excellent. Bring your sister's insurance information to me tomorrow, so we can begin the transfers. Then come over to my desk and bend over it, head on your arms."

His prosaic tone caught me off guard. I was still in the state of surreal disconnection from the events, head swimming with thoughts of financial freedom, but personal servitude. What had I done? I had no idea what this man's tastes might be. What in the world had I set myself up for? I didn't respond to the command, not with a word or a step forward. I just stood there, staring dumbly at him.

Craig stood smartly, moving with alacrity around the desk and to my side. My wrist was seized, his other hand pushing at the small of my back to propel me forward to his desk. I moved with shocked clumsiness, and when I gave a small cry he gave my wrist an expert twist, just to the point of pain. I was shoved forward, hips banging against the edge of the desk before his strong hand pushed my back down, my one wrist still bent awkwardly behind me to provide leverage. His voice murmured near my ear then, hot breath stirring my hair.

"You will obey all commands I give you, instantly. When we are in public you will call me sir, or Mr. Simms. When we're in private, you will call me Master. Do you understand, bitch?" Even the vulgar word wasn't charged with emotion. Despite the flurry of violence, Craig's control remained intact, and some part of me instantly realized that "bitch" wasn't a curse, when he directed it at me. It was a new title.

"Yes..." I squeaked out in return, breath knocked out of me by the sudden shove into the desk, voice meek now in fear. "...Master." His hips rocked once into my ass with that, a satisfied grunt coming from behind me before my wrist was released. My hands gripped the opposite edge of the desk, still in shock as behind me, Craig matter-of-factly flipped my skirt over the small of my back. I opened my mouth to object, but no sound came out. Perhaps I was simply paralyzed by the bizarre shock of this turn of events.

Broad hands grasped both of my full cheeks, hard enough to hurt, then smoothed over the nylon-encased flesh with a proprietary air. He lightly slapped one, enough to make me jump slightly, but not enough to hurt, and must have watched while the flesh gave a little jiggle in response. Detachedly, I realized I was near to hyperventilating. Then a knee pressed between my thighs, forcing my legs to part, and I began to see dark spots in front of me. I stared blindly ahead, breasts mashed painfully down against the wood of the desk as Craig reached for something on the desk.

When I felt cold steel in the groove between my panty-clad crotch and my inner thigh, I yelped and squirmed despite myself. His hand came down with brutal swiftness between my shoulders, knocking me down and pushing the breath out of me before he muttered, "Shut up, you stupid cunt. I'll cut you, if you keep moving." I immediately fell silent, besides the pulls of air. As if to test my ability to stay quiet, he slapped my left ass cheek hard enough to make me gasp, then grasped the stinging spot firmly and ground down with his grip. I bit my lip but stayed silent, eyes screwing shut. A moment later he released me, apparently satisfied, and then I felt the blade again and recognized it. It was a pair of scissors, of all things.

Craig cut with delicate care and concentration, removing first the crotch of my pantyhose until I could feel them beginning to split up the back. I stood still in horrified silence, bent vulnerably over the desk, as my employer- master?- smoothed a hand over the panties below before neatly sliding the blade underneath my hose and snipping the bikini briefs up their sides. He tugged on the back of them, pulling them out and tossing the ruined panties unceremoniously into the trash.

I thought I knew what was coming then. I was wrong. Instead of plowing into me, Craig reached for me with his hands, groping into the hole he'd cut into my hose and palpating my labia with one hand. I could hear the amusement in his voice. "Shaved? Maybe you're not as innocent as I had thought. Still, it saves me some time." I took a breath to answer him, and he seized one of my nether lips and gave it a hard, reprimanding pinch. "I said shut up." I could feel tears starting to slide down my cheeks, but I followed orders, going silent again.

The inspection of my gentials continued, cold and clinical. Craig tugged my labia out of the slit in the pantyhose, arranging the hole just so that it showed him everything. His touch was rough and businesslike, arranging me as if my most private places had been a pot of silk flowers. Then his hand slowed, finger trailing along one soft, shaven fold before prodding inside. He parted me, bending behind me to examine what I had on display. My cheeks burned as the cool, air-conditioned air of the office blew against my inner folds, displayed as callously as if they were a horse's teeth at a livestock sale. His finger probed deeper then, sliding up and back down the length of my slit. I shivered once, violently, and then realized that I was no longer dry. Somewhere along the way, the dehumanizing treatment had started to arouse me, a thought that turned my stomach. Craig seemed satisfied, though, prodding into my entrance up to his first knuckle and then pulling out, wiping his finger against my hip before he released me. "Stand up."

I stood immediately, knees quivering as my skirt fell back around them, and turned to face Craig. The cold, forbidding expression he habitually wore did nothing to make my insides feel less like jelly, though the hot little knot of arousal was doing its best to banish my queasy stomach. "You'll do. Come to my office immediately after work."

I couldn't believe it. After that- he was going to simply tell me to get back to work, and leave the promise of the evening hanging over my head. I gaped at him a moment, until his hard stare reminded me. "Yes, Master." My eyes flickered down toward the ruined panties sitting openly in his trash, and he lifted his brows at me.

"You won't be needing those any longer. Never wear panties again. Tomorrow you'll have the day off to buy a garter belt and stockings to allow me access, as well as some other things we'll discuss tonight. Is that understood?"

"Yes...yes, Master." I swallowed, my throat dry, and he nodded, pointing at the door.

"Go."

I went, trotting on high heels, acutely aware of my flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and naked sex catching cool air under my skirt.

       

The rest of the day was pure agony. My gut was gnawing with the knowledge of what I'd signed myself up for, while at the same time my heart was thudding happily over the thought that my financial worries were gone. A little lower than the sinking feeling in my stomach, my groin tickled a slow burn, exacerbated every time I shifted my legs. My mound, circled and squeezed by the hole cut in my pantyhose, would brush my skirt and suddenly feel as obvious as if it had been lit with neon. Logically I knew no one could tell what I was wearing under the demure skirt, which hit just below my knees. Emotionally, I was sure every man who filtered in and out of the office that day was aware of my helpless nudity.

I'm sure my job suffered. In fact, I know it did- twice I had to ask callers to repeat their names, and I'm reasonably sure I got a few wrong anyway. One poor customer who entered the building to speak to Craig had to wait half a minute before I even noticed his presence and blushingly buzzed him in. I'm sure the workers filtering through between jobs thought I'd lost my mind, but none of them asked what was the matter.

None except Pete. His manner of asking was none too delicate, though. After returning from a job site, he dropped his sweating, dusty body onto the edge of my desk and leaned in to peer at me too closely. "You look like shit."

"Ever the gentleman," I snapped in return, shifting my chair and monitor so that I wasn't looking at him.

"Hey, I try and show a little concern, and all I get is the blow-off? Catch me tryin' to be nice again," Pete drawled, his accent faintly Southern. I'd heard someone say Pete came from South Carolina, and it sounded about right.

"Didn't sound particularly nice to me. Get off my desk, would you? I'm trying to work here." I did my best to sound commanding, but Pete never was easy to order around. He leaned closer now, breathing in with a shit-eating grin on his face before murmuring near my ear.

"You smell like pussy. Did you know that?"

"Get the fuck off my desk, NOW." The violence of the order moved him where asking politely hadn't. He dropped off, still grinning, and sauntered away to help himself to some coffee in the next room. I sat staring blindly at my computer, trying to control my trembling. Enough. I had to get a grip on myself then and there, or I would have run screaming out of the building and lost everything. Not just my new chance, but my old job too. Then where would I be? Where would Penny be? Not in her pricey suite with her dedicated helpers anymore, that was for sure. I knew I couldn't meet my sister's needs at home. For her sake, I had to try.

I managed reasonably well until five 'til five. Closing time, or nearly so. That was when Craig's email arrived in my inbox, the contents brusque and to the point.

"This is your last chance to back out. Leave now if you've decided not to go through with this. If you're still willing, come to my office when everyone else is gone. Lock the door first."

I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm. I'd already made my decision. My decision was for Penny. My decision was for me.

When the others finally left, long fingers of sunset-orange light pushing through the blinds, I locked the door behind them- especially Pete. My legs felt strange as I walked the short distance to Craig's office. Just as my hand was reaching for the doorknob, the intercom squawked.

"Stop, slut." Craig's voice, amplified, sounded even more forbidding. I rocked to a stop, wincing faintly at his use of the derogatory word. A breath was drawn through my nose, and I waited. "Listen to me, and listen carefully. I will give you three rules. Over time you'll learn more, but these first three rules are the most important. Remove your shirt."

The offhand order caught me off guard, but after a few seconds my hands lifted to my buttons, trembling so badly it was difficult to undo the fastenings of my blouse. Only when I'd started to undress did Craig continue, a hint of impatience creeping into the brassy, mechanized voice. "Rule one is to do everything I tell you to do immediately. No hesitation. Your slowness to remove your shirt has earned you punishment, which you will understand shortly."

I'm certain my face went white, and my speed in unbuttoning doubled as I all but tore the buttons free. The shirt was pulled off, my hands themselves shaking as I folded it and set it on the nearest desk.

"Remove your skirt."

This time, I was prepared, and afraid. I fumbled the hook and eye closure open, then unzipped the dark tweed skirt and let it drop, stepping out of it. Craig sounded more satisfied when he continued, while I folded the skirt and laid it on top of the blouse. I felt horribly exposed.

"Rule number two. Your body is my property. Mine, not yours. You will not get any tattoos, piercings, or haircuts without my permission. You will not be engaging in any sexual activity without my permission- and that includes masturbation. You will not, however, ever deny me my right to your body, or whoever I might choose to share it with."

I felt an icy prickle on my exposed skin at that thought. He might hand me over to someone else? I opened my mouth to ask, then thought better of it, snapping it shut. I stood there in bra and ruined pantyhose, my sex ludicrously framed and squeezed by the hole in the nylons and my body acutely aware of it.

"Rule number three. If you attempt to go to the police about something I have done to you, or make any retaliatory attempts, I will ruin you. I have the connections, I have the money. Is that perfectly understood?"

He waited, and I cleared my throat and answered loudly enough to be heard through the door, hugging my arms over my bare midriff. "Yes, Master."

"Good. Now get the rest of your clothes off and kneel by the door."

I hesitated, I admit. I was afraid to stand there nude in the office I worked in every day, the memories of the other employees there to judge me. There were, too, the windows- the blinds were down, but it wasn't impossible for a peeping tom to peer through them. It took a few calming breaths before I lifted my hands and unhooked my bra, sliding the straps from my shoulders and letting it fall on top of my folded clothes. My nipples hardened immediately in the cool air of the office, goosebumps prickling my arms as my aereola crinkled. If I hadn't had another task to complete, I would have crossed my arms over my bare, small-breasted chest. Instead I peeled off my pantyhose, bending at the waist to step out of them and setting aside the ruined pair before peering down at the carpet in front of the door. I was to kneel on it.

Kneeling...I'd never kneeled to anyone before, except in church as a young girl. Before church lost all of its appeal. Just pretend you're taking communion...and then the blasphemous thought popped in my mind that perhaps I was going to be asked to put flesh in my mouth this time, too. The crazy urge to laugh dropped me to my knees as much as anything, and there I rested, peering up at the door.

I had waited a full ten seconds before it opened, and there was Craig. He was still dressed, which came as a shock- but I understood almost immediately why. Clothes were power. Nudity, helplessness. The disparity of our conditions was underlined by our state of dress. He looked me up and down, faintly frowning, before nodding and reaching forward. His hand came to rest under my chin, tilting it up. He peered into my face for a long moment before lifting his hand and backhanding me sharply across the cheek.

I must have cried out. I know I started to cry. His response was brusque and impersonal. "That is for taking your shirt off slowly. Next, we will have to do something about your hesitation to kneel." With that, his hand closed in my hair, foot nudging my thigh to prod me to rise, half-hauled by my dark mane.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, as much from the shock as from the pain. Craig had always seemed gentle and restrained, if powerful. Incapable of anger. But the violence all seemed so matter of fact, delivered with the attitude of a long-suffering parent. It was a pity, his air seemed to say, that I could not do things correctly, and it was a further pity that his unpleasant duty was to correct me.

His methodical voice went on as he tugged me by my hair over to my own desk, shoving me forward when I reached it so that I had to catch myself on the end. "Any hesitation to carry out my demands implies that you're having second thoughts about doing so. There can be no second thoughts. No hesitation. If I ask you to staple your nipple to your desk, you will do it, and immediately." My heart was trying to pound through my chest at this point, painfully thudding against my ribs as his hand at the back of my head suddenly pressed down, shoving my stinging cheek against the wooden desk. "Is that understood?"

My answer was instant, and desperate. "Yes, Master!" The pressure was immediately relieved.

"Good. Hands behind your back and spread your legs." I didn't hesitate, thrusting my hands behind my back as requested and spreading my legs until my toes touched the legs of the desk, along the short end I was pressed against. I felt cool steel on my wrists and nearly panicked as the handcuffs were locked snugly into place, securing my arms at the small of my back. "These are temporary. Metal can be dangerous, so I don't suggest you struggle." Then he paused. His turn to hesitate, before he gave his brisk order. "Turn around."

I obeyed, of course, shivering with cold and with something close to terror as I turned to face him, my cheek still red where he'd slapped me. "Lie back." I draped myself carefully back on the desk, butt perched on the edge of it, and with his hand pressing on my shoulder, I lay back on the desk, legs dangling off the edge. Satisfied, he moved away, off toward the warehouse area where the equipment was kept.

I had a moment to myself, then, shivering and already uncomfortable where the cuffs were digging into my back and wrists, under my weight. Only a moment, filled with wild thoughts about what the hell I thought I was doing, before he was back. He carried with him a coil of rope, the type the crews used to secure loose items in the trucks, and fed one end between my back and my arms, looping it so that it went over one arm and under the other. I gave a small shudder when his hand brushed the small of my back, muscles twitching as goosebumps rose on the skin he'd touched. The rope's ends were then dropped to the floor, and he tugged my legs apart with impersonal hands on my knees. I went from pale to red-faced in an instant as I felt the lips of my sex lazily part as my legs were spread.

Each ankle was tied tightly to the legs of the desk, and the pressure exerted on the handcuffs kept my arms hard against the desktop, pinning me down neatly. I felt like a butterfly on display, pinned to a board, my groin spread by the position and back arched so that my small breasts stood up proudly. Craig stood back after he was finished, surveying his handiwork with remote satisfaction for a few seconds before speaking.

"Good. I wanted to see your face." With those ominous words he stooped, picking up the other item he'd brought with him. It was a ruler- eighteen inches, made of wood. Soon, I was thankful it wasn't one with a metal edge. "This punishment is for pausing before you kneeled. If you hesitate before carrying out my orders, the result...is...pain."

On the last deliberate word he lashed out with the impromptu cane and pain exploded on my labia, the ruler smacking across both and grazing my inner thigh. My back arched, and this time I know I screamed. It echoed in the empty office. It didn't stop, or even slow him.

The second lash landed on my right lip, the third on my left in quick succession. Each blow was given with sufficient force that for a numb, shocked moment I felt no pain. Just an instant of nothing but knowledge of the impact, and then each bit of flesh felt as if it had exploded. I dimly remember being shocked, when he brought the ruler back up to swing again, that it didn't have any blood on it.

The fourth was worse. He landed it dead center, the wood thwacking down between my lips to make me shriek with panic as much as pain. I didn't know real pain yet- that came with strike five. With my labia parted by the fourth blow, the fifth caught me smack in my most sensitive areas, the tip of the ruler licking off my clit as it was raised. My toes curled up, mouth opening in a raw scream as I yanked against my bonds.

Five lashes were deemed sufficient, but by the end of them I felt as if my groin would split, and tears matted my eyelashes. I breathed with the rapid pace of one on the edge of hysterics as I sunk back down onto the desk, and stared up at him wildly when he stopped. Was he done, now?

What I saw gave me pause. He was watching my face intently, pale eyes focused on my expressions. My sweat, the redness of my face. His free hand reached in and fondled my reddened, swelling cuntlips, and when I winced I saw him smile, slow and quiet. "That's right," he murmured. "That is what happens when you're disobedient. And now, you will thank me."

Thank him?! For what, for beating my most sensitive parts with a strip of wood, for staring at me like a psychopath while he did it? I could hardly fathom the idea- but before I knew it, my desperate lips had parted, and my traitor voice said, "Thank you, Master." I flushed hotly, but the words couldn't be taken back. I'd thanked him for beating me...like a slave. Anything to avoid another beating. My crotch thudded with pain, every pulse of my heart sending blood through stinging vessels.

His smile widened, and his hand dropped to begin to unfasten his belt. He pulled it from his pants, considered it, and looked back at me. I swallowed heavily. I'd already been pained enough, hadn't I? But for now, he dropped the belt and unfastened his pants, lowering the zipper and pushing them and his boxers down to his knees. His cock was already erect, and I'm certain my eyes bulged.

Craig was large. Not simply large, but what must have been nearly ten inches- larger than anything I'd ever tried to put inside me, real or plastic. It was angry red and purple, neatly circumcised, bobbing as he pushed his pants out of the way and eased between my legs, aiming with the tip. "Are you on birth control, cunt?"

"Yes, Master." I couldn't keep my voice from shaking badly, as the head already oozing precum prodded against my painful labia, then touched the slick flesh between them. He was teasing for now, hips shifting minutely as he let his monster explore my outsides.

"Excellent. We'll do without a condom, then." He pressed in just slightly, eyes narrowing as his slick tip nudged against my entrance. Not pressing in, not yet, but letting me know he was there. I was almost pleased to see him tighten his jaw slightly, just to know that any of it caused him to have to visibly control himself. But my mind was more on something else, right that moment.

"But--"

That was all I got out, before he shot me a furious look that dropped me into silence. His hand reached up, grabbing one of my erect nipples and giving it a sharp twist, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes again. I cried out, but he held it in that position a long few seconds before letting it go. "Do not...question me." To drive the lesson home, he gave my reddened nipple a light smack, making my breast bob with a little jolt of pain. Only then did he answer the question I hadn't been able to finish. "I'm clean. As are you."

I didn't ask, of course. We'd had company-ordered physicals the month before, and an STD test had been part of them. Now I knew why, and it made my face burn. He'd planned this far in advance, hadn't he? Just waited until he knew my need was sharp before he made his move.

And now, he made another move. With a small roll of his hips, he increased the pressure against my vaginal opening, and I am ashamed to say he didn't meet much resistance. The pain from the beating he'd delivered was still present, but much dulled by then, and in its place it had left just increased blood flow and an instant heat. My body had responded by making me wet.

"Look at me."

I had closed my eyes when I felt his head slide into me, pausing just inside me. I opened them now, staring up at him as he pushed just a little further into me, his eyes on mine. His hands rested on the desk at either side of me as the head of his cock rested inside my still-throbbing labia, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him. I could quite literally feel my body adjusting to the thick intruder, muscles relaxing and the skin around my entrance stretching.

"Keep watching me. I want you to see. I want to see you." His command was murmured, his gaze almost loving in its intensity.

"Yes, Master." My voice almost broke on my reply, and I blinked back a sudden swell of tears. Not successfully, though- two broke free and trailed down my cheeks, and a smile suddenly lit his face. A bright and satisfied expression, and then Craig shoved his hips forward in a fast, brutal thrust.

I bit my lip savagely hard to keep from yelling as he slammed his length into me, giving my body no time to adjust and only getting perhaps half his cock into me before running into too much resistance to continue. He had a steady little smile on his face as he stared down at me, locking eyes with me as he drew back and thrust forward again. This time he lodged himself a little deeper in me, though he also provoked a yelp of pain as he hammered against taut, unprepared muscles.

"You're going to let me in." It was a command, hissed from between gritted teeth as Craig drew back. He twitched his hips as he pulled almost free of me, his tip shifting inside me as if exploring my every inch. His teeth were bared in a savage smile as he drove forward again, my body giving way a little more this time. "All the way."

Pain in my pussy, pain in my shoulders forced unnaturally back, pain in my back and wrists where the metal handcuffs dug in against soft skin- it was overwhelming. My face was burning hot, as Craig set up a slow rhythm. His way got easier with every stroke in and out, my body opening up to him whether I wanted it to or not, my belly starting to heat in response to his intrusion. I couldn't cope with it, all of a sudden, and I looked away. It was a mistake. There was a picture on my desk- my mother, Penny and I, when the two of us were still just kids with our whole lives ahead of us. It was like being slapped all over again, and I shut my eyes. I wish I could have shut my ears to the moist, sucking noise of Craig's cock digging relentlessly into me.

My eyes flew open again when my breasts were seized. One in each hand, Craig squeezed hard, my nipples darkening as they peeked out over his thumbs. "Look at me," he commanded sharply, his voice thick with excitement. I met his eyes and found them glittering in a way I'd never seen before, the expression wild. Feral. Dangerous. He smiled again, all teeth, and maintained his grasp on my tits as he slammed his hips forward. I gave a startled cry, back arching involuntarily as he yanked on my breasts as if they were reins.

That movement more than anything else must have helped him, because this time he sank fully into me. I felt the tip of his cock hammer against the hard knot of my cervix, and the soft warmth of his balls nestle against my still stinging cuntlips. He paused there to savor the moment, thumbs running over my nipples as my pussy twitched around him, burning flesh still trying to adjust to the thick, long intruder.

"There, you see? Why did you take so long to let me in?" His voice was a parody of concern, thumbs still rubbing their slow circles over my squeezed nipples. I ran my tongue over my dry lips, voice crackling as I tried to answer.

"Master, I just...couldn't..."

"Stop. That is never an answer." His hands squeezed tighter around my tits, hard enough to leave bruises, before his voice deepened to a growl and his hips began to move again. Slow for now, he drew back and then slammed forward again, each shove into my already pained body a punctuation mark for his words.

"I never want to hear that you can't." His sac slapped into me with a damp smack as his tool dug into the core of my body. "I never want to hear an excuse." He gave my tits a brutal yank as he shoved himself into me again, pale eyes boring into me, his face beginning to redden with his arousal and effort. "And certainly not about fitting me in you." This time the desk gave a creak of protest as he shoved his whole weight into me, pinning my legs against the edge of the desk and making me whimper. "Not when your whole...purpose..." He was panting by now, the thrusts coming faster and timed with yanks on my breasts, drawing my body slightly up and into his. "Is to take my cock...in your body."

He finally released my breasts, the blood surging back into them and turning white handprints red, aching immediately. It didn't provide any relief, as then he seized my ass, dragging it forward the small distance it could go so he could begin to pound me in earnest. His hands dug into my fleshy cheeks as his hips pistoned, my insides feeling as if they were having a plunger applied to them. His weight made the cuffs dig horribly into the small of my back, his thrusts made my stomach jolt with every ram into my womb, my shoulders felt as though they would dislocate, my throat ached with the sheer sensation of fullness, and still I was too afraid to stop looking at him. He kept his eye contact with my, lips drawn back from his teeth in a savage grimace as he pumped into me.

I thought that certainly, at least, at this pace he wouldn't last long. I didn't have much experience with men, but I had enough not to expect a marathon session. Maybe that's why he grinned, the cords of his neck standing out with the effort, when he slowed down. Every thrust became a slow tease, a drawn out withdrawal of hard flesh from soft, going slow to make sure I could feel every vein of him. He released one of my ass cheeks, his hand stroking along the top of my mound before his thumb settled on the hood of my clit. I must have looked confused, behind the fear, but I soon understood. The sheer mortification I felt when my body lit up to his touch was answer enough for why he'd started to rub slow circles over the little nub of flesh.

"Oh..." The sound startled me, before I realized I had made it. It was a murmur of surprised pleasure, spilling over dry lips as a shiver of arousal went directly to my spine. As my belly heated to a slow burn, I began to feel every inch of him in a different way. Not pain, now, but near-painful awareness of every bump and slick plane of him. I could feel his swollen head catching in my flesh with every near withdrawal, my body sucking it back in hungrily. The noise made Craig chuckle, warm and breathless.

"You like that, don't you? Dirty little bitch." The insult was carelessly tossed off, sounding almost affectionate. I'm sure I looked wounded, but he didn't care- he just started rubbing me a little faster, each circle of his thumb punctuated by a loose, almost lazy thrust of his hips. I was wet enough by then that each thrust was accompanied by a soft slurp of sound, and I could feel sticky liquid trickling into the crack of my ass. As he sped up my hips lifted slightly, involuntarily, despite the increased pressure on the hands cuffed under me. My face was red, my shame digging as deeply into me as Craig, but I wanted more of that touch.

With that, his hand was withdrawn, a moment later coming down in a sharp little smack against my engorged clit. "No. I'm in control, not you." His tone was curt, a little unsteady with his own arousal. I yelped at the unexpected strike, bucking against my bounds, which only made him hit me again, right on the same spot. This time I kept my reaction to a whimper, holding rigidly still as he thrust into me double-quick, no longer making any effort to arouse me.

It hurt like hell, but what came as a real shock was that after the sting of pain from the slaps faded, I was left even more aroused than before. Every thrust was delicious heat being passed over supersensitive flesh. When Craig bent to murmur into my face, inches from me, his angle changed and I caught my breath as his head began to bang away on my walls. "I want you to cum, slave. Cum in the next ten seconds or I'll give you twenty lashes with my belt."

The threat made my heart race, and I nodded desperately. I couldn't lift my hips, though, couldn't move- how was I to do anything? His face was clouding, and I realized I'd only nodded. I blurted out my reply as he picked up his pace, pistoning savagely into me. "Yes, Master..."

I focused, then. Focused on the sensation of his large cock plunging into me, of his heavy balls slapping into my vulva, on the still-throbbing pain of my labia, my tits, my clit...I strained slightly and spread my knees just a bit more, straining to feel every inch of his slippery flesh as he pumped me. I was excited to feel a tingle beginning in my abused clit as it began to flush with blood, but I still needed that extra bump. Just as I had the thought, Craig bent over me, his angle changing again as he grasped my left breast, squeezing it lightly before wrapping his warm mouth around my nipple and giving it a long, hard suck. That was all I needed.

I shouted as I went over the edge, his huge shaft like an iron bar inside me as I squeezed down on it convulsively. My belly shuddered, my back arching and toes curling up as I gasped for air. I'd never cum so hard in my life, and it seemed to go on for several seconds. Even the muscles in the small of my back clamped up, my entire lower body concentrated on the delicious spasm that made my vision dim redly.

As I came out of it, I was suddenly, sharply aware of Craig's continued pounding. It was no longer pleasant, but raspingly painful in the aftermath of my orgasm, my flesh made unbearably sensitive. Feeling as if I was having sandpaper dragged over my pussy, I winced, and Craig, incredibly, laughed as he straightened.

"What a horny little bitch. You cum when a man beats you, ties you to a desk, mauls your tits, and shoves his cock in you. The perfect woman." His hands wandered up my sides, agonizingly tender as all of me was. "But you haven't thanked me."

"Thank you, Master," I gasped out in reply. Satisfied, he dipped his head low again, and this time his teeth rather than his lips seized my nipple. He bit down sharply enough to make me scream, then held the little nub of flesh between his teeth steadily, flicking his tongue over it as he thrust away. His grasp only tightened as he built to a crescendo, and incredibly I felt my own arousal building again. The discomfort in my cunt faded in comparison to the white hot pain in my bitten nipple, brought to a peak by the teasing scrapes of his tongue as he rutted me. I was on the verge of cumming again, desperate for it, when he stiffened. His teeth ground down and I squealed like a pig.

With the pain as an agonizing distraction, it was a second or two before I recognized another sensation- hot semen spilling into me. Craig continued to thrust urgently, sloppily now after his brief pause. His teeth kept their unbearable grasp on my tit as he spurted into me, but the physical pain seemed meaningless now compared to the wave of intense humiliation that swept me. As my arousal started to fade, I was acutely conscious of what had happened. Was happening. I was tied over my desk, beaten, conquered, my boss's cock shoved deeply into me and now spraying my insides victoriously with his cum. And I'd volunteered for it. Silently, steadily, I started to weep.

Craig's teeth released me, and the wave of pain it provoked was almost worse than the initial bite. I cried out, then began to sob in earnest, and as if to drive the point home he pulled out his shaft and aimed the last spurt of semen onto my stomach. I stared at the white blob through tear-clouded eyes, as he gave a satisfied sigh and turned away. He stooped awkwardly, his still-rigid cock bobbing obscenely, covered in both our juices, and picked up my blouse. The pretty bit of cloth was used as casually as if it had been a paper towel, to wipe Craig clean. He tossed my blouse, one of my favorites, casually down onto the floor before striding over to me again. I felt his finger scrape at my abused, gaping entrance a moment before it lifted to my lips, coated in both of our secretions. "Open up," he commanded with a crooked little smile. It was an expression I had found endearing, before now.

I did it, though. I was afraid not to. I opened my mouth and he slid his finger in, and I tasted the musky salt and almost gagged on it. He swirled his finger around my mouth with relish, as he talked to me. "You were dripping. Now...I want you to say 'Thank you, Master, for the gift of your sperm." He withdrew his finger then, and gestured for me to speak.

I was almost crying too hard to manage it, but after a gulping breath I choked out, "Thank you, M-master, for the...for the gift of your sperm." He seemed satisfied, turning away and simply leaving me there as he pulled his pants up over his softening member, then pulled my chair over to have a seat at my desk. He selected a pen, my favorite as it happened, and a piece of paper, and began to write. As he did so he reached out with his free hand, absently grabbing my breast to knead it between his fingers. It was the one he'd bitten, still purple and aching from the harsh treatment, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out again. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He still smirked, not glancing up from his writing, which looked to be a list.

When he was finished he put the pen down then stood, finally pulling out a pocket knife to slice the ropes close to the knots. I did yell as he pulled me to my feet, the circulation returning to my limbs painfully as he unlocked the cuffs and slipped them into his pocket. I stayed standing, but only just, my legs splayed awkwardly and my hands brought forward to rub at my dented wrists. My hair fell forward into my tear-drenched face, and Craig took a step back and studied me while I sniveled, disgusted with myself even for that.

It was a long moment before he spoke, and when he did he stepped forward to smooth my hair back from my face. It was an oddly tender gesture, until his fingers dug in against the crown of my skull, forcing my head up to look at him. "On your desk is a list of items to buy. You will take the day off tomorrow and take care of it, then go home and wait for me there. Several of the items are starred. I expect you to figure out what to do with those by the time I get there."

He leaned in then, and my eyes widened before they shut tightly, as if that could drive him away. He kissed me anyway, hard and demanding, grazing his teeth on my lower lip before he pulled back. "Don't bathe until the morning. I want you to smell me all night. Now get dressed, slut, before I decided you want a little more." With that he grasped both my ass cheeks, giving them a firm squeeze before he turned away and strode dismissively off to his office. I stood in stunned silence a moment before scrambling for my clothes, cringing as I put on the cum-stiffened blouse. It smelled like us both, and though I put my coat on over it I was sure everyone on the bus would be able to smell me. Then, too, my hose were ruined, I had no panties, and I was sure I would drip onto the seats.

Suffice it to say, when I tore out the door with my list in hand, I decided to walk all the way home.