118 lines
4.2 KiB
Plaintext
118 lines
4.2 KiB
Plaintext
THE EXECUTIVE
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by V.P.Viddler
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Her name was Lynn, and she was a highly successful
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corporation executive, with an extravagantly lavish office high
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up in an important midtown building. Company heads did her
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bidding; co-workers and underlings shook at a look from her sharp
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brown eyes.
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But right now she was on the floor of that office, on hands
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and knees, crawling in front of the two impassive men sitting and
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watching her. She was crawling slowly around the room and crying.
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Her blouse was unbuttoned, her breasts falling out, bare, swaying
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as she moved. Her panties clung about her knees. Tim had told her
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to pull them down as she was crawling, to leave them around her
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knees. Lynn's light brown lustrous hair was falling about her
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face. Her skirt did not conceal her moving, smooth, curving
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thighs.
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Crawling for the two watching men, Lynn was moaning,
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gasping, sobbing. Lynn hated Tim for doing this to her. And she
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hated herself for allowing it.
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For wanting it.
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For craving it.
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The second man was Arthur. Arthur had not known Lynn before
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this. Tim had brought him to her office and said he was going to
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exhibit her for him. And that was what he was doing.
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Exhibiting her.
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To this stranger.
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Showing her off. Showing how she would do anything he told
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her. Showing what a base, filthy, dirty animal slave Lynn was for
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him. Showing how she could not stop herself from giving in to his
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degradation of her. His humiliating debasement. His parading her
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body, her soul, her absolute sublimation in accordance with his
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commands.
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It was the middle of a highly busy and important day at her
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firm. "No," Lynn had said, trying to say it firmlly, stomach
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turning, sinking, not looking at this Arthur's face. "No, I
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can't. Not now, Tim, I can't. And anyway--"
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And Tim had smiled. And simply locked the door. And sat
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down. And waited.
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And Lynn had started to tremble.
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To whimper.
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To shake her head.
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To pant.
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To sob.
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All without saying a word.
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And Lynn had begun to beg.
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As Tim waited.
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And finally Lynn had sunk to her knees on the floor.
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"What do you want me to do?" Lynn said.
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"You see?" Tim had said to Arthur, and Arthur was grinning
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happily.
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Tim had told her what to do.
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And Lynn now was crawling, with her luscious breasts
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dangling, and her panties binding her knees, crying, showing that
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she was nothing but a crawling, obedient, animalistic slut slave,
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who would do anything in the world without being able to stop
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defiling her own selfhood.
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Lynn, crawling, sobbing, moaning, knew what was coming.
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Arthur was to be the beneficiary of Tim's vanity and Lynn would
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be his tool. Tim would watch approvingly as Lynn satisfied Arthur
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in any way he sought. And all ways. With her body. With her
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mouth. With her anus. With her vagina. Arthur would have them
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all. And breasts, thighs, buttocks, hips, hair, nipples, anything
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Arthur wanted.
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And Tim would have them also. Lynn knew she would soon be
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sandwiched by the two of them, screaming in pain and helpless
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frantic, unwilling passion, while out in the office work went on
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without her. Climaxing involuntarily as Tim and Arthur laughed,
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Tim forcing his penis into her mouth until she was gagging on it,
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howling around it until his gism choked the howls and forced her
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to swallow or strangle.
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Hours of fucking, sucking, crawling.
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And finally, when both men had drained themselves again and
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again, Tim's ultimate way of reviving his passion and flaunting
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his mastery.
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The pain.
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The awful unbearable searing agony of Tim's cigar. Ground
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out against Lynn's cringing flesh. Anywhere.
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It could go two ways. Or both. Arthur holding her hands
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behind her back as she stood, or above her head as she lay, as
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Tim slowly and gloatingly brought that glowing cigar closer,
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closer to Lynn's shaking body. Or, possibly worse--Tim forcing
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her to do it to herself. Waiting, watching her with his cigar in
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hand, waiting for Lynn to grind it out on her own nipple. Slowly.
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Gradually. Twisting and screaming "NO..."
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