“Please ... don’t make me do this.”
He settled a little further back into the tan leather chair and steepled his fingers before slowly reaching for the phone.
“All right! You win.”
Her voice, up until then so well modulated, quavered and even now, having surrendered, she seemed to be having difficulty in making her limbs obey. The others sat still, hardly daring to breathe, as they waited for events to unfold. Slowly, she began to unfasten the jacket buttons of her expensively tailored business suit but, as she came to the last one, she made a final entreaty.
“For God’s sake! I’ll do as you ask but send them away.”
His deep brown, inscrutable, eyes narrowed very slightly and then the slightest of smiles crossed his face.
“I think not.”
The relief from the others was almost palpable and Carlisle shifted self-consciously at his end of the sofa. She took some comfort from this apparent nervousness and, for a few seconds, she was the ‘Queen Bitch’ of old. She unfastened the final button and allowed the jacket to slide off of her shoulders. Underneath she wore a white silk blouse and her made to measure bra pointed up her breasts to devastating effect. She knew the power of her own body and she had used it to great advantage over many years.
The blouse was buttoned to the neck and, as she started to undo it, she held his gaze and tried to impart as much disdain as she was capable of. He held her stare evenly and remained impassive.
The bra was cut to emphasis her cleavage and, as she reached the fourth button, Milton whispered.
He ignored the remark; after all, they were new to this. She pulled the blouse free from her skirt to facilitate the opening of the last button and then she began to unfasten the skirt itself. The zip sounded both unnaturally loud and erotic in the confines of the office as she slowly pulled it down, but eroticism was the furthest thing from her mind. As she unclipped the waistband, and let the skirt fall to the floor, the sofa creaked as both Carlisle and Milton leant further forward almost as one.
Her legs were long and shapely, and he felt the first twinge of lust at the sight of her navy-blue stockings. She wore heels to further emphasis her height, but they also served to give her pelvis a slightly arrogant thrust and his eyes were drawn to her lace edged panties which formed a match with the provocative brassiere. She stood still for a moment with the loose blouse lending some vestige of modesty and raised her head almost imperceptibly. This was her last throw of the dice. The look of disdain was slowly replaced by a knowing smile. She was offering herself, but to him alone. He touched his index finger to his lips as though weighing the possibilities and then shattered her hope.
“Let’s not keep these good gentlemen waiting.”
She gave a quiet snarl, which embraced any number of unspoken threats, but he was sure that there was nothing that he had missed. She removed the blouse as though it was of no consequence, allowing it to fall on top of the discarded jacket and there she stood. If he took a photograph at this moment he knew he could name his price. The tabloids would have a feeding frenzy. The public acknowledged her as a beauty, but one had to see her in the flesh to truly appreciate her. She was in her late thirties now, but her body had retained its athletic tone from her days as a potential teenage tennis prodigy. Her skin was flawless and she was of the type to tan easily, but the paparazzi had never snared her. Her shoulders were broad which helped to keep her heavy breasts in proportion and tapered to a narrow waist before letting on to the legs, which, over the years had elicited so many favourable comments.
Her features had always put him in mind of the young Elizabeth Taylor, with her dark eyes surmounted by carefully sculpted eyebrows, but the resemblance was even more marked when she was angry. Her glossed lips were locked together but threatened to part at any moment and hurl forth a stream of invective.
She reached behind her back, one-handed, to unfasten her bra but paused momentarily and surveyed the windows. There were large picture windows on two walls offering views of the Tate Gallery to the north and the Houses of Parliament to the east further along the river but, unless someone was minded to take a powerful telescope to the top of Saint Paul’s, the twenty-first floor office would not be overlooked. Thus reassured, she deftly flicked open the single clip but she held the cups in place with her other arm.
“Is this what you get off on?”
Her voice was angry and at the edge of breaking but he could hear that she really had a need to know.
“I thought you knew.”
The reminder that she had had him investigated and had thereby brought all this on herself was the last straw. A tear broke from the corner of her eye and, with desolate resignation, she pulled the bra away from her chest and dropped it to the floor. Her breasts were much as he had imagined them. They were a pair of firm gourds with large brown oval nipples that seemed almost designed for rough play. He took his time in appraising them enjoying her ever-growing discomfort.
She faltered, and fresh tears welled up, but finally she made a hesitant quarter turn.
“Take your arm away!”
She had attempted to cover herself as she turned to face the sofa, but he was having none of it. She summoned up what was left of her pride, dropped her arm, and then, refusing to meet their stares she fixed her gaze on the London skyline. Carlisle and Milton were transfixed. They had been to clubs, they had paid for private dances, but this was something of a different order. Here was the woman who might lead them.
“Rub your nipples.”
She turned to him in disbelief.
“Surely you ...”
“... Do it!”
The sudden snap in his voice jolted her. She shivered but she did as she was told. She took hold of her nipples between thumb and finger and massaged them dispassionately but, nevertheless, they were coaxed into life.
“Take your hands away.”
Her hands dropped to her sides and he was pleased with the result. The areolae now had a darker hue and the teats stood out rigidly, giving rein to his fervent imagination. Without being told she turned back towards the sofa and stared out of the window. He knew that she was trying to set her mind free from the living nightmare that he was making her go through but she was not to know that he was only warming up.
“Down on your knees.”
Her eyes flickered nervously but she fell to her knees with as much grace as she could muster and knelt up with a straight back. Her face was now level with Carlisle’s but she was looking straight through him.
“Unfasten his trousers.”
It was hard to say who was the more shocked. Everything that Carlisle had learned from the image-makers about maintaining his poise suddenly deserted him. He loosened his tie and ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar which immediately seemed to become more constricting. She turned so quickly she almost fell off balance.
“You can’t make me ...”
“... who’s making you? You’re doing this of your own free will.”
This was patently untrue. She could of course get up and leave the room but it would be with the knowledge that he would surely destroy the rest of her life with a single phone call. He could almost see the thoughts boiling in her skull as she weighed the possibilities against the probabilities and in the end she remained on her knees.
Her hands slowly reached forward and Carlisle, fearful of breaking the spell, drew his breaths in painfully shallow draughts. The immaculately groomed golden boy, so beloved of the television cameras, looked as though he had had a sudden reversion to adolescence. Her fingers found the zip of his trousers and she tugged it open.
“Take it out.”
She was working on autopilot as her hand delved into the confines of his trousers and, with a deft twist, pulled out his erection. She knelt back, leaving it standing free and he noted with an inner smile that, like Carlisle’s politics, it leaned to the right. It seemed odd that the larger than life political wannabe was so modestly endowed but, modest or not, it looked painfully stiff.
“Suck him off.”
She knew what was coming but hearing the crude words spoken out loud made her flinch. Her hand reached forward again and, as her fingers encircled him, the perfectly polished red nails appeared almost predatory. Carlisle drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth as she pulled down on his shaft, completely freeing the engorged head. She held it steady for a few seconds whilst she girded herself and then, her decision made, she leant forward.
Milton half turned on the sofa to get a better view but, at the same time, he moved further away as if to disassociate himself. The ramifications of what they were doing were all too obvious, but he was too caught up in it to take the rational course.
Her lips parted as her face moved nearer and her expression was a mix of revulsion and determination as she sought to get it over and done with as quickly as possible.
He watched as she allowed a lazy trail of spittle to break from her lower lip to coat the head of Carlisle’s cock and the sudden transformation from woman of substance to knowing whore caused his own erection to flare painfully. He dropped his hand surreptitiously beneath the desk and endeavoured to make himself more comfortable without unfastening his trousers but to little or no avail.
Now that his cock was lubricated she began to pump rhythmically with her hand and Carlisle bounced gently in the sofa like an oversized toy. She could sense that he would not last long, but she also knew that she would not be allowed to get away with it that easily. She gave a few more strokes and then she bent to close her lips over the purple head. She did not suck but remained perfectly still whilst her hand carried on doing all the work.
The expletive came from Carlisle as he attempted to arch his back and drive himself deeper into her mouth, but she simply made the downstrokes a little more forceful to keep him in his place. His eyes closed, and the flats of his hands pressed down into the sofa as he tried to hold back but he was already lost. She gave a dozen rapid strokes and then pulled down hard on his shaft.
Even from his desk he could see her cheeks throbbing as she accepted his offering but Carlisle had barely finished before she let him go, sat back, and swallowed as discreetly as possible. She turned back towards the desk.
“Have you had your fun?”
She had regained her composure and Carlisle’s lack of self-control had given her back some of the initiative, but he was not finished with her yet.
“On the contrary, the fun is only just beginning.”
She followed his eyes as he cast them towards Milton.
“No! I’ve done as you asked. Enough is enough.”
He could understand her reticence; if Carlisle was the stuff of the image-makers dreams Milton was their nightmare. At forty-four he was only five years older than Carlisle but the gap looked nearer to ten. He possessed one of the keenest political minds of his generation but it was housed in a large ungainly frame. He stood well over six feet tall but. with his round shoulders and barrel chest, suits did not sit easily on him. His face was puffy with razor burns at his throat, suggesting that he had never learned to shave properly and his pale complexion contrasted sharply with his almost unnaturally black hair.
He got up from behind the desk and reached for the drawer.
“You will do it.”
The authority in his voice was chilling and for a second or two all three of them were stilled by it. He let the silence hang and then he showed them the flail. The well-worn wooden handle spoke of frequent use and the two dozen leather strands included two or three darker replacements amongst their number.
She stared at it in total disbelief.
“You cannot be serious. What are you? Some sort of medieval throwback?”
He ignored her and looked at the other two. Now was the defining moment. Now he would find out whether or not he had them.
“Bring her over here.”
They looked at one another and he could almost read their thoughts. With whom did their future lie? She could tell that they had reached a decision and she half rose and began to back away from them.
“If you so much as touch me I’ll scream the bloody place down!”
They hesitated and she made a blind grab for her clothing but they all turned to him sharply as he thrashed the flail down across the surface of the desk.
“This room is soundproofed so you can scream as loud as you like. In fact, I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”
Carlisle looked shocked by the remark, but Milton’s more practical mind started weighing the possible consequences.
“What if she goes to the police?”
He smiled. The very fact that Milton could debate the outcome told him that he was contemplating the possibilities.
“It’s her word against our three.”
They looked deep into one another’s eyes. Common sense was telling them to have no part in this, but they had already witnessed the power he held over her and they were being driven by baser instincts. It was Milton who reacted first and there was probably no surprise in that, after all Carlisle had already had the pleasure.
“Leave me alone!”
Milton stepped behind her, whilst she was still off balance, and took hold of her arms.
“Get her legs.”
He said it calmly but Carlisle was suddenly galvanised into action. He chose his moment and then stepped between her thrashing legs and took a firm grip on her ankles. She squirmed like a fish and swore like a trooper as they manhandled her over to the desk.
“Get her face up.”
The telephone went flying as she continued to struggle but he ignored it as they lay her down and used their weight to hold her in place.
“You bastards! Get off me ... now!”
“What the hell’s that?”
Carlisle saw what he had now taken out of the desk drawer. It looked like a pair of pliers except that it had a clear plastic drum in the centre.
“It’s a cable tidy. Left here by one of the computer people.”
Carlisle bore down with more weight as she renewed her struggles and then watched as the drum extruded two lengths of fine white plastic. He formed them into two loose interlocking loops and then, keeping them in his hand, he leaned over her torso.
“Keep away from me!”
He ignored her, bent down and began to slowly lick her nipple. She jerked wildly but with Carlisle pressed down over her thighs and Milton leaning his weight down onto her upper arms her range of movement was too limited to prevent him from doing anything he wanted. He was good with his mouth and he knew it. He took her nipple between his lips and began to suck gently, feeling it ripening in his mouth.
She groaned and tried to get away from him as her body reacted against her wishes, but there was no escaping the exquisite torture of his tongue. When he had her fully erect he gave her one final nip with his teeth and then stood up. He placed one of the loops over the nipple and then threaded the two ends through the pliers.
With a single tug the fine serrated barbs zipped closed and, with an ominous click, they were cinched together. One loop was now fastened tightly and immovably around her nipple, causing it to swell even more, whilst the second, still interconnected, hung loose. He repeated the process on her other breast with two new lengths of plastic but this time, now that she was aware of her fate, it took much longer to coax her nipple to life.