Lucy bit her lip, knowing she had to undress, knowing she had to carry out this
ritual to avoid the creep, Jung, blowing her life away. He said it would be only once then
he would probably consider her ‘debt’ wiped off. Could things ever return to normal? she
wondered. He was now privy to, controlling, intimate acts of her life. Things normally
kept to herself, or shared with a husband, a lover, were at the creep’s discretion. Again
she felt defiled, screaming at the bastard, using every vile word she knew to describe
him, her voice bouncing mockingly back from her bedroom walls. If she resisted him what
would then be left of her life? A criminal record, disgrace and a ruined marriage as a
minimum. Maybe even a spell in one of the horrible State Correction Centres about which
everyone had heard horrid rumours. However, talking too openly about such matters wasn’t
encouraged and in any case, most good middle class people secretly thought severe
treatment was deserved by the criminal elements. She had never thought she could ever be
one herself!
Resisting the urge to clutch it to her, she dropped the final wispy garment to a
careless heap before the mocking empty face of her bedroom window. Jung had given
explicit, obscene instructions as to the rituals she must perform, keeping the curtains
open, hinting that he might be watching, checking, from a distance. He was maybe in Mote
Park across the road? Shuddering, she resisted the urge to draw the curtains, instead
turning full circle, a beautiful moth enticing any depraved eyes which might be regarding
her from the murk outside. Storm clouds had introduced a premature darkness to the spring
evening, accurately reflecting her own predicament, she thought wryly. Padding seductively
up and down before the window she hoped Jack wouldn’t be long bringing back the Korean
take-away - then she could get this business over with.
This morning she thought she’d been so clever. When Jung insisted on her reporting
sick from work and him visiting her she reckoned he had over-stretched himself. Her tiny
video camera would record his blackmail and presumably his attempted seduction and she had
warned her friends, Rowena and Ellen, to rush in from Rowena’s house next door if she
banged on the wall.
The cunning swine, maybe sensing a trap, had merely wandered round her home whilst
she made him the drink he demanded. Then, whilst sipping coffee like old friends, he had
given her his requirements. It was an anonymous typed list of crude, disgusting things she
had to do that night with her husband, previously unthinkable things. She knew though that
if she summoned Rowena he would deny the list was his.
He said he would know if she didn’t perform to his specification. Her husband was
due his bi-annual medical under her insurance scheme and the doctor, apparently a friend
of Jung, would ask him under hypnosis about ‘events’ the previous night. For once she
hated the all-embracing cradle-to-grave hold the Oriental companies had over their
workers, sliding into utter dependency on them. One big happy family!
Perversely though, she wondered whether she was not experiencing a previously
hidden and now unrestrained excitement at the things she must do. Following his directions
she left notes around the house immediately her husband left. On his return, following
them, he would find her sitting on the table in their bedroom, stark naked. Glancing once
more at the list to remind herself what he required, she tightly gagged herself with a
knotted tie. Mouth bulging around, it she slid up onto the table, the wood cold against
her bare bottom. She bound her ankles akimbo to the top of each table leg, feeling opened
and exposed, hanging a sign around her neck and also a rope leash. Finally, she secured
her wrists behind her back with the cuffs he had bought, snapping them to with a click.
Having left the key to the cuffs on the bed as requested, she was now helpless,
committed. Regarding herself in their mirror, looking like a whore, she saw above the
velvet pout of her intimacies the sign she had written:
“I am your slave for the night. Keep me bound and gagged while you spank and cane
me hard - then please f—k the arse off me.”
*****
“Come in, my dear,” Jung purred, continuing to watch one of his flat monitoring
screens hanging on the office wall. “Close the door.”
Lucy, stomach knotted with fear and loathing, only pushed the door partially to.
Although it was evening, some people were working overtime and she wanted plenty of
witnesses if he tried anything else. If the bastard turned the screw any more that would
be it, she’d - she’d ....
Her train of thought became instantly derailed by the images flicking across
Jung’s screen - her! She was naked but for the leash around her neck, her wrists cuffed
behind her. Instinctively she shut the door fully. Resisting the urge to be sick, she
watched her husband tie her leash to the wardrobe door, proceeding to spank her bottom
whilst his huge erection brushed her thigh.
Unthinking she lurched at the computer-video, switching it off, heart hammering
through her ribs, staring wildly, desperately at Jung.
“Oh there’s plenty more isn’t there, Lucy?” he simply turned it back on again.
“You seemed to enjoy touching your toes for Jack’s hand. Is your little botty sore this
morning?” he laughed, patting her pert backside. “It’s made for the rod.”
“You...”
“And you f—k really well, don’t you?” he interrupted casually as she hadn’t
spoken. “Plenty of things I hadn’t specified too, eh?”
Lucy’s overloaded brain took refuge in memory. She would never admit to anyone her
deeply hidden excitement when Jack first saw her bound and exposed yesterday. It felt so
... different, wonderful, to be completely at the mercy of the man she loved. Her eyes had
glared at him in sweet frustration when he kept her helpless whilst running his hands all
over her exposed body, dipping into her liquid honey-pot which practically dripped onto
the desk. When he later spanked her, the feelings of pleasure far exceeded the pain. Still
bound, he made her rub herself all over his body like a dog on heat, his now bare thighs,
clenched between hers, stimulating her swollen bud. Only when he was ready did he position
her bent forwards over the table to take her from behind, eventually just a few long
awaited rubs of his fingers against her clitoris making her come simultaneously with his
own pumping climax. When he finally untied her she took him twice more that night, once
astride and once undulating and wriggling full length to trap his tired penis within her.
Those images still flashed obscenely on his screen when, at the timid knock, a
blonde secretary entered at Jung’s growled command. Lucy tried to recall the teenager’s
name, wondering what the beautiful doe-eyed creature would make of her crimson face and
the images on screen which she again managed to turn off. Did it matter now? she wondered,
head throbbing, trying to think clearly.
“Jane, strip.”
Lucy was momentarily confused by Jung’s curt order. About to say something, her
mouth merely gaped as, without dissent or query, ignoring her presence, the blonde
immediately undressed. Then, following Jung’s further commands, knelt on the floor at his
feet. Her legs were wide to reveal a delicate mauve slash and her pointed breasts bounced
softly when she had to clasp her hands to her neck; a delicate butterfly before a greasy
toad.
“You see, there are several people in this company who are in my debt, company
slaves, my slaves as it were. Open the cupboard, Lucy.” Jung pointed to a corner.
Like an automation trying to assimilate data beyond its comprehension, whilst also
trying to ignore the despair in the eyes of the pale-faced kneeling girl, Lucy obeyed.
A wave of heat hit her as she opened the door, revealing a nightmare. Within the
confined space of the tall, thin metal cupboard, hanging by her wrists on tip-toe, was a
rubber-clad figure whose only ventilation was a tiny grille set in the door at face level.
The woman’s shining face was dissected by a broad gag, her raven-black hair plastered to
her head. She blinked, pathetically grateful for the relatively cool air of the office,
every curve of her beautiful, straining figure from her neck down protruding explicitly
through the thin skin-tight latex covering her.
Vaguely Lucy recognised her as an administrator, an elegant woman in her forties.
Automatically she reached towards the wrists hand-cuffed to the top of the cabinet.
“Leave her, please,” purred Jung, “Sally has another hour of overtime punishment
to go yet. Several employees who have broken the company rules chose to accept my own
brand of discipline as atonement - you’re not alone.” He smiled as Lucy’s hands fell
helplessly back to her sides.
“I enjoy watching and making you proud Western cows, who think they are so
perfect, grovel to me as slaves. I took the liberty of planting a few micro cameras around
your house whilst you made my drink the other day; you said some pretty horrible and
disgusting things about me. It’s a flaw in your character we must eradicate. And when we
have, I will return the film of your theft, and your lustful night - as your souvenirs. I
am always fair, your servitude will last a month. Then, if you are obedient and we have
eradicated your rudeness, you will be in the clear. Jane and Sally can vouch for that,
can’t you, girls? You first both sought reassurance by speaking to other employees who had
trod a similar path, didn’t you?”
“Yes Sir,” Jane whispered whilst the dark haired woman could only nod pitifully.
“You know there is no other realistic course other than accept your punishments,
don’t you?”
As the women affirmed the truth Lucy felt desolate, beaten. Jung’s monstrous
regime would account for the occasional employee who didn’t outwardly share the common
contempt for the fiend. Must she now join them?
“Over the months I’ve watched you on the screens doing your morning exercises in
the office. I’d like you to do them here, now, just for me Lucy.”
“Look, you creep...”
“Western woman must learn to control temper,” Jung interrupted. “For that
outburst, you’ll take off your outer clothes and do the exercises wearing just the tiny
bra and panties I watched you put on this morning in your bedroom.” Lucy’s hand flew to
her mouth in shock. “If you refuse, we’ll have to close the cupboard door on Sally and
extend her punishment by another hour; I’ll also cane Jane. It’s your decision, your
responsibility if they suffer in your place. Well?”
“You, you ...” she spluttered to a halt.
Controlling her natural instinct to slap the bastard, acknowledging the grateful
looks of the two women, Lucy gave ground again to the hideous swine. Unbuttoning her
blouse with suddenly clumsy fingers, she was unable to think of any realistic alternative.
She couldn’t bear the thought of the two creatures, who had been made Jung’s virtual
slaves, suffering any more because of her pride. With as much dignity as she could muster
she stepped out of her skirt and, folding it neatly over a chair, stood glaring at the
casually seated figure, her fists clenched in frustrated anger. She longed to cover her
virtually naked breasts but refused to give him that pleasure.
When the horribly familiar music started, it felt to unnatural to perform the
exercises half naked and in the small office. Yet Jung snapped at her when he considered
she was putting in insufficient effort. Normally employees exercised for 15 minutes
together every morning wearing tracksuits emblazoned with the company logo. Now she wore
just minuscule bra and pants as she bent and stretched, aware of the slit-eyes devouring
her exposed flesh. It was worse for young Jane though, Jung decided she also should
perform - naked.
Up down; twist, on tip-toe, touching their toes, swinging from side to side, Jung
followed their every movement. When the programme was complete their bodies shone as they
panted for breath. Jane’s delicate breasts heaved as Jung ordered her to again kneel at
his feet.
Now you’ll remove your underwear, come here and suck my cock.”
| 
