“Who’s there?” The indignant woman asked.
“Be still, Bitch!” A husky male voice commanded, as bright lights suddenly stabbed at the
darkness in front of her. Bontia squinted into the sudden glare.
The confused woman realized someone was standing close beside her. An unseen hand began
fingering the buttons on the front of her clothes.
A moment later, Bonita realized her blouse had been completely undone, and she was not
able to do anything about it. Her size 36C, white brassiere, splendid cleavage and all,
was fully on display. This surely was not any dream, was it?
“Who’s there?” Bonita asked, again. “Where am I? What’s going on?”
“You were told you to be quiet, Bitch,” the male voice hissed from behind her.
Bonita felt that the unseen someone was touching at the front of her upper body. She was
being fondled. The lovely woman felt a sudden pinch through the shiny material of her
expensive bra. The pressure caused her to wince.
“What are you doing?” The female asked the owner of the troubling fingers.
“I’m fucking with your tits, Bitch,” the male voice replied. “Do you mind?”
“You’re being extremely rude! Bonita hissed in response. “Who are you? Why don’t you
step out where I can see you?”
When the pinching abruptly stopped, the offended woman tried to recall what might have
happened to get her into this disturbing situation. The last thing Bonita remembered was
sitting at her office desk going over a few reports, while having a cup of coffee. It was
after hours, and everyone else had gone for the day. In a few more minutes, Bonita would
be leaving the office, too. But somehow, someway, she had ended up here, wherever that
might be.
“That’s better, Bitch!” The male voice behind her said. “I like it best when you’re
quietly attentive. Now, I’ll explain a few vital facts. You are here to personally pay
for the hostile take-over you arranged of the local television studio. Plus, your gross
mishandling of the company employees. You are to receive corrective punishment as
retaliation, and to help you see the error of your ways.”
Before Bonita Fucher could utter a sound in reply, the male’s fingers were back at the
front of her burgeoning brassiere, again. The lovely lady’s immediate thought was, “If
this is all just a damned dream, why the hell don’t I wake up?”
Lovely Bonita let out a growl of personal indignation. Echoes of her voice reverberated
off unseen walls, and the nameless male was heard laughing, again.
“You’re extremely proud of yourself, aren’t you, Bitch?” He asked her. “You parade
around as if you think you’re something truly special. But the joke in the office is that
your initials don’t stand for Bonita Theodora Fucher. People say BTD stands for “Big
Titted Fucker!”
As the harried female digested the male’s saucy remarks, those irritating fingers were
back squeezing at the front of her bra, once more. The gestures were not so painful, as
they were greatly irritating to the usually haughty Bonita! The male seemed quite adept
at locating her sensitive nipples right through the shiny material, as if he knew exactly
where to apply pressure.
“It feels great,” the male voice intoned, “to be causing you this upset. You poor
baby!”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Jackass,” Bonita boldly responded.
The unknown mail seemed surprised at Bonita’s obvious fortitude, and the squeezing of her
nipples suddenly slackened.
Bonita gathered her strength to ask, “Why am I being held here like this?”
“Why?” The male voice asked in reply. “I already told you! You’re here because of the
mistreatment of the employees and the takeover at the television studio. Now, I plan to
remove your blouse, just so the two of us can begin getting better acquainted.”
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