Chapter One

 

Through the unadorned rear window, late summer clouds blocked the sun, and a chill filtered into the room. Stephen Wolfe licked his lips, studied the young girl standing in front of his desk, and found himself aroused. At Forty years old, estranged from his wife, Wolfe had more money than he could spend and appeased his uncommon perversions with call girls. "I don't know why you think I can do anything about this, Miss Jones?" he asked, the sternness in his voice unsettling.

Twenty years old Kimberly Ann Jones was not quite three years older than her sister, slender like her mother, and loose by reputation. Her mother was a stay at home mom, and her sister was a senior at Raymond high school. Wolfe Ammunition Company had employed her father for fifteen years. "You can do anything, Mr. Wolfe," Kimberly mouthed a moment before Wolfe finished speaking.

"Like what? Let a thief go free."

Even in three-inch heels, the girl was less than five and a half feet tall. Her waist was less wide than two spread hands and her hair was black and had the texture of Raven feathers. Bangs divided her forehead just above her eyebrows and a pony tail hung gathered at the crown of her head. Her eyes were brown; her face round, her skin the color of Saigon cinnamon and her mouth sculpted to cloud a man's judgment. Below a purple silk blouse, her breasts swung free and her nipples popped out like sewing thimbles. Delicious was the word Wolfe considered as he noted the curve of her hips and the swell of her butt cheeks wrapped in a short white micro-mini-skirt. Why had she worn such high spiked heels? He wondered. Wolfe recalled the view as she tapped across the floor toward his desk. Had she dressed like a slut for his benefit?

"Please," she said as if soliciting forgiveness from an unsuspecting teenage boy; a boy Wolfe wasn't. A man like Wolfe didn't forgive. He gauged his approach and planned each detail of conquest. The girl had fallen into a web spun by her father, and Wolfe intended to press the advantage.

Wolfe imagined Kimberly Jones on her knees, his cock stuffed in her mouth and her pointed little tongue curled to receive his pressurized offering. He imagined her throat flexing and the flick of her tongue as she swallowed his load, and then cleaned the remaining residue from his testicles. Did she not realize the effect she had on men? "A million; he embezzled from my company, Kimberly," Wolfe attacked. "Your father belongs in prison."

A corner of Kimberly Ann's mouth twitched. She had telephoned her father's accuser seven times before he agreed to see her and now he had just finished stating his position. "He did it for me, Mr. Wolfe," she said.

"No, Miss Jones," said Wolfe. "Your father did it because he's a cheat and a thief. Did you know he cheats on your mother with my secretary most every day?"

Kimberly's throat caught. "He wouldn't."

"I caught them on the floor of the conference room rutting like horny rabbits." Wolfe flipped the intercom switch. His eyes came to rest on Kimberly's braless chest. She has a fine set of titties, he thought. "In here Mrs. Clark," he said.

The office door opened and then closed. "Yes sir," answered the woman summoned. Elvira Clark had mischievous blue eyes, short brown hair, and breasts that defined top-heavy. Kimberly guessed her age was over thirty.

"You fuck Jerome's black cock, Mrs. Clark?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Your husband knows...?"

"No sir."

"Get out..."

"Yes, sir..."

A boss and his assistant carry charades to a conclusion. The office door opened and then closed. "There you have it, Miss Jones," said Wolfe. "Your father is a thief AND a cheat."

"He wasn't responsible," babbled Kimberly, offering an obvious falsehood.

"Bah," shouted Wolfe. Wolfe abhorred lies. Wolfe never lied, though he couched the truth sometimes. "Cut the crap, Miss Jones."

A wretched sound escaped Kimberly's mouth, and her skin flushed with misery. She bowed her head. Her chin quivered, her lips parted, and tears rained on her cheeks. "He'll die in prison, Mr. Wolfe. Oh, God..."

After Afghanistan, Wolfe rejected God. After he caught his wife fucking the paperboy, he rejected tears, and now he rejected Kimberly's tears, too. "Your father should have considered the consequence," he said. "I have no sympathy for him."

"But... but... but," Kimberly rasped. "You own the business! You can help if you wanted... You... you could... you could just... just let him pay it back or..."

Stephen Wolfe slammed his fist against the cherry wood desktop and leaned forward from the plush black leather of his chair. The plan begun a month ago fulminated. Of course, he could save her father if he chose, but he had not become rich by saving people. He became rich by enslaving people. Enslaving a teenage girl was risky; and given the current "Black Lives Matter" movement, enslaving a multi-racial teenage teaser was downright dangerous. Still properly trained, Kimberly Ann Jones offered an opportunity for spectacular satisfaction. Wolfe enjoyed taking risks. He became successful at taking risk, he became wealthy, accepting risk, and he had become important by managing risk. People catered to his whims. Men feared him and women groveled at his feet. Wolfe's pulse quickened. He changed tactics. "Kimberly, child; he never could?"

Kimberly's head came up. "But he could Mr. Wolfe. I heard my parents talking; you could take payments every month. They hope to borrow money this afternoon as well."

"A half-million plus interest...? If your parents sold all their possessions and your father returned his paycheck to my company every week for the rest of his life, it still wouldn't pay back what he took."

"Please, Mr. Wolfe..."

"Did he send you to beg?"

"My father is not an evil man."

"There are many good men in prison," replied Wolfe. "This is his problem, not mine. I have no sympathy for him."

"Then..." Kimberly sobbed. "Have sympathy for me; I'll do anything to save him; my mom will too, and I have a sister." Kimberly had come to Wolfe's office to do anything, hadn't she? She had dressed provocatively for anything. It is easy to do anything for a man like Stephen Wolfe, her mother had suggested. If I were as young and pretty as you, I'd do anything. Your father depends on your help.

Stephen Wolfe's left eyebrow arched. "Are you seducing me, Miss Jones?"

"Momma said she would do anything if she were young. I'm not a child, Mr. Wolfe. I know about men."

"So, your mother sent you?"

Kimberly appeared caught in suspension. She recalled sucking Billy Taylor's cock for a quarter bag of cocaine, and she had used her beauty to get other things from other boys. This concession was no different. Beautiful people ruled, didn't they? And beautiful girls took charge of even the handsomest of men. She determined to not only seduce Stephen Wolfe; she intended to conquer him. "I make my own decisions, Mr. Wolfe," she said.

Stephen Wolfe snarled in Kimberly's face. "So, you think a quick fuck will do the trick? Tell your skank ass mother it won't and your asshole father to look forward to the sexual side of State prison."

Kimberly stumbled backward, but caught her movement and stabilized. "Please, Mr. Wolfe; no one need know."

"Know what, Miss Jones, that you'll do anything?"

Kimberly nodded.

"I'll demand everything."

"Yes," she answered.

Each time Kimberly had phoned, and he did nothing, the thought of enslaving her made his dick hard. And then... When she entered his office five minutes earlier wobbling like a penguin on stilts, his cock shaft turned into high grade chromium steel. Pre-ejaculate cock sauce moistened his briefs. Well taught and tenderized, little Miss Kimberly Ann Jones might become a lasting morsel at his table. Would she not be a stunning trophy? "Maybe we can work something out," said Wolfe, "if you're willing?"

Kimberly's eyes gazed upward. "I could be your girlfriend."

Wolfe laughed. "Girl friend...?"

"Your mistress..."

"My slave," shouted Wolfe.

"Oh," she said.

"Sex slave, Miss Jones..."

"Oh," Kimberly Jones said. "Oh..."

"You're not a virgin, are you? How many boys have you fucked?"

The F-Word, used callously, startled her and she almost ran from Wolfe's office; instead, she stood firm. The F-Word might be a blessing, she thought; benefit her, if she was careful. "Jimmy Durban fucked me," she replied. "I sucked off Billy Taylor for drugs, my math teacher felt my breasts for a grade increase, and I masturbated Mr. Arnold at Arnold Sporting Goods once a week to keep my cashier's job."

"And now you're offering your body to me..."

"If you let my father go free..."

"Not free, but not in prison either," snapped Wolfe.

"Promise...?"

"You'll sign a contract?"

"Yes, Mr. Wolfe."

"You on the pill...?" snapped Wolfe. "No brats unless I choose..."

"Mom doesn't know."

Wolfe changed focus; reengaged the intercom and shouted orders. "Personal service contract, Mrs. Clark; slide it under the door."

"Right away, Mr. Wolfe," replied his secretary. Elvira Clark was so very much more than Wolfe's secretary. Elvira Clark had been his breakfast refreshment since the day he hired her and his willing accomplice later. She supposed she owed her life, and perhaps the life of her son, to him as well.

Elvira moved Window's cursor to contracts, opened the application, clicked on SERVICE and uploaded the boilerplate. She typed Kimberly Ann Jones In the name blank. In the salary blank, she typed $20,000. In the duties blank, she typed personal service, and in the length of employment blank, she typed two years; though if the girl played her part well, the years might turn into ten, she figured. Elvira passed by the "I shall not" clauses, paused, shifted, and opened the contract bearing her name. She double clicked, copied, closed, returned to the pause and pasted: besides other responsibilities and under the tenants of my indenture, I Elvira Ursula Clark shall act as Mr. Stephen Willis Wolfe's sex object and submit to his every wish.

Elvira deleted her name and replaced it with Kimberly Ann Jones. She typed a signature line. She then added three blank lines; one witness line and two parental consent lines. Elvira pushed the print button. She moved to the printer, retrieved, highlighted the signature line in yellow, carried the document to the door, and slid it under. To have gone to such lengths for a cheat and a thief, Elvira supposed Wolfe wanted something very special from Jerome's daughter. While Miss Jones offered an opportunity. Elvira had only responded to a wanted advertisement in the local newspaper.

Fresh out of junior college, pregnant, and disowned by her parents, Elvira was the last applicant summoned into Wolfe's office; not the decorator appointed office he now called his, but the drab little cubicle office of many years ago, for her interview. She doubted he'd hire her. The other girls were prettier, wore stylish business suits, and carried bulging file folders while she bulged with child, a child her boyfriend refused to claim. Even with layers of makeup, her two blackened eyes stood out like donut rings. She supposed her pregnancy and the remains from the beating Clifford gave her disqualified her from employment consideration. Still, she had answered Wolf's advertisement, and she had somehow found the courage to come. Clifford Clark would get more and more abusive over time, maybe even harm her child. Elvira discounted Cliff and turned to Wolfe. He was no more handsome than now. He was more dashing, however. A Google search listed him discharged from the Army six months earlier, listed him as owner of Wolfe Ammunition Company-a small arms company specializing in surplus government weapons-and listed him as separated from his wife, Sandra. Can he even afford a secretary? She had wondered.

"You type?" he had asked; "file, run an office and understand Windows?"

"I've not managed an office," she said.

"Not required," he said. Then he nodded at a chair; glared at her until she sat and perched on the corner of a rather dilapidated old desk in a rather haughty pose. His crotch stared her right in the face and his left black loafer shoed foot laid curling and dangling across a knee from his leg.

She recalled thinking; he is tall like a basketball center.

"Boy or girl?" he had asked.

"My husband wants a boy."

"Where's your ring?"

"Huh?"

"No ring, no husband, a lie... I hate lies, Mrs. Clark, or is it Miss Higgins?"

"Higgins," she confessed, now caught in his cross hairs and afraid to do anything else.

"I punish lies or I make them come true. What shall we do with yours?" he asked devilishly.

She had sputtered, and she trembled, and she finally got it out. "I'm obviously not what you're looking for, Mr. Wolfe. Perhaps I should leave."

"Nope," he said. "You're exactly what I seek and I'm exactly what you, without question, need."

"Which is...?"

"The other women; just window dressing... It's you I want. I've researched you. You're as smart as a whip, have an associate's degree, have been sexually active for quite a while, live with a drunk who beats you, and are eight months pregnant."

"Researched how...?"

"Mother and father..."

"You've talked to my parents?"

"And your teachers..."

"Oh."

"If you tag along with me, I'll give you stability and a name for your child other than bastard. I'll make sure he never touches you again. I'll pay you twenty grand a year to start."

"Can you afford twenty grand?"

"I can in a month..."

"Why me...?"

"Breast milk..."

"Huh...?"

"Starting now..."

"Are you crazy? I'm leaving."

"Suit yourself... Still, supplying me with breast milk and giving me an occasional dirty hard fuck sure beats living with a drunk."

"Oh, now it's intercourse...?"

Wolfe had chuckled. "I want to help raise your the baby."

"Fuck off," she had yelled. Then she jumped from the chair and stormed from the office; took not quite four steps more and stormed back. "For how long...?"

"Two years."

"TWO YEARS!"

"With mutual options for more..."

"You'll marry me..."

"I'm married."

"You're legally separated."

"Google, huh...?" he laughed.

"Google," she smiled, then snatched the evidence from her purse and waved it in the air.

"You shall marry and then divorce Cliff the same day. I need Mrs. Clark for clients, not Miss Higgins. I don't want every Tom, Dick, and Harry playing patty cake with an unwed mother."

"And you...?"

"I'm the boss."

"Cliff will never agree."

"Cliff will agree."

"What if I don't agree?"

Wolfe had shrugged. "I'll find another cow. Go or stay...?"

"That simple...?"

"Yes."

"A trial, then..."

"Good; a trial then," he said. "Show me your tits."

Miss Elvira Higgins, aka Mrs. Elvira Clark, supposed she had been showing Stephen Wolfe her tits and offering him the use of her body ever since that day. She broke into a melodious giggle. Elvira glanced at Stephen's still closed door. My goodness she was so glad she stayed, so glad her unborn son had gotten acquainted with Wolfe, so glad he was on the honor roll at Princeton, so glad her breast milk still interested Wolfe, and so very glad, Jerome Jones was a thief. Had Jerome not stolen money, Wolfe would not have ordered her to fuck him and if she hadn't fucked him, Wolfe wouldn't have known he had a daughter, and without Wolfe's interest, Kimberly Jones would not now be in Wolfe's office ready to protect her father in any way required. Elvira supposed Kimberly Jones would find out that belonging to Stephen Wolfe was like falling in lust on the first page of a dog-eared novel and then hanging on until the very end of the story. It was like submitting to a whirlwind of the most immoral, perverted, hedonistic adventure in life and still craving more. What grown man drinks milk from his secretary's breasts? She wondered.

Elvira had used pumps, taken shots, and swallowed pills to maintain lactation. She had filled hundreds of bottles with breast milk and been suckled thousands of times. Was it not time the thief's daughter took over?