Chapter One

 

So, picture this. I'm a fairly ordinary girl - okay, cuter than most, with a pretty darn good body, and nineteen. I was working in a pretty crummy job in a secondhand clothing store in Manhattan and commuting from my alcoholic father's run-down bungalow across the river in Queens. It was a long trip, and I had to worry about weirdos and crackheads all along the way.

Then, almost on a whim, I answered an ad for a rich old guy who was looking for a kind of all-purpose servant and assistant to do various chores. He already had a cleaning service and a laundry service, and his meals were made in advance by a chef and delivered to his kitchen/freezer so they just needed to be heated up.

The job wasn't exactly difficult, in other words.

And yet it paid more than twice as much as the used clothing shop, and came with free room, board, internet, cable and streaming services - you name it! I didn't just have a room, either, but an apartment! Okay, it was small, but that just made it cozy, and it was in the attic, with low ceilings and small windows, but so what? It was safe, warm, and insect and rodent free. For free!

A dream job, right?

Now add in the obvious. Why was he so generous? Because in addition to other things I had to do to make his life easier, I also had to have sex with him. No self-respecting girl would put up with that, right? I wouldn't have agreed before taking it.

I mean, for an old geezer more than twice my age he wasn't bad looking, and pretty well-built. But I had my pride! I could keep commuting back and forth till I found something better.

Only, the first time we really had sex he kind of, well, overwhelmed me with an offer. A bribe. Ten thousand dollars! That was ridiculous! Even if I was like a high-class call girl! Then he said he'd double it if he couldn't give me an orgasm within five minutes while I stood still in the middle of his office! He even put the money on the table, in cash!

Who wouldn't take an offer like that!? I'd had sex with guys before, after all, and it wasn't exactly a big deal. I was sure I'd win that one and walk off with more than enough money to see me through the year and be picky about my next job.

Only I lost! That bastard made me come more powerfully than I'd ever come before! And not just once, either!

Now, here's a secret most of you guys don't really get. Most of the time, when we have sex with you, it's not really because we want to have sex with you for pleasure. Because we usually don't get a ton of that. And we usually don't even have an orgasm. We do it for your benefit. We do it to please you. We do it so you'll like us.

I suppose it's not your fault. Most of the guys I'd had sex with - admittedly, not a lot - didn't have much experience. And another thing you probably aren't aware of is that we rarely complain about how bad you are. We want you to be happy, so we flatter you. I admit it's kind of hard for a guy to learn how to get good with that sort of thing going on.

I mean, if girls are faking orgasms to please you then you probably think what you're doing is hot stuff and should keep doing it.

But the old guy was way past that sort of thing. He had LOTS of experience, and he really knew how to make a girl's body burn! Not just by touching it but by mindfucking her. I had figured that out, see. He did and said outrageous things just to get me all worked up, and somehow that DID get me all worked up, and then whatever he did to my body made me burn like fire!

Maybe it wouldn't have worked on every girl. But I had been very introverted when I was young. I developed early and was very self-conscious about the way boys and even men looked at me. So, I hid under sweatshirts and bulky sweaters, dyed my blonde hair black, and kept my head down. I had thick glasses too, so I was kind of able to keep to myself a lot.

Which was okay. I enjoy my own company. I read a lot, spent a lot of time on the internet, watched TV and played video games. My sex life was, for the most part, one between me and my body. I learned how to touch myself, and what would excite my mind.

I read sex stories on the internet, dark sex stories. See, it was hard for a shy girl like me to imagine myself going out and flirting openly with guys in sexy dresses and seducing them. It was easy for me to imagine some big, hulking guy deciding he wanted my body, tearing off my clothes, throwing me down on my back, and ravishing me like an animal!

That kind of story turned me on, and I got used to masturbating to various fantasies like that.

So maybe I was the perfect girl for him to treat like she was his bitch, to be rude, to spank me when I disobeyed, to roughly manhandle me in bed.

Because my mind AND my body thrilled to him doing that to me!

And the sex was so good, the passion so enthralling, the orgasms so intense that I quickly became the next best thing to addicted to it all! He'd say outrageous, degrading things and that would put my mind into what I thought of as his dark, sick game of dominance play, where I had to obey him or be 'disciplined'.

Like a sex slave or something!

So, I figured, well, I'll put up with the outrageous abusive sex because it's so incredibly hot. It was a trade-off. Plus, a part of me wondered, suspected rather, that if he was nice and didn't treat me that way, the excitement wouldn't be so intense, and the orgasms wouldn't be so powerful.

And anyway, he was a smart guy. The stuff he said about me, well, obviously he didn't really believe it! He acted like blonde girls were this kind of wild, sexual animal and that we had no brains at all except for sex. Like we were all nymphomaniacs and too dumb to be anything but sex toys for men. There was no way he actually believed that! It was just too over-the-top.

That was part of how I was able to accept it. I thought of it as a game that he was playing, one where he was playing a role, like an actor. And, of course, so was I.

I just wasn't entirely sure what my lines ought to be. And certainly had no idea what his were going to be at any given moment.

"Stop squirming, girl," he growled.

I tried to sit still.

We were in the back of a limousine. An actual limousine!

I was wearing the most clothing I'd worn since moving into his big mansion on the upper east side. I had a thick, fluffy turtleneck sweater and a long, loose skirt. It was not unlike some of the outfits I had worn myself to keep people from looking at me and thinking sexy thoughts.

Underneath, though no one could see, he had wrapped ropes around my body. They circled my breasts, for one thing, squeezing in around them right at the ribs so they kind of bulged. They also went around my hips and then down between my legs - pulled up so tight that they pulled in between the lips of my sex! So tightly they jerked down on the ropes around my hips so they dug into me there too.

So tight there was no chance the thick, powerful vibrator he'd pushed into my pussy and the thick dildo he'd pushed up into my ass could possibly fall out.

He had also run thin cords across the center of each breast. Two of them going up and down, and two going side to side. They were tied to the ropes that squeezed in on the base of my breasts, and they caught my stiff, aching nipples between them.

All four of those thin cords were pinching in against my hard, tingling nipples, making them even harder, making them tingle even more. Making them push out against the heavy sweater so that as I moved, as my breasts moved a little with my movement, despite the ropes (I'm not exactly flat-chested) my nipples rubbed just a bit against the rough fabric of the sweater!

He'd had my eyes done shortly after I'd gone to work for him. He'd had artificial lenses put in so I didn't need glasses. But I was wearing thick framed glasses tonight anyway. They just had clear glass in them. Why? Because he said so. And I was to obey and not question. Likewise, my blonde hair, which he'd had professionally styled and dyed back to its original color, was tied back in a bun.

Where were we going?

None of my business. Did I have something else on my schedule, perhaps?

No. But I was nervous. He'd never taken me out anywhere.

And the ropes and vibrator and dildo said this was not going to be an ordinary errand or something like that. And it sure wasn't going to be a date. He'd made it clear he didn't consider me in any way to be a girlfriend, or even a human being!

Like I said, over-the-top. He acted like blondes were animals whose only purpose was sex.

The car stopped next to a big office building. He got out and I scrambled to follow, carrying the bag he'd had me carry. I had no idea what was in it. It was the sort of thing you might take to school if you were going to school. It was black and had a shoulder strap and a zipper.

I scurried along behind him as he walked to the big glass door. I caught up to him and he jerked his head at the door. I hesitated uncertainly, then gasped and hurried forward, opening the door for him to walk through. I was his bitch, see?

We walked into a large lobby. There was a security desk there with two big guys at it but neither challenged us. They seemed to know him.

We went past and he jerked his head at the elevator buttons. I pushed the one to go up and we walked inside.

"Press Forty-Seven," he ordered.

So, I did. The doors closed and we started up.

"God knows how often these things are cleaned," he said in distaste.

I said nothing to that.

We exited on a largely empty floor. It was after hours so I figured most people had gone home. We walked to the end of the hall, and he unlocked a door, then stepped through.

The door had a name on it. The name was Donovan Smith. Was that his name!? Did I know his name at last!? He'd refused to tell me. He said the only name I needed for him was 'sir'.

We were in a large outer office. He walked past a large, L-shaped desk to a pair of double doors.

"Lock the door," he said over his shoulder.

I did, feeling a little thrum of anticipation, wondering what he'd have me doing here.

The inner office was freaking huge. And it had huge glass windows - glass walls, really, looking out over the city. Like, holy shit! What a view! I wondered why he didn't buy a penthouse or something with great views like this instead of his stupid mansion.

The floor was some kind of fancy, polished stone, like maybe marble, mostly white with these complicated lines through it. There was a large meeting table made of some kind of dark, glossy brown wood with a dozen chairs around it. Further in was a large L-shaped sofa with armchairs facing it across a big, square coffee table.

There were leather armchairs further along the wall facing a fireplace, and then a bar in the corner. The desk against the far wall was so large you could have parked a large car on it.

"Take your clothes off, slut," he said as he went to the desk.

Yes, like I said, he used really nasty language on me. And where it should have infuriated me, it just gave me this dark feeling of being his abused victim, his helpless prisoner, his sex slave! And that was a dark turn-on!

I hesitated, looking at the huge windows. It was almost dark out and there were bright lights in a number of nearby windows. The lighting in this office wasn't as bright. It sure didn't come from cheap fluorescent tubes or anything so crude as that. It was a soft, cozy, yellow light coming from wall sconces, pot lights, and track lighting.

Probably no one would see. Or if they did, they wouldn't be able to see much since I'd look smaller than a fingernail from where they were.

Unless they had binoculars, or a zoom lens, or a telescope...

So that made me nervous as I took off the sweater and the skirt.

"The boots, as well."

I removed the boots too.

He had turned on his computer and some other things, and now came around the desk and his big hand caught me behind the neck and forcefully pushed me along until I was pressed face-first into the wall.

"Hands above your head," he barked.

I thrust my hands up and his hand slid down until his fingers dug into the ropes around my waist and - pulled.

I gasped in pain as the ropes digging into my pussy dug in even harder! I was forced up onto the balls of my feet as he applied pressure.

"Apologize."

"I'm sorry for being a cock-hungry blonde slut, Sir!" I gasped.

I knew my lines, well, some of them, by now.

"Do. Not. Move."

He slid his hands out of the rope and went back to his desk, then sat down.

The vibrator started up and I shuddered.

There were two ropes digging into my pussy. They divided just at the top of my sex to go up diagonally across my abdomen to the ropes around my waist. That kept them from pressing down on the little stem that was now vibrating against my clitoris.

Then it started to gently move, kind of wiping from side to side a little.

Then it started to suck and pull back, to suck and pull back.

I shuddered again, my teeth clenched, my breasts throbbing as they pressed into the wall!

My feet were starting to ache. Ever tried to stay up on the balls of your feet for long? That I was pressed against a wall helped a little, but not enough. They were trembling a little. And the vibrator was having its own effect on my body.

The dark hunger made me kind of unevenly grind my swollen breasts, and especially my sore, sensitive nipples against the wall.

My body was crackling with sexual electricity. Because of that, the ache in my ankles, in my feet, in my breasts didn't really mean that much. It was all overpowered by the heat. And the heat was growing worse, the passion, the need, the hunger!

I began to grind my breasts more purposefully against the wall. It was some kind of rough stone, which made my tender skin ache, but produced more raw sensation to feed into the flood pouring through my nervous system.

"Did I not tell you to be still, you blonde whore?" he growled.

"Ye-Yes, Sir!" I gasped, trying to stay still.

"I am endeavoring to teach you self-discipline, something blondes never seem capable of understanding without strong intervention."

He got up and came from around the desk, and I fought down nervousness as he stood behind me.

"Are you enjoying that big cock I stuffed up your ass, slut?"

"Y-Yes, Sir!" I moaned.

"You like having big cocks up in your ass, don't you, whore?"

"Yes, Sir!" I gulped.

"And that vibrator in your hot, buttery little pussy? Are you enjoying that?"

"Yes, Sir," I gasped, fighting to keep my knees still.

"And yet despite how kind I'm being to you, you insist on disobeying me."

I heard a thin sort of swishing sound, like the sound of something thin cutting through the air. And that was exactly what it was, because an instant later it hit my bottom. It was very thin and lightweight, not even as thick as the switch he usually used, which was about as thick as a pencil.

It hit with a sort of light-sounding thwick that was really no big deal. I mean, the feeling of it hitting. But an instant later I felt a sharp little sting across my buttocks!

"You deserve to be punished for your disobedience. Isn't that right, slut?"

"Yes, Sir!" I moaned.

He pressed the tip of the thing against my back up high beneath my neck, then slid it down my spine.

Thwick!

I gasped as it cut across my buttocks a second time.

"Disgusting whore!"

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

I gasped and moaned and winced as the thing cut across my buttocks repeatedly, but somehow I kept my position - more or less. My breasts did mash and rub against the wall, though.

"You love having big cocks inside you, isn't that right, slut?"

"Yes, Sir!" I gasped. "I love having big cocks inside me, Sir!"

"Filthy whore!"

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

Now he was hitting my back! It stung even more!

He moved to stand almost beside me, and his hand pushed in between my hip and the wall.