The Secret Journey (25 page)

“No?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Just garters.” She gives me a
sly half-smile. “I think that should raise the price, don’t
you?”

“It’s a single-bid auction,” I
answer. “You’ll never know if I’ve changed my offer.”

“I have confidence that you
will.”

I don’t answer, I just keep
adding bills to the pile, each one coming more slowly than the
last. Her hands go unconsciously to the button at the waist of her
skirt, her fingers playing with it, nervously. When I see that, I
know she’s mine, it’s just a matter of time now. She nibbles her
lip, nervous. She’s wondering how high I’ll go. She makes a lot of
money, but there’s a lot of money on the table, enough that she
wants it, and she doesn’t want me to stop before she takes it.

I keep my gaze on her face.
Greed and fear, those twin demon-gods of the market, fight for the
upper hand in her eyes. She wavers, licks her lips, looking at the
money, at me, at the money again. To her credit she holds out for a
very large sum indeed, but finally the button comes free, the short
zipper slides down. As advertised, she isn’t wearing any underwear.
The straps of her garter belt form an attractive frame for the
triangular thatch of her pubic hair, and her expensive stockings
earn their price in the way they show off her long, smooth thighs.
She picks up the skirt from the floor, puts it on the desk. I drop
it in my drawer with her blouse and jacket, and slide the stack of
hundreds over to her. She takes it and puts it in her briefcase
with the rest, then sits back down in the chair, crosses her legs,
and manages somehow to maintain the same professional poise that
she had fully clothed.

I present her with a third
receipt for her signature. “Now what?” she asks, challenging.

“Now I want you to stand up,
bend over, and put your nose right here.” I tap the edge of my desk
in front of her.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m
not going that far. I’m not a prostitute.”

“Then I won’t insult you by
offering money.”

She smiles a cool smile. “It’s
been an interesting game, but we’re finished now. Is there anything
else I can do for you? In a professional capacity?”

“No, just stand up and put your
nose where I told you to. I want to see your cunt.”

Her smile vanishes. “I think I
will be going after all.”

“As you wish.”

She stands up, puts out a hand.
“I’d like my clothes back, please.”

I laugh a small laugh. “They’re
mine now.”

“I don’t think you understand.”
Her eyes are suddenly angry. “This game is over, and I want my
clothes back.”

I shake my head. “You sold them
to me, at a very generous price. I’m keeping them.”

Her lips compress into a thin
line, and she comes around the desk. There’s a brief moment when
she realizes she’ll have to bend down to open my bottom drawer. She
compromises by squatting, and I watch as she pulls at it to find it
locked.

“Open it.” Her voice is tight.
“Now.”

I shake my head again. “No.”

“You want your money back?” She
goes back around the desk, grabs her briefcase, snaps it open,
tosses the stacked bills on my desk. “There’s your money.”

“No.”

She looks at me, her hard, angry
eyes boring into mine. “You want a profit, is that it? You tell me
how much, I’ll write a cheque.”

I shake my head again. “What I
want is for you to bend over, right here, so I can see your cunt.”
I smile. “Or rather, more of your cunt.”

She sees where I’m looking, and
reflexively moves a hand in front of her crotch. “This isn’t
funny.”

“No, it’s business.”

“I’ll scream rape.”

“Suit yourself.” I hold up the
receipts. “Here’s my proof that it isn’t. I’ll sue you bankrupt for
false accusation.”

“You won’t win.”

“You won’t either, and the case
will be very public. How much is your reputation worth?”

She looks at me, long and hard.
“You son of a bitch. You god-damned son of a bitch.”

I shrug. “I didn’t get where I
am by playing nice in the sandbox.” I point to my phone. “Feel free
to call someone.”

She doesn’t drop her gaze. “You
know damn well I’m not going to do that.”

I nod. “I do. I just want it to
be very clear in your own mind that you have a choice. You had a
choice when I offered to buy your jacket and another choice with
your blouse, and another with your skirt, and you have a choice
right now.”

“Some choice,” she snorts.

“You know how leveraged buyouts
work. It isn’t that they want to give up the company, it’s that
you’ve bought enough of it to take control.”

“Is that what you think you’ve
done?”

“I suppose we’re going to find
out.” I lean forward, gather the scattered hundred dollar bills
into a single stack and put it at the edge of the desk. “Now I’d
like you to put your nose right here.” I tap the pile of money.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’m going to close the
office and go home.”

“You’d really let me walk out of
here naked? What about your receptionist? And the doorman? What
will they think?”

“I don’t care what they
think.”

She looks at me. “You really
don’t, do you?”

I lean back. “Let’s make a deal.
You do everything I want for the next hour. If you do, when it’s
over, I’ll make sure you leave here decently covered, and nobody
will ever, ever know what happened here.”

“You’re a real free-wheeling
bastard, do you know that?”

“Do we have a deal?”

She looks at me with venom in
her eyes, then slowly stands up, bends over and puts her nose down
on the stack of bills.

“
I’ll take that as a
yes.” Her face is blushing furious red with her humiliation and she
still refuses to answer.
I get up, come around the desk,
make myself comfortable in the plush leather chair she’s just
vacated, admiring her curves. She obviously works out, her waist is
tight, her thighs toned. Her garter straps bisect her ass cheeks,
providing the perfect frame for her pussy as she offers it to me so
beautifully. I’m instantly drunk with the sight of her,
intoxicated, overcome with physical need. I want to fuck her on the
spot, but I’ve paid high for my prize and I’m going to take my time
enjoying it. There’s the slightest hint of moisture on the lips of
her pussy. Despite her anger and her resistance, it’s arousing for
her to have her control taken away like this. I don't say anything,
so her imagination can run wild.

She’s drawn to intensity, drawn to the edge,
everyone in her profession is. That’s why she wasn’t able to leave
when I made my opening offer. It wasn’t that she wasn’t insulted,
it was that she couldn’t refuse the challenge it implied. I reach a
hand up, point a finger at the center of her cunt, move it forward.
She gasps as I touch her, her body jerking, her hips coming back
reflexively, sinking my finger into her warm, sticky-slick depths.
I slide my finger steadily in, and she stifles a moan as she
accepts it.

“Do you have to do that?” She sounds
aggrieved, but her wetness is proof that she isn’t.

“No.” I chuckle. “I just want to.”

I slide my finger out, heavily coated with
the evidence of her arousal, move it up a fraction of an inch and
slide it into her tight, rosy anus. I do it hard and fast, not
giving her time to relax. She gives a little mew of discomfort. She
doesn’t like this, which is exactly why I’m doing it. I want her to
feel degraded because I want her to know that I own her. I want her
to
feel
that I own her. She learns the lesson immediately
and physically, unable to prevent her back from arching,
instinctively giving me better access as I violate her ass.

“You aren’t allowed to orgasm,” I tell
her.

“As if I would,” her words are defiant, but
there’s an undercurrent of arousal to them. I have her just where I
want her.

“You’ll be punished if you do.”

“I’m being punished now.” She doesn’t quite
manage to sound annoyed.

As she says it I pull my finger out of her
and push two back in, wringing an anguished cry from her throat,
and a second later she's coming, hard, her body betraying her
resolve in that single instant. Her hips come back, fucking her ass
onto my fingers as her no-longer-virgin anal ring squeezes them
with muscular rhythm. My cock swells larger still, I'm going to
enjoy this. I'm going to enjoy it a lot.

Her orgasm goes on and on as she screams and
writhes on my impaling digits, and her pubic hair is soaked with
the juices squeezed from her clenching cunt. When she starts to
slow down I push a third finger into her, stretching her wider,
reminding her of what she's here for, what she is. Her second
orgasm hits her with even more force than the first, and I pump her
ass hard while she begs for more. Her resistance, has completely
dissolved. She is so mine, so very mine.

I force her through a third orgasm, and then
a fourth, and after that they blur together, following each other
so closely there's no point in counting. Before I'm done she's
begging me to stop, but I don't stop, not until her muscles are
sore from repeated contraction, until her voice is hoarse, until
her body just won’t go on. Finally she just lies there, skin
flushed, hair tangled, exhausted and gasping for air. The neat
stack of bills has been scattered all over the floor, and she's
totally spent, but we’re not done yet. We’ve only just begun.

"You're a bad girl," I tell her. She doesn't
respond.

"You're a bad girl," I repeat, and grab a
luxuriant handful of hair. I pull her head up, forcing her back to
arch. "Aren't you?" She still doesn't answer and I pull harder.
"
Aren't you?"

"Y...yes..." she stammers, her voice quaking.
Her resistance is gone now, shattered.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm a bad girl," she manages to
whisper.

I bring my hand down on her ass, hard, and
the slap of flesh on flesh is gunshot loud. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," she yelps. "Yes, sir, I'm a bad
girl." I smile. She’s a quick study.

"Why are you a bad girl?"

"I... I... I came when I wasn’t allowed
to."

I yank on her hair and she gasps, her eyes
wide. “Sir. I came when I wasn’t allowed to. Sir.”

I relax my grip a little. She understands her
place now. "Why else?"

“And because I sold my clothing for money.
Sir.”

“And what does that make you?”

"Oh God..."

I tighten my grip again, refusing to let her
avoid the question.

"Oh God, please don't make me say it... "

With my free hand I unbuckle my belt. Her
eyes widen as the clasp jangles, widen further as it slithers out
of the loops, twisting like a live snake in my hand. I double it,
with the buckle and the free end together in my hand, and raise it
over her vulnerable bottom cheeks. "Why are you a bad girl? Why did
you sell your clothes?"

"Please no... please no..."

I bring the belt down with enough force to
make it whistle, cracking it over her cheeks. "Why?"

"Please no..." Her words are tight around the
pain in her voice.

I strap her again, right across the rounded
crease where her thighs join her buttocks. There’s already an angry
red welt rising where my first strike hit home. "Why?" I repeat the
question.

"No... no..." She thrashes her head back and
forth, pulling her hair against my grip, but she's too exhausted to
really fight.

"Why?" I bring the belt down. "Why?" I bring
it down again. "Why?" The punctuating smacks echo against the
walls.

"Because..." The word is torn from her
throat, and she presses her lips together to hold back the words
that follow it, squeezes her eyes shut to contain the building
tears.

"Why?" I put muscle into the strokes.
"Why?"

"Because... because I'm a cocktease." The dam
breaks and the words come out in a torrent. "Because I wanted to
tease you and make you frustrated."

I swing the belt harder as she speaks,
encouraging her to full confession, scourging purification from her
struggling flesh. "And why did you want that?"

“Because I’m a stuck-up bitch who teases
everyone and gets away with it.”

I put down the belt but keep a firm grip on
her hair. I let my free hand rest on her swollen, reddened ass,
enjoying the heat radiating from it, and her small flinches as I
caress the tender flesh. "So what should I do with such a bad
girl?"

"Punish me." A sharp yank on her hair reminds
her. "Sir. Punish me, sir."

"And how should I punish you?"

"Anything, sir. Whip my pussy, whip my tits,
make me crawl, make me do what you want, make me beg for it. Only
please make it hurt, I need it to hurt, hard and deep.”

“Tell me more,” I say, reaching under her to
squeeze a nipple, hard, harder, harder still. “Tell me that you
need it.”

“
Oh, I need it.” She moans at the pain.
“I need it, sir, I need to be put in my place, I need to be taken,
I need to be used. Make me take it, make me take it till I can’t
take it anymore, and then make me take it deeper, harder. Punish
me, mark me, and then come on my face, up my ass, anywhere,
anything. Make me respect your cock, make me worship it, I’ll be
good for you, sir, I promise I will.”

“Convince me.”

She spreads her legs wider, splitting her
swollen, soaking vulva, then reaches around behind her, spreads her
cheeks to offer me everything. “Right here, it’s all yours, bought
and paid for. I’m your slut, I’m your whore. Fuck me, please fuck
me,”

I crack the belt up between her legs, aiming
for her ripe and rigid clit. She yelps but holds her position.
“What do you say?”

She knows the answer, she knows it not just
by heart but from her heart, from her secret dreams, now as exposed
as her ass. “Thank you sir, please whip me harder, I’m your dirty
little slut.”