Stories of Female Domination: Badass Office Bitches
J D Kindle
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 – 2011 JD Kindle/transgressivefiction
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ooOOOoo
STORY 8: "THE INITIATION OF ALEXIS"
STORY 18: “SOPHIE'S POOR CHOICE”
STORY 20: “BABY, PLEASE DON'T GO!”
Bret had the sexy kind of charm that made you feel special when you were around her. And if you did her a favor she'd let you hang around.
She had my coworkers, men and women alike, jumping through hoops to stay on her good side. If you didn't, she'd cut you down with a look that'd make your nuts shrivel and send you packing.
Bret had our entire office at her beck and call.
I didn't put up with that crap. I wouldn't take it. I'm a man not a Bitch.
I had my ways of getting back at her.
Like when I'd walk into the break room and she'd look up from a table and say, "Here's my little Pud-Thumper. Get your ass over here and get me a coffee. And be quick about it, you Loser Fagtard. That’s two sugars, three creams. And make it snappy or I'll kick your ass around the block, Bitch-- Chop-chop!" I'd get her a coffee, sure. After all she's sitting there with her clique, I'm not gonna show her up, you know? I'm a good sport. I played along.
I was like the man of the house that comes home to find a gaggle of neighbor ladies gossiping around the kitchen table and the wife hands him a list of chores and tells him to get cracking. If the guy's got any sense he'll give the little lady her moment to shine. He’ll let the women have a laugh on him while his wife has a wise-ass grin lighting up her face.
So, yeah, I let Brett have her fun. I got her coffee. But two sugars, three creams?-- no way! Three sugars, two creams--- that's what she got from me. I stuck it to her good.
I didn't let her get away with treating me like a schlep. Not this guy.
Bret and I shared a grudging admiration. She appreciated the fact that I didn't buckle under. I gave as good as I got, even if nobody else had sense enough to see it. We had mutual respect for each other.
She respected my independent mind and I respected her mind-- and body. With a body like hers I couldn't help but respect it. That ass, those legs, those feet!
I had to give the devil her due Bret looked fabulous in a great pair of heels. Five-inch patent leather stilettos being her principal weapon of choice. And talk about cleavage? Oh, those toes!
Five-inch stilettos would do wonders for any slender young thing with a 5' 10" frame. A girl could hang straight as limp spaghetti and then step into a pair of heels and suddenly have curves in all the right places. A little fullness in the calf. A little heft in her ass. Tummy goes in, chest goes out and that's all she wrote. Presto-Change-O! Instant makeover.
With Bret it wasn't just an instant makeover. It was a major transformation. When she stepped into a pair of stilettos she stepped into another dimension. I couldn't imagine Bret without her heels. She wore heels doing cardio-kickboxing. She probably wore heels in the shower.
Bret was a female Superhero whose secret source of power came from a pair of Bionic high-heels. That's how it seemed to me anyway.
Let me tell you about this one time and you'll see what I mean.
We had a guy come in, a sales rep, a real ladies man. Acting like a real jerk. Disrespecting the females in the office.
I told him to cool the language. Calling the girls "chicks" and "broads" and saying stuff like "wouldn't kick her outta bed for eating crackers" or "Hey, Baby, wanna get lucky?" Dude was like a museum of bad pick-up lines.
Then he said something demeaning about Bret. What he'd like to do to her. That's when things got physical. I let him have it.
I punched him in the gut so hard I nearly broke my wrist. Unfortunately, he just laughed in my face and slapped me down and I hit the floor hard. He picked up the garbage can we kept next to the coffee station and emptied it over me. Wet coffee grounds, half-empty cups of coffee, half-eaten fast food pancakes smothered in syrup--- all of that slimy stinking garbage soaked into my skin and stuck to my body.
I slipped a couple times as I tried to get up and when I finally got to my knees he put his size 13 in my face and shoved me back down in the filth and muck.
In short, he came pretty close to actually humiliating me.
Bret came to my aid. She walked up to the guy and faced him off.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" she taunted.
"Like who? You?" he says, laughing and smiling. What a creep!
"You don't want to mess with me, Dipshit,” Bret said, then she asked for his wallet.
The guy looked at her funny but he gave her his wallet.
Bret took out a dollar bill and turned like she was walking away and threw the buck over her shoulder in the air and before you can say "grasshopper" she wheels and pivots and kicks and sticks her stiletto right in Washington's left eye. The dollar was stuck halfway up her heel like one of those poles with spikes they use to pick up litter.
"Take your buck and get the fuck out of here,” Bret said as she threw his wallet in his face.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said as he knelt at her feet and ripped the dollar from her stiletto. Bret wouldn't lift her foot for him.
I almost had an orgasm right there.
That gives you an idea of what Bret was like and how agile she was.
She came over to where I lay wallowing in garbage. She yanked me to my knees by my shirtfront and reared on the toes of her left foot raising her right hand high over her head. She brought her hand down hard--- a sharp strike with the flat of her hand against the side of my face--- and sent debris flying from my face and hair like hard rain pounding against the ground. One, uh, two, uh, THREE-- hard enough to knock the White off rice.
"Embarrass me, will you?" she said as she let fly, "As if I need a Twerp like you to fight my battles for me, you fucking simpleton."
She was magnificent. Her actions were smooth, powerful and decisive. I was glad for the wet garbage staining my pants, it hid my cum-stained crotch.
Sure I shot my wad. Who wouldn't? She was basically doing one-arm curls with my body as deadweight, while balancing on one foot in five-inch heels, and swatting my ass into next week without so much as breaking a nail.
She was an Amazon Goddess.
I was lost in ecstatic bliss as she dragged my limp body to the ladies room. Like a predator in the wild dragging a carcass to her lair.
"Strip!" she ordered.
I stripped.
Several women coworkers walked in to see what was up. Bret told me to lay face-up on the cold tile over the floor drain and one by one she had the women take turns pissing on me.
There was nothing sexual about it. It was just the most practical way of getting me clean.
I think most of the gunk washed off by the time the third or fourth pisser urinated all over me but Brett let the rest of them go to the bathroom on me just to be sure.
I couldn’t understand why women always complained about having to squat to pee. They always say how lucky guys are. These women didn't seem to have any problem peeing on me while standing up. They just made sure to spread their lips open and keep their stance wide and the stream shot clear.
And that just goes to show they were being helpful and not at all demeaning. I mean, if they wanted to have fun and make me feel abused they would've got right down and squatted over me and did their business right in my face.
But they didn't. They stood clear and rinsed me down. Not like this other guy I knew that got pissed on.
A long time ago when this friend of mine was just a dumb kid he got drunk at a biker bar and went out back in the alley to puke. He puked so hard he passed out.
A bunch of biker dudes made a semi-circle around him and started pissing in his face. I scrambled to my feet-- I mean my friend scrambled to HIS feet--- and accidentally caused some back-splash. One of the guys cold-cocked him and he was unconscious again.
The next time he came-to there was a biker broad squatting over him pissing right in his face. I knew better than to get up and get sucker punched again-- I mean MY FRIEND knew better. He lay there and took it. I was afraid they might start shitting on me if I made a ruckus. I mean-- oh, Hell!-- it was me, all right? I got pissed on. About ten skanks emptied their bladders in my face before they let me up.
I felt an overwhelming sense of shame being used as a pee-pot for a bunch of no-account lowlifes and their stink-hole women.
That is, until I found out it was just a standing rule of their Club. It pertained to everybody. Anybody caught falling asleep on the premises got pissed on. It happened all the time.
So I knew from that experience that getting peed on was no big deal. The thing is, even though I knew it was no big deal and I realize they were just having fun, I personally feel like it was kind of demeaning, in a way, for the Biker Broads to squat right over me. In my opinion it showed no class. Not like my friends at the office. They knew how to pee on a guy and make him feel good about it. I appreciated that.
I know I said there was nothing sexual about it. And there wasn't. Even though my cock stayed rock hard the whole time they were peeing. That was only because the women themselves looked so beautiful. So natural. You could feel the sense of camaraderie develop between them. And me, too. I was part of it. So it was no wonder I had a woody. This was something special.
But now as Bret took her place standing directly above me, not off to the side like the others, but straddling my body. Her pussy poised for action pointing directly at my face. This was excruciatingly sexual.
"Open wide," she ordered. And I did.
A tight stream of warm yellow wetness hit the back of my throat as I gulped quickly and had a volcanic reaction as my nuts spewed cum high in the air nearly splattering Bret's sensational ass with white-hot cock-cream.
The girls howled with appreciative laughter saying stuff I really didn't understand. About me being a purebred Bitch right down to my teeny weenie Bone. Stuff like that.
Bitch? We were just having fun. It's not like I'm some kind of submissive pervert or something. But that's how I am. I always take things the wrong way. Of course, they were just kidding. They were just having a bit of fun talking trash.
Bret shooed the girls back to their cubicles and had me towel myself off while she scouted out something for me to wear.
She came back carrying a slinky black dress and told me to try it on.
It fit.
I actually thought I looked pretty good in it. I have very nice legs if I do say so myself.
"How can I get away with wearing this?" I asked.
"That's the only thing around,” Bret said, "Kellie had it in her drawer for some reason. But you're right. It looks too goofy. Hang on. I'll be right back."
In a minute she was back.
"Here,” Bret held out a pair of black pantyhose, "these will keep your little ding-dong from poking at the fabric and hide your hairy legs from showing."
I put them on. They felt all tingly-soft against my skin. Hooo.
"Don't forget these,” Bret kicked off her stilettos, "I'm sure you'll fit into them with your tiny feet. I've got an extra pair in my office."
I won't even try to explain why I went along with this. I mean, I did have to wear something didn't I? And if a dress was the only thing available then why shouldn't I accessorize with pantyhose and heels?
Okay, saying that out loud sounds ridiculous. But it felt terrific. Maybe because of the new bond I felt with my female coworkers. They were going out of their way to help me get cleaned up. It felt good to have them pitching in and looking out for me. After all, it was because I stuck up for them that I got so filthy in the first place. Why shouldn't they help me out?
It would be rude for me to get all macho now. See what I mean? I didn't want to insult them by refusing their hospitality. That's the reason this felt so natural. I'm no cross-dressing fruit.
The rest of the day went well aside from me stumbling around in those stilettos. Bret’s feet were bigger than mine so I was clopping around like a little girl playing house in her Mommy's grownup heels.
Everyone acted like it was my own personal Halloween. Someone conjured up a platinum wig and one of the girls applied some make-up to complete my look. They talked about making every other Friday an official day for me to wear a drag costume to liven things up a bit.
A few guys made crude remarks about me. Someone noticed a white splotch on the dress that they said looked like dried cum and they wondered out loud if I was giving guys head in the Men's room and wanted to know how much I charged. But I knew they were just teasing.
Turns out that white spot on the dress was the Macho Man Sales Rep's jism. Kellie kept the dress as a souvenir after going down on the creep's eleven-inch pecker. He used her oral skills once and threw her away. He tossed Kellie aside like yesterday's news but she liked to put that dress on and masturbate at her desk fantasizing about him. Or should I say, fantasizing about his cock. She carried the torch for his torch, as it were.
When Bret found out about that monster cock she wanted some of that stuff.
At 5 o'clock I went to Bret's office to change back into my regular clothes (they were back from the cleaners) and there he was: that rat bastard Sales rep.
I went after him to finish kicking his ass like I started to do earlier but before I could I tripped and fell in those damn heels and he picked me up by the throat and slapped the snot out of me.
Bret made him stop.
I hurried over to where my clothes were but Bret said to leave them be for now. Bret was gonna fuck the sales rep while I gave her a rim job. The sales rep wanted me to stay in drag so it'd be like a two-girl threesome.
Bret let him have his way. She didn't want him to have any negative distractions while she humped his pecker.
There was nothing I could do.
Sales Rep sat in Bret's executive chair as she straddled his lap and mounted his cock.
I nearly got a charley horse in my neck from trying to get in rhythm with Bret's bouncing ass as she humped the length of his enormous pecker. It was hard work keeping my tongue up her ass while I followed her bouncing asshole.
To make things worse Bret wanted to prolong her orgasm for as long as possible. So she would suddenly stop humping and just slide down on his rod and sit motionless when she got right to the edge of her orgasm.
But she wanted me to keep my tongue up her ass. That was hard. When she stopped like that she slid much lower than when she actively humped. It was too low. My tongue slipped out.
"Use suction,” Bret suggested, "and slide your hands under his ass and pull your face into me." The thought of deliberately snuggling my hands under this Goon's ass made me want to puke.
You have to remember, this is the same guy that tried to humiliate me. Twice! It was bad enough that I knelt between his legs and bobbed up and down while his nuts slapped my chin. I mean, I licked Bret's asshole not his cock but it almost felt like I was going down on him. I know I'm overreacting but it took most of the fun out of eating Bret's ass.
Before I could say anything the Sales Goon told Bret, "If that Bitch touches my ass I'm gonna punk that little sissy."
Bret slapped him hard in the face and said, "Mind your tongue or I'll let him fuck your sissy ass."
I had my tongue up Bret's ass as she said this, massaging a small throbbing hemorrhoid, and the strangest thing happened. I felt the goon's dick get hard. Up to now his pecker was erect but not completely hard. It was still a little floppy. I figured it was because it was so damn huge his body couldn't afford to shunt that much blood to one area. But now as Bret threatened to make him bend over and be my punk I could feel his cock press against the wall of Bret's ass from inside her and it felt like a policeman's Mag flashlight.
His sudden growth spurt made Bret moan. She was right down on the thickest part of his cock and it stretched her vagina to its limit. She had to pull up to avoid getting ripped open. She paused a moment then settled back down until she found the new sweet spot.
"I think we just found out who the real sissy is,” Bret said.
She had me get up and stand next her and told me to show him my dick. I guess that made the guy even harder because Bret moaned and shifted as she grabbed my cock and pointed it in the goon's face.
She let me stare at her tits while she pumped my hardon in his face.
"Don't,” he begged. He wasn't very convincing.
Bret didn't like the Sissy Bitch telling her 'Don't' so she made him finish jacking me off. Bret sat back and watched as the Bitch gave me a handjob until I dumped a load in his face. My hot sticky cum splattered his mug and drove him mad with excitement.
The fucking cunt jerked and lurched like a Death Row inmate getting juiced in The Chair.
Bret humped the pseudo-epileptic like she was busting a wild bronco. She came like an express train running late.
Like a true sissy The Bitch started sobbing. Bret wiped up my cum from his face with her fingers and fed it to her mewling new sissy Bitch. He hungrily sucked her fingers like a kitten at Momma Tabby's tit.
Without being asked I went back to kneeling behind Bret and finishing her rimjob as a kind of afterglow thing. Now that the Bitch was turned-out proper I felt comfortable getting into position for some real ass eating. I put my arms around the Bitch's ass and pulled my face into Bret's beautiful butt. Real snug like.
"Go easy,” Bret said softly.
No problem. I'd go nice and easy and give her a slow-motion rimming-- not like some hyper loathing Bitch that can't control himself. That's not me.
I'm no Bitch.
END OF BRET****
I stayed late to get a jump on the next day’s workload. The office was deserted this late in the evening. But not tonight. I went to the men’s room and on the way I saw Fran.
Fran sat in the women’s lounge, an anteroom to the ladies room that was furnished with a sofa. It was used mostly as a smoking area. Fran had left the door open.
She smiled at me. That was a first.
Fran and I worked on the same floor in separate departments. We often saw each other but had little reason to speak. Fran and I had never made eye contact without her scowling at me.
I’m not being paranoid. Fran always gave me a dirty look. I thought I was mistaken, at first; later I confirmed it.
I had walked up as she talked in a group. She said something funny and the entire group laughed. But as soon as Fran saw me her face turned nasty; she shot me down with her eyes. Everyone noticed. After that I made a point of not looking in her direction if I could help it.
Now as I stepped out of the men’s room I had no choice but to look at her. She was directly in my line of sight.
“Sweetheart, could you help me out?” Fran asked me. I nearly buckled under with astonishment, ‘SWEETHEART?’.
She had her legs stretched out in front of her; across the seat of a chair she had turned sideways. Her feet hung over the edge. She had a laptop resting on her thighs. I walked over to her.
All her dirty looks took a toll on my self-esteem. I started thinking I had something wrong with me. Other people picked up on her vibe and began treating me differently, too.
Coworkers that had always been my friends now made me the butt of jokes. If I made a simple mistake in my work, (one that would hardly have been noticed before), I was made to feel stupid.
That was one reason I stayed late to get a head-start on the next day’s work. I could spend less time meeting with my coworkers if I had my part of the project organized and ready to go.
“Get me a cigarette,” she said, not smiling but not frowning either, indicating a pack on the end table out of her reach. She was comfortable and didn’t want to move.
I got her a cigarette. Without a word she handed me a pack of matches. She wanted me to light her cigarette for her. I bent over at the waist to oblige.
Fran placed her hand on my shoulder and forced me down to my knees.
Ordinarily I’d be ill at ease kneeling in front of Fran like this but I was so glad that she wasn’t scowling at me that I didn’t think about it.
I was about to get up after lighting her smoke but Fran commanded me to, “Stay.” So I stayed; kneeling.
“Undo my shoes,” she said. “The strap’s are too tight and I want them off.”
I shifted over to her feet. She was wearing a high-heel platform that strapped at the ankle. I undid these for her and took them off. Her legs and feet looked great in her bare black pantyhose. Her skirt was so short the hem was hidden under her laptop.
“Joe, kiss my toes,” she said. “They’re sore. These shoes are pretty but they hurt like hell.”
I was thrilled to help her out.
“You probably think I hate you, Joe, but I don’t,” she said as she leaned back and let me do my work. “It’s just that you remind me of my ex. You’re a dead ringer. That’s why I look at you so angrily all the time. I can't help it. My Ex was bad news. I hate him so much I get upset just thinking about him. And I can’t look at you without thinking about him.”
No wonder she acted so strange.
She liked me. She really liked me! I was floating on air. I couldn’t believe it.
“My Ex abused me,” she said. “Mentally. Physically. And Sexually.” Fran paused. “The bum sat around all day drinking beer and watching TV while I worked my ass off.” She took a drag on her cigarette and exhaled long and hard, then continued, “As soon as I walked in the door at night he made me give him head. Every night. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t feeling well, or if I was tired or stressed, I had to get down on my knees and suck his dirty dick.”
She ran her left foot over my cheek as I soothed her right foot with kisses.
“Sometimes, if he thought the program was so good he wanted to concentrate on watching it, I had to just kiss his dick and lick his balls over and over until he was ready to let me finish the blow-job. That could take all night sometimes. All night with his dirty dick in my mouth and my face buried in his stinking crotch. After a full day of work… that bastard!”
She looked at me.
“Well, I’m not going to bore you with the grisly details, Joe. I’m sure you get the picture. I need you to help me get over him. I need to use you as his stand-in to work through all this garbage I carry around because of his abuse. You can help desensitize me. In time maybe I’ll be able to look at you without feeling like I need to barf.”
I looked up at her. She slammed her free foot into the side of my head.
“Joe, you’ve been good about not looking at me. Don’t fuck it up now. Don’t ever look me in the eye unless I ask you to. I mean it. It makes my skin crawl.”
I looked down and kept kissing her feet.
Fran told me to shut the door and lock it.
“Now kneel here and suck my toes,“ she said, “as though you’re giving head the way I gave that bastard head. Bob on my big toe like I had to bob on his big dick. In my mind you’ll be him. I want to turn the tables on that bastard. I’m going to make him feel the way I felt.”
I did as she told me.
“Using you as his substitute I’ll be able to visualize that Asshole,” Fran said. “Don’t take it personal, but I’m going to treat you like a real ass-bag for a while. I’ve got to get this out of my system. You’ll be my tool: An identical clone of that motherfucking sadist that I will abuse as my personal slut. Actually, I guess, you’ll be my slave. I know you don’t mind. Not that it matters how you feel. Still, I’m lucky that the one guy around here that happens to look like that bastard also happens to be the biggest pussy around. You’re perfect.”
She thought I was perfect! I nearly shit my pants. Perfect!
I put her entire foot in my mouth and sucked.
“Damn!” she yelled, as she abruptly pulled her foot from my mouth. “Let me get my stockings off first, shit for brains.”
Fran hooked her thumb under the top of her stocking and ran it down her leg. I pulled the stocking off and handed it to her. I had thought she was wearing pantyhose. This was better.
I plunged her foot halfway down my throat.
“Cool it with the Deep Throat routine already,” she said. “Eat my toe-jam, Asshole."
Fran didn’t have any toe-jam. She just wanted to talk filthy, I guess. Her foot was slightly clammy, that’s all. It had an odor to it, but nothing bad, and it tasted slightly like pickle juice. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I worked my tongue between her toes. I could see in my peripheral vision that she put her fingers in her scrunched up stocking as she worked her clit. I could imagine the sensation. Just brushing my dick against a woman’s pantyhose always felt special. With the extra pleasure of her natural lubricant the sheer mesh must felt unreal. Her bliss was evident as she softly moaned.
I dislodged bits of funk from under her toe-nails as I sucked; bits of lint, I think. Umm. I chewed the grimy fluff as the first real whiff of feminine odor reached my nostrils. It was overwhelming. I’m one lucky dude, I thought as I sucked her toes.
“Pry off my toe-ring with your lips, Suck-face,” Fran told me, “and keep it under your tongue. If you’re dumb enough to swallow it I’ll beat your ass so bad you'll wish I killed you, so be careful, Punk.” I think she just said that to take her mind off her arousal. She seemed to be really worked up for having just started. She needed to damper down a bit.
“Here,” she said as she threw her stocking at me. “Put this over your head and put your face in my bush.” She kicked the chair out of the way.
I pulled the stocking over my head and started to tear a mouth-hole in the fabric just as my face exploded. Fran had reared back and kicked me with all her might. Her heel smashed me right in the eye socket. I flew back and my head bounced off the floor. I struggled to my knees, feeling woozy.
“Did I tell you that you could destroy my personal property, you fucking slut!” she was livid. “I said put it over your head not rip the living shit out of it. Goddam! What a fucking asshole! Get your fucking face up here and leave my personal property alone.”
I knelt between her thighs and she pulled my head down into her crotch so that my forehead nestled against her clit. Apparently, rubbing her clit with her stocking-clad digits proved too intense. She wanted to draw this out a bit more before finally achieving orgasm.
She was using my head as a dumb object. I was her sex-toy. I’d eaten plenty of pussy before-- it’s one of the few things women were happy to let me do. I was good at it. Some women made me kiss and lick them exactly according to instructions but still it was me doing the licking. But I was never so totally used as this; without any input on my part.
Fran turned me into a completely dehumanized, total, fuck-toy. It was exhilarating.
She held my head still and pressed herself against the juice soaked fabric; rubbing against me with varying degrees of pressure. I felt tiny tremors as they shivered her belly and made her sigh with pained relief. She was having mini-orgasms. I was giving a woman multiple orgasms! Oh my gosh! I couldn’t believe it!
After the first few orgasms she sat back for a moment before going on with the next orgasm by rubbing against me some more.
I knelt still and silent all the while. At one point she stopped and lit a cigarette and took a few drags. Then she wanted something new for the finish.
She pulled the stocking off abruptly and had me incline my head in front of her. I bowed down as she tied rolled stocking around my head very tight. It was bound around my eyes like a blindfold.
I mean, it was a blindfold because I couldn’t see anything but that wasn’t its main purpose.
“Open your mouth, Fucknuts. Let your tongue hang out and keep it wet. Let me do all the work, just go with it. I’ll control everything myself.”
She used the rope-like stocking as a tight rein to rake my head up and down her pussy. She worked it hard. I had a hard time keeping up.
I don’t know why she bothered telling me to keep my tongue wet. She was sopping. Her thick juices came out in stringy streams of pungent fuck-slop. It was hanging off my nose and chin as she haphazardly dragged me through her slop trough.
“Fuck me, Bitch! Fuck me with your ugly mug you good for nothing lowlife! How do YOU like it, huh? How do you like being used like a worthless little fuck-toy? You piece of shit! Eat me! Eat me like you never ever ate me before in ten years of marriage you stinking lump of nothing! You Bastard! EAT MEEEEEeeeEE!”
She let out a scream at the end as a firecracker went off inside her that sent a pulpy mass of fuck flavored pie filling splattering against my face. She collapsed back into the sofa as I scraped the soft warmth of her succulent goodness from the stocking and my face and licked it from my delicious fingers. I too collapsed.
This was bliss.
ooOOOoo
Fran dyed my hair to match the color of her ex-husband’s. She suggested that I move in to her apartment and turn over my finances to her to expedite her desensitizing program. She needed total control over me. I understood. The sooner we completed the program, the sooner we could normalize relations between us.
I looked forward to the day we could look each other in the eye and be friends.
Fran kept things simple. Basically we drove in to work together and she did her job and I did mine. Same as ever. Once we were home, at the end of the workday, I tended to her needs such as running a bath and bathing her and then fixing dinner. When I was through serving her dinner she sat on the sofa watching the soaps I recorded for her from daytime television. I knelt down and put my face in her bush but didn’t lick unless she signaled me to.
Our experiment was supposed to mimic the experience she had had with her husband, but I had things much better than she did with her Ex. First of all she was bathed clean and smelling great when I went down on her. Plus, where she had to keep his dirty dick in her mouth I only needed to rest my face against her wonderful pussy between licks. It was bliss. Sometimes she even let me just kneel there facing her while she fingered herself when she preferred to take a break from my face. I wasn’t allowed to watch the TV but I’m not a soaps fan anyway. So it was no big deal there. But she did let me lick her fingers and she even wiped some on her tits sometimes and let me lick.
Let me tell you, you haven't lived until a woman with a rack like Fran's slathers her excellent flavor on her nipples and then says, "Lick." Like it's supposed to be punishment or something? The way she says it gives me shivers, I swear. I had it made.
Fran was very kind. For example, she rarely hit me even though her Ex had beaten her everyday. Once I forgot to set the DVR and she missed her soaps that day. I got it pretty good. But I deserved every punch and kick she gave me. The only reason she clobbered me with the remote was because I gave it to her. I wanted her to hit me with it. I had no excuse for ruining her day like that. I was almost as bad as her Ex, causing her needless pain like that.
I know what you’re thinking, ‘How could a normal everyday guy like me allow himself to get the shit kicked out of him and think he had it made?’.
I loved it. I knew she cared. I knew my place in the world. That first time she kicked me in the face she had such a complete disregard for my physical well-being that I nearly had a seizure. I existed totally to bring Fran pleasure and she didn’t play any games about letting me know it.
The information registered immediately with me. It burned itself into my physical being. It left no gray area, no room for misunderstanding. It underscored my importance to her.
At that moment I was the most valuable thing in her world. I was the only person alive that could help her erase the decade of pain she’d endured and internalized through ten years in an abusive marriage – but only as long as I got it right and did things her way. That is exactly what I wanted. I wanted to do things right. I wanted to do things her way. I wanted her to correct me in the most forceful way possible so I could better learn to serve her needs and thereby make myself even more valuable to her.
She was helping me to better myself. Don’t you see? It was vital to our success that I prove myself worthy of her discipline.
As so often happens, outside forces seemed to conspire to upset our ideal arrangement.
Two weeks into our relationship Gertie, my boss, called me into her office for a talk.
I took a seat in a chair in front of her desk.
Gertie dressed like a 19th century schoolmarm. Very conservative. I think she was a born again. She was always saying ‘Have a blessed day’ rather than the usual ‘Nice day’.
"I know what’s going on, Joe," Gertie said with an air of certainty, fixing me in her gaze.
"What do you mean?" I started to panic then I realized my private life was none of her business. She couldn’t fire me just because she didn’t approve of my lifestyle.
"Joe, technically it’s none of my business but I’ve seen this before, I’m no dummy, sooner or later it’s going to start affecting your job performance. But let’s just forget that for now. This is off the record. I feel personally concerned for you, Joe. I feel like the spirit has put it on my heart to talk with you and to help you if I can. As a friend who cares - not as your boss."
"Listen, Gertie, that’s awfully nice of you but I have no idea what you’re talking about," I said.
"Horse hockey!" this was Gertie’s version of an expletive. "Don’t you think I’ve seen the bruises? The fact that you changed your hair color and you moved in with Fran? I even know that you’re signing your payroll checks over to her. And you don’t think I know what’s going on? What kind of fool do you take me for, Joe? I know exactly what’s going on here."
Well, I knew she had me dead to rights at that point. If it had been anyone else but Gertie I’d I’ve assumed they knew the whole story for sure. Fran wasn’t keeping it a secret. In fact she called me over to her clique more than once to display her ‘Submissive Bitch’ to the girls in her section.
Apparently they were in the middle of doing some hiring because she’d repeated this ceremony several times in the last few days to accommodate the fresh faces who were out of the loop. "Here he is girls," she would say. "He’s not much to look at but he does anything and everything I tell him to do – and I do mean everything – right, Joe?"
"Yes, Fran," I answered, eyes down, the way Fran liked me to act.
"Would he lick your ass if you asked him?" A girl might ask.
"Answer her, Joe," Fran would say.
"Certainly," I answered.
"I mean," asked the same girl again, "not just her ass but her asshole."
"Yes, I would," I answered, as the girls all giggled – except for the ones that thought they were so cool, they howled outright, "I'd lick her asshole as clean as a whistle. I adore sucking Fran’s ass. I'm her Bitch."
"Dismissed," Fran would say and I left. Her clique stood silent unable to believe I'd said that. Figuring even if it was just talk still it was too humiliating to say out loud like that. I played my role to a tee.
The thing is -- talk about out of the loop – Gertie had no contact with Fran and her clique. They were in a different section entirely. And they wouldn’t mix with her at all anyway. It could be possible that Gertie really didn’t know what was going on. So I played dumb. I didn’t see any upside to spilling my guts to Gertie.
"Joe," Gertie said, coming out from behind her desk. "I’ve been there. I know what you’re going through. I can help you." She knelt down in front of me.
What the hell was she talking about? She knew about being a Submissive Bitch? What the ???
"Gambling has a hold on you, doesn’t it, Joe?" Gertie asked.
"No, not at all, I’ve never gambled in my life," I said truthfully, but it came out sounding like a gambler in denial.
Gertie looked hurt.
"Joe, I’m reaching out to you now. I know. Why else would you change your hair color and hide out at Fran’s place? I know Fran understands about people needing a helping hand. That’s why she agreed to handle your money isn’t it? I know ‘cause I approved the change on your direct deposit form. You can’t trust yourself not to gamble it away -- right? I know I am. Like I say I’ve been there, Joe. I had a big time gambling addiction. Bingo. For a while there I was losing nearly $50 a week playing bingo. I had it bad, Joe, bad."
I was stunned. Speechless. She really was an imbecile.
"Don’t deny it, Joe, please, don’t treat like a fool. I never owed someone the kind of money that would make them come after me. But some of my friends have. They’ve been roughed up. Friends from my twelve step program. They’ve had their bones broken and stuff. They told about things like that. I can see you’ve been worked over real good by a pro, Joe. Stop the act. Let me help you."
She started to undo my zipper.
"Here’s a trick I learned in the program. Addiction is all about urges, Joe. It helps to substitute one urge for another if you can. Sex helps." She had my cock in her hand now and she massaged it as she spoke. "The sexual urge is one of the strongest urges you can have. Part of the hold gambling has on a person is its deviant quality. That’s why dirty, kinky, sex is the best sex to get you over your addiction." Here, holding my erect pecker, Gerty looked me straight in the eye and said, "I’m the kinkiest gal in the greater tri-county area." Then she went down on me.
It was the sloppiest blowjob I’d ever gotten. Mainly because Gertie ‘cheated’. She’d spit on my cock and slide her fist up and down my shaft while barely licking the tip of my dick. It was more of a handjob than anything else but it worked. It felt terrific, in fact.
Fran controlled my orgasms like everything else. She never let me cum. Once in a blue moon she’d let me jack-off in her presence. Even then she played it out so long that it took more than an hour to get my nut. Always stopping and starting. Whenever I got close to shooting my stuff Fran would slap my dick with a heavy wooden ruler. It hurt like hell. By the time I got off my dick was all beat to hell. With Fran’s system it was a relief to finally lose my load but it wasn’t fun. It eased my Blue Balls situation but as a pleasurable experience it was more along the lines of having a boil lanced than having sex.
Gertie barely knew the meaning of the word Blowjob but the result was priceless. When I shot my wad it went off like a pent-up volcano. Gertie was so proud of herself. She had my sticky white cum all over her face.
She looked sickening.
Fran would beat my ass if she ever found out I had an orgasm without her permission. If word got out that Gertie went down on me Fran would kill me.
I tried to get out of there as fast as possible but Gertie had other plans.
She wanted me to go down on her.
As things stood with Fran I was strictly forbidden to have sex of any kind. So even if Gertie were a hot young fox I would have been scared to death to go down on her in case Fran found out.
In Gertie’s case I was just plain scared to go down on her. She lifted her dress and her nasty bush looked like critters might crawl out of it. I don’t mean crabs or lice, I mean small game, like muskrats and stuff. Damn it was nasty and wild!
I begged off but Gertie wasn’t having any of it.
“Joe,” she said, “you got ours now I need mine. Either you play nice with me or I’ll have to sic my hardcore twelve-step buddies on you. They know from experience how to delivery a painful beating. What do you say, Joe?”
I dropped to my knees and parted her jungle-bush with both hands and it smelled like swamp gas. I held my breath and put my face right in it and licked; and Gertie peed all over me.
“Sorry, Joe,” she said, “it tickled. My bladder’s empty now. Start over again. Take your time. I cleared my calendar. We have all afternoon.”
END OF FRAN---
The first time I saw Kathy she slapped me down-- that’s how it started.
Part of me never got up.
Kathy was heavy into Emma Holly’s latest hot erotica when I walked in.
She looked up from her book and took off her reading glasses, eyeing me in a way that chilled my bones. Not saying a word.
Her whole posture said, “Me Boss, You Flunky.” And as flunkies go I didn’t seem to rate.
She held the black stem of her eyeglasses in her thumb and forefinger and pressed the tip to her bottom lip as she sat back to get a more leisurely view.
I stood still for her and silently cringed inside.
Her sultry eyes and sensuous lips curled and molded themselves into expressions of contempt.
She took mental inventory of my sorry ass and let out a mirthless chuckle. I was a lame excuse for a man.
I’ve had Bosses work me over with a cool stare but not like this. This made me shrivel.
Not that she was my boss. I was assigned to help her out as a coworker. Not a flunky.
I finally said “Hi” To break the ice.
That’s when she let me have it.
She was on her feet in a flash and slapped me to the floor with a free-wheeling roundhouse Bitch-Slap.
Before I could recover and get my wits about me, she yanked me up off the floor and onto my knees and continued slapping my pathetic ass. Beating me down.
My initial silence, as I surrendered to her sullen appraisal, slammed the door on my manhood and my humanity.
In her mind I was asswipe. I’d submitted already.
I should’ve asked her what the hell she was staring at? Or played it off like I didn’t notice and said Hello right off.
We both knew she had me.
We both knew she OWNED me.
Thoughts flew around in my mind like the Crew of Star Trek when the Enterprise hits a rough patch of Final Frontier.
I couldn’t focus.
All I could think of was how gorgeous she looked springing out of her chair in her tight black skirt, showing nothing but thigh, her towering mass moving forcefully and swiftly in those heels —five inch black patent leather stilettos— and stomping toward me with her huge powerful strides.
That last fraction of a second before her Bitch-Slap landed I nearly creamed my drawers.
“Bitch! DO NOT speak unless spoken to!” she said between slaps. “I didn’t ask for you!” Another slap. “I don’t want you!” SlaaP! “So keep your fucking mouth shut and keep quiet!” Sla-AAP!
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said after she was done slapping me.
“Where do you get off calling me ‘Ma’am’? You’re at least ten years older than me,” she slapped me once more for good measure. “I demand respect. Call me Ms. Katherine.”
“Yes, Ms. Katherine.”
When people say, “How could you let some chick turn you into her Bitch?” they don’t understand.
I didn’t LET her do anything. I got OWNED.
And Kathy was not some chick. She was MS. Katherine. I deserved to be her flunky.
Maybe I’m kidding myself but I think there’s a reason I reacted like I did with Kathy. A sort of love-at-first-sight thing except with us it was owned-at-first-sight.
I mean, for a split second after she told me to call her Ms. Katherine, it flashed in my mind to get up and tell her to go fuck herself. But I couldn’t do it.
I wanted to be her kneeling Bitch and Whipping Boy.
I’d walked into a room with an enormous puzzle all laid out with only one piece missing.
I was that puzzle.
When I said, “Yes, Ms. Katherine.” that last piece snapped into place.
I got owned.
I was now complete.
END OF KATHY***
Louise was bold. Perhaps a little too bold for her own good, Joe thought.
Twice now clients had come on to the floor and mistaken her for the department head. That's the kind of manner she had. Clacking around in her patent leather stilettos like a high and mighty Diva.
Fine. She can't help it if people think she's something she's not. But when she didn't correct their impression and took a meeting--- that was going too far.
Joe meant to take her down a peg or two. And when she showed up to work in an outfit that showed a some skin Joe saw his chance.
"Louise," Joe started, calling her out on the floor in front of everybody. "We have a dress code, you know. Couldn't you have worn something a little more appropriate?"
"What?" Louise snarled, "do you have a problem with the way I dress?"
"Yes,” Joe told her. “Leave your sexy stuff at home. This is an office."
Louise dropped her arms to her sides, furrowed her brow, and looked over at a coworker in a perfect pantomime of confused disbelief.
"Cassie, get over here a second would you please,” Louise said, and when Cassie stepped up to her she turned her toward Joe. Standing there, side by side, everyone could see Cassie's outfit was shorter at the hem, showed more cleavage and was tighter all around than Louise's skirt and blouse. Yet Cassie seemed downright frumpy next to Louise. Louise had oomph that went way beyond her wardrobe.
Joe was red faced.
"It's nice to know I turn you on Boss but please, not in front of the help,” Louise stuck it to him. Then dismissed her coworker with an air of tacit authority, "Thanks, Cassie, you can go back to what you were doing now."
Joe heard muffled laughter as he turned to go back to his office. It was much louder by the time he reached his door. He'd fucked up.
‘The Help’ as Louise called her coworkers were fed up with her. They were waiting for Joe to lower the boom but now that he fucked that up they naturally swung their allegiance to Louise.
Joe left them no choice. If he couldn't control Louise there was nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable mutiny. They cast their lot with her and had a good laugh on Joe.
Minutes later Louise entered Joe's office.
Joe got up to apologize but Louise 'Shushed' him. She walked up and began loosening his tie, "I've got a better way for you to make it up to me."
"Just because I'm taking over your turf doesn't mean we can't get along," she said as she unbuttoned Joe's shirt. "I'll show you how we can play nice together."
Louise pulled Joe's shirt open and put her warm palm against the skin of his chest framing Joe's nipple in the crook of her thumb and forefinger.
"Here’s how I like it done, lick me like this,” Louise lapped at his nipple in an up and down motion. Her soft hair grazing his face. Her perfume filling his senses. Her wet tongue warming his soul.
"When I say Twirl do this..." her tongue described a circle on his aureole as Joe writhed in sympathetic movement. The slow synchronized rotation launched expanding ripples of warm bliss. Joe gave out with a low moan as the smooth waves of concentric warmth melted inside him.
"Probe means this..." she put her lips around his nipple and pushed the tip of her tongue against it, transferring the moist heat of her own body into his with radiant effect. Joe felt himself slipping away. Falling under her spell. "You got it, Boy-Wonder?" she asked.
"Sure,” Joe whispered. The thought of licking her great breasts excited him. She was obviously softening him up for her ultimate agenda. But what could he do? Throw her out? Not bloody likely.
Louise bent over the desk and flipped her skirt up revealing her bare ass. And a beautiful bare ass it was. Her pussy dripped with anticipation.
"Start licking,” she commanded.
“Your pussy?” Joe asked. He was mentally prepared to lick her tits but the way she stood that wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t mind going down on her but she wasn’t positioned well for that either. He was confused.
“My ass, Bitch!” Louise ordered.
Joe gawked in disbelief. Her insolence first sobered then angered Joe, "You have got to be kidding me. You must be out of your friggin mind, you ignorant slut."
He was almost as angry with himself as he was with her. If she'd have played her cards right she would have had him. What a dope he was! He was ready to lick her tits or go down on her but no way would he ever be her ass-eating bitch. Fuck that noise.
"Lick my ass or else,” Louise said in a calm voice. She had no idea how angry Joe was.
"Let's try 'Else',” Joe dropped his drawers and crammed his erect pecker into her dripping pussy.
Louise clenched a shocked moan in her throat and grabbed the sides of the desk and held on for dear life as the violence of Joe's thrusts ripped through her.
Joe rutted on her like a mad buck. Dominating her body the way she tried to dominate the workplace. His workplace. Boldly imposing his will on her. Planting his will in her. Having his way indiscriminate of how she might feel about it. Letting her know what it feels like to be well and truly fucked.
As his cock throbbed, spewing his seed inside her, he abruptly turned. The pole deep inside Louise flung her off balance as centrifugal force threw her off. She looked like a drunken sailor as she tried to maintain her balance as she bounced off the wall and fell into a sitting position on the floor, her face contorted in unrequited arousal.
One last shot of cum flew at Louise in a milky white thread. She was on it like a mongoose. Catching all but a small amount in her yawning maw, tongue flapping at the stringy treat, a trace of gleaming spunk hung dribbling down her chin as she frantically swiped at it with her tongue.
She scurried across the carpet on her knees, shredding her stockings in the process, eagerly lunging at Joe's big meat.
She slurped at the tasty mix of Joe's cum and her own juices. She licked the surface of Joe's cock clean then ran her thumb up the underside of Joe's pecker to strip whatever residue that might be hiding in the fleshy rod.
She sucked at the end of it as though it were a drinking straw and furiously worked at her clit with her free hand hoping to get herself off before Joe put an end to it.
"Easy, bitch!" Joe cuffed her upside the head as she drew too vigorously on his member.
Just as Louise hit her climax Joe grabbed a hunk of her hair and dragged her to the door and threw her out in the hall.
She landed in a heap, twitching with satisfaction.
An assembled mass of coworkers witnessed her collecting herself and hobbling, disheveled, into the ladies room. She could hear the howls of mirth. Like a pack of jackals, she thought as she got herself together.
Joe was standing in his doorway when Louise emerged from the lavatory moments later.
He smiled appreciatively. Authentically.
Louise was like one of those futuristic androids that are programmed to reconstitute themselves after sustaining injury. They adapt and become even stronger than before. Joe could see she'd already shrugged off their encounter and chalked it up to a learning experience. She was unfazed except for the newfound respect she had for Joe.
She knew she'd have to play ball. She could handle that. She could adapt.
"How's the tube steak today, Slut?" asked a dense coworker. He didn't see that nothing had changed. Not out on the floor anyway.
"Rare. But tough. Hard, you know, just the way you like it,” she answered, looking directly at the moron.
Joe saw the man's face go from triumph to shock to terror all in one frame.
Louise looked back at Joe and shrugged, "You know what they say."
"Sticks and stones...?" Joe offered.
"May break my bones..." Louise went on, "But whips and chains excite me."
Joe chuckled.
Louise turned to her coworker and barked, "Get back to work, dipshit. NOW."
The man looked at Joe.
"You heard the lady, chop-chop,” Joe thumped his fists together, one on top of the other.
"It's so hard to find good help these days, eh Joe?" Louise smiled.
"It's all in the training," Joe told her, "sometimes a little extra goes a long way."
"Ain't that the truth,” she smiled.
Joe stepped back into his office, feeling good, thinking, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
END OF LOUISE***
"How long have we been lunch buddies, Joe?" Amy asked. "Three months now?"
"I guess."
"Ever think of being more than just lunch buddies?"