CHAPTER TEN
1784 Words
Jean-Michelle slid the knot down the rope, tightening how the weight at the end affected his tiny young secretary. She gagged slightly as the band of rope slid over her larynx.
“So, miss… What was your name again?” He glanced at the red ball gag in his young secretary's mouth. “Never mind, dear. I know you can’t respond.”
He continued to check ropes and knots as Agnes dangled spread eagle in the frame with her hands bound to yoke that helped support her feather-like mass. She quivered in expectation. They were in a room attached to Jean’s office. There was no other entry into it and Jean kept it locked. No other person was allowed inside without his permission. The windows were tinted mirrors so no one could even see inside from another building. This was his sanctuary, the place he considered more of a home than even his townhouse a mile away. In the corner was a modest full-sized bed he used when his job called for all nighters, or when his other pursuits occupied him to the point that he didn’t care about going home. Such as now.
He had been planning what he would do with this little girl, as he thought of her, since he had told her that they would be “working” through the night. A cannard, and a useful excuse that she might’ve used to explain her absence with her peers, or a significant other should she have one. Not that it mattered to him, it just made things easier for him later; no jealous lovers attempting to “storm the building” to get to his office and confront him. It was always such a hassle with building security.
“Are you okay like this… That’s right, Agnes. This isn’t too much is it, Agnes?”
She grunted twice through the gag. She played the past hour in her head, the events that lead her to this predicament. The brandy he had given her dulled her wits, a reward for a job well done.
“I have more of a reward for you, Ms. Marlow, if you would be interested.”
“What did you have in mind, Mr, Dubois?”
“Come with me and I can show you,” he said as he reached into his pocket for his keyring.
Timidly, Agnes stepped towards the door, The lock clicked as he disengaged the deadbolt, echoing in her ears. Her heartbeat quickened. Once both were inside, he closed the door and cut on the lights, each fixture placed to draw the eye to the collection of leather whips, riding crops, and wooden paddles as well as a modular frame made of pipes, pulleys, and rope. An audible gasp escaped her lips as she took in the room.
“So, Ms. Marlow, Do you think you could handle this kind of reward?”
He was standing next to her, practically looming as he stared into her wide eyes. She gulped before answering him, a heat kindling near her middle at the sight of his confident smile. She was warm clay at this point for Jean, completely pliable and under his control.
“M-mister Dubois, I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.”
“Now that’s the spirit, Little One.”
The unexpected pet name he used warmed her more and made her swoon slightly, falling towards Jean. He caught her and wrapped her in his arms. He raised a hand to her cheek and caressed it gently before leaning down, his face mere inches from hers. She could feel his heat and started to blush an intense red before closing the distance between his lips and hers.
Eager, he thought as his hand slipped behind her head, trapping her into the kiss. I like that.
She barely remembered how John had removed her clothes, too wrapped up with the pleasurable things his tongue was doing as he disrobed her. She could see them though, partially filling a wicker basket sitting next to an armoire. The only clothing that she still had on, tied to this rack, was a pair of silky white boyshorts with lace trim and white thigh stockings with matching garterbelt. After the third day of working for Jean-Michelle, she had started to pick her smallclothes in anticipation of at least a similar encounter. She had felt his eyes on her and had acted professionally, attempting to ignore his stares. It didn’t help, she wanted him badly, and seeing the “playroom” didn’t do a damned thing to quench her desire, tempered maybe.
Now, trussed up like a medieval torture victim, she could feel the silk that figleafed her begin to moisten. She watched, as well as she could, as he paced around her, looking her over, building his ardor from the sight of her, helpless and at his mercy. He picked a crop off a hook in the wall behind her. He gently touched it to the back of her neck and slowly dragged it down her spine. A small muffled moan filled the room.
He popped the underside of an asscheek, cutting the air with a sharp whistle. A surprised gasp followed short on its heels.
“Did you like that, Agnes?”
She let out a small nasal whine.
“I’m sorry, Little One, What was that?”
Pop! Jean smiled smugly as he toyed with her. She tried to talk too quickly for him to try to figure out what she said. She undid the gag and let it fall to the floor into a puddle of thick saliva that had drizzled down her front as she played with it. She stretched her mouth and jaw before repeating herself.
“I said, ‘Oh, dear God, harder!’” She was breathing heavily as she said it. “Please!?”
Jean-Michelle’s smug grin widened considerably into a full toothy smile as he readied for a faster strike. Her narrow, but pleasantly round backside jiggled as the riding crop made contact with her skin, leaving an angry welt under the shimmering fabric. She bit her lip and squeaked before letting out a short moan.
He appeared in front of her, holding both the crop and a pair of surgical shears.
“Tell me Ms. Marlow, sorry, Agnes. How weird is it to continue with such formality in a setting of such intimate and personal nature? Don’t answer. That was rhetorical. Tell me, Agnes, are you married?”
“N-no…”
The riding crop flashed across her thigh and Agnes squeaked again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you. Try again.”
“N-n-no, s-sir!”
“Ah! That’s better. Have you ever been married?” He pulled over a stool and sat down in front of her, her hips at his eye level.
“No, s-sir.”
“That’s surprising given how you look. I half expect that you have men throwing themselves at you all the time. Not important. You do know that traditionally, a bride on her wedding night is supposed to wear panties? It’s part of the ritual, a symbolic defloration with the garment acting as a surrogate hymen, should she have misplaced her’s over the years before her wedding.”
“No, sir. I d-didn’t know that.”
“We do love our symbols, don’t we? It’s why I made sure your’s were still on before we began in earnest.” Jean bit his lip as he looked her over, groaning gently to himself. “You’ve done something like this before, haven't you?”
“Yes.”
SMACK! Another welt started to sprout on her other thigh. Another squeak and she grinded at Jean-Michelle.
“Yes, sir.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Current?”
“No, sir.”
“Continue. I would like some details.”
“Thank you, sir. It was two years ago. We experimented, the first time for both of us. We used handcuffs, blindfolds, his belt…” She grinned heatedly, not at all like the mousy girl she was earlier in the day.
“I take it you enjoyed yourself.”
“Yes, sir. He didn’t. We broke up not long after that. I didn’t want him to stop. Sir?”
“Yes, Little One?”
“Would you please put the gag back in? I’m eager for you to start.”
“Impatient, aren’t we?” He gently tapped the crop on the scant cloth that covered her, causing her legs to jump and pull against the counterweights that kept her suspended. “Don’t ever presume to give me orders, little girl. But, since you said it so sweetly, I will give into this request. He stood up and shoved the rubber ball back into her hungry mouth. We tilted his head as he watched her lips work at the gag.
Where has this amazing little slut been hiding my entire life? She’s perfect and I’m barely going to have to train her! “Now, where was I? Right, ritual defloration. Shall we?”
She grunted affirmatively past the gag, which she now played with her tongue. He looked back down to her lacey, silky, white boy shorts and held up the scissors. He watched as a single drop of Agnes’s honey dripped from the saturated cloth and splashed onto the floor. He whistled as he cut the frilly things off of her hips, her heady smell making him drunk with passion.
***
They made their way slowly down the interstate towards downtown Dallas. The lanes were so packed and congested that it took them almost ten minutes to move forward two miles. John took the first exit onto the surface streets and wound his way through the labyrinthine course of one-way streets and construction detours. As they passed by Renessance Tower, he slammed on the brakes and turned in his seat to look at the tall building.
“John? What is it?”
“I found him.”
“Who, Ro?”
“The one who hired the thief. He’s in there… He’s in there right now.”
“That’s good, you found him. What next, Ro?”
“Tomorrow, we go and have an impromtu meeting with him. Shake his tree, see what falls out.”
They watched as security guards let out a couple of women in dress suits then lock the large glass doors behind them.
“Well,” started Becca, “we aren’t about to storm the place tonight. Stop stalling, Johnny boy. Get us back to the hotel so I can kill you with kindness.”
“Is that what you’re calling it now?”
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