Firm of Pleasure

Chapter Two. 12 Unexpected Release. 12 CHAPTER THREE. 16 Tempting Offerings. 16 CHAPTER FOUR.. 24 Delicious Possibilities. 24 CHAPTER FIVE. 28 The Interview.. 28 CHAPTER SIX.. 35 The Offer 35 CHAPTER SEVEN.. 40 Settling Into a New Life. 40 CHAPTER EIGHT. 45 Training. 45 CHAPTER NINE. 51 Welcome to the Firm.. 51 CHAPTER TEN.. 56 First Days. 56 CHAPTER ELEVEN.. 60 The Daily Grind. 60 CHAPTER TWELVE. 66 Rage. 66 CHAPTER THIRTEEN.. 74 Taken. 74 CHAPTER FOURTEEN.. 80 In the Clutches of Desire. 80 Marks of the Master 87 CHAPTER SIXTEEN.. 93 Unexpected Savior 93 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.. 99 Two Months Later 99 For a complete catalogue of Erotic Fiction…... 103 Pink Flamingo Publications. 103 This is for Master Beren, who has taught me the sweetness of true love and the joys of submission. FORWARD Auspicious Beginnings She was eighteen and just beginning college. Her dreams were large, full of hopes of a position in a large law firm, perhaps as a paralegal. She didn’t see herself as a lawyer, but an assistant to one. She liked helping people and, although she would not admit it to anyone, she liked being told what to do. It gave her a sense of both peace and purpose. Her name was Jocelyn Silvers. She had been raised in a progressive Jewish home, with parents who loved her, yet she always felt as if her desires, her dreams were stifled there. They wanted her to marry a lawyer or a doctor. She wanted to marry a powerful man, a strong man with hands like iron on her arms, with a forceful kiss that took her breath away. She sighed, and the boy on top of her stopped pumping and looked down into her pert face. “Are you okay?” he asked nervously. She restrained another sigh, and forced herself to smile. “Of course I’m alright; don’t stop!” He resumed his vigorous but unskilled movement and she returned to her thoughts. They were certainly more interesting than what was going on to her body. His meaty hands found her breasts and squeezed them, kneading them as if they were dough. It was completely without sensuality and actually turned her stomach. When he attempted to kiss her, she managed to avoid his lips. She had heard that prostitutes would not kiss their johns, and she now understood why. It was much too private a thing. After what seemed an eternity, he grunted and collapsed on her, breathing heavily. She felt almost violated, used … but somehow, that feeling was a good one. She liked the idea of being used. He rolled off of her and soon his breathing became light snores, leaving Jocelyn staring at the ceiling, without orgasm yet dirty and finding that delicious. She knew that she must be ill, if her fantasies were full of visions of old, disgusting men on top of her, their mottled faces leering and making her cringe; powerful men who casually alleviated their tensions on her willing flesh and then returned home to their trophy wives; or – most delicious of all – to belong to a man, to have to do everything he said, to be used and given to others at his whim. Frankly, to be his slave. She felt silly. Slavery, in this day and age? And to willingly give up her freedom to another, to say that he had complete control over her, seemed so … medieval. Wrong. But oh so, so delicious. She rose from the bed, pulled on a big white T-shirt that fell to the top of her muscular thighs. The window invited her, and she leaned forward, peering out at the night. It was quiet at this hour; a school-night, and the stars were bright in the dark sky, like little beacons towards her dreams. It was funny; she didn’t really think much about her career, to tell the truth. She just thought about her s****l partners and, maybe, a husband. She’d like to have a job that paid well, something that allowed her to live comfortably, but things didn’t matter as much as safety. Peace. She looked over her shoulder at the lump asleep in her bed. He offered her nothing. She padded over to the bed and pushed at him. “Eh … what?” “You need to go.” “What?” “My roommate’s coming back soon,” she lied. She knew that Corinne was spending the night in her boyfriend’s room, but this loser didn’t know that. Right now, Jocelyn wanted to be alone with her thoughts. “Um … okay.” He blearily dressed, then attempted to kiss her. She turned her head so that it fell on her cheek. “Good night.” He shrugged, his eyes hurt. “Tomorrow?” he suggested in the tone that meant he knew she wouldn’t agree. She didn’t care. There was a coldness towards him, even though they had just shared the most intimate of moments. She took no pleasure, no satisfaction in the knowledge that her actions hurt him, but rather pitied him. That seemed worse, somehow. He moved towards the door. “Bye,” and it was so plaintive that she almost told him he could stay. Almost. She let him leave, then moved back to the window. Her imaginings began to take hold, and she dreamt … She ran across the campus, hair flowing behind her, completely naked. Behind her were three boys from a fraternity, all of them large and muscular. Although she was fleet, they caught up with her at the shore of the lake that sat on the edge of the college grounds. One tackled her, rolling to soften the blow, but ending up on top of her, pinning her down. His handsome, young face grinned down at her. “Gotcha,” he whispered, then leaned down to kiss her. Despite herself, she responded to his fierce buss, her mouth seeking his hungrily, for she was starving for what they offered. Still, her body struggled under his, her bare skin rasping against the fabric of his shirt and his jeans. His sandy hair was long, longer than she would expect someone like him to have. It brushed against her cheek as he pulled away. “Hold her,” he told the other two. Her hands were restrained above her head by one, one ankle by the other. She kicked with her free foot as he stood, but she didn’t connect. He stood, looking down at her, and slowly unzipped his jeans. His warm brown eyes never left hers. Jocelyn swallowed, mouth dry. His large member was exposed, and then he dropped back upon her body. She tried to keep her legs together, but it was futile. Between him and the one holding her ankle, he pried her open. Despite her fear and apprehension, she was sopping wet, so when he plunged into her unprepared depths there was little pain at entry. Her body took over and she matched each thrust with one of her own, her nether regions taking pleasure in the pounding it was receiving. There was something very fulfilling about being used solely for his pleasure, with him taking no concern for her or her needs. His pace was quick, driving, the unskilled s****l ability of a youth. He came with an explosion of breath, then moved aside for the next, switching positions with the fellow holding her foot after rearranging himself. The second was more brutal than the first, his hands grasping at her soft breast, digging in, and she knew she would be bruised the next day. Despite the outrage at being r***d, she welcomed the marks. Honestly, there was little outrage, only pleasure in the thoughtless use of her body. She felt desirable, so desirable, pleased that of all the girls of the party she was the one who had been pursued. She was the one whose clothes came off during the game of strip poker, and she was the one who made these three so hungry for her that in their drunkenness they decided that they had to have her at any cost. Vanity, certainly, but the selfish sensation was no less delightful for it. She was brought back to her body when the boy atop her bit her lip, hard, hard enough that she tasted blood. The pain alarmed her, and she struggled more honestly now, although it was futile. “Hurry up,” the third boy urged. “It’s my turn soon.” The one atop her redoubled his pace, looking down at her. There was a savagery in his eyes that swept her into them, and she felt an orgasm building. She half-wanted it, half-didn’t. It was as if to enjoy what was happening to her was an acceptance of the situation; it was a desiring of the situation. She didn’t care. She came, fiercely, and cried out. The two holding her snickered a little at that, but the one f*****g her ignored her paeans of pleasure, concerned only with himself. He at last emptied himself into her, burning and hot, a flood of jism that added to that which had been poured into her by the first. The third was eager, so eager that he fairly leapt upon her body, almost driving her into the ground. The grass pressed against her, cool and damp, and she welcomed his entry. He slid in so easily, because she had been painfully stretched by the two who preceded him, and because she was wet with their and her own juices. He ground himself into her tender orifice, setting off little sparks of pleasure like fireworks. She sighed, relaxing her body, no longer struggling. She lay there and watched the stars in the deep sky as he had his way with her, relishing in the sensation of helplessness that was brought to her by her hands above her head and her leg restrained. Her breasts ached, and there was a soreness in her snatch brought on by the rubbing of jeans and zippers against her. She didn’t care. Finally, he finished and then she was released. All three stood there, looking down at her as she lay spread-eagled on the grass, beneath the night sky. “Damn,” one whispered. The first boy smiled then, a crooked grin reminiscent of Harrison Ford’s cocky expression. “You liked it,” he told her, almost accusatorily. “You liked it a lot.” She wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she desired a kiss, but she made no move to rise. The first laughed then, a harsh bark, and turned to leave. “We’ll have you again,” he called over his broad shoulder, while his companions filed away with him. “When you don’t expect it, we’ll have you again.” As she listened to their laugher and conversation fading into the evening, she moved luxuriantly on the grass, every nerve of her body alight with pleasure. “I hope so.” Jocelyn broke from her dream with a start, leaning against the windowsill and breathing hard. She had three orgasms during her reverie, and now her legs were sticky. She drew in a shaking breath, and another. Just dreams. They were just dreams that wouldn’t ever come true. Worse, they were dreams of violence, of violation; how could she justify them? Oh, but she could wish, couldn’t she? And she did. She wished hard. Once he was gone and from the room, she was left with a sense of emptiness and a vague odor of s*x. She sat upon her bed, arms resting on her knees braced on the floor, and reached for the letter on the floor. It was from her friend Nan, who lived in New York City. They had been closed in high school, but didn’t really get to know each other well until they began to exchange letters and emails. Nan seemed to prefer the old-fashioned method of pen to paper, and her handwriting was smooth and delicate. It was the contents that made the letters so precious to her. Nan lived a wild, hedonistic life. She was a professional dominatrix and a regular at the Burning Souls Club in the lower East Village. Although she spent her days punishing others to satisfy their craving for release from responsibility, she was herself a submissive and went to the club to be used. Jocelyn lay back on the bed with her favorite part of the letter: … So i went into the club on a leash held by Dominick. He had me strip at the door, and i had to enter on all fours. There were people who, after securing His permission, would slap my butt as i moved through the crowded club. There were others like me there, serving slaves, s****l slaves, both male and female. Some were dressed beautifully and others, like me, had no clothes at all.