Firm of Pleasure

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Unexpected Release

Jocelyn nodded back to the man standing over her, and her fingers deftly keyed in the sequence that would keep calls from rolling onto her line. She followed him to his office, down the cheaply carpeted hall and past staring co-workers. She counted her steps as she walked, as if that could delay the inevitable chewing out she was about to receive.

He was a middle-aged man with a brown mustache that wiggled when he talked and hair that was receding quickly, giving him the look of too much forehead. He was stocky and wore an ill-fitting and cheap suit, and affected an air of superiority and team spirit that was, frankly, irritating. His name was Greg Wilson.

He opened the door to his office for her, motioned. She entered and stood there, uneasy, waiting for him to do something. He closed the door behind them, and the noisy call center’s distracting murmur was dulled. She could still hear the phones, but not the voices of those who answered them. That was a blessing. She always went home with a headache.

“Sit down. Please.” The pleasantry was definitely an afterthought.

Jocelyn sat, decorously crossing her legs and revealing the fact that she wasn’t wearing underwear, if he was looking. He didn’t seem to notice. She sighed, irritated at being ignored. Greg sat behind his desk, steepling his fingers before him and staring at her a moment, then shook his head. His silent disapproval made her uncomfortable, and she was relieved when he finally began speaking.

“I personally monitored that last call, and you did not follow protocol. In fact, you were inexcusably rude.”

“Excuse me,” she muttered, then found that very funny. He didn’t, and frowned at her giggle.. “Well, in the manual it says that we don’t have to take abuse.”

“You don’t take your position seriously. This isn’t the first time that we’ve had this conversation, Jocelyn. Your work ethic is very lacking. You’re constantly late, you slip out early, and you’ve missed at least three days a month since you’ve been here.”

She met his gaze. “Those were days without pay.”

“But we hired you to be here, not goofing off. I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, and I’m not pleased. Not pleased at all.” He shook the edges of his head, almost sadly, and it was all she could do to keep from reacting in anger to his patronizing attitude. Anger wouldn’t help now. He licked his lips, leaving traces of dew on his stiff mustache. “You escalated the call instead of talking him down.”

“He called me a b***h!”

“I don’t think that this job is working out for you. I know that it’s not working for Sell Cell, and it’s not working for you. You’ve only been here six months and average about two complaints a week, which is a record for this company – not a record of which we’re proud. I would like you to clean out your desk …”

“Cubicle,” she corrected.

“Cubicle, then. Please clean it out right now, and leave the premises.”

The import of what he was saying hit her. “You’re firing me?” Her mind reeled, as if she had been physically struck across the face. She stared at him blankly, a roaring in her ears, and despite herself her mind wandered once again, creating a scenario in which she could luxuriate instead of facing the harsh reality.

Greg shook his head in disgust. “I knew you weren’t bright, but I didn’t realize that you were stupid. I don’t know why we kept you on this long. You’re rude, you’re confrontational and you’re lazy. You don’t represent Sell Cell well at all. In fact,” and he stood, reaching down into a drawer and pulling out a black, wooden paddle, “You deserve a good spanking. Yes. That’s what you deserve.”

“What?” she exclaimed, rising in outrage.

“Sit down,” and suddenly, his thin voice was commanding. She did immediately, without thinking; it was an involuntary reaction to his demand. Jocelyn could not meet his dark eyes, and there was a faint flutter in her stomach from the strength in his voice.

He laid the paddle on the desk with an ominous click.

Greg came behind her seat, put both hands on her shoulders and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “You are a very, very naughty girl, Jocelyn Silvers.”

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly.

Taking her by the arms, he almost gently helped her rise, and bent her over using the pressure of his warm hand on her neck. Her chest pressed onto his desk, and she turned her head so that her cheek lay on the papers strewn there. He maintained the pressure on her neck as he lifted her skirt, revealing the soft roundness of her ass. She felt a chill as her flesh was exposed, the air-conditioning in his office bringing goose bumps to her pale flesh.

“Well, at least you’ve done something right,” he murmured as he ran his hand over her bare bottom. “It’s good to find a woman who doesn’t wear underwear. It makes access all that much easier.” Strangely, she was pleased by his praises, and a small smile curved her full lips, painted with a berry lipstick that tasted of bubblegum. She ran her tongue over the sensitive flesh.

Suddenly, his open palm struck her on her bottom, hard, and she cried out in both shock and pain. She struggled.

The hold on her neck tightened. “No noise; we don’t want the others to hear you,” he directed, coldly and sternly. “Understand?” His fingers dug into her buttock, hard enough that she knew the imprints would be there for several days. “Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” quiet, intense, falling into some realm where she was just a creature of sensation, with no will of her own to descry the outrage she knew she should feel.

He reached for the paddle, and then administered a spanking that at first merely stung, then became increasingly painful as the blows continued to fall upon the same, already tender, areas. Jocelyn bit her lip at each stroke; small noises escaped her despite her resolve to remain silent under the barrage. Each blow resounded in the small office like a ricochet, and her flesh trembled under the onslaught of the paddle. Soon she was twitching, trying to escape the punishing smacks, but his hand held her firm. Time began to have no meaning, and she was floating. The blows became less painful, more like warm gouts of water upon her bruised flesh. She was almost disappointed, but then her bottom cheeks began to throb. Greg seemed to sense this change in her. Releasing his hold on her neck, he reached forward and caressed her shaved p***y as he continued her chastisement.

“Bad girls deserve to be punished,” he punctuated each word with a new and excruciating whack of the paddle on her already bruised flesh and a stroke of his fingers. She was so wet now, dripping on him, and he laughed at her. “So you like your punishment, do you?”

“I do, Sir.” Until this time in his office, she had never before called him “Sir,” but it seemed appropriate now. His demeanor – and her inward self – demanded it.

“Well, let’s see how you like this.” The paddle was laid aside. Jocelyn began to rise, but wet fingers held her down by the neck again. “Stay put.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

The hand was removed. Behind her, she heard him unzip his pants, his breath catch and become rougher. All she could see was the wall where an inspirational poster hung, proclaiming: There’s no “I” in “Team,” with a picture of several young men in spandex on racing bikes. All except one was out of focus, and his expression was resolute. Greg’s sweaty palms were suddenly on her hips and she could feel the head of his shaft at the cleft of her bottom, like a soft, warm pillow of flesh.

“Oh no,” she protested, her voice still low, “Please, no.” She had never been taken in that manner, and the thought of it frightened her. She was of the mind that her anus was for output, not input. How could anyone find that enjoyable?

“Shut up,” he grunted, and then thrust himself forward. He had to struggle to get himself into her, working out the opening with his fingers and the head of his c**k. It seemed to be an excruciating eternity, and then something in her opened and he slid into her with more ease than before. It was like he had broken through a barrier. She knew that there was no cherry on the bottom, but something had given into his rough and insistent ministrations.

Jocelyn did her best not to scream as her nether regions were violated, his hips rocking against her flaming ass as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her body, his torso pressed against hers, the rough fabric of his cheap suit creating friction through the thin material she wore. The initial pain faded in her tunnel as she relaxed under the continuous pressure, a strange sensation of odd pleasure moving through her. It was like having an orgasm backwards. He continued to ride her squirming body, as one would ride a colt, taming her with the power of his manhood and the exquisite agony he created in her. She welcomed being broken and tethered.

Suddenly she came, explosively and unexpectedly, the combination of pain and pleasure created a climax that was unparalleled to any that she had previously experienced. Her involuntary movements and attempts to silence her cries of delight drove Greg over the edge, and he panted loudly as his thrusting became more aggressive until he groaned aloud and collapsed on top of her. He spurted inside her; a fiery geyser of jism that she imagined went all the way through her body.

Jocelyn could feel their combined juices drip down her thighs as he withdrew his member from her nether channel. She did not move, finding it difficult to even gather her thoughts. She felt as if she had been torn in two, tossed into a sloppy pile and put away wet. It was a pity that this was her last day on this job. There were so many other naughty things she could do to make her supervisor punish her, she was sure of it.

Greg Wilson frowned. “Are you even listening to me, Jocelyn?”

She snapped back to reality with an abrupt jolt, but managed to avoid showing any of her lascivious imaging, or the images impact upon her. “Of course,” she told him coolly. “I’m fired.”

He sighed. “I hope that someday you learn focus. Or find something that you’re good at doing. It certainly isn’t here.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it.

“Are we through?”

“We’re through. You’ll get your pay for today in the mail, and make sure that you turn in your badge on your way out.”

“Here,” and she tore of the thin metal chain from around her neck, to which was affixed an unflattering picture of herself and the official Sell Cell icon.

She rose without waiting for his response, moved haughtily back to her desk. Billy stared open-mouthed. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

Jocelyn shook her head, despising the tears that gathered in the corner of her eyes. It wasn’t so much losing the job as it was being rejected yet again. She just couldn’t find a place where she belonged, where what she was good at was a valuable asset to her employer. She swallowed as she gathered her few personal affects: a stuffed Stitch doll, an erotica novel and her favorite pen.

“They fired you?” his voice cracked in disbelief, a look of hurt on his young features. Better learn now, Billy, that the world is full of mean people.

She couldn’t even look at him. “Yep.” Her gaze caught Cathy’s, though, and the woman looked away with a smug smile. b***h. Tight-laced, self-important, sanctimonious b***h. b***h!

Billy rose, suddenly and unexpectedly embraced her. “I’m sorry,” he told her genuinely. “I’ll miss you.”

She pulled away from his body, his scent of youth and musk and cheap aftershave, and smiled at him. “Me, too,” she told him, then leaned forward and planted a kiss on his soft, uneven cheek.

He blushed crimson, “Bye, Jocelyn.”

“Bye, bye, Billy.” And she was gone, hearing as she left his youthful voice answering the phones she’d never have to answer again. She made her way through the maze of cubicles, avoiding the stares and the embarrassment they caused. Many didn’t even notice, because they were packing up to get ready to leave themselves. She checked her watch; it was 5:25. Time to go … well, in five minutes. Sell Cell would dock you every minute you didn’t work.