Her Nemesis Master (Dark BDSM Erotica)

Her Nemesis Master

(Dark BDSM Erotica)

By Dan Bruce

Copyright Dan Bruce, 2013

Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you
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then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please note: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains
sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be
considered offensive by some readers. Please store the material
where it cannot be accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of
age or older.

Please also note: this ebook is a modified version of Jack
Brighton’s ‘His Nemesis’ which in turn was based on Farlan’s ‘Used’
– with both the authors’ kind permission.

Chapter
1

It was a Wednesday – middle of the week in the middle of the
month that fell in the middle of a British summer, and surprisingly
it wasn’t raining outside – the weather was actually quite fine.
But the vagaries of the London climate were irrelevant to Emily
Johnson – personal assistant to Donald Harper, the man in charge of
Infotron, a powerhouse in the field of global telecommunications.
Whilst most of the staff had left for the day, Emily had been
detained up on the top floor of one of the swankiest office blocks
the capital boasted, where the temperature was kept at a constant
twenty-two degrees of air-conditioned comfort.

Donald was heading off to the States at short notice and Emily
needed to work late to ensure everything was ready for him. It was
well after seven in the evening when she was finally happy that it
had all been taken care of and that the trip would run smoothly as
always. Tired, but pleased with her efforts, Emily made a quick
call to her husband, Les, who worked from home as a free-lance
writer when his wife afforded him the chance. Emily stressed how
exhausted she was, the usual signal for Les to make sure he had the
flat neat and tidy by the time she arrived home, and that there’d
be a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge. It went without
saying that Les would have dinner on the table once Emily had
showered; then later he would offer to massage her feet as she
relax and sipped her wine. It all sounded rather pleasant – nothing
less than Emily felt she deserved.

Having filed everything away and made sure the office was
left organised, Emily collected her Chanel bag, which like every
other label Mrs. Johnson paraded, was actually the real deal. She
headed to the washroom to check her appearance – something which
Emily did regularly throughout the day to make certain she always
looked immaculately fresh. Nothing was really needed, but the lips
were still touched up to ensure they were full and glossy, and her
expensively cut ash-blonde hair was shaken and ruffled to give it
that
‘I never bother with it’
look. The rest she deemed fine having taken a few
minutes to admire the new ensemble she was wearing. Be it from the
front, the rear, whatever the angle, Emily reckoned it was perfect
for the office – the balance just right between professional
decorum and sensuous femininity. There was a strand of pearls that
was a birthday present from her parents, above a white silk top
that showed the necklace off along with some creamy flesh. The top
hinted at the swell of her ever so fine breasts but revealed
nothing of her cleavage, which was stunning underneath, but not
something to be flaunted during working hours. And she really liked
the new charcoal coloured suit, with a short-sleeved bolero jacket
that emphasised her trim waist and generous bust. It was matched by
a tight fitting charcoal skirt that stopped a couple of inches
short of her knees and did a great job for her ass – Emily’s best
feature, and that’s high praise indeed, given the quality of the
competition elsewhere on her body!

Happy with what she saw, Emily applied a spray of perfume
behind both ears and then Mrs. Johnson was ready to go.

In a walk that was second nature, having practiced it
endlessly as a young girl, Emily sashayed down the corridor like a
fashion model. She was in a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes with three
inch heels, which Emily deemed to be just right – enough to
lengthen her already long shapely legs without making her look like
a high class tart. Passing the main demonstration room, she saw a
couple of salesmen preparing for a presentation the following day.
A nod was given and a curt little smile. The guys looked pleased
that she had noticed them. Emily knew they’d be hoping she would
mention their late presence to Donald, which was something she
might do, or then again she might not – it was an example of her
delicate use of power – and where power was concerned, Emily
Johnson liked to play her part.

Running over the day in her mind, stroking her ego with the
high points, Emily arrived at the elevator, called it and waited.
It took several minutes before it came to the top floor, which was
longer than normal. Given the lateness of the hour and the empty
office, that should have come as a surprise to her, but Emily was
too distracted with her self-congratulation to register the fact.
Nor was she overly concerned when the elevator finally arrived and
the doors opened to reveal a well built young man with dark sultry
features. As was her want, Emily threw him a look that was verging
on the scathing, making quick assessments that would prove to be
hideously wrong.

She didn’t recognise him as a person. But that was no surprise
as Emily rarely ventured out of the top floor to cross paths with
the rank and file below. First impressions suggested that there was
nothing unusual about this stranger to raise any alarm. He was
dressed in a functional dark grey suit, white shirt with cufflinks
that could have been real gold, and a white-on-blue polka dot tie
that wasn’t passing as silk. All in all, it was the uniform of
business, similar to all the other men around the office, so he was
indistinguishable from the hoards who worked for the
firm.

Yet one thing was unusual – he was there in the elevator. He
had purposely taken it up when common sense dictated that he should
have waited for it to go down. But this anomaly didn’t register in
the brain of Emily Johnson, at least not until she had got in and
the doors closed behind her.

Was that her first mistake? Or was that her first knowing step
on the path she would take – a path to debasement and the filthiest
sex imaginable? Flick the coin – for who can possibly say. But
Emily got in alone with this man.

Whoosh!

That was the sound of the doors, quickly followed by the sound
of Emily’s blood as she experienced an immediate adrenalin rush -
the flavour of danger that heightens the senses and makes the heart
beat faster. She could smell the musk that was natural, not bought
- and taste the energy that frazzled in the air. And there was
something else that Emily was aware of – some intuitive sixth sense
coming into play, detecting a stare that burned her body. She had
elected to stand at the front of the elevator with her back to the
man, and Emily could feel his eyes looking through her fashionable
designer clothes: she felt them on her back where her ash-blonde
hair fell; she felt them on her legs – bare calves and covered
thighs; and most of all she felt them on her ass – that fabulous
booty that took the body prize, and was presented so beautifully by
its owner.

Suddenly Emily was very self-conscious about the tightness of
her skirt, and the fact that the jacket only fell to her waist so
that her incredible shapely rump was being shown to best effect. It
was the look that she’d wanted – Emily was mightily proud of her
derriere, and dressed for it to be admired - but being alone in the
elevator with an unknown man gave her cause to wonder if perhaps
the skirt was a little too provocative.

A
little
too provocative! It was like a red flag to a bull. But then
Emily Johnson wasn’t the type of woman that many men dare charge
with a threatening horn – at least not in the safe environment of
her workplace. There are always exceptions, however, as Emily was
about to find out...

The top floor of the office block was twenty stories up, so it
was a long ride down to the lobby. As the numbers started falling
from twenty through the teens, Emily felt increasingly awkward at
being alone in the elevator with this musky scented stranger and
his burning eyes - who now, that she thought about it, had no
business coming up to the top floor, other than to accompany the
person who had called for the elevator all the way back down.
Accompany Emily to be precise!

To ease her tension and pass the time, Emily busied herself
with her compact. She had already checked her makeup in the
washroom, but it seemed like a smart way of ignoring her unwelcome
travel companion. With her back to the man, she examined her face
in the small mirror. The horror of her thirtieth birthday was
approaching in a few years time, but Emily consoled herself with
the knowledge that most people would guess her younger – she
certainly was blessed with more youthful features despite her
propensity to frown and scowl. She absently admired herself,
feeling inwardly smug at her prettiness. Then suddenly she felt
inwardly terrified when she heard the man’s deep gruff
voice.

“Boy, you certainly are a piece of work! A real cockteaser and
no mistake! Tell me, Blondie, do you take it up that lovely ass of
yours? I hope so, because I’d certainly like to fuck you that way!
It really is top class!”

Holy Mother! Now that came as a surprise! The prim and proper
Mrs. Johnson was naturally outraged at what she had just heard, and
more than a little afraid.

Emily looked to her right, totally gobsmacked. She was about
to turn round and unleash a torrent of indignity, but she froze,
quickly thinking better of it. It was a dangerous situation, to be
alone in a confined space with an unknown man – a man who had the
audacity to make a pass at her, and a disgusting one at that!
Electing for caution, Emily decided to pretend that she hadn’t
heard what the man had said, or if she had, then she was ignoring
it – not deigning his vulgarity with a reply. She went back to
checking herself in the small mirror of her compact, or at least
that’s what she feigned. In actual fact she was trying to see the
man’s reflection.

She succeeded! He was standing there grinning at her, smug and
assured, staring back in the mirror, fully aware of what Emily was
doing.

Now this was getting extremely scary. Worried, she flicked her
gaze to the digital display above the door, hoping they might be
near to the safety of the lobby, but much to her angst, they
weren’t even halfway down. Her eyes darted back to the mirror.
There he was again, inescapable in the confined space, grinning at
her with filthy-minded intent.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Emily could hear her heart pounding in her
chest, jiggling her breasts with the violence of the action, which
probably wasn’t too smart. She gulped, battling for control. The
situation was way out of Mrs. Johnson’s comfort zone – adrenalin
was not something that usually flooded her system – Emily was more
a Camomile Tea type of girl. But her heart was pounding now, by God
it was. Then it almost stopped when the man in the elevator
addressed her again.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got a great ass, Blondie. Looks
really sweet in that tight fitting skirt – no panty line either, so
I take it you’re wearing a thong. Either that or nothing, you dirty
bitch! How would you like it if I pushed the skirt up and stuffed
that ass full of cock? You could watch me in the mirror as I
buggered you from behind.”

OH! MY! GOD!

Emily was stunned and horrified to be hearing such foul
disgusting language. What on earth was going on? Crassness like
this had no place in her perfect little world. This wasn’t some
building-site filled with course uncouth men where vulgar
harassment might be expected. This was an office block in a prime
London location where high paid professionals worked. How dare he
say such things to Emily Johnson? Did the man not realise whom he
was addressing?