Her Nemesis Master (Dark BDSM Erotica) (3 page)

A few minutes! That was usually more than adequate for Mrs.
Johnson, but on this occasion Emily had wanted more. She had wanted
a hell of a lot more in fact! Needy of the contact, she held onto
her husband after he had come, sinking her talons into his back as
she clung onto him for dear life. When he tried to pull out she
held him fast, wrapping her legs around him to prolong the moment.
She silently cursed when his cock went soft then resignedly let him
go. Without a word she got up and went into the en-suite shower
where she did what Les had been incapable of, that morning, or at
any time during their four years of marriage – bringing his wife to
climax.

Emily finished off the job. In that small confined space she
masturbated, fingering her bloated pussy lips and rubbing her
surprisingly sensitive clit, using Les’s spunk as a lubricant. With
her face to the wall, squashed against the tiles, she felt the
water cascade down her back and run down the gulley of her ass
crack. She could feel the water on her pucker, warm like a cock.
Then inspired, she did something totally bizarre.

She touched her asshole!

Emily Johnson – the prim and proper, ‘butter wouldn’t melt’,
right little madam who’d never once been buggered or anally
invaded, touched her asshole! She rubbed the tight pucker as she
fingered her pussy, and finding it pleasurable, she rubbed some
more. Daring to grow bolder, she pushed a nail inside, finding the
entry shockingly exciting. Carefully she pressed onwards till she
reached the first knuckle – an act totally depraved for this slave
to propriety. That was as far as she went, but it did the trick. In
Emily’s mind it was a cock that had invaded her virginal bowels -
the cock of a rough uncouth man that she imagined was behind her
performing this foul deed.

In the cleanliness of the shower she could taste the filth;
above the pure scent of soap she could smell the musk; and through
the noise of falling water she could hear his words: ‘Cock loving
bitch who takes it up the ass!’

Emily screeched as the orgasm hit her. Then aware of the
noise, she brought the hand from her pussy up to her mouth to
stifle more screams as wave after wave of never before known bliss
ripped through her body with a power that shook her. Her fingers
were coated with Les’s cum – it found its way onto Emily’s tongue.
The taste disgusted her yet it drove her climax on – the waves
getting stronger under the salty flavour. Driven by a raw animal
passion, Emily gathered some more, drawing out spunk from inside
her cunt and forcing it into her mouth. She thought she might be
sick – it tasted so foul, yet she greedily swallowed it down –
falling to her knees in an orgasmic heap with a finger stuck up her
lily white ass.

Then Emily Johnson let out a sob. She coughed and spluttered.
She banged her fist hard against the wall.

“Are you all right, darling?” shouted Les from the
bedroom.

“Yes... Yes, I’m fine,” she replied. But of course that was a
lie.

She remained in the shower for another ten minutes, washing
her body –focusing on the finger that she’d debased herself with –
rubbing it manically like Lady Macbeth trying to get rid of an
imaginary spot. She emerged with pink skin, flushed from a
scouring. But like Lady Macbeth whose hands were tainted, Mrs.
Johnson didn’t feel clean.

Chapter
3

Emily knew that she should have reported the incident as soon
as she returned to the office. Sexual harassment of any sort was
totally unacceptable, especially in the company she worked for. And
she was the P.A. to the C.E.O. – not a woman to be messed with. It
really was intolerable that she had been subjected to such
abuse.

So why didn’t she?

Well, for one thing - Emily knew that if she were to raise the
matter, it would end up in the hands of her arch-enemy, Tessa
Clifford, who would insist on dealing with it personally. It would
be galling beyond belief, having to recount what had happened to
that two-faced scheming bitch. Emily winced at the notion – Tessa
would naturally act shocked, but would be inwardly gloating. She
would goad Emily into revealing more and more details of her
humiliation, forcing her to repeat the exact words the man had
used. And of course Tessa would imply, ever so subtly, that Emily
had deserved it, acting like a tart, doing up her face in the
elevator. She would ask about the skirt – how short, how tight; was
it perhaps a little provocative – what was she wearing underneath!
Tessa would ask all sorts of questions – did Emily subconsciously
wiggle her bottom; did she jut it out in invitation, brazenly
flaunting her goods. Tessa would suggest that perhaps Emily gave it
a little rub, a slight moan as she caressed her own buttocks. Tessa
would paint a picture of Emily acting like a slut then display it
for the whole office to see, through the careful leaking of
disinformation, and brazen back-stabbing bitchiness.

No. It would be too shaming to bear. And Emily wouldn’t give
that evil witch the ammunition to undermine her in the eyes of
Donald Harper. So she decided to keep quiet, using this as her
reasoning, conveniently ignoring any alternative motivation, for
what other could there be.

Was this another mistake? Or was this another deliberate step
on the path to debasement, consciously or sub-consciously taken?
How would Emily have acted if the man concerned had been old, ugly
and fat, instead of a rugged young hunk oozing testosterone by the
gallon and smelling deliciously of natural musk? Would she still
have kept quiet or would she have blurted it all out and had the
man hounded from the company?

Who can say except Mrs. Johnson – and her lips on the matter
were as tight as her ass!

It was on the Tuesday of the following week when Emily was
called on to work late again - and again she left when the office
was nearly empty. This was not unusual. She had a demanding job and
late hours were expected. Emily never complained for she never had
an issue with the situation in the past. But on this occasion she
found cause to feel anxious as she waited for the elevator –
smartly dressed as always in designer clothes which included a
tight fitting skirt that hugged her ass and showed plenty of leg –
Emily refusing to be intimidated and tone down her look, because
that would be an admission of guilt. And sure enough, her fears
were justified when the doors to the elevator opened. It was empty,
save for the same well built man, with the same assured grin on his
ruggedly handsome face.

Spooky or what!

Emily was certainly unnerved. Was this pure chance, she
wondered – a freakish piece of co-incidence, chilling in its
nature? Or did this crude offensive man have some means of
monitoring Emily’s movements, knowing when she was ready to leave?
Emily shivered at the thought that someone might be spying on her.
If that was the case, what else could this man know about her
life?

It was a puzzle.

And there was another puzzle. Why oh why did Emily do it? Why
did she get in the elevator knowing what would happen?

But that’s exactly what she did. She stepped into the elevator
with the same man who had verbally abused her a few days before.
Perhaps there was an element of arrogance spurring her on - Emily
wanting to show this vulgar hunk that his raunchy good looks and
foul-mouthed taunts didn’t affect her in any way. Perhaps Emily
wanted to prove, both to the man and to herself, that she was a
strong assertive woman who could handle his coarseness without
resorting to the usual channels. Perhaps that’s what she told
herself as the door closed behind her and Emily stood staring into
space. Others might say there was a different agenda at play. But
that would be ridiculous. Emily would have laughed in their
face!

And surprise, surprise! The man started straight away with a
boorish assault – Emily’s shapely rump being the focus of his
attentions!

“Looking good again, Blondie!” he laughingly announced. “If
anything that skirt makes your ass even sweeter. Not as sweet as it
would look naked though, with my cock inside it. Or after I’d
fucked it and there was spunk dribbling out the hole... Hey, what
about that! Maybe you’d prefer it if I pulled out before I came,
and blasted my mess all over you buns! Or would you prefer it in
your mouth? Do you like the taste of spunk? How about hot piss
sprayed on your face? ...Yes? ...No? ...Are you too shy to answer?
Well it’s coming your way, Blondie, whether you like it or not,
because it’s more than a buggering I’m going to give you in the
basement!”

Emily tried to ignore him as the man told her of the many
different ways he was going to use her body and generally debase
her down in the basement. He told her how he was going to force his
cock down her throat and smash his groin into her pretty face. He
said he was going to fuck her really, really, hard – that his cock
would be like a fist punching into her cunt. And he told her about
the buggering she was going to get – because that was his favourite
way to fuck a bitch – it was so dirty and the ultimate submission.
He said he would take her on her back the first time he screwed her
up the ass, so he could see Emily’s face as he ploughed away then
spurted out his mess to drench her guts with his muck. Then the
next time - for naturally they would go to the basement more than
the once - he would make her kneel down on her hands and knees and
hump at her tight asshole from behind – ride her like a dog
breeding a bitch.

The mystery man described these things to Emily the entire
ride down. All the way from the twentieth floor as they descended
to the lobby, he outlined the rough and dirty sex they were
destined to have when she finally agreed to go down a level
further. That was all that happened – a verbal assault delivered
with certainty. Emily didn’t look at him, directly or reflected.
And the man didn’t bring the elevator to a scary halt or suggest
they bypass the lobby and go to the basement instead. He simply
told Mrs. Johnson, in no uncertain terms, of the depravity she was
going to sink to. Not today, perhaps not tomorrow; it might be a
week or even a month. But he was so assured of himself, promising
Emily that it would definitely happen; and that once she was
hooked, she would plead to be taken time and time again. That’s
what happened with all his other bitches, of which he had a pack to
regularly service, and Emily would be no exception. She would be
brought to heel and join their ranks – it was only a matter of
time.

Emily shivered when they finally parted company, visibly
shaken. Yet she felt a degree of elation that she had survived the
ordeal. She had not reacted to the man’s taunting – she had kept
her famous cool.

But she was far from cool later that evening when she insisted
that her husband make love to her again. Les smiled and told her
that she was insatiable – twice in the space of one week – she
would wear him out! Realising that the joke had fallen rather flat,
Les reached out his hand and suggested they go to bed – of course
he wanted to make love to her – he would do anything for his
darling wife.

“No! Do it here. In the lounge! Take me from behind. Fuck me
like a bitch with me kneeling on the floor.”

Les looked at his wife, barely recognising her. She looked the
same, but yet she was different. He laughed rather nervously, not
sure what was happening. “Emily! What’s got into you?” the Welshman
asked.

“Just do it. And don’t be in a rush to finish! I want more
than your normal five minutes worth.”

Emily was already on the floor. She pulled off her thong and
cast it aside then hitched up her skirt and pulled it over her ass
which she invitingly stuck out, parting her legs, desperately
waiting for her husband to fuck her. It took Les an infuriating
amount of time to get an erection, but he eventually rose to the
occasion. Emily gasped when he finally entered her pussy, although
her relief was dampened by the niggling regret that he hadn’t acted
boldly and took the opportunity to try something new by putting his
cock inside her virginal asshole, or at least tease it with a
finger. But she soon cast this aside as she urged him on to fuck
her harder and harder, swaying her hips and bucking back at him
every time he thrust into her slavering cunt.

To give him credit, Les made a fair fist of it compared to his
normal pedestrian rides, but he couldn’t let himself totally go. As
he pumped in and out of Emily’s ravenous pussy, he was muffling his
grunts so as not to be heard by the neighbours; his upbringing in
the Valleys having instilled such modesty. Emily decided she needed
muffling as well and grabbed hold of Les’s hand and placed it over
her mouth. Les assumed she was using it to curb her own whorish
moans which he was forcing out through this better than normal
performance.

But it goes without saying that wasn’t the case.

Emily was adding some reality to the fantasy which she was
creating in her mind, that instead of her husband who had been
cajoled into having doggy style sex in their lounge, she was being
forcibly taken in some seedy location by a bigger, stronger, much
better endowed man. A man who slapped her and tanned her ass as his
cock ploughed into her orgasmic cunt; a man who yelled at her and
called her filthy names as he took advantage of the other hole on
offer and rammed his fat shaft into her virginal guts, making her
howl as he growled out his climax and filled her bowels with his
spunk.