Poor Little Rich Slut (13 page)

But there was even more emotion bubbling up inside me—the strangest sensation gripped me, a tickle at the base of my heart. Yes. I think it was love in the middle of all of my overloaded senses. Was that possible—or appropriate or wise with this outrageous, despicable scoundrel? Did I dare risk loving him?

I had only seconds to reflect on this, as Garrison’s fingers were seeking the opening of my vagina. From that brief touch, that small start, he drove me mad.

He moved on me quickly. With his body hovering over me, his cock dangled against my pussy.

“Look at me, Ellie,” he said. His voice and eyes were filled with lust.

I could do nothing else but watch his face and its changing expression.

He prodded me lightly, his cock-head slipping inside my vagina, then withdrawing, then pushing in again, deeper. A dozen times he did this until he dropped down to my breasts and sucked on a nipple.

I gasped and my head fell back as waves of pleasure poured through my languorous body. Then my arms went around his torso and I drew him into me; there were no spaces between us now. His erection fit tight in the small space of my pussy. It lodged against the impaling dildo, so once again that night, I was filled and forcibly stretched beyond what I believed possible.

I gasped again and let out a tiny scream of joy.

Garrison grabbed my hair, his mouth covered my lips with kisses, his tongue searched my mouth,
then
his cock thrust in a brisk fucking rhythm. It was impossible for me to believe that more wild and savage things could happen on that night. And yet, again, my body responded as eagerly as it had when our long night began.

Could it be possible that I’d not cum while I was in the warehouse? I wondered. I couldn’t remember exactly what the end result of the beatings, the pain, the mouth fucks and the impalement had been. Perhaps that was just foreplay. Now in the pretty penthouse bed, with the comfort of down and cotton surrounding me like a cloud, aggressive spasms wracked my groin. The fullness from the dildo and the raw power of Garrison’s hammering cock made everything in me explode.

“GAWD YES!
Fuck me, fuck me, harder, harder,” I screamed now without restraint. “YES, YES, YES!”

Garrison’s low voice rumbled as he kept jabbing me. Our bodies banged hard against the mattress and the bed rocked with our erratic rhythm. My thighs quivered with heat, my belly wrenched with spasms over and over again. More screams.
More heavy
groaning. More grasping,
mauling,
nails digging into flesh, more mouths wide in passionate screams, more fanatical kisses as the lovemaking
crescendoed
for a long while and our climax seemed to go on forever, and then all the delirious sensation ebbed away like a receding tide.

“Yes, yes!” I sensed my heart crying happily.

Garrison finally collapsed on top of me. Our sweat-soaked skins fused and neither one of us seemed anxious to break away.

In time, Garrison dropped to my side and stretched out next to my listless body. I think I dozed for a while, because when I revived we were in this new position. While Garrison still slept beside me, I remained awake, wondering what could happen next. How much further could I go than what I’d gone that night? And what of the night I’d just spent? It seemed more like a dream than real now; on the one hand ugly and frightening, on the other hand a magical, perhaps impossible farce. Something far beyond the world I knew where the rules of engagement were clearly defined and looked quite civil, the warehouse was a den of unimaginable vices that to any ordinary person would look vulgar and repugnant. What a hideous night; but what a glorified end. Then, of course, there were those stirrings in my heart that I called love—what could that mean? Was it possible to love in midst of such chaotic sex? I’m sure it would take some time for me to understand what this night meant. These deep thoughts were all something to ponder as I had the time and will. Eventually I passed out again and slept until morning.

A long string of days followed where nothing particularly remarkable happened in my sexual life.
Not that Garrison didn’t govern me
; our agreement remained in place—I had no desire to end it. He was so omnipresent, so close to me almost every hour of my work day, that I felt a constant tickle of excitement. I liked the idea of the sleazy secret life we lived, fucking, punishment and sexual submission going on inside the office, while the rest of the busy magazine world was oblivious to it all.

Nearly every day, he’d call me into his office or appear in mine and demand a sexual exhibition or sex. The juxtaposition of these sexual interludes during the working hours was scandalously indecent! He fucked me on his desk; I gave him blowjobs beneath it. He often stripped me of my panties and fingered me, or insisted I wear some hidden device to arouse my pussy or my anal channel. He wanted me ready for him any time of the day, although that was never a problem. In those crazy weeks of my sexual initiation, I was always ‘on’ for him.

Shortly after the warehouse scene, he brought me into his office, had me sit on his desk with my legs spread and he added the final piece of my sexual jewelry—a chain that connected the two genital rings. First, he replaced the original rings with permanent ones that snapped together so tightly that they could only be cut off. Then he attached a chain with thick heavy links that hung down about a half inch below my pubis and weighted my entire crotch. The effect expanded the natural ache that was so often present from the mind game we constantly played. The attaching rings were locked in place with tiny keys that he kept himself so there was no way I could remove the chain on my own. I thought that I might get used to the pressure of the dangling weight, but that never happened. The chain would graze my legs, or rub against my clit, or slip deep into the valley between my labia if I was sitting down. In so many tiny ways it became a jailer, a friend and a constant torment, all very much depending on my mood and what I was doing.

Only when Garrison fucked my cunt would it be necessary for him to remove it.

Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly evil, he would shorten the chain so that rather than dangle free with space enough to move about, it fit into my crevice snuggly, running right across my opening and to one side of my clitoris where it rubbed in a way that had me continuously at an orgasmic edge.

“It takes your freedom, doesn’t it?” he suggested as he gazed at the sight of my pussy splayed by the thick links.

“It does,” I had to agree.

“You like it tight or loose better?” he asked.

“It’s hard to say,” I answered. On this particular day, Garrison shortened the chain right after lunch and it had been annoying me all afternoon. I’d gone into a board meeting with all the principle players of
Country Manor
present, having to wade through a good deal of important information, staying focused on the work and not the increasing arousal and discomfort the chain produced.

Garrison was in the boardroom across the table. As he sometimes did, just to taunt me even more, he was especially brusque, focusing in on my plans critically. Nothing I proposed was right in his eyes and he came as close as he ever would to publicly rebuking me.

With the chain pulled up short, I took the criticism differently than I might have if he’d leveled it while I was free of his chain and thinking more independently. It allowed him to shame me freely in a way that I would submissively accept and not argue. I think he was devious enough to consider this before we went into the meeting. He had legitimate points to make and didn’t want flak from me. By the look on the faces of our associates, his plan worked. They were amazed that I rolled over so easily when Garrison suggested some sweeping changes in personnel he’d been harping at me about for several weeks.

By then, it was clear that I wasn’t just a sexual initiate he mentored. I was his sex slave, bound by our unwritten law to follow his every command and whim.

In addition to the chain I wore constantly, he punished me nearly every day. Sex and punishment were my twin vices, he said. He’d be sure I had enough of each. Garrison particularly liked to cane me during the busiest times of the day; caning being a silent but treacherous punishment, which made it perfect for the office. If there was no reason to punish me, the caning became a graphic reminder of my lowly status. I don’t think he actually believed I was in any way lowly—it was, after all, just a game—but he certainly acted as if I was, especially when it benefited him. Strange as it seemed, for all the power I wielded otherwise, I enjoyed the game of being his ‘poor little rich slut’—another name he commonly called me in private, when the contemptuous ‘heiress’ just wasn’t enough to convey his mocking disdain.

While he promised discretion, there were those few exceptions, and I had to trust him on these. There was in particular the anonymous man who attended the after hours office scene the night Garrison returned from
Japan
.
I learned the man’s identity soon after that remarkable night. Robert Harrington was on the board, an influential member of the design and marketing teams. He was also a good friend of my father, though I didn’t know him well. Although he was in his late fifties, he was not some sleazy old geezer who enjoyed leering at young women. He was handsome, a little rugged, but very elegant in his manner and dress—much more than the more casual Garrison Tate. He had a distinct, authoritative presence few would challenge. While he was pleasant, I was always a little fearful of him, as I assumed he knew a whole lot more about the publishing world than I did. I believed the same could be said for Garrison when it came to his business experience, though I never quite gave my sexual mentor the same kind of reverence that I gave Robert Harrington.

Soon after the warehouse scene established the kind of intensity I could expect in our relationship, Bob was
outed
to me as the man who punished me in Garrison’s office. What one pair of eyes could do to rattle me through my workday, Garrison thought two pairs could do even better. He was right, especially because it was Robert Harrington.

Garrison had been out of town for a couple of days and called me shortly after I arrived at the office that day. I’d been feeling especially free of his influence, glad for a bit of a break, when he told me that I needed to meet with Harrington, pronto.

“Why?” I asked.

“I’d like you to present yourself as a submissive to him. Show him the piercing; he hasn’t seen the final result.”

“What?” I was confused and immediately jittery over the order.

“He was the man in my office with me.”

“No! You don’t mean that!”

“Oh, yes I do. Who better?”

I was speechless.

“Go on, go now. Just do what he says.” He hung up the phone leaving me flustered and in doubt.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my courage to cross through the office and knock on Bob’s door. I felt like a kid going to see the principal, or the dean of students in college, or even my father, with some terrible admission of guilt. What would I say? How could I
present myself as a submissive
to him?

But could I ignore the order? I thought this through and decided that I’d better do as he said. Already, the stirrings in my crotch were making the idea a subtle turn-on. Garrison was the most devious man I’d ever met, but he did know exactly how to push my buttons. He ordered, I reacted… and most often acted like a brazen slut.

I finally gathered my courage and moved decisively toward Robert Harrington’s office. I knocked on the door.

A firm “Come in,” followed and moved inside.

“Garrison said I needed to see you,” I said, trying to sound calm and poised when I was nothing but a bundle of jittery nerves.

The man sat back in his chair. His dark, wavy hair was perfectly groomed, not one hair out of place. The suit was signature Harrington, nearly black, very elegantly styled. A cranberry-colored silk handkerchief was neatly sticking from one pocket. His gold rings and cufflinks gleamed.

After all I’d done in my business life to conquer my fear of men like Robert Harrington, I now felt like a pile of mush.

“Why don’t you sit, Eleanor,” he motioned to me warmly. “Gar thought it would be wise for my identity to be disclosed. I agreed. I was in his office Friday night two weeks ago when he returned from
Japan
.
I’m sure you remember the occasion?”

“I could hardly forget,” I said, as I took a seat in front of him.

He smiled,
then
went on. “This is a unique situation. You’re in charge of
Country Manor
, while at the same time you’re a sworn sexual submissive to Garrison Tate, and now to me. It may seem a little odd, but I see no reason why this can’t work. I thought it best if the truth was out in the open.”

“Open?” I said panicked.

“Between us,” he corrected.

“Yes, of course.”

“You know, these arrangements are more common that you think.”

I was a little confused. “By arrangement, you mean?”

“I mean Dominant/submissive relationship. Most relationships like yours with Garrison couldn’t exist in this working environment.”

“Yes, I see. But I think so far we’ve managed well.”

“Indeed, you have. I can already see the changes.”

“Changes?”

“In your demeanor, Eleanor.
You’ve softened considerably. You’re less shrill and more open-minded. Less aggressive in the way you attack a problem.”

“And you think this is because of my ‘arrangement’ with Garrison?”

“I’m sure it is.”

We exchanged a meaningful glance as he let me chew on that thought in silence.

“So, about the chain,” he finally jumped in. “Let’s see it.”

“Right.
Yes.” I jumped from my seat.

With a guiding hand he escorted me to the coffee table that sat in front of his leather sofa at the far end of the room.

“Up.” He lifted my hand to indicate what he wanted me to do.

I could hardly keep my balance as I climbed up that step of nearly eighteen inches in my high heels. Facing him, I shuddered miserably. Any poise I might have clung to was out the window, vanished. I was that bad kid again paying for some unknown crime, feeling diminished and very small and most certainly aroused in a way I hoped he would not see. What I was learning to deal with comfortably in Garrison’s presence was downright embarrassing with a man like Robert Harrington.

I shuddered again, as Robert carefully raised my skirt above my knees. He pushed it further up my hips until he exposed my cleanly shaved pubic mound. The chain was obvious in the front, but it required I spread my legs for him to see and feel its full length, in particular where it connected to the ring on the backside of my vagina.

“Spread,” he said. Unlike the men in the warehouse, he used his normal voice, no put-on intonation, no gruff air of command. He was clearly a natural in the sexually dominant role he played. In fact, it wasn’t so much a role but his very essence.

He placed his one hand on my left thigh, steadying me, as I stepped to the side to unveil my secret. He tugged at the chain quite hard and I tried to muffle my gasping reaction. Then he fished around in my crotch, inspecting it as best he could, although I imagine it was still difficult to see the full effect.

“Turn around,” he finally ordered.

With my back to him, he bent me over, tapped on my inner thighs so I’d spread my legs again, then inspected the jewelry from the rear were it dangled in plain view. He tugged a little more.

“Nicely done.”

I had nothing to say to that. The humiliation made me blush as bright as his handkerchief.

Finished with the inspection, he helped me down.

“Over the back of the chair,” he pointed to the overstuffed club chair. I could guess what would happen next. Fuck me or punish me; I wasn’t sure. Bending over, I clutched the arms of the chair for support and gritted my teeth, waiting with uncertainty until Robert played his hand. When the awesome paddle first struck my ass, I was taken off guard. I’d never felt anything like it in my short sexual initiation. He didn’t stop with one blow to my buttocks—that damn paddle was big enough to cover both cheeks in one strike. Six fucking times that horrible thing hit my poor derriere.

When he said, “That’s enough,” I couldn’t have been more grateful. I felt like one of those cartoon characters that has just been knocked out and is in a daze. My ass was blistering hot and, as usual, the pain only amplified the terrific ache of desire that always accompanies my punishment.

“Stand up,” he ordered and so I did. I wanted to shove my skirt back down but I managed to stop the urge. He was a hands-on sort of man who seemed to like to do things like that
himself
.

Once he was back behind his desk and I was standing in front of him, I listened to his following
monologue,
feeling both awed and, as his message sunk in, about two inches tall.

“I can respect what you’re trying to do here and I think you might just be successful at it. However, I do have my reservations about your sticking with
Country Manor
. I’m not sure it’s your calling. But that is not my decision to make. I will enjoy the game, however. Call me a sadist if you will, but just figure, if you can survive in the publishing world under the situation you’ve created for yourself with Gar, then you’ll be one helluva force to be reckoned with. That is, of course, if you can survive it.”