Marianna, her heels clicking at a frenetic pace upon the polished wooden floor, felt her body turn inside out. Several orgasms and six hours of sleep had done little to ease her nerves. The only reason she had slept at all was due to the fact that her body was exhausted after Matthews' particular brand of treatment. Today she felt wonderful, her cheeks practically glowed with health, but that didn't stop her stomach churning with fear. She ached to please him. She needed to serve in any capacity that he would have her and she wanted to be used. After her long period of inactivity her body had suffered a rude but exquisite awakening, and had started screaming instantly for more of the same. Her fingers were firmly crossed that this was to be the case.
Having taken more care than normal with her morning routine, she was as fresh as a newly risen daisy. She'd showered, she'd plucked, she'd pulled, she'd smoothed, she'd brushed and she'd sprayed. Each hair on her head had been arranged with perfect precision and ordered to stay that way; it was a shame that the rest of her body wasn't as cooperative. Obediently she had foregone the instinct to wear both bra and panties. It felt decidedly strange, and yet her body enjoyed the decadence of being free of the restraints of intimate female apparel. Or it had, until she'd walked silently out of the elevator and spied Mr Matthews hard at work, tie askew and hair ruffled as he'd chewed absently on the end of his pen. Her nipples had immediately peaked into hard points, rubbing against the starched material of her black shift dress, and as there wasn't a lot of space to be had in there. If they continued to point with such enthusiasm things were going to get a little sore before long. Sore nipples she could contend with, the instant heat she'd felt in her loins upon seeing Matthews was going to be a problem. As she'd moved to sit down at her desk the evidence of her arousal made a run for it and trickled down her inner thigh. Urrghh. There was a reason panties had been invented.
Having turned on her computer and tried to think thoughts that were asexual in nature, she'd become increasingly concerned as the slow trickle of fluid refused to ebb. Fidgeting upon her chair, she pouted. Soon there would be a wet patch on the seat of her dress. That would be highly attractive. Wondering how long he'd make her sit there she decided she'd probably be soaked through by the time she was summoned. There was the option of running to the ladies and wadding up some tissue paper, but how elegant would that look when he undressed her? She couldn't very well take little dabs at herself in the office because she'd practically have to hitch her skirt to waist height to accomplish the task. Squeezing her vaginal muscles together tightly and holding the image of Homer Simpson in her head, she'd had some small success at controlling her urges. She'd even managed to have a short conversation with her best friend, the pot plant. Then Matthews had started dashing this way and that around the office and all of her best intentions had fled. When he finally shouted her name she stood up guiltily, as if he already knew what state her body had managed to twist itself into. All she could think of was how quickly she could manoeuvre him into having sex with her. What a laugh that was. You didn't manoeuvre Mark anywhere, especially in the bedroom antics department.
Pushing open the door to his office she crept inside and gingerly placed her backside into a sculpted, art nouveau hardwood chair that had been painstakingly carved out of a single piece of wood. The thing had probably cost a small fortune. Her ass protested at the hard contact, but it was only a passing grumble. There was some spring in the chair and the motion helped to calmed her a little. The thing wasn't going to stop her hands shaking; she'd need valium for that. At least she knew she was in the right place. It was the only additional chair in the room. Now she could only hope her backside generated enough heat to dry the underside of her dress. Trying her hardest to remember her training, which demanded she looked poised and elegant at all times, she fought a battle to stop herself fidgeting with her hands. Breathing deeply, she tried to maintain an aura of serenity.
'You are allowed two minutes in which to bring yourself to orgasm, Marianna. Failure will result in a forfeit of my choosing. I will, of course, be watching.'
Tranquillity, calmness and serenity flew out of the window and took a fifty-story dive to the ground below. Mark had entered the office silently and not bothered to close the door. Seating himself at his desk, he gave her a wide grin and pointedly looked at his watch. Marianna's breath caught in her throat and the damp patch on her dress, if possible, managed to get even bigger.
Mark returned his attention to the computer in front of him and the sound of his agile fingers tapping away in earnest could be heard.
Marianna's initial response was panic. The door was open and anyone could walk in. Yes, it was early, but there was always a chance of discovery. He'd done it on purpose. Still, what did that matter? He owned her body for at least the next three years, and she was his to do with as he pleased. It was clear the man wanted to play. Well, that was just fine with her. If his eyes weren't all over her at the end of the upcoming show she'd eat her panties. Er... actually she'd have to eat someone else's panties, but that was by the by. Focus Marianna, focus.
Standing tall and straddling the chair between her lithe legs, Marianna began to delicately pull her dress upwards. Sliding the material up her body, inch by inch, cradling her breasts seductively as the fabric moved higher, she slowly revealed a pair of black lace stocking tops and the tips of a black suspender belt. Mark didn't even spare a glance at her. How flattering.
Bunching the fabric of her dress up and pulling it over her head, she figured she might as well have a good time. It looked like it was going to be feast or famine in the orgasm department, so she'd better to make hay while the sun shined. The dress sailed to the floor with a single flick of her wrist.
Closing her eyes, she raised supple arms above her head and stretched out cat-like, allowing her breasts to thrust forward. Bringing her right arm down elegantly, she brought two fingers to her lips and slowly dragged them into her mouth. Sucking on them, like the sweetest of lollipops, she used her tongue to liberally coat them in saliva. Turning her fingers sideways, as if to save the precious, lubricating drops from harm, she traced an anfractuous path down her body and let her hips move from side to side, as if to ease the path of her slippery digits as they moved lower, towards the burning heat of her core. If this was the way Matthews wanted to play, so be it. She was just going to appreciate the chance to chase a couple of endorphins. She was to orgasms as a fish was to the sea. Addicted to the act, delirious in its presence and fully aware of the pleasure her body could give and receive. When her fingers reached her clit she rubbed furiously. Already aroused, this was an act that wouldn't take long.
Even though his eyes were not upon her, he observed Marianna discreetly, out of the corner of his eye. Her naked body was as fragile as it was delicate. She had not been eating properly, if the sharp definition of her ribcage was any indication. He would see to that. Watching those big green eyes close, he itched to make her open them again. Closing your eyes, in his book, was cheating. He stifled the instinct. He'd let her do as she pleased this one time; God only knew she'd probably earned it. He'd turned the pressure up and she was dealing with it in the best way she knew how. As of yet, she hadn't disappointed.
Her long, fuchsia-pink nails scraped down either side of her naked labia, before delving between the folds and letting them tease her inner flesh with the gentlest of caresses. Dipping them inside her pussy, she groaned aloud as the move caused her hips to gyrate. Steadying herself with one hand on the back of the wooden rocking chair, she used the other to finger her already engorged clit to the best of her ability. Even though she knew it was not the case, she imagined Mark's eyes all over her body, drinking her in, breathing hard and imagining how he could best put her body to use in a few minutes' time. Thighs honed from enforced workouts with a personal trainer began to lunge up and down as her back slid up against the smooth frame of the hardwood chair. Fingers sank into her core, over and over, as her body bounced up and down expertly on high heels. The chair rocked back and forth, with precarious abandon. Her long chocolate curls tumbled over her face, wisps of which caught against the wax of her lip gloss, but she barely even noticed. Her ample breasts bounced up and down, her nipples hardened into deep red berries and her loins burning. Even if they'd been on fire she couldn't have stopped her fingers from continuing their onward journey.
'Time's up.'
Marianna screamed. Her fingers wobbled unsteadily on her clit. He had to be joking. 'Please,' she begged.
'Your two minutes is up, Marianna. Hands by your sides or I'll be forced to handcuff them behind your back. If you disobey me in this, I will leave you naked and spread-eagled on the middle of the floor outside my office, so your colleagues may witness my displeasure at your performance.'
She let out a sob of frustration.
'You've managed to go without orgasms for nearly two years, Marianna. I should think a few hours will be a piece of cake.' His eyes twinkled dangerously. He dared her to defy him.
Slowly straightening her fingers from the claw shapes they had formed, she managed to move them to her sides. He was not joking. She'd seen several of her colleagues displayed in such a fashion in her time at Zystrom, and she did not want to be one of them. Taking a shaky breath, she opened her eyes and faced him.
'Good girl.' He got to his feet, walked around his desk and bending over in his custom-made sartorial splendour, picked up her dress. He lifted it to his face and inhaled deeply. 'Such a beautiful smell,' he said, with heavily lidded eyes. Handing her the fabric he couldn't resist adding, 'And it's rather flattering to know you're so desperate for my attention.'
Marianna could have groaned, but she resisted the impulse. These were the joys of being a submissive. As long as she was in Matthews' set of headlights there would be no privacy or secrets.
As the material settled in her hands his fingers accidentally brushed her elbow and an arc of electricity shot up her arm. She schooled her features. She would not let him have any more of her today.
'Your forfeit is to go and find me breakfast, sweetness. Get me fruit and lots of it. Full of anti-oxidants and good for my health, I hear.' His back was to her, as he was already returning to his desk, but he was pretty sure she'd detected humour in his voice. To hurry her along, he added, 'Quickly, Marianna, I'm hungry.' The tone of his voice left no doubt as to what he was hungry for, and it wasn't fruit.
Marianna was not amused. It was 7.30 a.m. and even though Zystrom was in the heart of London, grocery stores were not in plentiful supply at this ridiculous hour. Add stupid heels that were not made for walking, a coat that was made for effect rather than warmth, a wet backside and the additional lack of a warm layer of undergarments and you had one unhappy submissive. Yet another car honked its horn as it worked its way through London traffic. The gentleman in question had even wound down his window and added, 'Nice pair of legs, love.' If he'd said, 'Fancy a fuck?' she might have cried.
Up ahead in the distance a corner shop looked promising. She could see bright light spilling onto the street and another customer ahead had already managed to wrestle his way in through the door, by wedging himself between several newspaper stands. There was a fifty-fifty chance it would sell fruit. As she'd seen little in the way of other options she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, including some needed warmth. Grabbing the lapels of her coat tighter around her neck, she entered the store and felt eyes upon her; beady eyes watching her every move. It wasn't because the assistant behind the till expected her to steal anything; the cut of her clothes and the designer handbag would disabuse him of that notion. He had other things on his mind.
'Can I help you, Miss?' The rough cockney accent of the youth made her smile.
The gentleman who had walked in the store before her and who was hurriedly searching the aisles for something himself, looked a little disgruntled to have his position in the queue so easily usurped.
'Yes please. I don't suppose you sell fruit?'
'There's a fridge at the back with sandwiches, snacks, soft fruit and the like. Would you like any help?'
Mr Unhappy, who was now a few metres away and looking decidedly cross heard her replying, 'No, thank you. I'll be back in a minute.' She smiled her thousand kilowatt smile at the assistant, whose jaw dropped in awe, and marched hurriedly away.
When she reached the small refrigerator there wasn't a great deal of interest; plenty of sandwiches, some sausage rolls and right in the corner, a couple of apples, some bananas and a few punnets of strawberries. They would have to do. Paying for the items quickly, almost laughing when the assistant dropped her credit card in his rush to help her, she took the proffered carrier bag and rushed back to serve her Master breakfast. She could only hope the meagre offerings would suffice.
Knocking at Matthews' door for permission to enter, he immediately waved her inside. Taking the carrier bag from the tips of her fingers, he laid the contents on his desk.
'Straddle the chair with your back to me.'
His voice sounded terse. Perhaps her little shopping trip had given him an appetite. One could only hope, thought Marianna wistfully. Doing as he asked, she waited in silence for his next instruction. None were forthcoming. Hearing the rustle of plastic on his desk, she guessed he was going to eat something first. Her thoughts were confirmed when she heard the sound of an apple being sliced in two. Her fingers tightened over the top of the chair back. She could feel the grain of the wood beneath her fingertips and absentmindedly smoothed her fingers along its surface in an effort to relieve her inactivity.