I sighed and swept my hair back in frustration as I stood in front of my full-length mirror; I needed something that worked for my new dress code and I seemed to be quickly running out of options.
Mr. Harris and Mr. Rosing had given me a strict set of guidelines for the office: skirts and dresses had to be mid-thigh or shorter, no underwear unless told otherwise, bras had to be unpadded and unlined, pants were prohibited unless I was on my period, tops had to be either tightly fitted or extremely low cut, and lastly I was to always be wearing heels with stockings - no pantyhose. Not that I had any ‘hose in my closet anyway.
Seriously though, I was rapidly running out of clothes that met their criteria. And that didn’t even cover the fact that I wasn’t supposed to repeat outfits during two-week periods, or the makeup, hair and “grooming” specifications that they still hadn’t agreed on. Jon and Patrick had argued endlessly about the grooming; Patrick liked a bush and Jon wanted me clean-shaven, and when I made the mistake of speaking up and suggesting a compromise, they bent me over the desk and took turns fucking my pussy until I couldn’t see straight.
I chided myself mentally; I wasn’t supposed to call them Jon and Patrick, it was always Mr. Harris and Mr. Rosing, or sir if I wanted. I liked sir, but sometimes Mr. Rosing liked me calling him Master and I almost liked that more, but that was only when it was the two of us. It was never openly discussed, but Mr. Harris had stepped away over the past few weeks and now he only played when Mr. Rosing was present, however, Mr. Rosing would often steal me away for a private romp.
With a resigned groan, I assessed the tiny black wrap dress on my bed, a relic from the days when I was model thin. It wasn’t the most appropriate for my current weight, and it also wasn’t the classiest for work. Fuck it. I had already worn the white latex bodycon dress earlier in the week, at least this one didn’t look like straight-up fetish wear. I tousled my hair a bit more and fixed my nude lipstick, I wanted a more subdued look today - I just hoped they didn’t think I wanted them to go easier on me because of it. I wasn’t wearing stockings with it, so I already knew I would face a punishment anyway. With one last glance in the mirror for reassurance, I grabbed my bag and car keys.
***
The Bower & Rosing law office was different since I had started fooling around with the head honchos, everybody seemed…nicer, maybe it was just my imagination though. Even just the secretaries got things done faster for me, I didn’t have to fight for supplies or assistance, hell I didn’t even have to fight for parking space this morning. And if people around the office suspected something it wasn’t getting me dirty looks or ignored in any way. Though I did get some strange looks when I turned up mostly on time this morning.
By the early afternoon, I was squirming in my seat, struggling to focus on the screen in front of me. Mr. Harris has given me strict orders; the vibrator was not to be taken out by anyone but him or Mr. Rosing. And right now, trying to sort out their travel schedule for the conference in Washington, I couldn’t think of anything other than the soft, consistent vibrations that hummed inside me. Or the way the curved toy was pressed against the one in my ass, rubbing it, and creating the oddest sensation.
“Ma’am, we’re about finished here - should I have the invoice sent to you?”
My head snapped up and I blushed as I met the friendly gaze of the contractor in front of my desk. Mr. Harris was getting the glass doors and walls that separated his office and foyer from the rest of the hall frosted. He tried to play it off as not wanting to see the loitering employees, but I knew full well that it was because of our shenanigans.
“Yes,” I said with a forced smile. “I’ll make sure you’re paid as soon as possible.”
He thanked me and collected the equipment, I watched with budding anticipation as he left, immediately I messaged Mr. Harris to let him know the workers were gone. The little bubbles turned to delivered and then read so quickly that I couldn’t hold back my surprised giggle. With no warning, the vibrations increased and I doubled over gasping, clutching the edge of the desk as the toy stimulated my g-spot. I was going on two hours since it was turned on, and at this point, my need was so bad my teeth were almost chattering, my skin was flashing hot and cold and I trembled as I reached the edge again.
I ground down on the leather chair and almost screamed as I shook and gasped, my orgasm hit hard. All too soon the stimulation turned to torture, and I tried desperately to move in a way that the toy would no longer touch the sensitive spot. I didn’t hear the door open but I certainly felt Mr. Harris’ hand on my shoulder as I clenched my legs together and looked up at him, pleading silently.
“Have you finished booking the flight, Lydia?” he asked calmly.
“N-no, I’m sorry sir,” I gasped out. Please sir, please turn it off now. I didn’t dare ask him that, the last time I did my ass had been redder than my lipstick and I couldn’t sit for most of the day.
“What’s making you so distracted today?” he asked with a sly smile.
I gazed up at him longingly; his swept-back hair, the Arctic blue eyes, and his full, perfect mouth were hard not to be distracted by, that was for sure. “Well, my boss is really keeping me on the edge of my seat.” My voice trembled but I didn’t look away, daring him to take this further.
He chuckled and rubbed my back gently. “You only have a few hours left, I’m sure you can find a way to manage my expectations.”
His eyes glittered and without another word, he went back into his office. I pressed my hand between my legs, cupping my pussy and fighting the urge to take the toy out myself.
The intercom went off, telling me that Mr. Rosing was on his way up for their daily “meeting”. Meeting indeed, more like a sadistic sex workshop where I would be passed around until they were satisfied. Usually, it took place in the boardroom down the hall, since it had more privacy and a better layout. But now that Mr. Harris’ office was finished being renovated, I knew our games would only take place in here.
The door pushed open and I knew that I was going to be punished for that too since I was always supposed to greet the men when they came to the office. I couldn’t get to my feet right now though, and Patrick Rosing watched with growing amusement as I tried to sit up straight and say something coherent.
“Miss Morrison, you seem to be slacking today,” he said with a wicked grin.
Something I had learned from being their plaything was that the men were polar opposites; Jonathan Harris-Bower was very controlled and calculating, usually firm but not cruel, a dream for my submissive tendencies. But Patrick Rosing was unpredictable and did whatever fancied him; sometimes that was brutally fucking my ass until I was a sobbing mess on the floor, other times it was kissing every inch of my skin while he strummed my clit and let me come as many times as I wanted.
“I’m s-sorry sir,” I whispered. A tremor made its way through me and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. “M—Mr. Harris is in his office, waiting for you.”
“I think he can wait a bit longer.”
I pried my eyes open and watched as Mr. Rosing stalked towards me. He’d let his stubble grow out I noticed, and my heart fluttered as I convinced myself that he did that for me - I really loved facial hair. When Mr. Harris was in a giving mood, he would let me kiss his stubble and run my tongue through it, the prickling feeling made my toes curl in the most delicious way.
Mr. Rosing’s hand wrapped around my throat and I swallowed unintentionally, he was gazing down at me through dark, hooded eyes. The warm lava-like amber colour was sweet and comforting, though I knew not to be lulled into a false sense of security.
“Open up Lydia, I’m not asking you again,” he commanded.
My mouth dropped open and he pushed his thumb deep, pressing firmly against my tongue as he worked it back towards my throat. I shuddered as I suppressed my gagging and grasped at his belt, pulling at it desperately and trying to free his cock. Maybe if I did a good enough job he would fuck my pussy again. The metallic sound of his zipper drowned out everything around me as I became focused solely on his tented pants and prominent line of his cock. He removed his thumb and sunk two fingers into my mouth instead, I moaned around him as I realized that he planned on brutalizing my mouth.
As my hand dipped into his boxers to retrieve his cock, I stole a glance downward, Mr. Rosing had a drool-worthy dick; uncircumcised, damn near as thick as my water bottle, and just above average length. The girth could be painful at times, but nowhere near the torture of Mr. Harris’ longer shaft pounding into my cervix at warp speed.
Mr. Rosing pulled his fingers out of my mouth, a long line of drool connecting me to him. He twisted his wet hand in my hair, pulling me close and pressing the head of his cock on my lips. I took him in eagerly, my eyes falling shut as I moaned around his length. He held my head still as his hips pumped, his cock sliding deeper with every thrust and made my throat burn. He picked up speed and I struggled against his hold, fighting to get air. I stared up at him as my eyes watered, my nose brushing his pubic hair. He slammed forward and held me there with a cruel sneer as I tried to pull away.
He pulled out suddenly and I sucked in air desperately. “Stand up, Jon isn’t going to wait long and while people can’t see in, they’ll still hear you scream.”
I struggled to stand and grasped at his shoulders for support, he laughed and wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me into Mr. Harris’ office. I tried not to notice the glittering metal chains on his desk as we entered the office or the black satin blindfold that he was unravelling. I kept my eyes averted, watching the grain of the dark hardwood as Mr. Rosing led me forward.
“Oh, don’t be shy Lydia,” Mr. Harris teased.
I looked up just as he handed the other man the tie to secure around my head, my knees were wobbling, and I clenched my teeth to hold back my moan as the vibrations persisted. The blindfold was cool against my skin and immediately I focused on my other senses, revelling in the scents of their cologne and the freshly polished wood.
“You’re not wearing stockings,” Mr. Harris remarked.
Oh shit. “No sir, they didn’t match my dress very well.”
“You’re a little mouthy one today, aren’t you?” MMrRosing asked. “I heard you were back talking earlier too.”
“No, I wasn’t!” I said it without thinking, and I knew there would be consequences.
Instantly I was forced down on the desk and a toy pushed into my mouth, I squirmed and fought the foreign object because I didn’t recognize it, after it was a decent way past my lips I figured out that it was the dildo shaped gag and stopped resisting. I lost track of their positions quickly, only able to speculate on who’s hand was where; I had a pretty good idea that Mr. Rosing’s hand was the one currently extracting the vibrator and lubing my ass with the other.
“Get the dress off first, then worry about the rest,” Mr. Harris growled impatiently.
I was pulled back and in a flurry of movement and suddenly naked except for my heels. The sound of metal rattling made me shiver, but not as much as when the cool material touched my arms. I have no idea what position they had dreamt up but my wrists were shackled to the legs on one side of the desk that I was bent over, while my legs were spread wide and tied to the ones on the other. I squirmed as one of them roughly worked two fingers into my aching pussy, my moan was muffled by the gag. They withdrew all too soon and I shifted my weight from foot to foot in anticipation as someone came around to stand in front of me, his trousers just barely brushing against my face. His hands stroked down my back and shoulders and I felt my anxiety start to build - where was the other asshole?
The feeling of something unnervingly smooth and long stroking across my ass made me flinch in anticipation; a paddle. They planned to make good use of my position.
“Let’s list your infractions today Lydia, hm?” Mr. Rosing asked with a chuckle and a quick thwack of the paddle against his palm. “You were late this morning, you were back talking Jon earlier, got a bit mouthy with us about the dress-code, and you couldn’t even handle answering the door when I arrived. Oh, and don’t think we didn’t know that the vibrator was turned off for a few minutes. So, what’s that Jon - five?”
Ohmigod. I had no idea how they knew about the vibrator being turned off – I just needed a few minutes to get myself under control earlier. I could have safe worded, but I always felt like that made me a Debbie Downer.
“Five sounds like a good starting point, I’m sure we can find more.”
Five! I did not talk back. My ass ached already and they hadn’t even hit me yet. The sound of the men chatting had faded into the background but I immediately picked up on the shift in the room; the eery silence and the hands-on my back had stopped moving and now held a gentle pressure on my shoulder blades. The harsh bite of the paddle made me flinch and cry out around the gag; pain spread like fire over my ass, but my clit throbbed with the vibrations it sent through my lower half. The next hit came lower, covering the very tops of my thighs in addition to my lower ass cheeks, the pain was infinitely worse as it managed to slam against swollen pussy lips.
Tears burned and started rolling down my face, only to be mostly absorbed by the silk tie. I sucked desperately on the toy in my mouth for some semblance of comfort, ignoring the drool that pooled around my lips and dripped down my chin. Things moved at hypnotically slow speed with the next two hits, both hitting square across the centre of my ass and making me try to squirm forward. My pussy was leaking copiously, the fluid started to seep down one of my thighs and I clenched my fists in embarrassment knowing the men would spot it sooner rather than later. Almost immediately I was proven right at Mr. Rosing laughed and jammed two fingers roughly into my waiting entrance.
“Her cunt is dripping,” he told the other man loudly.
“Finish up with her ass, clearly we’ll need to find another punishment for her,” Mr. Harris replied with obvious amusement.
“Perhaps the belt next time.”
A belt? You’re kidding, right? They couldn’t actually want to beat my ass with a belt, right? I didn’t have much time to ruminate on it before the last strike landed; harder than the rest, again across the very tops of my thighs where it met my ass, causing me to wail desperately as a new flood of tears came and I gagged on my dildo. I sagged pathetically against the desk as one of them stroked my ass softly. Someone seized my hair, jerked my head back and undid my gag. I panted as the toy was removed, drool and spit ran down my chin as my mouth hung open.
All too soon a cock slipped passed my lips to replace the toy, I moaned wantonly and sucked it without question. It was definitely Mr. Harris; his long, circumcised shaft was easy to differentiate. Mr. Rosing’s fingers dug into my hips as his cock probed my ass insistently. I whimpered but the noise was cut off as Mr. Harris started fucking my mouth brutally, my throat burned, my jaw aching around his thickness. Mr. Rosing pushed into me hard, filling me completely and painfully. My ass had never been fucked before I started screwing around with the two of them, but they had quickly rectified that.
They loved this position; I think because they could both be satisfied at the same time while using me however they chose. I liked it more when they get me on the floor instead because of how much dirtier it felt. But right now the need in my pussy, the warmth burning there as I laid across the desk helplessly, only increased. The two of them hammered away in sync, Mr. Rosing was the first to go, his release awkwardly filling me and leaked down to my slit as he pulled out with a long groan. Mr. Harris pulled out of my mouth, taking his position behind me and stroking his cock over my pussy and drawing a long moan from me. He bottomed out in one thrust and my cry echoed around the office with the obscene sounds of skin on skin as he fucked me with abandon.
My tits rubbed against the lacquered desk, hardening my nipples and sending an electric current to my clit. I clamped down on him unconsciously, the pressure in me building until I was on a knifes edge. Mr. Harris sunk his fingers into my hair and jerked my head back as he grunted animalistically.
“Come for me, slut,” he growled, “come on my cock like the filthy slut you are.”
His voice was deep and guttural and when he sounded like this I would do just about anything he told me. I cried out and gripped the shackles holding me to the desk legs, a full-body shudder ran through me as my pussy tightened on him and my thighs were bathed in a new flood of wetness. His movements sped up and I made little ‘oh’ sounds as he fucked me harder, barely pulling out before he was sheathed in me again and I felt like I was going to go cross-eyed permanently. His fingers dug into my hips as he held me to his groin, his cock pulsing and filling me with his come.
I didn’t have time to relax in the serenity of my orgasm or the warmth of their fluids filling me, I was unchained and pulled to my feet quickly and cringed at the feeling of their semen running down my thighs in a heavy wave. I pulled off my blindfold before they had time to and used it to clean myself up a bit. I had to lean against the desk as my eyes adjusted to the light and watched the two of them talking in hushed tones.
“I’m good enough to be a cumrag but not to be a part of the boys club?” I asked them pointedly with a pout and flutter of my eyelashes.
Mr. Rosing grinned at me, his chestnut coloured hair dishevelled and falling in his face. “No one said you couldn’t, but you’re all the way over there.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled back at him when I joined the two of them on the couch, he pulled me into his lap and I squealed in shock. They laughed and Mr. Harris handed me a drink, chardonnay, he had picked up on my unsubtle dislike of dark liquor. I stretched my legs across his and relaxed back against the other man while they stroked and petted me like I was their pet. I certainly felt spoiled enough to be one.
“Are you ready to leave Friday?” Mr. Harris asked over his glass, his hand rubbing up and down my calf.
“Mostly packed, I just have to finished with the flights, and the hotel rooms have been confirmed as well.” I hadn’t thought originally that I would be going with them to Washington but apparently, it was expected of me.
He had a wicked glimmer in his eye. “You’ll be on call the entire trip, remember that,” he warned.
“Do you have a nice dress for the party?” Mr. Rosing asked.
Party? “What party?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Mr. Rosing frowned at his business partner; his eyes narrowed.
“I figured it would be a surprise,” he replied with a shrug.
“Fantastic Jon, she needs formal wear and you can’t just leave that until the last minute.”
“What party?” I asked again.
“An after dark thing, a bunch of us execs get together and tote around fancy dates that will be initiated into the Club. There’s a sex slave auction, erotic displays, dinner and dancing.” Mr. Rosing’s hand massaged my hip as he spoke, “You’ll need a floor-length gown, your hair and makeup will be taken care of.”
“A slave auction?” I tried to keep my voice down, it didn’t work very well.
Mr. Harris snickered and lit a cigarette; it was on the tip of my tongue to point out that this was a non-smoking building, but he owned it - I couldn’t argue with that. “A sex slave auction, people that have willingly submitted and need a Master or Mistress. I would say, women, since that is the majority, but in recent years there have been men as well. Really, it’s mostly a charity thing but it’s a hell of a lot more fun to bid on a sex toy than one of those charities where you bid on dances.”
He said it with such ease as if it wasn’t weird at all. And maybe to them, it wasn’t, I realized with a start. I didn’t even have the mental capacity to ask about ‘The Club’ while I was trying to process the sex slave portion. Mr. Rosing offered to take me shopping after work for a dress, which was incredibly sweet but also awkward as shit considering he signed my checks and all. Either way, something in me accepted instantly and I was filled with excitement for the rest of the day while I anxiously awaited six o’clock.
I was waiting at his door by quarter to and practically bouncing in my heels the whole time. When Mr. Rosing opened the door, he almost walked into me and came to a grinding halt before chuckling as he led me to his Jag F-type in the parking lot. The red sports car was ostentatious and stood out like a beacon, and while I originally thought it was too much, I had to admit I felt cool sitting in the front seat.
“You can call me Patrick while we’re out here,” he said suddenly. “I don’t mind.”
I smoothed the front of my dress as I got out of the car, we had listened to the radio during the drive instead of talking and I almost had to wonder if he found this awkward and regretted offering to take me out. “Oh, you don’t want me to refer to you as Master in front of the sales-clerk?” I teased, trying to break the ice.
I caught him turn to hide his smirk as he pulled the door open, he followed behind me and leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I’m not afraid to put you over my knee in front of everyone Lydia, remember that.”
I shivered and turned away, smiling at the salesgirl as she approached us. She helped pull several gowns in jewel tones for me while Patrick gave her an extensive list of demands for it himself; spaghetti strap, preferably emerald green or gold, satin or silk only, and backless. I rolled my eyes but went along with it as I eyed a black dress that met none of his demands.
“Why green or gold?” I asked once she was out of earshot.
“Green looks good on you and I have a preference for that liquid gold look,” he said quietly.
My face felt hot at his small compliment. “Ooh, ‘liquid gold’?”
“You know what I mean, that material always looks nice.”
I giggled and took my dresses to the backroom, the changing room was opulent in an unfamiliar way, the plush carpet, the chandeliers, and another woman that brought me champagne all seemed like overkill. I was stepping into my third dress when I knew I found the right one; the emerald green satin clung to my curves, the plunging cowl neck, and a slit running up the left side. I turned in front of the mirror several times, lifting my platinum blonde hair and assessing myself from different angles when Patrick knocked on the doorjamb.
I pulled open the curtain and posed exaggeratedly for him. “Well?”
“You’re beautiful.” He went beet red and rushed to correct himself, “It’s beautiful, we’ll have it taken in at the waist a bit and it should be ready by Friday.”
He stared at me a minute longer, his eyes flicking over me again and again until he swore and pushed me back into the changing room and jerked the curtain shut.
“You know I can’t be quiet,” I whispered as he lifted and pinned me between him and the mirror.
“I don’t care,” he whispered back less quietly. “I want you; I don’t want to wait.”
He attacked me with fierce kisses and wandering hands, I couldn’t say no to him even if I wanted to – I loved how it made me feel to be this wanted. I couldn’t explain why it was different with him and Mr. Harris, it just was. My exes would be mind blown to see me getting felt up in a change room, I was kind of mind blown by it.
“You’ll ruin it,” I mumbled as he raked his teeth against my jaw.
“There are more.”
“That’s not the point and it would be a huge waste of money—”
“If I want to waste my money then I will,” he argued. Patrick pulled back just enough that I could meet his gaze and he could brush a thumb over my cheek. “Lydia, I can stop if you don’t want me to touch you.”
Why did that feel like he just stabbed me in the heart? “No, no, no,” I said frantically. “I like it when you touch me—”
“You’ve never tried to stop me or Jon before—”
I grabbed him and brought his mouth to mine, letting my tongue trace his trying to coax him to relax and go back to being his pompous self. “Convince me to fuck you,” I pleaded against his lips. “Don’t take no for an answer.”
Patrick laughed and forced his hand up my skirt. “Is that the type of game you like to play?” he asked, a wicked glimmer in his eyes sent chills through me.
I didn’t answer with my words, I let myself melt against him and clawed at the mirror frame behind me while he groped me hard and rough and whispered things in my ear about how he would fuck me in the changing room whether I wanted him or not. He sounded like Mr. Harris in a way with his complete unwavering confidence.
He had to keep his hand over my mouth while we fucked, I couldn’t stay quiet no matter what and here it was no exception. Though, even with him trying to make sure we couldn’t be heard I was positive that the staff knew about our fooling around considering how they whispered to each other when we came back out and the redhead winked at me on the way out.
We left the store in relative silence but I could see the cocky smirk on Patrick’s face and I was giggly at not being caught red-handed.
“You’ll have a stylist in Washington,” he said once we were headed back to the car. “She’s one of the girls up for auction and she knows what you need to look like. And if the entire evening goes well, you’ll be shackled.”
“Shackled?” I’m not going up for auction.
“Like a collaring ceremony, but less intense, you’ll be given a set of bracelets to wear by me and Jon. It symbolizes your descent into training and initiate status, you’ll notice other slaves and pets wear ornate collars - they’re ‘graduated’ and no longer subject to public punishments.”
“And what about me then, will I have to do public punishments?” I wasn’t entirely sure about the idea.
“Not until we think you’re ready, it can take a huge toll emotionally, and it’s generally reserved for major infractions.”
“So,” I paused as I switched gears, suddenly unsure. “Is that all this Washington trip is anyway? Like I never knew this is what you guys went there for.”
He laughed and loaded my bags into the trunk. “No, we have a bit of political business, investors to visit, and business rivals to have unnecessary dinners with. There’s also the conference itself, but that never takes long and usually, Jon is the only one that goes.”
“And the sexy stuff is just a bonus?”
“You’d be surprised the number of rich people that are into weird shit, the more you have the more desensitized you become.” Patrick’s hand left the gear shift and rested on my thigh, massaging upwards.
I rested my hand over his. “I mean I’m not exactly rich but I’m still into weird shit.”
He glanced at me and I caught his smile. He dropped me off at my car and I watched him longer than I should’ve let myself before I finally got in and headed back for Queens. His smile was dangerous, it made me feel like there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be. The same way I felt when Mr. Harris had me pinned to his desk and kissed me like a drowning man finally being able to breathe again. I was more than willing to follow them to this “Club” if it meant I would feel like this all the time.