Her Master Demands (Dark BDSM Erotica) (5 page)

“No! You were wrong, Mrs. Johnson!” exclaimed Emily’s Master
loudly. “It’s not on my shoe, I see it over there. Please, get up –
what must that poor girl behind the reception desk
think!”

Emily was helped to her feet.

“Wipe your eyes,” the man whispered before he moved away. He
then bent over and pretended to pick something up from the elevator
floor.

“Contact lens!” he brightly claimed, addressing the gawping
receptionist. “Darn things are forever popping out – I’ve lost two
already this year. Mrs. Johnson thought she saw it on my shoe and
was kind enough to try and retrieve it. But her eyesight must be as
bad as mine.”

Emily was given a courteous nod for her supposed kindness then
the man walked away.

“I’m here to see Mr. Ross,” he told the receptionist. “He’s
expecting me of course.”

Having taken the advice and quickly dried her eyes before
turning around to step out of the elevator, Emily watched all this
in a state of bewilderment. The receptionist fluttered her
eyelashes, happy to swallow the story, probably happy to swallow a
darn site more the way the brazen hussy was flirting, sticking out
her surgically enhanced tits, hoping to impress Emily’s
Master.

“It’s the office at the end, to the left then round the
corner,” she purred, following it up with a sensuous lick of her
glossy lips and a flick of her shoulder length hair.

She was given a filthy grin and a devilish wink for her
efforts. “Thanks gorgeous,” the man said, making the receptionist’s
day. Then he strutted off manfully like a boxer approaching the
ring - two pairs of eyes watching him intently. After a few steps
he turned around, raising his right hand in salute to
Emily.

“Oh, and thanks again, Mrs. Johnson – it really was most kind
of you to get down on your knees like that. So unusual for a woman
in your position! But then life is full of little surprises. You
just never know what’s going to happen next.”

A moment later he was gone, having disappeared round the
corner. Blushing, Emily set off in the opposite direction, stunned
that her legs were up to the task.

Chapter 6

It was only when Emily reached her own office that the
significance hit her – the important meeting Her Master had
mentioned was with none other than Willy Ross, a ruthless Scotsman
who had moved through the company ranks with meteoric speed and was
now the Sales Director. It all fell into place: the new expensive
suit, the shiny shoes, the dash of aftershave, the big break in his
life he was hoping for - it all pointed to one thing. It had to be
an interview.

Emily mulled this over. It would be one heck of a break if Her
Master managed to swing it. Salesmen were the golden boys of the
company – the silver-tongued rogues who brought in the big ticket
deals that generated the wealth to line shareholder’s pockets, and
who got rewarded for success with ludicrous amounts of commission –
sums that would make even a Libor fixer blush. A move into sales
was an opportunity not to be missed for any ambitious young
man.

With her mind now recovering from the shock she’d just
experienced, Emily gave this some further consideration. She
quickly surmised that this was good news for her as well. Okay, so
the elevator situation had been hideously galling, a nightmare that
could have ended in disaster. It had seemed shockingly foolhardy on
the part of Emily’s Master, especially as he had an important
interview lined up. But in hindsight, he was probably in control of
the situation, using it to his advantage to sharpen his wits with
an adrenalin rush. And he played it to perfection – no doubt
building up confidence for the meeting ahead with a display of
total control and dominance. Emily appreciated now that it was a
carefully measured act, like what happened in the basement – the
sex laced with danger to add some spice, but cleverly orchestrated
to minimise the risk. Her Master was no fool – he was a
manipulative bastard who was calculating and smart. Now that Emily
thought about it – an ideal big ticket salesman in fact!

And there was the upside for Emily Johnson: if this mysterious
man got such a lucrative job, he would want to guard it well. It
would be financial folly not to, considering the money the sales
force earned. An average performer made a six figure salary – the
very best might command another nought. Her Master wouldn’t
jeopardise such a prospect by risking some hideous scandal. Nor
would he wish to see Emily hounded out of her job, for as P.A. to
the boss, Mrs. Johnson was a hugely useful asset to any budding
salesman, controlling access to the C.E.O. – a man who could make
or break a deal, and whose time every salesman wanted, but only
those deemed worthy managed to get a slice of.

Emily smiled with relief. She could see the bigger picture
now. Her Master was playing games, to tease and amuse himself, but
his intension wasn’t to ruin Emily’s career. He would use his toy
in a multitude of ways, like prostituting Emily to the Italian.
There would be torment in store and demonstrations of control,
inflicting anguish through manipulation, but Emily guessed it would
never be taken too far. Like this afternoon and the threat that was
made, suggesting he was coming to the top floor on a whim, when in
actual fact he was here for a good reason.

Then a disturbing thought occurred. What about the collar? Her
Master had been clear about that – it had to be worn in his
presence. The elevator was forgivable as Emily was on her way back,
but definitely not following her return. And they could very well
meet again. The interview would undoubtedly go well – how could
Willy Ross fail to be impressed by such a forceful scheming rogue
who could turn on the charm at the drop of a hat. And in which
case, if he was to be appointed, Willy would probably take the man
around afterwards and introduce him to some key players on the top
floor. Donald Harper for sure; and most likely Emily! Did Her
Master seriously expect the collar to be on display in such
illustrious company as the Director of Sales, or even worse – the
C.E.O.?

‘Of course not!’ thought Emily as she smiled again, realising
what was actually meant. Her Master has said it must be worn – he
didn’t mention anything about being on display. Emily knew with
certainty what she had to do.

Picking up the Chanel bag where the collar was hidden, Emily
nipped off to the washroom, a much more luxurious affair here on
the top floor than the grimy one in the basement. It was empty, but
nevertheless Emily adjourned to the safety of a cubicle. There in
private she opened the bag and found the collar. Excitedly,
thrilled by the naughtiness and the implication, she put on the
collar then found the silk scarf that was in the bag – Emily being
resourceful if nothing else, always prepared, conscious of the
fickle British weather. She arranged the scarf as best she could –
fixed it over the collar and knotted it at the front. Flushing the
toilet that had never been used, Emily stealthily opened the door
and stuck her head outside. No one had come in, so she dared to
venture out, quickly walking over to a mirror where she could check
her appearance.

The scarf definitely bulged around the neck, and hid her
beautiful pearls which she always proudly displayed. To Emily’s
knowing eye she could tell something was under it, but it didn’t
look too obvious. In a way that was good, but in another way bad:
she didn’t want it to be noticed – except by Her Master!

“He’ll know anyway!” Emily told her reflection in the mirror.
“He’ll know without seeing it. He always seems to know. The man is
psychic.”

Emily made some fine adjustments, checking her neck from a
variety of angles. Happy with the hidden collar that felt so
mischievous against her skin, she took the opportunity to attend to
her hair, tugging away at the expensively cut locks until it was in
the perfect state of coiffure dishevelment.

Then bang – a bolt from the blue, and an unwelcome one at
that!

She was just completing the finishing touches to her new look
when The Devil himself threw a curveball her way. The washroom door
opened and in walked Tessa Clifford, the head of Human Resources –
a woman that Emily loathed and detested, and her bitterest enemy in
the company. Tessa came to a halt. They glared at each other,
hatred briefly flashing unfettered before professional fake smiles
were forced onto lips.

“Admiring yourself again, Emily!” bitched Tessa. “I swear
we’ll have to order new mirrors quite soon – you’ll have worn them
all out with your vanity.”

“It’s not me the maintenance people need to worry about... At
least I don’t crack them, like your ugly face is rumoured to do,”
bitched Emily in reply.

Normally one round of scathing remarks was their accepted
limit, and that should have finished the exchange. Sure that she’d
got the better of this one, Emily waited on Tessa stomping moodily
off into a cubicle. But much to Emily’s horror Tessa came and stood
beside her, staring into the same mirror, throwing reflected
daggers into Emily’s eyes.

“See – it doesn’t crack,” gloated Tessa, “I might not be as
pretty as you with your inbred upper-class looks, but I’m still
attractive – at least some men think so. So you can go KISS MY ASS,
you stuck up little bitch!”

Emily gawped at the woman’s image, so smug and assured. She
was stunned at her audacity, hating Tessa more than ever. And given
their history - that was quite some claim...

They had known each other for over three years and been
enemies for the entire duration. An influential family friend had
recommended Emily for her current job, doing the ‘Old School Tie’
thing when the vacancy arose and approaching Donald Harper
directly, swinging the deal over dinner at his club. When Emily
came to the office a few days later to be formally interviewed, she
managed to do enough to convince the C.E.O. that she was worth a
try, but Tessa had vigorously opposed the appointment. Emily
interpreted this as pure jealousy of course – the wicked witch
didn’t want to see a younger, more attractive woman strutting
around the top floor. The fact that there were better qualified
applicants for the post was irrelevant in Emily’s view - a
smokescreen that Tessa threw up to hide her bitchy ulterior motive.
But Donald insisted – that ‘Old School Tie’ carrying sufficient
weight, and Emily got the job. War with Tessa had been declared
from the very first day: a private war that was professional and
backstabbing, underhand, and at times downright ruthless. But there
was an unspoken limit to the conflict – until now that was, when
the line had been crossed.

“In your dreams!” hissed Emily, at last finding her voice.
“I’d sooner die than kiss your fat flabby ass!”

Tessa held her smug grin, annoyingly assured. She held it for
a moment before a puzzled expression crept over her face – her eyes
screwing up as they focused on Emily’s neck and the unusual
adornment of a scarf where normally there were pearls.

Emily winced, suddenly fearful that her secret had been
spotted. She quickly moved away to put distance between them,
retreating defeated to the door.

“Have a miserable afternoon,” Emily hissed in her fury as she
pulled the door open.

“I will... if I see you again!” chortled Tessa gleefully, the
words chasing Emily out the washroom as she stormed indignantly
away.

“But then again... maybe not!” was the follow up phrase that
Emily failed to hear in her blinding rage as she rushed back to the
relative sanctuary of her office.

Chapter 7

Emily was still shaking as she sat down at her desk. It had
been a very disturbing encounter – one that had caught her totally
off guard and underlined the danger of the game that she was
engaged in. The consequences of Tessa Clifford getting wind of what
was going on was unthinkably horrendous, yet for a moment Emily had
feared the wicked witch had cottoned on to the fact that under her
scarf she was wearing a dog collar! That fear had given Tessa an
advantage, Emily scampering off with her tail between her legs,
when she should have held her ground and laughed in Tessa’s
face.

‘Kiss my ass indeed!’ Emily mused, appalled at the very idea.
Kissing anyone’s ass was a revolting notion, but Tessa Clifford’s
oversized rump would be hideous beyond belief – the act in itself,
and the indignity, to prostrate herself and debase herself by
performing the deed on her most hated enemy. Nothing could ever
bring about such a shame – of that Emily Johnson was
certain.

Emily took a few deep breaths to calm herself down then cast
Tessa Clifford from her mind. She would think of some way to get
her revenge on the evil witch, but for now there were more
important matters to be dealt with. There was some work outstanding
for Donald that would have to be scheduled. But first things first
– she needed to confirm what was going on with regards to Her
Master and Willy Ross.

Emily picked up the phone and dialled a number. Fortunately
Willy’s P.A. was there to answer it, instead of at lunch as she
often was at this time of day, being wined and dined by some randy
salesman who wanted to get into her knickers.

“Avril! It’s Emily here,” she crooned, faking a friendliness
that had never existed.

“Emily! How can I help you?”