Over the past few weeks, the sexual games have become all the more frustrating and humiliating by the hidden, yet unrelenting control of my work life.
I secretly submit to her constant teasing throughout the work day. On especially hectic days, she has me wear the clit vibrator with the remote. As I mentioned before, this device is run by both a 2.4 GHz remote, which she keeps in her pocket, or the bluetooth wireless connection with the computer in my office. She will spend the day remotely buzzing my clit, sometimes in short, intense bursts, and sometimes in protracted, low, simmering sessions.
Repeatedly, I dig my nails into my chair or hold my breath as I am forced to the edge of a desperately needed orgasm. I can never get used to the feeling when she backs off, leaving me teetering with my need and the powerful emotions that follow. The need sometimes becomes so overpowering that I can't hold back the tears. In my entire life, I have never wept as much as I have in the past few weeks.
She loves to play with the remote during meetings. She will tease me and watch my reactions. She is careful and has never taken me so far that I give myself away to the meeting attendees.
Against my most urgent wishes, my body has become constantly alive with sexual need. My skin is so sensitive now to the slightest touch; my nipples are almost constantly hard and hypersensitive; my sex is constantly dribbling juice (causing me to use so many tissue each day that I plow through several boxes per week); and my clit's throbbing tension demanding my attention and has become the center of my world. It is as if my body is now constantly prepared for sex.
Yet I have lost all control over satisfying my desperate and constant need. Only Brittany has that power. And she wields this power to draw me further and further into her inescapable web. I am sure I will be a drooling vegetable in a matter of time.
When she does not attach the clit vibrator she will tease me in other ways. On some days, she will lock the door to my office and require me to use a huge dildo to fuck myself with until I am about to cum. She will order me to stop and to suck the dildo clean. Although I am becoming familiar with the taste of pussy, I will never get used to licking my own juices. It seems so wrong. These sessions are more brutal to my psyche because of the wonderful feeling of penetration. I feel a perverse loss when I have to yank the monster out of my contracting hole. She will repeat this several times per day.
Or she will have me go into the women's room and rub my clit to near orgasm. It is so tempting to just keep going until the amazing climax hits. But the orgasms are so intense that I can't help but scream out when they hit. If you consider that the woman's room in town hall is always busy, it would be apparent what was going on in one of the stalls. That would be disastrous.
This is something that Brittany has been extremely careful about. She loves her games and will push me to the brink of public humiliation, yet she knows where to stop and how to keep our relationship invisible. She controls everything: What I wear, what I eat, when I go to the bathroom, when I sleep, etc. It is the power which fuels her intoxicating and insatiable desires.
In the afternoon, we now have a 30-minute strategy session scheduled. Brittany will lock the door to my office and command me to strip. She sits in my chair while I crawl under my desk. I must lick her to at least three orgasms or I will be punished later that evening. This activity is especially degrading. For goodness sakes, this is my office. It is my place of work. Now it is a place to satisfy a sex-craved girl.
She has instructed me to introduce her to the city's power players. First it was top business executives and community leaders. Then to the leaders of our political committee. And then, last week, the mayor himself. Being the incredibly smart girl she is (I swear that she is a certifiable genius), she quickly analyzes the problems and weaknesses of each person she meets and, in just a couple of days, impresses them beyond belief with the solutions she proposes. Her photographic memory allows her to instantly connect people with other people. Her slightly shy persona is endearing to everyone she meets. Within the few months she has worked in my office, she leveraged her control over me to become a connected and important person in the inner circles of power and is working to push me out as the chief confidant to the mayor.
Brittany is also involved with every piece of my decision-making. She prepares documents, which I must sign without the chance to review. She punishes me for even bringing up the subject.
Today is a very special day. At 2:00PM we are meeting in the mayor's office to discuss the details of the mayor's reelection bid this fall. Positions will be decided and strategies developed. Impressions made today will help solidify the power positions if the mayor wins another term. My mastery of election strategy is unmatched and is the most important reason the mayor won his first election. This is where I shine the brightest, and this is where Brittany's weaknesses and inexperience will be exposed.
I go about my morning routine overloaded with sexual frustration. Over the past few days, Brittany has tied me in bed and teased me for hours. The more I moaned and begged and cried, the more she got off on it. For four nights straight, I was tied tightly and played like a Stradivarius. I had to wait to be untied this morning, allowing me to work my now expert tongue into the sweet folds of my Mistress as she sat on my face. I have learned to read the signs of her excitement, allowing me to return a small dose of prolonged teasing before finishing her off with a cluster of strong orgasms.
"Go into the bathroom and prepare a one quart enema. You are to hold the contents in your dirty little bowels until I finish my shower," she commands as I follow her. I set up the enema bag as she tests the warmth of the water. She knows that I hate anything up my anus, so she enjoys my humiliation as I insert the enema and blow up the bulb to hold it in place. When I am finished filling my bowels with the warm soapy solution, she says, "Don't let even a drop slip out, my pet," as she gleefully pats my bloated belly.
I struggle to hold the contents of the enema as she luxuriates under the hot streams of water. I dance a little in an effort to manage my discomfort. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she shuts off the water and gives me permission to go potty. I tend to her hair and makeup.
I jump in to take a quick shower. I make sure that every inch of hair is gone below my neck. I finish the shower, dry off and rub lotion deep into my skin. As I do my hair, I can't help but admire the way my body is changing. I look sleek and strong, like one of the fitness models you see on magazine covers. The strong muscles and the strict diet are accentuating my curves. God I look hot!
I quickly change into the clothes left for me on the bed. I snap on the black underwire 1/4 bra that lifts up my naked breasts and draws attention to the long, hard nubs of my nipples. The note on the bed instructs me to use the electrical tape on the dresser to tape my nipples down so that they don't show so much. This is never pleasant. Indeed, the tape works in pressing my nipples down, but the constant pressure makes them ache incessantly, like an unscratchable itch.
I slip on the black garter belt, which fits snugly around my waist, and roll the dark stockings up my smooth legs. My eyebrows rise as I grab the 4-inch heels (Brittany never allows me to wear anything higher than 2 inches in the office). I peak at my erotic form in the mirror, which sends jolts straight to my sex. A wave of self-loathing rolls over me as I shake off the bout of sexual excitement. I slide on the black silk blouse and the black skirt, both very professional and appropriate for work. It's the slut outfit underneath which burns at my soul.
I rush down stairs to fix my mistress her breakfast. After I eat my measly 2 slices of toast and a banana, we head off to work. I can tell that something is brewing in the mind of this evil minx.
The day starts off with a good dildo fuck in my office. My slit is dripping as I pull the dildo out of my overheated pussy. Through the morning, she has me repeat this over and over. By lunch, I am insane with need.
"Follow me!" she orders as she leaves my office. Not wanting the harsh punishment, I follow behind quickly as we make our down the hall. The conference room would befit a hundred year-old law firm, with its dark wood paneling, paintings of mayors past, a long table with leather chairs, and a closet by the door. Locking the conference room door behind us, Brittany turns and orders, "Take off the blouse and skirt. Hurry up!"
She opens up the closet door and takes out one of her large gym bags. I feel so vulnerable and ridicules, as I stand practically naked in this room. She turns toward me with a wide butt plug, already lubed. "Hurry up and put that where it belongs!" I struggle with this especially wide plug. With some effort, I finally lodge the monster in my ass, with my sphincter wrapping itself painfully tight around the small rim at the end of the plug.
"Kneel," Brittany demands. She starts a ponytail in my hair and proceeds to weave a leather thong throughout its length. She ties it off at the end, leaving about 2 feet of thong left.
"Stand," she orders. As she turns me around and starts tying my elbows together, I start to become frightened. She secures my hands together as well. Without delay, she rips the tape off both of my nipples. Although I hold back most of my scream, a small one escaped. "I would advise you to practice your noise-control today," she grins as she backs me up into the closet.
As she grabs something her bag of goodies, I shiver with the thought of what is in store for me. When she returns, she backs me up further until the balls of my heels were standing on a 2 by 4 piece of wood. "Stay on your toes," she commanded. She kneels down and attaches ankle cuffs. She then locks chains to each and pulled my ankles at least 2 feet apart, locking them to hooks embedded in the wood directly beside my heels. She repeats this again with chains that secure the inside of my ankles. I think, "two chains per foot...isn't that overkill? I certainly can't move my feet and inch!" My stomach was now churning with anxiety.
She uses a chair to tie the thong in my ponytail to a chain, which is hanging from the short ceiling. "I don't have much time," she stated as she hurried up. She put one-foot by two-foot metal plate beneath the heels of my shoes.
