Sensible Shoes

"Congratulations, Tom," She said in a flat voice and was satisfied to see him wince when she tightened her grip. At a trim and athletic 5'10," Grace could "tighten a grip."

"Another whippin' boy for Mr. Griffin," she thought. Then before her face betrayed her true feelings she excused herself from the group at the bar. She took her drink to a table in the corner to stew in her thoughts.

Larry Griffin watched her turn to walk away out of the corner of his eye. "That'll teach the bitch," he mumbled. He couldn't help turn and watch her walk away. "Those damn sensible shoes," he thought. What that ass wouldn't look like being carried on 4 inch heals. And those suits. Where did she get them? Navy blue and black, everyday. Nicely cut, white shirts – great if you're a fuckin' dike. But he knew she wasn't. He remembers the first day he made her blush. Yeah, there was fire under there. There was fire on top too. Like everyone else, he noticed her red hair first. Yes, he certainly did. But he had never seen it down. He had no idea even how long it was. Well, he didn't care now. She was off to a new assignment. And she would never get that promotion, if he had anything to do about it. He smirked as he turned back to the bar to finish his drink.

Grace was burning a hole in the back of Larry's head. She was surprised he didn't yelp from the pain. "If looks could kill"…well if they could, he'd have been dead long ago. And she'd be out on parole by now! She almost laughed, despite her sour mood. What a fool she had been to think that she could handle him in the "real world." After 2 years of side stepping his groping hands and pretending not to hear his lewd remarks, it had all been for naught. Larry had won; but not without a fight. And it was that "fight" last Friday that had been the final straw.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Ms. Masters, Mister Griffin wants to see you in his office." Julia, her loyal assistant, said 'Mister Griffin' like it was a disease. "I'm just closing up to go. Did you need anything else?"

Grace Masters smiled at her transparent assistant. "No. I'll be fine." She paused, then added, "Is there anything I can tell Mr. Griffin for you?"

"Not that won't get me fired," Julia answered quickly. She smiled and went to her desk to close up and start her weekend.

Grace looked at the clock. 5:15 on a Friday. Wasn't that just like that bastard. She shutdown her computer, grabbed her briefcase and locked her office as she went to meet with Larry Griffin. She didn't care if he knew she was done for the day. He could just live with it.

She quickly went up the 2 flights of stairs to the floor Larry's office was on. She didn't care if everyone chided her on her "sensible shoes." She took these stairs 10 times a day and probably was walking or standing another 3 hours a day. She wasn't about to subject her feet to the torture of heels. And besides, heels were for play. She grinned.

The grin was off her face before she even got through Larry's office door. Larry-the-Letch, was pretending to work behind his big desk. He motioned to a chair and Grace sat down and prepared for his routine. She knew it well. It was only the first month of working here that he could get her riled with his brazen attitude.

Larry watched her come through the door out of the corner of his eye. He motioned her to THE chair and smiled slightly when she was obedient and took it. She wasn't always so. Well, that's to be expected - she had been at this for 2 years. She still looked as hot as the first day she walked in his office. But he missed the temper. Her hair was still as red – and still tied tight up behind her head. Her figure was still as perfect – but still covered in those damn tailored suites. Grace crossed her legs. Those wonderful legs. Tapering to flawless ankles and those damn sensible shoes. He gritted his teeth.

Grace watched Larry pretend to read the report on his desk. But she knew he was watching her. THE chair was a Larry-the-Letch special. It was always just a little too well padded. When you sat in it you sank low, so your knees were just above your waist. And it was hard to get out of. Grace was in a mood, it was Friday, so she crossed her legs. He was SO predictable. She watched Larry's eyes widen.

Larry composed himself and stood up. He started his well practiced speech. He rattled on about the challenges in a growing company; that they had to build leadership from within, yada yada yada. Grace knew what this was about. There was an opening in upper management. Larry was the key vote on who got the position. Grace wanted that job. She was the right person for that job. Everybody knew it. Larry knew it. It was why he tried what he tried and why at first Grace didn't react.

Grace was amazed that she didn't jump when Larry put his hands on her shoulders. Larry kept talking, now about how he was the deciding vote for the promotion and she stiffened. He massaged her shoulders. Then he went too far. He ran one hand down the front of her blouse. She was wearing an oxford shirt and no bra; she hadn't put it back on after her late afternoon workout. She was out of the chair in a flash. And turned to face him. But her move had been a miscalculation. He stepped forward just as quickly and she found herself pinned between the lecherous Larry and his immovable desk.

"You know you want it," he said.

"Oh please. You can't be anymore original than that," she said with the right amount of sarcasm.

"Bitch," he thought and pulled her head to his as he attempted to savage her mouth.

She slapped him hard enough to make him step back. He brought his hand up, but stopped short of returning the slap. He rubbed his cheek instead, where it was now glowing with a red hand print. She shuddered at the sick pleasure she saw in his eyes.

"Look, Miz Masters. You better stop flirting with me and give me the goods." With that he stepped forward and pushed his knee between my legs. With his hands, he pull her blouse from the waistband and had hold of her braless breasts quicker than she would have imagined. He popped the bottom buttons of her blouse as he tried to get a better grip. He leaned towards her with his face as if to kiss her.

Enough was enough, she braced herself and got enough leverage to deliver a real blow – then they heard knocking. Someone was at his office door.

"Larry, Larry?"

She recognized one of Larry's peer managers from this same floor. Larry stepped back and straightened his suit. He looked at her with a combination of hate and lust and said. "You had your chance, bitch. Now get the fuck out of here and don't expect any favors from me. Not now. Not ever. Your career is over."

Larry started for the door with no care as to whether Grace had time to straighten her clothes. Grace turned her back to the door and gathered her belongings. As the other manager came in, she managed to get out the door without him seeing her torn blouse. A few steps down the hall and she heard Larry laugh. God, she hated that man.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

But that was weeks ago and now it was over. She was in another department. She had lost the promotion to that weenie she had shook hands with. She just wanted to get on with her life. So when the opportunity for business trip away from the winter in Chicago came along, she was very pleased. And it was back to her hometown – San Francisco.

Not too many people new where she was from or the variety of experience she had had. While working her way up in the advertising world of San Francisco, she had found a very good source of supplemental income. She learned to make a hobby pay – so to say. During her nights at her second job, she had made lots of money and many good friends.

As soon as she got into San Francisco she called up what was left of her old gang and had a week of evenings planned before she stepped into her first boring seminar. Grace was smiling when she sat down in the first lecture. Her smile did not last. At the break, when she got up to stretch, she saw him. Larry-the-Letch was at the seminar – here in San Francisco! How could he do that to her? He pretended not to see her. She was happy with that, true or not. She did her level best to avoid him.

Larry had had to pull in a coupla favors to get this trip to San Francisco, but it was all worth it when he saw the look on Grace's face. He pretended not to notice she was there. But he had it all planned. He would watch her, follow her and when the time was right, he would let her know that she had made a serious mistake not to have taken what he had to offer. He had spent the last few weeks seething about that Friday night.

Grace tried to forget that her nemesis was here in her favorite city. That night, she went out as planned. She almost didn't see Larry in the corner table of the restaurant she was in. She just barely caught a glimpse. "It couldn't be him," she thought. "Even he isn't sick enough to follow me."

But on the third night, it was no mistake. Larry seemed to be everywhere she was. She had enough experience to know when annoying turned to dangerous and Larry had crossed that line. She had to take action. Maybe it was being in her hometown that made her so bold, but she had been pushed too far and she was going to take a stand. She waited until 3:00 am, when she knew her old cronies would be home from work. She called them and set the trap. Now it was time to put out the bait.

The next night, Larry was sure this would be it. Grace had been very easy to track and he knew where he would strike. He had seen her going out with a different set of "freaks" each night. Each night, she left her friends a few blocks from the hotel. Then she would walk back alone. There were any number of alleys where he could take her. She had had the chance to have him back in Chicago, in his nice comfortable office. Now if she got a little dirty or a little hurt – well, she deserved it.

He was not surprised that Grace had been dressing just like she did at work during the day. But at night he noticed she actually dressed like a woman. Her hair was still always up, and the shoes still very practical. But he could see where walking the hills of San Francisco was probably the source of her selection in shoes. He actually was looking forward to seeing what outfit she had on tonight. But nothing prepared him for what walked into the lobby of the hotel.

Grace's years of working in clubs came in handy every now and then; when handling difficult men, when summoning up the courage to face a difficult situation and when preparing for a night like tonight. She realized she hadn't lost the touch when, as she entered the lobby, all eyes were on her.

Larry nearly fell out of his chair. Her hair was down. Red fiery curls cascaded all the way down to just above her waist. She wore an electric blue silk blouse that just barely contained her ample cleavage. The skirt she wore moved with her thighs like it was a part of her. The black latex stopped just below what would have been her panty line. The skirt left no doubt that there were no panties. Her legs went on and on and on…and ended in black 4-inch stiletto heels.

"Close your mouth, Larry," she thought as she walked by, pretending not to notice him. She waited outside until there were two cabs. She jumped in the first one and instructed the driver NOT to loose the cab that would certainly follow. The driver obeyed without so much as a blink. "The Green Door," she said without further comment. That did get a sidelong glance from the driver. But he shrugged and took off.

Grace walked straight into the club when they arrived and didn't bother to look back to see if Larry was there. She knew he would be there. She went immediately to the back to complete arrangements. She was back at a table by the runway by the time Larry arrived.

Larry walked through the door of the establishment quickly, as he was afraid he would loose her. He stopped cold once inside. It was a strip club! Very elegant, but nonetheless, a strip club. There were more women than you would find at a seedy roadside club, but it was still predominantly men. Men with women, and men with men. Business men drinking and making asses of themselves. And men WITH men – fags. He thought with disgust, "Just the kind of place a slut like her would go to."

Grace watched with satisfaction, as Larry came in and after a short pause, took a seat near the runway, on the opposite side as her. She continued to pretend to be oblivious to his presence. As she carried on an animated conversation with her friends, she watched him order one drink and then another. The bartender winked in her direction as he fixed the third drink. "He'll never know what hit him," she grinned to herself. She watched him watch the action on the stage. Some of the best strippers, male and female, in the city performed here. She was sure the art was lost on that cretin Larry.

After he finished his third drink, she decided it was time to start. She thanked her stars again for her good luck to have such friends as the ones helping her tonight. They were all going to miss out on $1000's in income tonight, just to help her. She committed that for them and for her, she was going to do it right.

Grace stood up and casually walked to the back room. The same room several "couples" had gone to, for the couch dances. Larry didn't notice she had moved until she was half way to the room. He got up, a little too fast and stumbled to his feet. He walked, with just a slight tilt, to follow Grace. Just before he got to the curtain that separated the two rooms, two large men came up on either side of Larry. They moved in beside him and before he knew it, had ushered him through the curtain, through the couch room to a separate chamber.

He was just about to complain when Grace came into view. She walked straight to him and leaned down to kiss him. Grace's didn't realize how short he was, especially with her in 4-inch heels. She delivered a rather savage kiss. Enough to leave him stumbling in his intoxication. He felt like the breath was being sucked out of him. Then she took his head between her hands and pushed it into breasts.

"Oh Larry, you came to me." She hid his face, so he wouldn't see her smirk. "I want you now. I want you here." She buried his head further in her cleavage.

"Oh yes," was all Larry could get out.

Speed was important, keeping him breathless. After smothering him a second more in her cleavage, she latched onto him mouth with a deep and long kiss. The alcohol, the excitement, blood rushing to his groin – Larry passed out cold. And Grace didn't break his fall.

Larry thought he heard voices. More than one. Was there one he recognized? He tried to scratch his nose. He couldn't move. OH MY GOD!, he thought. I'm paralyzed. Then he felt the constraints at his wrist. And then his ankles. He struggled with all his strength and when nothing gave, he opened his eyes.

He was cuffed at the ankles and wrists to a wall. No, not a wall, some kind of rack on a wall. He looked around frantically. It was a circle, he looked like that sketch of Di Vinci's, the man in the circle. Except, he noticed as he turned his head, he had a collar on. And there was something in his mouth. He couldn't get it out. Some kind of gag. He panicked. He thrashed as much as his binds would allow.

"Damien, feed him," Grace said. Damien walked over to Larry. He pulled his head back, removed the gag and feed Larry a jigger of a thick liquid. The standard pinched nose, head back routine got him to swallow it without a drop lost. He coughed once, his head lolled and then he was out again.

Larry woke up in a fog. His head was clear enough that he knew he was still bound to a big iron ring. He tried to clear his head by taking inventory of the room. It was about 20'x 20'. Wood from ceiling to floor. Expensive wood paneling on all four walls. No apparent door. About twelve sconces with two candles each. Oriental carpets on the floor. To one side of him a table with wine, water and several goblets. To the other a table covered with sex. Dildos, vibrators, blinds folds and gags. Big dildos, Small dildos that he figured were for putting in the ass. One even had long hair on it, so when inserted it must look like a tail. There were paddles and whips. And oddly, there were a pair of very large women's pumps. He couldn't even think what all those things were for. And thinking made his head hurt.

"Are you finally awake?" Grace spoke loud and slowly to get his attention. Then he looked up and saw…them. Six people, and the woman sitting in the middle like she was holding court, was Grace.

"Larry, I am so glad you have decided to join us. Let me first explain your condition, so you do not distress trying to understand it. You are completely and safely restrained. You cannot move. You cannot escape. Of course, the drink Damien gave you will make it so you don't try. The gag in your mouth will be removed if you behave yourself. The drink Damien gave you is a very handy drug – Quip's own 'cocktail'. It will keep you from hurting yourself."

Larry had stopped struggling and he stared at the strange scene in front of him. Grace was in a chair, large, black – it looked like a wooden throne. Behind and on either side of her were two large men, brutes, one white and one black. Bare chested except for large leather straps that crossed their chests. Some sort of long tight pants covered their legs, down to their heavy boots. They wore hoods that looked like executioner hoods.

Grace continued. "With Quip's cocktail, you'll feel everything, but you won't SEEM to care, much. And you won't struggle as much. You'll tire easily. And in about 4-6 hours, you'll probably pass out again, if you are lucky. You'll wake up with a headache and no memory of what has happened tonight. And then in about 2 days, about when the pictures arrive, you will slowly remember everything. And we'll try so to make it a night to remember."

Larry shook his head trying to clear it. It felt like he was moving in slow motion. He focused on the scene again. To the right of Grace were two more people, a man and a woman. They were dressed in white and on their knees, heads bowed. They wore short, flimsy white togas. And nothing else. Everything the two brutes were, the couple were not. The brutes were square, solid and muscular. The couple was soft, lithe and sensual.

"Larry, concentrate. I don't want you to miss any of this."

Larry focused on Grace for the first time. She looked quite natural in the big black chair, as if it were made for her. She was all in red, leather and latex. She wore a red vest that seemed to boost her cleavage and cinch her waist. Below that he could see a red skirt, tighter than the one she had on earlier, although he didn't know how that was possible. Then her white thighs showed for about 10," after which they seemed to be painted in shiny red, so skin tight were the boots that went from mid-thigh all the way down to the spikes on her heels. She had some kind of fingerless red gloves on her hands and half way up her arm. And to finish the look, her hand rested over a bullwhip in red leather, resting on the arm of the chair.

"Let me introduce my friends," Grace continued. "Thor." She reached up to the white man on her left and grabbed his right nipple, pinching it between her thumb and index finger. "And Damien." She reached up and pinched the left nipple of the black man on her right. Larry thought he heard one of them growl. "Michael and Teresa." She point at the 2 kneeling next to her. "and Quip."

Larry hadn't noticed the little … thing at Grace's feet. It was about 4 feet tall. Seemed to be naked. As he looked close he saw it must be female. It had short, cropped blond hair and was wearing nothing but a pink bikini bottom that blended with its pale pink skin. While it was flatchested, the well formed hips and waist suggested it was mature and yes, definitely female. At the mention of its name, Quip giggled and Grace patted its head.