Stephanie Goins knew exactly what lay ahead of her as she entered the office that morning. Figures and more figures to look over, and limitlessly it seemed. That was her job, her money earner, and it was fairly lucrative. Being an up-market accountant, she was always in demand. What she was less certain of, on this bright summer morning, were the demands that would be made on that secret part of her mind.
That would only become clear when Gerald, the permanent manager of this company, had quickly defined the real requirements of that part of her mind. As usual, her trim figure was clad in what she considered her work clothes. A white blouse which was of the perfect tension to favor her shapely breasts, and a tight black skirt, which was buttoned from below to permit a wayward hand to reach her inner thigh and beyond.
But when she really entered her other mode there was a wardrobe where she kept an array of changes, so she could dress herself according to demand. Just as she settled behind her desk there was a knock at her door and Jasmine, the junior clerk, came in clutching a number of files. After a greeting she said, "Seems like a load of work this morning."
"Just lay them on the desk there," Stephanie told her, noticing that Gerald, wearing his usual dark shirt, and supercilious grin had appeared in the doorway.
"Morning, Stephanie. Morning Jasmine." He nodded at the pile of files, "Looks like a busy day."
"That's what I said, Mr. Ford," Jasmine replied with a shy smile in Stephanie's direction, she went out and Gerald Ford closed the door. Then, his grin widened, he walked casually to where Stephanie was sitting, already she had a fair idea of what was coming.
Leaning over her, Gerald licked along her cheek, before whispering, "How many times last night, you fucking whore?" Oh, yes, early signs of something. Gerald's hand had slipped inside the neckline of her blouse and was groping for her breast. "Ugh, a bra? They're not drooping, are they?"
Stephanie's breath shuddered in her throat, as his fingers probed beneath the bra and squeezed a nipple. "You know they're not," she told him, adding, "I've got a load of work to get on with."
"You fucking cow, you're going to need all your energy for tonight. You're giving a special, so expect to be home late, harlot."
"Special?"
"All new. If you made money from your -- er -- skills, you'd make a fortune tonight. This client is in the super rich class. But is always seeking publicity."
"I'm not a prostitute," Stephanie said coldly, hating that implication, despite his crude way of addressing her. She needed his abusive name-calling. The needs that teemed through her mind went far beyond that. "What have you told this guy?"
"Just that you're hot, willing, and love an audience." He was staring at her, his lips parted, his eyes clouded. "God, I could fuck you right now." He paused and moved in close, "That can wait. Are you wet?"
"You know I will be," Stephanie told him. All of this was standard to their relationship, although Stephanie did not see it as a relationship.
"Turn your seat," Gerald commanded, when she had swiveled round, he flicked at two lower buttons. "Just a quick feel to warm you up."
Within seconds, his fingers had slid up her bare inner thigh to flutter inside her panty line, from clit to the wet entry where they poked as deeply as possible in the constrained circumstances. Her major sensation was one of being prepared. All part of the build-up.
Gerald drew back his fingers, sniffed at them and gave an appreciative moan, before walking to the door, "I think the guys would appreciate a lunchtime practice."
Stephanie was not surprised. Evening seemed a long way off. "The conference room?" She asked, knowing it always was.
Gerald nodded, "As usual, Madam Cunt."
"Are you going to be number one?" She asked.
His lewd grin said it all, "Can't you tell?"
Of course, she could tell. Stephanie knew that whatever humiliations were piled on her at lunchtime, the ultimate would go to Gerald, and whatever depravity he chose to inflict upon her. She would end up being salaciously wanton, brought on by all that had gone before. When he was gone, Stephanie collected her thoughts, and tried to settle to what was her vocation.
Not easy. Her pulse had quickened, her breathing was faster and came in shorter gasps. There was a prickling on her skin and nausea and butterflies fought in her stomach. All of this because of Gerald's touch and promise of lunchtime, which seemed a long time distant.