Bedroom Of A Salesman

"You know," David cleared his throat, "I believe we should consider using less...

aggressive

techniques."

He felt all eyes glued on him—it's not possible for them to know, he thought in dread, they only stare at me wondering what the hell I'm talking about, not—and struggled to prevent his face from turning crimson.

"Define less aggressive, Mr. Preston," Mrs. Jackson said, her narrow green eyes seemingly penetrating David's very soul.

"Phone sells don't work anymore," David, timidly, continued, incapable of preventing his lower lip from trembling. "People either just don't answer, or, if they do, they hang up as soon as they realize it's a salesman on the other line."

"Success rates are still pretty good, though," Mrs. Jackson rebuked matter-of-factly. "Isn't that right, Mr. Benson?"

"Yes," Mr. Benson—a small, bald man with brown eyes vastly enlarged behind his monstrous goggles—nodded frantically. "In our department, we have a success rate of

almost

3%; exceeding our initial projections by a decent margin."

"Be that as it may," David said, in response to Mrs. Jackson's scornful glare, "I still think we could use different techniques that will not only

reach

more people,

but

, will have significant positive effects on our results, too."

"And what

are

those mysterious magical techniques, Mr. Preston?" Mrs. Jackson asked, deliberately exaggerating her disinterest.

"If I may interrupt," Mr. Benson interjected, "Mr. Preston, we've used advertisement on every medium imaginable; TV, Internet, magazines, newspapers...yet, phone-sales

remain

our major source of new clients.

"Yes," he quickly added, as soon as David opened his mouth and raised his finger, "many people do perceive our tactics as

aggressive

, as you noted. However, our extensive training program has allowed our salesmen to be more persuasive, without being overly aggressive.

"And even though a lot of people just listen to what we have to tell them and then hang up, some of them do eventually visit our website and

buy

one of our packs. So, even if the sale doesn't come directly from the phone call, the phone calls

do

raise awareness of our services."

"That's good and all," David rubbed the bridge of his nose and crossed his legs, the silk thong squashing his genitals, "but, there are also

a lot

of complaints about our company online.

"Which becomes an even

more

pressing matter to address, if more people are looking the company up online following a phone call from our center. To be honest—" he continued, desperate to reach in his pants and fix the goddamn thong squeezing itself tighter between his buttocks "—

I

wouldn't trust our company had I only read some of the online reviews."

"The reviews," Mrs. Jackson said, "are indeed bad and we're perfectly aware of it, Mr. Preston,

however

, they only refer to how annoyed some people are from receiving phone calls from us. I haven't seen any bad reviews regarding the quality of our services."

"True," David nodded. "But, I'd still not trust a company that appears so damn

desperate

to attract new customers; yes, I know," he hastily added, "we're the new kid in the block and we're competing with giants of Internet providers that have been around for ages,

but

, we should focus more on promoting the quality of our services, instead of holding meetings for how to increase sales numbers."

"We're working on

both

matters, equally," Mrs. Jackson rebutted—David cowered in his leather chair, when she bit the corner of her lips quite viciously.

"I know," David coughed, "but, I..."

"Mr. Preston," Mrs. Jackson barked, "you're the head of customer support. You're responsible for handling negative reviews, complaints, all that."

"Precisely," David snapped his fingers. "And I've received a lot of emails from people asking that we stop calling them with new offers—both existing customers and non-customers.

"And," he pointed a stiff finger at Mr. Benson, who was getting ready to rebuke, "I always make sure to file their numbers in the

not-to-call

list, as you call it. Yet, they always seem to get lost in the shuffle and end up in your

to-call

lists."

"Mistakes do happen," Mr. Benson shrugged with an inconspicuous smirk. "Nevertheless, we

are

actively trying to ensure that we only call people, who've shown interest in our services, or, whom we've

never

called before.

"Yes, mistakes do happen; but, perfecting the system is a long process. Eventually, we'll get it right and Mr. Preston will be able to stop worrying so much about a handful of scornful emails.

"Besides, David," he grinned, "if you think you've got it bad reading a few expletives in an email, you should hear what our poor salesmen and women have to listen to on a daily basis."

"Don't you think, then," David said, his voice going a pitch higher, "that it's time for a change? I mean, if most outgoing phone calls you make end up in a tirade of expletives toward our salesmen, then..."

"It's just part of the game, David," Mr. Benson maintained his wide smirk. "I've been doing this job for a

long

time; I've worked for phone centers for banks, hedge funds, collecting agencies, various kinds of e-shops...I could probably write a book the length of

War and Peace

with creative ways to tell someone to go molest themselves.

"However, our success rate is far better than anything I've ever encountered; for every hundred angry responses, we get three to four people signing a contract. That's the kind of success rate my former supervisors could only

dream

of!"

"All right, gentlemen," Mrs. Jackson intervened. "I think that's enough with your bickering. Mr. Preston," she cleared her throat, "as long as phone calls produce good results, we won't be changing anything in our policy.

"Maybe, you should start training

your

department to handle bad reviews in a more...efficient manner. Heartily apologize to those that complain, offer them some compensation, maybe a lucrative

get to know us

deal, or something.

"And, for the love of god, stop coming crying to us over a few expletive-laden emails."

"Right, of course..." David hung his head and remained silent for the rest of the meeting—besides, all he truly needed was to fix the damn thong and go home.

* * * *

He stood in the bus, crammed like a sardine in a can, and all he could think of was whether anyone could notice he was wearing Peggy's silk, pink thong underneath his faux-Armani suit he had bought at a bargain store, when he was hired by the fastest rising Internet provider in the country.

While the job had

nothing

to do with what he had studied—possessing a MA in Epistemology is only good, when you've got the brains and skills to back a Ph.D. up—the salary was more than good enough and, most importantly, covered all of Peggy's

extra

expenses.

Off the bus he got and procured the grocery list from the inner pocket of his jacket; and all he could think of—whilst picking fresh tomatoes and garlic—was whether anyone could discern the thong, as he bent over the counter.

It was, certainly, part of the charm, part of what made the whole ordeal exciting; not knowing whether anyone knows, not knowing what they'd think if they saw.

He walked out of the store carrying two heavy bags and momentarily stopped to glance at himself in the large window; with his short, blond hair, his ten-day stubble, and his quite fit and lean physique, he

knew

no one could imagine he was wearing a pink thong underneath his suit.

After a short walk, he reached home—a small, suburban, one-story house with a lovely, green yard. Finally relaxed, he walked in the relative darkness and coolness of the house—he put the groceries away, while keeping track of the kitchen door with the corner of his eye.

His body tensed, when he heard the distinctive clicking sound of her high heels on the wooden floor of the hallway; almost instantly, his heart leaped up in his throat.

"Hey babe," she spanked his ass, hard. "How was work?"

"It was...okay," he turned around, his head hanging low.

"Oh," she grinned and lifted his chin up with her finger. "Did they scold you again?" She briefly kissed him on the lips, then slapped his ass once again. "Why are you still wearing your suit?"

"I'm sorry, I was just...putting the...I'll..." He mumbled, his face flushed, and he hastily undressed down to nothing but the thong.

"That's better," she giggled. "How did it feel walking around with my expensive underwear, by the way?"

"It was..." He stopped—it felt impossible to find the proper word.

"Yes?" She impatiently tapped the pointy edge of her knee-high leather boot on the marble floor.

"Quite...exhilarating," he finally said. "And...rather humiliating, too..."

"Good," she caressed his cheek gently. "Did anyone...

notice

?"

"No, I don't think so...though, I

kept

feeling queer glances on me, but..."

"Just your idea," she shrugged and planted a longer-lasting kiss on his lips.

Her expression suddenly changed—

transformed

—and her hand went around his neck, as she pushed him hard against the counter, while sporting the widest smirk.

"You do seem a bit tense, baby," she smiled slyly. "You could probably use some...

relief,

huh?"

He winced, when she grabbed his balls with her other hand and squeezed

hard

. His whole body trembled and his knees grew suddenly weak.

"I can't hear you," she chuckled coldly, pressing her ear to his lips.

"Yes, I..."

"Yes,

what

?" She demanded, tightening her grip around both his neck and balls—she was deceptively strong, considering her rather petite frame.

"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled, choking.

He heaved, when she released him; he marveled over her in her leather corset and tight mini skirt barely reaching under her bottom, as she just stood there, arms crossed around her chest—her breasts beautifully magnified by the tightness of the corset—with a wide grin.

In all fairness, what he needed the most right now was to pop a cold beer open and relax on the couch; yet, his heart trembled and without thinking he dropped to his knees—the thong buried even deeper between his buttocks—and began kissing her exposed thighs.

"You're beginning way too high, babe," she giggled and pushed his head down to the floor.

Obediently, he tasted the leather of her boots.

"Good boy," she clapped her hands once, when he lifted his ass up in the air. "You remembered."

"Of course, Mistress," he timidly raised his eyes, seeking for her glance.

"Look down," she instructed him harshly—immediately, he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and went back on working on the boots, taking the pointy edge in his mouth.

Peggy's satisfied laughter was the best music he ever had heard; the

only

music he really needed to listen to.

"All right," she cleared her throat and swiftly walked behind him, pressing the heel of her boot on his asscheek. "Time to move the party downstairs. We don't want to dirty the kitchen up, right? You worked so hard this past weekend cleaning the place up, after all."

Another swift kick on his ass was enough to get him to crawl through the house and down the wooden stairs leading to the basement. Listening to Peggy laughing heartily behind him, as he wiggled his ass the way she had instructed him, was enough to get him rock hard and cause the thong to tent.

"Well, babe," she rubbed her forehead, when they reached down to the basement equipped with plenty of bondage equipment, "what have I told you about controlling yourself?"

He squirmed, when she rubbed her boot against his erect penis. Perfectly still, on his knees and with his hands crossed behind his back, he bit down his lips hard, tasting copper; he writhed, when she crushed his balls with her foot.

"Oh, you're about to cum, ain't you?" She giggled, when his lower body tensed visibly. "Well, we

can't

have that, can we now?" Her voice turned cruel in an instant; he let out a thunderous cry, when she kicked his balls similar to a footballer hitting a penalty shot.

"Damn it," he whimpered and hunched forth, managing to keep his hands crossed behind his back.

"I'm sorry, babe—" she squatted next to him—deliberately hiking her skirt up, allowing him a clear view of her clean-shaven pussy—and patted him on the top of his head, while he heaved with long-drawn whistles, "—but, while I

do

love your nice, hard cock, I can't have you getting erections on your own.

"So, you've got to learn to control your body; even if it means sustaining some pain in the process. Don't you agree?"

He nodded frantically, while still biting his lips hard, staring straight into Peggy's mesmerizing eyes.

"Good boy." She kissed him on the forehead, then, without a forewarning, wrapped her hand around his dick and twisted it menacingly; she laughed cruelly, when he screamed and writhed.

With her firm grip still around his prick, she pushed him down on his back on the cold floor.

Helpless, he just stared into her eyes pleadingly, the pain growing too much to bear; yet, Peggy responded to his puppy eyes with another brutal twist of his cock and a smirk.

He let out a heavy groan of relief, when she finally released him; yet again, exactly at the moment the pain was about to surpass the comfortable level of being pleasurable.

The all too familiar, and intoxicating, scent attacked his nostrils, when she sat on his face, grinding her already wet pussy all over his face. Eagerly, he stuck his tongue out; his taste buds were filled with salt, as he synchronized the movements of his tongue with Peggy's grinding, hungrily swallowing down the juices dripping down on his face.

A tingling sensation overwhelmed him, when she arched back and reached, once more, for his balls—this time gently and tenderly massaging them, while he put even more passion into licking her, flapping his tongue fast inside her, savoring the taste flooding his mouth.

"All right, on your knees!" She instructed him, abruptly getting back up on her feet.

"Yes, of course...what did I do wrong?" He asked, staring up at her worrisomely.

"Oh, nothing, babe," she ran her fingers through his hair. "It's just...you got me all too horny, that's all."

With a wide satisfactory grin, and a wonderful wave of warmth traversing his body, he crawled to the wooden bed in the corner. Without the need to be instructed, he lay down on his back and instinctively winced, when Peggy locked the shackles around his wrists and ankles.

"You love that, don't you?" She ran her finger slowly across his hairless chest and well-shaped abs, giggling whenever he quivered. "You know the best part?" She winked at him, when he raised an eyebrow. "I could do

anything

to you and you wouldn't be able to react."

"I know, that's..."

"Oh, baby," she interrupted him with a mystical laughter that numbed his spine. "I'm not talking about spanking you, or, fucking you. I'm talking...about

really

nasty stuff; and you'd still

take

it, wouldn't you?"

She climbed on top of him and yanked the thong down; his erect prick jumped up in attention, slapping her pussy once. She planted wet kisses all over his face and neck, grinning whenever he moaned heavily.

"I mean," she whispered in his ear, while jerking him off slowly, "I could cut your balls off and you

still

wouldn't be able to do anything about it. It's fun, isn't it? Lying down here willingly, knowing you're

utterly

helpless?"

"I..." He paused; while the element of danger was always present, whenever she tied him up, it had never crossed his mind that she'd...his jaw dropped, when she squeezed his dong painfully.

"Well, aren't you gonna say anything, baby?" She whispered harshly.

"I'm...I don't..." He found himself desperately at loss for words and all he wanted was to stop his heart from pounding so insanely fast in his chest.

"Got you all horrified, didn't I?" She chuckled—then kissed him on the lips, thrusting her tongue in his mouth for the first time in quite some time.

Hungrily, he sucked her tongue hungrily—his spine grew numb and his cock throbbed. He raised his head as high as the restraints would allow, when she pulled back and broke the kiss.

"Don't get too excited, baby," she shook her head, smiling widely. "We don't want this to last only a few minutes, do we now?"

From the small table next to the bed she picked the testicle cuffs; at the sight, David just leaned back and sighed.

"Oh, you thought I was gonna let you cum, didn't you?" She guffawed and locked the cuffs around his scrotum. "Yup—" she nodded, tickling his swollen balls "—that's much better.

If

you make me climax an acceptable amount of times, I

might

allow you to have an orgasm, too.

"How long has it been?" It was a rhetorical question, as she shoved three fingers in his mouth and slowly sat on his pulsating prick, her tight pussy hugging it perfectly.

He closed his eyes, taking the sensation of her wetness and tightness against his skin, as she rode him slowly, dictating the rhythm like always. It was magnificent, as always, even though the ring took away a good part of the physical joy.

However, the mental joy that washed all worries and thoughts away from his mind was more than enough to compensate for it. The rhythm got faster, the wet noises of her cunt slapping against his swollen balls and her intensifying grunts the only sounds breaking the silence of the basement.

He struggled with the shackles, when she lowered her corset and exposed her perfectly round breasts; he wanted to fondle them, play with them, he wanted to...he simply stared at them bouncing under her crazily fast riding rhythm.

She kept riding him like a broncobuster for a long time; on intervals she'd stop, keep him buried in her and grind against his body, letting out heavier, deeper moans, while her pussy embraced his prick even tighter.

His body shook violently, when she slurped her juices off his drenched dick; with a wide, satisfactory smile she patted his balls that had turned a deeper shade of blue.

"That was

real

good, baby," she kissed him—he thrust his tongue down her throat, hardly noticing the taste of his own cock on her lips.

"Mistress," he panted, "may I..."

"Nope, not today," she shook her head, with a deadpan smirk.

"But, Mistress, I..."

"Your balls aren't that blue yet, baby," she shrugged. "I'm beginning to think you're secretly jerking off in the shower."

"No, I'd never..."

"It's all right." She planted a kiss on his forehead. "Eventually, I'll let you have your moment. But, for now, I think those cuffs are staying."

He sat up and rubbed his sore wrists; his balls had swollen and were hanging lower than normally, while his erection was still going strong.

"I'm gonna take a shower, babe," she kissed him briefly on the cheek. "You just relax."

Still seated on the edge of the wooden bed, he watched her climb the stairs, her firm, heart-shaped ass wobbling. A bright smile appeared on his face, despite the slight discomfort his long-lasting erection caused him.

With a faint limp, he climbed up to the ground floor; he opened the fridge, gulped down some cold water, then...his glance fell on two cans of Guinness.

He reached for them; stopped himself at the last moment. With his heart palpitating, he took, instead, a bottle of mineral water and went to the living room.

"What are you watching?" Peggy asked, when she entered the room wrapped in a towel, her skin still damp, while drying her long, brown hair with another towel.

"Nothing but reruns," he shrugged. "We should really consider upgrading to..."