Balance Of Power 4

Balance of Power

Jake Thornton, a 29-year-old accountant, had endured months of Vanessa Caldwell's sharp tongue. She was the 38-year-old CFO of Halstead Financial, a commanding 5'6" figure with a slender frame, dark brown waves spilling past her shoulders, and piercing emerald eyes. In meetings, she'd dismantle his work with a curt, "If I wanted sloppy work, Jake, I'd hire an intern," her voice cutting as the team snickered. He'd grit his teeth, his lean, 6'2" frame tensing, hazel eyes narrowing, but he'd stay silent, his sandy hair falling over his forehead as he swallowed his frustration.

One rainy Monday night, Vanessa called, demanding, "Fix the Q3 projections. Now. I don't care how late it takes." Alone in the office at 10 p.m., Jake stared at her spreadsheet, the numbers refusing to align. Digging deeper, he found an unmarked, unencrypted file and clicked it open. His pulse raced as he uncovered a secret ledger--hundreds of thousands siphoned into an offshore account under her initials, a blatant trail of embezzlement. Hands trembling, he copied it to a USB drive, the rain outside echoing the storm within--this was his weapon.

The next morning, Tuesday, Vanessa swept in, her charcoal gray suit tailored to her lithe form, barking, "Don't screw this up, Jake," as she dumped more work on his desk. He waited until the afternoon lull, then knocked on her office door. "Busy," she snapped, eyes on her laptop, but he entered, tossing the USB onto her desk. She plugged it in, opened the file, and froze, her mask slipping as he said, "Looks like you've been balancing more than the company books. What would the SEC think?" Her glare was lethal, but he pressed on, "Unless we understand each other."

She leaned back, arms crossed, voice tight: "What do you want, Jake? A raise?" He smirked, stepping closer, "You've made me feel small for months. Now I call the shots." Her breath hitched as he continued, "Tonight, my place, 8 p.m. Wear that red dress from the Christmas party." Turning to leave, he added, "And Vanessa? Don't be late," leaving her stunned, calculating her next move.

The Apartment: First Encounter

Vanessa arrived at Jake's modest but very nice apartment--warm hardwood floors, a cozy leather sectional, and a sleek glass coffee table by a large window with a city view. Tasteful prints adorned the walls, a soft rug lay underfoot, and a bookshelf held finance journals, reflecting his steady climb. She stood in the center, the scarlet dress hugging her slender frame, dark brown waves tumbling past her shoulders, green eyes blazing as she dropped her purse on the sectional and spat, "This is absurd. You're pathetic." Jake locked the door, his loafers silent as he approached and said, "Sit." He leaned in closer, his voice low and firm, "You'll listen carefully to me and obey all of my directions without hesitation." She paused, then perched on the sectional, legs tight, the dress teasing her thighs, her lips curling--"You're revolting"--but her compliance betrayed her defiance. "Uncross them," he ordered, and she snarled, "You disgusting pig," her thighs parting slightly with a furious glare. "Stand," he said next, and she snapped, "I hate you, you slime," rising stiffly, waves brushing his chest, her frame rigid with rage. He circled her slowly, hazel eyes tracing her curves--her narrow waist, flared hips, firm 34B breasts straining the fabric. His fingertip brushed her collarbone, and she hissed, "Don't touch me, you creep"; he grazed her lower back, and she spat, "Get your filthy hands off me"; behind her, he traced her spine, and she barked, "You're a sick bastard," her flinch sharp as her venomous glare intensified. "You don't get to talk yet," he cut in, reaching for the back zipper of her dress and tugging it down slowly, the rasp loud as she growled, "You'll pay for this, you worm," the fabric falling to her hips.

Beneath, black lace emerged--a bra cradling her breasts, panties on her hips, and sheer stockings with a garter belt, her stilettos gleaming. "Nice choice," he murmured, hands skimming her sides. He moved in front of her as she glared back. "Take off your bra," he ordered, and she didn't move until he glared at her and waved a USB he pulled from his pocket, the threat clear. Her hands shook as she unhooked it, revealing firm, round 34B breasts--perfect, he thought, marveling silently. He cupped them, squeezing, then rolled her nipples, drawing a gasp she couldn't hide despite her glare.

"Now the panties," he said, and she slid them down, stepping out with a furious mutter, "You're a dead man," leaving garter belt, stockings, and heels. He reached between her thighs, feeling her heat, then slipped two fingers inside, curling them as her hips jerked, her voice venomous, "I'll ruin you for this." "On your knees," he commanded, stepping back. She balked, her eyes flashing with rage, and turned toward the door, snapping, "I'm done with this, you pathetic blackmailer." He called after her, calm but firm, "Walk out, and the SEC gets every byte of that ledger tomorrow." She froze, fists clenched, then slowly turned back, her face a mask of fury as she conceded, stalking toward him. He gently pushed her shoulders, guiding her down until she dropped to her knees again, heels scraping, waves spilling as she glared up. "Undo my belt," he said, and her trembling fingers worked the buckle, pants dropping--she froze, noticing the thick bulge straining against his boxers, her breath catching despite her anger. "Pull them down," he added, voice rough. She hooked his boxers, sliding them down inch by inch, muttering, "You're vile," as his throbbing cock sprang free--long, thick, pulsing with need, its size sparking a reluctant thrill in her chest. "I won't," she spat, but he gripped her hair, tilting her head, "You will," forcing her closer.

Her mouth hovered, "Bastard" escaping as he pressed in, her lips parting grudgingly. She resisted, tongue stiff, eyes shut, a muffled growl rising, but he growled, "Suck it!" and her lips closed around him, tentative at first. He thrust deeper--three times into her throat, her gagging loud, spit dripping as she clutched his thighs, gasping, "Stop it." But he held her there, hand firm in her waves, and she relented, her tongue swirling slowly at first, then with growing rhythm. Her lips tightened, sliding along his length--warm, wet, enveloping him as she bobbed, her cheeks hollowing with each pull, spit slicking her chin and dribbling onto her chest. She adjusted, taking him deeper, her throat easing open as she sucked harder--her tongue flicking the underside, tracing veins, her breath hot and ragged through her nose, the wet, sloppy sounds echoing as she worked him relentlessly. Her waves swayed with each motion, her hands steadying on his hips, and he groaned, the buildup intense as her reluctant skill pushed him further, her mouth a vise of heat and pressure. When he came, it was a torrent--rope after thick rope of warm cum flooding her mouth, hitting her throat with force, her cheeks bulging as she choked, eyes watering, and he pulled his cock out just in time, the last spurt streaking across her face--hitting her nose, cheek, and forehead in a hot, sticky line.

It was his release--not just physical but every snide remark, every sneer, every humiliation she'd inflicted at work pouring out, his hatred spilling into and onto her as she swallowed raggedly, spit and cum smeared on her lips and face. She pulled back, coughing violently, "I despise you," her hands trembling on his thighs. He stepped back, chest heaving, and said, "Put your dress back on and get out--now." Her eyes flared with fury, but she scrambled to her feet, yanking the scarlet dress up over her hips and chest, barely having time to snatch her bra off of the floor as he barked, "Move!" Disheveled, hair wild, face streaked, she grabbed her purse and stumbled to the door. In the hallway outside his apartment, she fumbled with the zipper, cursing under her breath as she finished pulling it up, then dug a tissue from her purse. She wiped the cum from her nose, cheek, and forehead, the sticky mess smearing onto the tissue, then shoved her bra and the cum-soaked tissue into her purse, her hands shaking as she slinked away down the dim corridor, stilettos clicking unevenly. Jake watched her go, a mix of triumph and unease settling in--satisfaction at flipping their power dynamic, yet a flicker of dread about what she might do next. Vanessa, humiliated and seething as she retreated, felt a burning rage eclipsed only by a chilling certainty: this wasn't over, and she'd find a way to turn it back on him.

The Shift: Second Encounter

The following day, Wednesday, Vanessa returned, dressed as he'd instructed--a tight-fitting blouse clinging to her braless 34B breasts, their firm outline teasing through the thin fabric, and a pencil skirt molding to her hips and thighs, her waves wilder, defiance softened but still simmering. Beneath, she wore only a black lace thong and towering stilettos, her slender legs elongated, her green eyes smoldering as she stepped into his apartment. Jake's pulse quickened at the sight--her authoritative air stripped to raw vulnerability, the outfit a silent taunt of his control. He led her to the sectional, his voice low, "Sit," and she sank down, the leather cool against her skin, her posture stiff with loathing. He stepped closer, his hands firm as he parted her legs, forcing her thighs apart until the skirt strained, exposing the thin strip of black lace barely concealing her pussy.

"Hike up your skirt," he ordered, and she glared, her hands trembling as she tugged the fabric up her thighs, inch by inch, revealing the black lace thong barely covering her. The air thickened with tension, her breath shallow as Jake's hazel eyes devoured her, his fingers twitching with anticipation. "Remove your blouse," he added, and her fingers hesitated on the buttons, then worked them open slowly--too slowly--until the fabric parted, slipping off her shoulders to bare her firm, round breasts, nipples already hardening in the cool air. "I'll never forgive you," she hissed, her voice a jagged edge, but her body betrayed her, a flush creeping up her chest as she sat exposed, hating every second.

He knelt before her, close enough to smell her jasmine scent mingling with her arousal, and cupped her breasts--his hands warm, rough, kneading their firmness, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked, tight and sensitive. She squirmed, a stifled gasp escaping despite her clenched jaw, her thighs pressing together instinctively. He leaned in, spreading her thighs apart wide, his breath hot against her thong, and licked her through the lace--slow, deliberate strokes that pressed the fabric into her wetness, teasing her clit as her hips twitched. Her hands gripped the sectional, nails digging into the leather, a low, reluctant moan slipping out as he built her torment, her hatred warring with the heat pooling low.

He hooked a finger under the thong, pulling it aside to expose her glistening pussy--pink, swollen, begging despite her protests. His tongue darted out, tracing her slit from bottom to top, lapping at her slick folds with slow, savoring strokes before circling her clit, flicking it lightly then pressing harder, sucking the swollen bud between his lips until she shuddered. He probed deeper, his tongue plunging into her tight heat, curling and twisting inside her as her wetness coated his chin, her scent intoxicating him. Two fingers joined in, slipping past her folds, stretching her as he thrust them deep, curling against her walls to hit that sensitive spot, pumping steadily while his tongue danced over her clit--faster, relentless--her hips bucking involuntarily as gasps turned to ragged moans, her body tightening, trembling on the edge. A second thundering climax ripped through her, her cry sharp and desperate, thighs clamping around his head as she arched off the sectional, her pussy pulsing against his fingers, slickness flooding his hand, her eyes glassy with shock and unwanted bliss.

Still reeling, she didn't resist as he scooped her up--her lithe frame light in his arms, stilettos dangling, thong skewed--and carried her to the dining room table, a sturdy oak piece steps away. He bent her over it, her breasts flattening against the cool wood, skirt bunched at her waist, thong shoved aside. She gripped the edges, knuckles white, as he entered her hard from behind--his thick cock stretching her, each thrust a jolt that rocked the table. Her waves splayed across the surface, her moans growing desperate as he pounded into her, the rhythm brutal, primal. Just before they climaxed together, he leaned close, growling, "How does it feel to be humiliated?" She whimpered--a soft, broken sound swallowed by the cresting wave--and then they shattered, her pussy clenching around him, his release surging deep as their cries fused, her grip on the table trembling as pleasure overtook her.

He pulled out, stepping back with a harsh, "Get dressed and leave--now." Her legs wobbled as she pushed off the table, dazed and panting, stumbling to gather her blouse and skirt. She barely managed to button the blouse crookedly over her bare breasts and tug the skirt down, thong still askew, before he ushered her to the door with a curt, "Out!" She grabbed her stilettos in one hand, purse in the other, and staggered into the hallway. Outside his front door, she leaned against the wall, catching her breath as she slipped her shoes back on, fumbling to straighten her skirt and smooth her tangled waves. Her fingers shook as she adjusted the misbuttoned blouse, cursing him under her breath, her thighs still slick with their mingled release. Jake stood inside, adrenaline fading into a cold satisfaction--he'd bent her again, but her resilience gnawed at him, a whisper of doubt about how long he could hold this leash. Vanessa, humiliated yet again, felt her fury sharpen into a blade, her mind racing with vengeance as she limped down the corridor, resolve hardening with every uneven step.

The Turn: Third Encounter

At 9 a.m. on Thursday, Jake strode into Vanessa's office at Halstead Financial, closing the door with a soft click that echoed in the tense silence. She looked up from her desk, her green eyes narrowing as he approached, his hazel gaze steady and unyielding. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and placed a small butt plug on her polished desk, its black silicone gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "You're going to wear this," he said, voice low and firm. "Keep it in until I say otherwise." Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut as she shoved it back toward him, snarling, "You're insane if you think I'll do that, you twisted fuck." He leaned in, hands braced on the desk, "You'll do it, Vanessa, or the SEC gets a very detailed email by noon." She glared, fists clenching, "This is beyond sick, Jake--I'll ruin you for this."

"Lean over your desk," he ordered, stepping around to her side. "Pull up your skirt and pull down your panties and hose." Her face flushed with rage, "You're a disgusting pig," but she stood, trembling, and bent over the edge of her desk, her tailored skirt hiked up to reveal sheer pantyhose and white lace panties. She yanked them down together, exposing her ass as she hissed, "I hate you more every second." Jake pulled a small bottle of Astroglide from his pocket, squirting a cold dollop onto his fingers. He spread her cheeks, rubbing the lube around her tight hole as she flinched, "Don't you dare," but he pressed the small plug against her rim, forcing it in slowly. She gasped, then groaned in pain, "Fuck, it hurts, you bastard!" as it stretched her, her knuckles whitening on the desk's edge. He pushed until it settled inside, her breaths ragged, tears pricking her eyes. "You'll get used to it," he said coolly, wiping his hands. "I'll be back to check. Don't even think about taking it out."

At 11 a.m., he returned, locking the door behind him. "Get into position," he said, and she shot him a venomous glare, "You're a sadistic asshole," but bent over the desk again, skirt up, panties and hose down. For the next few hours, she couldn't get any work done as the sensation in her ass was so distracting--every shift in her chair sent a jolt through her, her focus splintering as she cursed him silently. He inspected her, seeing the plug still nestled in her ass, and nodded, "Good girl." He patted her ass gently, the touch igniting a fresh wave of fury as she snapped, "Don't patronize me, you creep." To her shock, he gripped the plug's base and eased it out slowly, her breath hitching as it slipped free. Before she could relax, he produced a medium-sized plug from his pocket, larger and thicker. "No, no way," she protested, but he lubed it up and pressed it against her, forcing it in as she cried out, "You're tearing me apart, you monster!" It sank in, her ass stretching painfully around it, and she slumped forward, panting. "I'll check again later," he said, leaving her seething.

At 2:30 p.m., he was back, and she tensed as he locked the door. "Over the desk," he commanded, and she complied with a bitter, "I'll make you pay for this, you sick fuck," pulling her skirt up and her undergarments down. The medium plug remained in place, and he rubbed her ass cheeks slowly, patting them as he murmured, "You're doing well--obeying me suits you." She bristled, "Fuck you," but stayed still as he slid it out, her relief short-lived. He replaced it with an even larger plug, its girth daunting as he lubed it and pushed it in. She struggled hard, her body resisting, "It's too big, damn you--I can't!" she sobbed, her expanded hole burning as it forced its way in, finally settling with a sharp whimper from her. "Keep it in," he said, stepping back. "I'll see you before the end of the day."

Before 5 p.m., he returned, and Vanessa's anxiety spiked, her eyes wide with dread as she anticipated an even bigger plug. "Position," he said, and she bent over, trembling, "Please, no more, you asshole," her skirt and undergarments dropping again. He grazed the end of the large plug with his fingertips, inspecting her ass, and she held her breath. "You've been a good girl," he said softly, calming her fears, "taking your punishment so well." She spat, "I despise you," but relief flickered through her rage. "Be at my place at 8 p.m.," he added, "and keep it in." She straightened, yanking her clothes back into place, her anger simmering as she stormed out, plotting defiance she couldn't yet enact.

That night, she arrived at his apartment, wearing a provocative outfit he'd suggested for her--a shimmering silver blouse with a low-plunging neckline clinging to her braless 34B breasts, nipples faintly visible, paired with a leather miniskirt barely covering her thighs, black stockings, and stilettos, the large plug still in her ass amplifying her discomfort. She stepped inside, eyes wet with tears, and he locked the door, guiding her to the dining room table he'd used the night before. "Bend over the table," he said, and she hesitated, then leaned forward, lifting her miniskirt as he lowered her stockings and panties ever so slowly, taking in the beauty before him--her smooth, pale skin, the curve of her hips, the plug nestled tightly in her ass. He gently rubbed her ass cheeks, his fingers brushing the plug's base, moving it slightly in and out, drawing a sharp gasp from her as her body tensed, a reluctant shudder rippling through her. "You're vile," she sobbed, but her hips twitched faintly in response.

He pulled the plug out slowly, her breath catching as it slipped free, then entered her ass with his thick cock--stretching her further, thrusting deep and steady as she gripped the table's edge. He slapped both of her ass cheeks hard, the sharp cracks echoing as red handprints bloomed on her skin, her gasp turning to a moan. She rocked back to meet him, heat building as he pounded her ass with increasing force, the table creaking under the onslaught. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast, slick circles as she gasped, her pussy dripping despite her protests. Her waves splayed across the wood, her stockings slipping down her thighs, and she got into it--her hips grinding against him, her moans deepening, a hungry edge to them as he fucked her harder, his cock filling her ass completely, the tight heat driving him wild. He varied his thrusts--long and slow, then short and brutal--her ass clenching around him with each plunge, her breath hitching as pleasure overtook her resistance. "I'm sorry, Jake--I was horrible to you!" she cried out, her voice breaking as they neared their climaxes, her apology spilling just as violent waves of pleasure crashed through her--her ass pulsing around him, her pussy spasming under his fingers, her scream sharp and unrestrained. He followed, groaning low as he flooded her with thick spurts, his thrusts slowing as they rode out the aftershocks, her body trembling beneath him.