"You were worried that if you went to the cops you'd look like a promiscuous secretary and it would ruin your career?" Dahlia didn't even have to be looking at Jackson to be able to see the smirk on his lips as he said it. He pushed his finger further down her throat and she gagged at the intrusion.
He laughed at her as she coughed and spluttered before he pulled his finger out. "You suck dick better than you clean my fingers off - for someone not wanting to be a whore you sure are making the wrong impression."
Dahlia cried out and flailed around on the desk under his hold, her cheeks flaming red at his constant insinuations of what a whore she was. "Urrrrghhhhhhhaaa," she screamed at him from behind the gag, that feeling of anger at her predicament finding itself in her again. She didn't know why he was able to make her feel so subdued and placid so easily but she felt a flash of defiance and struggled against him.
Jackson sighed at her struggle, his muscles flexing easily to keep her pressed to her desk and her attempt at escaping his grasp, particularly with her hands bound behind her back seeming rather pitiful. He did however move to slip the gag off her and although with her cheek pressed against the desk facing the wall she couldn't see him but she could feel his expectant look.
"Before you say what you clearly desperately would like to say I'll just say that your career isn't ruined. You are a very capable woman, extremely efficient and excellent at your job and our company knows that. You will always have a glowing reference from us here regardless of what precedes normal office business." Jackson's words were spoken sincerely and firmly and left Dahlia a little speechless. She was considering leaving the firm and it was comforting to know that Jackson was willing to provide a reference without dragging her name through the dirt.
She took a shaky inhale and stilled when Jackson spoke again.
"Now I think it's time we make this business between us crystal fucking clear so we're on the same page though Dahlia. How about you get off your chest whatever you need to and then I'll take it from there." His words weren't a question that she could choose how this was going to run, or suggest how she would like to proceed. He just wanted to hear her thoughts. No more, no less.
"I-" The words clogged in her throat and felt impossibly hard to get out of Dahlia's throat. She finally found them though and threw them at him with some heat and anger, "I don't want you to call me your slut, or your whore Jackson! I don't want you to tie me up and push me around like your little fuck toy that you can use and abuse whenever you like for your own sick pleasure. I don't want you to touch me, or even look at me. I want you to leave me the hell alone."
After her little speech her chest was heaving with adrenaline and when Jackson put his hands on her chin and turned it as best she could to look at him she gulped.
"If you're going to spit such demands why don't you be brave enough to look at me when you're speaking to me then Dahlia," Jackson curled her name around tongue, his voice husky and deep. "And while you're looking at me why don't you tell me why you don't want that? Look me in the eyes and tell me without a lie that you don't want this and why."
Dahlia looked into his dark dominating gaze and her eyes flickered away from it before he yanked on her chin a little startling her into looking up at him again. Her neck hurt somewhat from the angle she was on but as Jackson gripped her firmer she felt unable to look away. "I just want to be left alone," she sobbed, tears falling from her cheeks.
"Why?" Jackson growled at her, showing no sympathy for her tears.
"So I don't have to feel like this Jackson! Can't you leave it at that?" She yelled at him now, his never ending line of questions frustrating her and making her angry. Why could he not leave her alone??
"Feel like what Dahlia? How do you really feel?" Jackson was relentless in his line of questioning, determined to get her to admit to what he knew she felt deep down.
"Humiliated! Embarrassed! Isn't that enough? Every time you call me a slut or a whore I feel degraded and filthy like I'm just here for you to use however you want sexually, like I'm just a slave to your pleasure. You tie me up and fuck me in my mouth, on my breasts, spreading your cum all over me and want me to wear it around underneath my clothes for the day like some kind of territorial marking?
You make me feel all of these things and somehow you make me feel like I want it and I want you stop it!
You yank on my hair like some sort of caveman and somehow I bend to your will and enjoy the little rush that it gives me for you to control me like that. You tie me up and I wish you would tie me up more so I can be completely at your whim and mercy however and whenever you like! You abuse my mouth and breasts with your dick and all I can think about day in and day out is you fucking me relentlessly and I can't help but crave the thought of that. You call me a slut, a good girl, a good slut, a whore and dammit I feel like I one and I like it. And then I'm embarrassed and humiliated that I like it but I even like the feeling of being humiliated and feeling less than you? Stop playing fucking mind games and stop twisting my mind and making me feel like this - I just want to be able to go home and get off on my own and not think about any of this again okay??"
