Serenas Toy Ch 03

All characters are 18 years or older.

***

I hurried straight out of my boss's office into the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. Then I leaned on the rail and looked at myself in the mirror.

My hair was even more disheveled than when I entered. I could see the dried patina of Serena's rancid juices on my face. I sucked in a breath, and I could smell her all over me. I felt so fucking dirty.

The bell dinged and I got off at my floor, then made a beeline for the men's room. As I approached, a door swung open across from it and one of the female attorneys from my team stepped out. She eyed me up and down, gave a smirk, then walked away with a brief shake of her head.

Could she possibly know what just happened?

I practically scampered into the bathroom and locked the door, even though there were multiple stalls. I didn't want to be around anyone. I felt so upset and ashamed.

I immediately began washing my face in the sink, scrubbing myself frantically, trying to get her off me. I felt torn up inside.

How could I let it happen again? And why the hell did I succumb to her at the end, calling out her name and begging her to taste me? She was taking advantage of me! And she's the boss's daughter for God's sake! What the fuck is wrong with me?!

I looked in the mirror and my eyes were wild. I envisioned myself again trapped between Serena's muscular thighs, force-fed her putrid, unbathed snatch. Me, a grown man, at the mercy of a deranged teenager rebelling against her powerful dad, acting on her most perverted, predatory impulses.

I decided I had to get the fuck out of there. Right now. For good.

I strode quickly from the bathroom and hit Lobby on the elevator. As it traveled down, I took inventory of what I was leaving behind: the personal effects I planned for my office were still in a suitcase in my apartment; my laptop was company property anyway;

fuck,

I forgot my overcoat. It was freezing out. But no way I was going back.

As I tromped through the snow to my car, I pulled my suit coat around me tighter and shivered. There was nothing for me to do except drive back to my corporate apartment, pack up my stuff and head to the airport. I decided I would stay at my parents' house and work out a plan.

As I drove home, I began to weigh my decision more carefully:

Do any of my credit cards have enough room for a plane ticket? How would I keep up my debt payments without a salary? Could I obscure the blemish of this short-lived job from prospective employers? Am I making a huge mistake...?

Nooo! This place is crazytown! My boss's daughter decided she owns me, that I'm her plaything, her fucktoy. She thinks she can take advantage of me any time she wants. Or rather, she knows she can take me any time she wants.

She'd practically raped me twice now. And I'd been too physically weak and mentally overwhelmed to resist her uncanny strength and aggression. And too afraid her father would find out and fire me, or more likely kill me. I was totally screwed. The way I saw it, the only option was to get the hell out of Dodge.

But oh my God, was that blowjob incredible! And the way she lifted me with ease, how I straddled her waist while she kissed me...the way my cock keeps spurting for her even after I orgasm! Her amazing body, her beautiful face, her style, her attitude...what if I just gave in...let her have her way with me? Could it really be so bad?

Nooo! Everything about this is wrong. I'm a self-respecting man, not some rich girl's boy toy. And people will find out, rumors will swirl. My employees in the legal department already hate me, imagine if they knew this. Maybe they already do...

No, I can't stay...but maybe I can find a cheap bus or train...

My thoughts swirled for the entire fifteen-minute drive to the apartment, second-guessing and flip-flopping until my head ached. As I pulled up to the valet station and got out of the car, I resolved that it might be best to sleep on it. A rash decision could really backfire. I had to think through all the angles and make a real plan. Otherwise, mom and dad could lose their house and I could end up jobless, bankrupt and homeless.

I handed the valet the key and looked up at the tall apartment building. The Argyle was a modern glass tower on the fringe of downtown. The human resources person mentioned that the company owned a few condos for temporary housing situations like mine. My one-bedroom furnished apartment was comfortable and well-appointed, much nicer than the dump I shared with three roommates on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. And, I thought cynically, it was probably much nicer than wherever I would end up next.

As I stepped into the lobby, my mind whirred again, and I considered the possibilities of retribution.

Would Mr. McGregor sue me or try to sully my reputation if I skipped town? Or worse yet, what if some version of the truth about my encounters with Serena came out?

I couldn't even bear to think about it.

"Ah, Mr. Beckett," the concierge said, interrupting my thoughts. "I'm very sorry."

I was immediately apprehensive.

Did he somehow know what I was going through?

"You see, there's been a little mix-up regarding your apartment," he continued with concern. "I'm afraid it's been committed to someone else by your company. A cleaning crew has been waiting patiently for your arrival."

My spirits suddenly dropped.

Did McGregor already find out. Was I already jobless and homeless?

"Oh?" I said in a perturbed voice, unsure what to say and knowing better than to shoot the messenger.

"The good news is you'll still have an apartment in the building," he said, leading me to the front desk. "Here's the key to your new unit. If you'll kindly pack up 11C, you can just leave the key in the lock and the maids will be right in. Would you like the valet cart to help move your things?"

"Um, I guess," I answered with a sigh.

Could today get any worse?

"Just stick the cart back in the elevator and send it down when you're done," he instructed.

I stepped into the elevator and pulled the cart behind me, clanging loudly as each castor wheel went over the gap. I pressed 11 and glanced at the new key. A tag hanging from it read 36P. My spirits brightened somewhat as I figured I would have a better view. Although I didn't plan to be there long.

I made quick work of packing up the apartment. I hadn't brought much when I arrived, just a couple large duffels and a roller bag. Because to be honest, I really didn't have much. I had never really owned any furniture, just clothes and a few knickknacks. I didn't even have my own computer.

I recalled Serena calling me trailer trash and a poor boy. It stung because it was true, and I'd spent my entire life trying to hide that fact. I looked at my meager possessions piled on the valet cart, then down at the cheap fraying suit I still wore. I didn't even do a good job of obscuring it.

I stuck my old key in the dead bolt, then pulled the cart into the elevator and found 36, which was apparently the top floor. I pressed the button, but nothing lit up and the elevator stayed still. I tried again, and still nothing.

Finally, I bent and looked at the button. Beside it was a keyhole. That's odd, I thought. I found the key to 36P and to my surprise it fit in the hole and turned. I pressed the button, and the elevator began to glide upward.

Ding!

The door slid open directly into the unit, and the sight to my breath away. It was the most opulent apartment I had ever seen. A giant two-story wall of glass filled my view, looking out on the twinkling lights of other downtown buildings. I scanned from side to side in the cavernous space and spied a huge chef's kitchen, a fully stocked bar, a fancy dining room and a big sunken living room with stylish modern couches. The lighting was bright and dramatic, with every cabinet backlit and spotlights shining on expensive-looking artwork.

I had never been in a home so fancy, not even when I had dinner at law firm partners' homes back in New York. It reminded me of the Vegas hotel room in the movie Rain Man, only classier.

The elevator dinged and began to close, then I remembered my bags and quickly waved my hand in the door. I hastily unloaded, put the cart back in the elevator and hit 1. Then I began to walk around, taking stock of my new surroundings and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

I followed a winding staircase up to a second floor where multiple doors opened off a balcony. The first door led into a game room complete with billiards, foozball, dart board, arcade machines, a second bar, and a row of leather couches facing a wall of flat screen televisions. The second door opened into an enormous bedroom with a vaulted ceiling and a massive four-poster king-size bed. Another wall of windows faced the opposite direction, away from downtown. In the distance, I could see the distinctive central tower of the insurance company where I worked, with most of the windows lit, reminding me that the workday had still not come to a close.

I turned to check out the bathroom, then paused when I noticed an envelope in the center of the bed by the pillows. The mattress was so high I couldn't reach it, so I climbed up on my knees and crawled across the bed. On the front was a circled number 1 and my name:

(1) Josh Beckett

Curious, I picked it up and saw a second envelope under it, similarly labeled but with a circled number 2. I opened the first, which contained a letter with

The Argyle

logo embossed in gold leaf at the top:

Josh Beckett, Esq.

Dear Mr. Beckett:

We hope you enjoy your complimentary stay in the Penthouse at The Argyle, arranged through June 30 of next year. We aim to provide you with the highest level of luxury possible. Relax and let us take care of all your cleaning, laundry, dry-cleaning, pressing and shoe-shining. Hungry? We are happy to assist with restocking the pantry and bars, ordering food delivered to your table, accessing hard-to-get reservations around town - or take advantage of our in-house two-Michelin-star private chef for your meals and dinner parties. We strive to offer the most complete concierge service possible - for example arranging cars, travel and entertainment, doing your shopping, coordinating medical appointments - anything you may think of, we will try our absolute best to provide. You'll also find a spa and salon menu on the bedside table with a wide array of treatments available 24 hours a day, provided in the convenience of your new home.

We aim to make your life as pleasant and convenient as possible. Simply dial us on the intercom.

Sincerely,

Rory MacFadden

Head Concierge

The Argyle

I flopped down on the comfortable mattress in disbelief.

Free rent to live in a palace and be treated like a king for the next six months?

Then I thought for a moment and my excitement gave way to suspicion.

Was this Serena's doing? Why? What did she want in return?

I opened the second envelope to investigate and found several sheets of paper folded together. The first had typed instructions on where and how to return my loaner car. The second was a printout of a coach class plane ticket in my name for a 9:00 PM flight to my parents' city. The last was a brief resignation letter addressed to Mr. McGregor with my name at the bottom, awaiting signature. A sticky note on top read:

If this is your choice, sign and leave it on the dining room table. -S

My heart suddenly dropped, and I slumped into a sumptuous pillow as I finally understood what was going on.

The rich bitch predicted I would want to leave. And now she was trying to buy me off and keep me here with a fancy apartment! So I could keep being her private fucktoy.

For a moment, I pondered the choice of resigning and flying home versus staying in the nicest digs I had ever seen while being forced to do God-knows-what with the boss's daughter. I thought of her raping me at the Christmas party, then forcing me to eat her out at the office. I took a breath and despite thoroughly washing my face, I could still smell her pungent cunt on me.

The scent filled me with resentment: For being treated as her sex object. For having my entire career put at risk. For the insults to my family's social standing. For her arrogance in thinking that I could be bought off like a two-bit whore.

I got up off the bed taking only envelope 2, and trudged downstairs. I found a pen waiting for me on the dining table and signed the letter, then crumpled up the sticky note and threw it in the trash. Finally, I went to the intercom panel next to the elevator and pushed the button.

"Yes, Mr. Beckett?" a voice answered.

"Can you have the valet bring my car around and send the luggage cart back up the elevator?"

"Yes, sir," he responded. "Is something about your new accommodations not to your liking, sir?"

"Yeah, something like that," I said, then added rudely, "Just do what I asked."

The microphone crackled. A moment later I heard the elevator gliding up. The door opened with a ding and I loaded my bags back on the cart, stepped in and pressed the lobby button.

"Good evening, sir," said the concierge as the elevator opened. "It will be a couple minutes for your car, you may wish to have a seat in the lounge."

He directed me to a nicely decorated room off the lobby that served as a common room for the building. I sat down in a plush armchair and pulled up my phone to check in for my flight.

On the screen was a calendar invitation from the CEO's secretary for an 8:30pm dinner that night at Chez Pierre downtown. I clicked and saw that it was a welcome dinner for Celeste, the woman I met earlier from the French reinsurance company - the woman who gave me a funny look after kissing my cheek, probably from detecting the wayward scent of Serena's juices.

"Fuck that," I said out loud, not bothering to accept or decline the request.

Then I found the airline website and checked into my flight. I went to seat selection and the only option available was a middle seat in the back row. So much for the good life, I thought to myself, second guessing again what I was about to give up.

I finally looked up from my phone and realized several minutes had passed. The valet had never taken so long before and I began to stand up when the head concierge, Rory, walked in.

"Ah, Mr. Beckett, sir," he said in a thick Scottish brogue, looking apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry, 'twas a wee bit of a mix-up. Your company came and took your Nissan back."

I scowled, then realized it didn't really matter as I wouldn't need it again. I began to ask him to arrange a taxi when he interrupted.

"But, after realizing the mistake they brought a replacement for you - that's why it took so long," he explained, then with a broad smile added, "I think you'll be pleased."

His hand reached out with a key fob, and I noticed a Mercedes logo on the face. I furrowed my brow and took the key.

"I'll get your bags loaded up, sir," said Rory.

I followed him from the lounge and out the front door, then stopped in my tracks. A black Mercedes sports car was parked in the drive. I glanced around to see if it might be someone else's, but Rory walked over with the luggage cart and popped the trunk, then started loading my bags.

I walked slowly around to the driver's side, checking out the sleek lines of the vehicle.

What the hell is going on?

Then I opened the door and sat down, sinking into the sculpted leather driver's seat. I noticed it was pushed back so far that my feet couldn't touch the pedals. My head turned at the sound of the trunk slamming, and I noticed a manila envelope on the passenger seat. The number 1 was circled in the upper left corner and one word was spelled out in capital letters across the center:

PERQUISITES

Confused, I opened it to find a stack of papers. The first was a glossy real estate one-sheet for the Penthouse at The Argyle, with dramatic pictures of the interior. I noted the list price of $9.8 million.

Underneath was a glossy brochure for the Mercedes-Benz AMG Black Series GT Coupe, the car I was apparently sitting in. I gasped when saw the starting price of $315,000 and a sticky note next to it:

* $352,400 fully tricked out like this one

I flipped to the next sheet of paper, which was a letter of prospective membership to St. Andrew's Country Club. It listed an appointment for Saturday at 10:00am with the Under 30 Membership Committee.

I turned to the next sheet of paper which had a business card stapled in the center:

Lachlan Dalrymple

Bespoke Men's Fashion

Beside the card was a handwritten note:

* Unlimited credit line

Then I flipped again, and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

It was a $40,000 check from the McGregor Foundation for Student Loan Assistance made out to Associated Student Loans FBO Joshua Beckett and an account number. I flipped again and saw another check, then another...a whole pile. Then I looked at the dates and realized they were all post-dated, starting with December 31, and paying monthly through June 30 of the new year. The final one was an odd amount for almost $200,000. And then I realized they must have been precisely calculated to pay off my entire student loan balance, plus interest.

I turned past the last one and there was another stack of checks from the McGregor Foundation for Mortgage Assistance, similarly dated, made out to Manufacturers Bank with an account number. Each was $20,000 except for a much larger one dated June 30. My parents' home loan that I was responsible for.

At the bottom of the stack was a sheet of paper with an ATM card stuck to it. An activation sticker covered the top half, but I could see the card was in my name. Behind it was a statement from the same bank for a checking account labeled The McGregor Family Trust FBO Serena McGregor, No. 43. The balance shown was zero. A sticky note on it read:

* $15k will be added at the end of each month (pocket money + credit card relief)

I laid back in my seat and sighed. Amazing apartment, sweet car, new clothes, all my debts paid off, not to mention I still had a base salary. All just to be the plaything of a tall, gorgeous - albeit violent and domineering - teenager?

I looked back down at the passenger seat and noticed another small envelope with the number 2 circled in the corner, just like in the bedroom. I opened it to find $50 in cash and a business card for an airport taxi service.

All or nothing,

I thought to myself. I wondered why everything seemed to culminate June 30, then it dawned on me Serena would be graduating high school around then, with college to follow. The message was clear: she wanted me as her plaything for the next 6 and half months. Then my debts would be cleared, and our arrangement would ostensibly end.

But at what personal cost? Could I stomach being some rich girl's man-doll? What she'd done to me so far was shameful and degrading, not to mention painful. I had worked my ass off trying to bring my family out of disgraceful poverty and build a new future with money and dignity. Wouldn't this be an even bigger disgrace?

But I had to admit my present financial situation was a house of cards - it would be many years, if ever, before I could clear my debts. I wasn't any less poor now, it was all just a facade and Serena could see right through it. She was giving me an out, a tangible path to financial independence and dignity. Ironically, in exchange for my dignity.