Sullivans Power

The elevator door opened onto the receptionist's little antechamber outside the penthouse office. A stunningly beautiful young woman sat behind the desk and looked up at me as I entered. She gave me the kind of once-over only another woman can give. 'May I help you?' Her accent was Wessex, overlaid with London posh.

'I'm Elise Davenport," I said, making no effort to hide my own Mancunian way of speaking. 'I have an appointment.'

She checked her computer screen. 'Certainly. One moment, Miss Davenport.'

I bristled a little at the 'Miss.' It seemed diminutive and dismissive, but under the circumstances, given who her employer was, it didn't surprise me. She spoke quietly into the phone, ending with, 'Yes, sir.'

Her voice had an odd catch in it, and it made me look up. For an instant, she looked terrified. I wondered what sort of work environment Sullivan would have. Certainly such a beautiful girl would be an asset, but that didn't mean she would necessarily be treated well.

She looked up at me. 'You may go in now, Miss.'

I strode to the door and reached for the handle, but it swung open before I could touch it, which meant I half-stumbled into the office. It was not the kind of entrance I planned to make, and it put me even more on edge.

The office was spacious, with a terrific view of London behind the desk. And there sat Sullivan, immaculate and poised, just as he'd been on the telly and in all those online photos. The man was not terribly handsome, nor was he unpleasant to look at, but he seemed to luck out and always be photographed from the best angle. It was one more reason to despise him, as if more were needed.

'Miss Davenport,' he said as he stood. He was tall, and strode gracefully around the desk. 'I appreciate you coming all the way downtown to see me.'

I took his offered hand and gave it a peremptory shake. 'There's no point in beating around the bush on this, Mr. Sullivan. We have the goods on you, and if we go to trial, we'll take your whole empire down. Drugs, prostitution, blackmail...we have proof of it all.'

He smiled. 'My goodness, you do get to the point. May I fix you a drink?'

'No, thank you. I'm here to establish your willingness to settle the case, and then I'll let my superiors and your lawyers handle the paperwork.'

He looked at me closely, the kind of scrutiny I didn't appreciate. 'You know, Miss Davenport, you're a very lovely woman. What's going to happen to you is a shame.'

I blinked in surprise. 'Are you threatening me?'

'No, not at all,' he said. 'You're the impetus behind all my legal troubles, and I know that. For whatever reason, you hate me, and you're troublesome enough to cause me to have to deal with you. I also know that once you're out of the picture, your firm will be quite content to be bought off. So that makes you the priority in this, not me.'

He didn't know why I hated him. Of course he didn't--I'd told no one. Only the men who drugged me, raped me and tried to sell me into sexual slavery knew. Only the men who worked for Sullivan, shuttling poor girls like me into servitude and degradation. Luck and the thirst for revenge had saved me, driven me to college and law school and a career as a solicitor, working tirelessly to bring down this obscene robber baron.

'I'll be leaving now,' I said, and turned to go. 'We shall see you at trial.'

'I wouldn't do that,' he said sharply.

I looked back at him. 'And why not?'

'Because in approximately two minutes, you'll want nothing more than to be in my presence.'

I almost laughed out loud. 'What are you talking about?'

'As I said, you are the priority. All the trouble starts, and ends, with you. So I don't have to face your firm in court, or deal with your accusations in the press. I simply have to eliminate you as a threat.'

'You are threatening me.'

'Not the way you mean. I will not harm you. I will not attempt to force you to do anything. What you'll do, you'll do willingly.'

'You have clearly underestimated me,' I said. Again I turned to go.

And a rush of physical desire, of sexual arousal, of sheer animal randiness hit me like a wave crashing on the beach.

My legs buckled. I fell face-down on the floor, unable to believe the feelings coursing through me. To call this arousal was like calling a hurricane a summer breeze. I wanted to fuck more than I wanted to draw my next breath. And it struck me all at once, with no warning.

Had I been drugged? Hypnotized? Some sort of MI5 mind control? Whatever it was, I couldn't resist it, and I reached to hike up my skirt, desperate enough to masturbate right here on the floor, right in front of my greatest enemy. I needed to come.

This was insane. Since that day as a teen I'd been kidnapped by Sullivan's slavers, I'd had no sexual feelings. My relationships had certainly suffered for it, and I'd seen many psychiatrists and doctors. Finally I simply accepted that sexual feelings, including arousal and orgasm, were lost to me.

And that had been true until this moment.

'Get up,' he said impatiently.

The words gave me direction, but it was the impatience that galvanized me into action. For some reason it terrified me, and I got to my feet and stood trembling before him. My hands were pressed flat against my thighs, and my breath came in shallow gasps. I'd never been so turned on in my life.

'Well?' he said smugly. 'Aren't you leaving?'

The thought of not being in his presence terrified me anew. I couldn't possibly leave. Yet even as these realizations came to me, my rational mind urged me, Get out of here! You hate this man!

'I...' was all I could choke out.

He crossed his arms, and smiled. The smile was the cruelest thing I'd ever seen, and yet the fact that he was pleased with me made me quiver anew. 'Since you're apparently not leaving, let's see those tits of yours.'

What? He wants what? I thought. Yet my fingers were already unbuttoning my blouse. With a Herculean effort of will I stopped them, but couldn't lower them. My hands stayed in mid-motion as I fought an urge stronger than anything I'd ever felt, and growing more powerful by the instant as I resisted.

He looked delighted by my effort. 'You are a strong woman. But I said...show...me...your...breasts.'

The words, and his intent, were too strong to deny. Whimpering, I finished unbuttoning my blouse, let it fall to the floor and then slid my bra straps off my shoulders. I reached behind me and undid the hooks, then felt the catch as my shoulders took the unsupported weight of my breasts. I stood topless before him, bathed in sweat, trembling from wave after wave of desire mixed with rage and shame. What if someone came into the office and saw me this way? my inner voice raged. But there was no denying that I certainly wanted Sullivan to see me.

His eyes took in my nudity, and I arched my back to raise my breasts toward him, hoping he found them attractive, praying he did. All these feelings came to me unbidden, and certainly against my conscious will, yet they were, quite literally, irresistible. My God, what had he done to me?

He stepped closer. It made me gasp.

He raised a hand and cupped my left breast. His touch sent a jolt through me that I felt in my most intimate places, now surging with sensation and wetness. Standing topless before him, his hand on my boob, had brought me right to the edge of orgasm. I closed my eyes and whimpered. He raked his thumb over my nipple, and I thought I'd pass out.

'I know what you want to ask,' he said. 'Go ahead.'

'Wha...' I had to swallow hard. 'What have you d-done to me?'

'Removed you as a threat. Made you manageable.'

His hand was still on my breast, and I could barely choke out, 'How?'

'Doesn't matter, does it? Science, magic, hypnosis...however I did it, it's done, isn't it?"' When I didn't respond he said, 'When I ask you a question, you'll answer it.'

'No,' I said. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Sir. Nothing inane like "master" or "my lord." But always sir.'

'Y-ye...yes, sir.' The wave of humiliation that went through me somehow ratched up the sexual arousal. I wanted him to humiliate me, I realized.

He pulled his hand away. I heard a strange sound, and realized it was my own voice, sobbing as the contact was broken. I choked it off.

He turned his back. 'Take off everything but your panties, and follow me.'

I was too overwhelmed to muster even a token resistance. I stepped out of my shoes, then turned my skirt, unzipped it and slid them down my legs. I wriggled out of my stockings, and left my clothes right there on the office floor. Naked except for jewelry and panties, I ran after him, desperate for another glimpse.

I found him in a luxurious bedroom down a short corridor from his office.

He sat on the edge of his bed, smug and satisfied. The same view of London stretched behind him through massive windows. 'On your knees,' he said, and before I knew it I was, hands on my thighs, still arching my back to make my boobs look better.

'Remember this moment, Elise. Remember how it feels to be kneeling, almost naked, before a man you despise. This is your last chance to be strong enough to leave. If you can get up and walk away, I'll end what I've done to you. It's your move.'

All right, I thought. I'm not lost yet, I can do this. I took a deep breath and tried to rise, but then he stood and unfastened his own trousers. The sound of the zipper, and everything it promised, sent more ripples of desire through me.

Get up, I told my body. Get up.

His cock sprang free of his underwear. It was hard, red, and jutted toward me. I almost cried out at the sight.

No, don't! I told myself. Don't look at it! Get up, while you have a chance!

'You're not getting up,' he said smugly. 'But as you can see, I am.'

I stared at the head of his cock, and without even realizing it, certainly without intending it, my mouth opened and formed a perfect, welcoming circle for him.

He took a short step toward me, his trousers around his knees, his cock bobbing with the motion. The urge to lean toward it was more than I could resist.

I could smell him now. It wrenched me with desire.

'If you take me in your mouth,' he said, his own voice shaking with desire, 'what you feel now will never end. You'll be like this for the rest of your life.'

I looked up at him, mouth still obscenely open. He was also trembling with desire, but also with the power he had over me. And I...I was trembling from that power, too.

I leaned toward him some more. The head of his cock was a mere inch from my lips now. The urge, the desire, the need to take it in me made me quiver and whine.

'Kiss it,' he said.

I kissed the head of his cock. Reverently. Wanting it deep in my mouth, deep in me. I kissed it again, behind the ridge of his head. I kissed the shaft.

'Say what you want,' he said.

'I...want...to suck you,' I said. My eyes grew wet with tears as I lost the battle entirely.

'Ask.'

'Please...may I suck you?'

'Beg.'

Now the tears ran down my cheeks, both from shame and overwhelming desire. 'Please...sir...may I suck you?'

'Yes,' he said, his voice ragged.

I keened with relief and took his cock in my mouth.

Later I sat astride him on his bed, that same cock rising up inside me. He lay on his back, hands crossed under his head, content as he could be. And I...I couldn't get enough.

I bore down on him, trying to drive his cock deeper into me. He was neither small, nor large--his penis was average, but my body demanded more. If he'd been a foot long and thick as a beer can, I could've accommodated him. I was still crying, but it wasn't from pain. The emotions from almost constant orgasms were something I never expected to endure, and had no way to release except tears.

I wiped my eyes and said, 'Wh-when does this get...less?' Then I added quickly, 'Sir.'

He reached up and cupped my breasts. I leaned into his hands, moaning, coming, and then coming again. He roughly fondled them, and I put my hands over his, urging him to more roughness.

'It doesn't,' he said, delighted and as always, smug. 'I warned you: this is how you'll feel for the rest of your life. And if you're very lucky...and very good...I'll fuck you on a regular basis.'

The implied threat, that he wouldn't fuck me, that he'd leave me aching and pining for him with no relief, filled me with terror. I rolled my hips, which he seemed to enjoy earlier, and moaned like a porn star, something else I thought he'd like. I had to make him want me, I had to.

He laughed. He laughed in delight, in amusement, in triumph. He laughed at me, humping him for all I was worth, coming and trying to make him come. He pinched my nipples, twisted them, and I cried out in pain and desire and climax. I couldn't bear any more, and yet there was no question of stopping.

Later, as he lay asleep and I sat in a chair beside the bed, still naked, still horny, still undeniably his, I wiped more tears and wondered how long I could survive this way. The need, the desire for him, choked me with its intensity. I was so wet it was gushing from me, and nothing seemed to calm it. All my rage and fury and hatred had been for naught against whatever obscene thing he'd done to me. Until it changed--until it wore off, or wore down, or he released me from its influence--I was helpless. I could do nothing to save myself, or anyone else.

I remembered the way the receptionist had said, 'Yes, sir,' when I first arrived. I had a sudden, horrible thought: that she, too, felt the same emotions I did. Were we both sexual slaves to this man who now snored lightly before me, the sprawl of London visible through the windows behind him?

He stirred and said sleepily, 'Cant' simply sleep the day away, can I? You certainly have things to do. Get yourself cleaned up, go back to your office and start arranging things. You'll want to be back here tonight, of course. I'll expect you no later than ten.'

'Yes, sir,' I said. What else could I say?

He threw back the sheet to expose his erection. I gasped and sat up straight. I felt new wetness between my thighs.

'But before you go, I want those sweet legalese-spouting lips of yours again.'

I sprang to my feet, scrambled onto the bed and, in an instant, hovered over his now-erect cock, keening with relief as I took it in my mouth, tasting my own juices on it. I bobbed my head while he patted my bare arse, the way a man might stroke a favorite pet.

And it made me come.

THE END