The Helldesk Ch 03

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who rated the previous chapters! I'm really enjoying writing them, and they way they are being received is the best form of motivation to keep going.

Edit - 6.30.17 - I've modified some of the reactions of the female protagonist to try to make her a little less mercurial.

*** If you have issues with themes of rape, coercion or non-consent, I would suggest you read elsewhere ***

This chapter continues exactly where the second one left off. I hope you enjoy it!

*****

Chapter Three

As we purred our way across town, cosseted in four-wheeled luxury, I glanced across at my companion in the seat next to me - something I took no small amount of pleasure from.

On the few occasions when I'd forced her to make eye contact with me, I'd been struck by how piercing her gaze was. Her eyes had an unusual but extremely beguiling fade from a mid blue around the outside to a blue-green just before the pupils started. Definitely the kind that I could enjoy staring into and watching the play of emotions across. For someone who had been masquerading behind such a hard outer shell, there was a very real vulnerability on show in them which got a stirring from my shorts every time I thought about what I wanted to do to her. Seeing her brow crinkle, and watching her lips part in supplication were the very core of what had driven me to make the offer I had proposed. They were a heady, heady drug, and I was totally hooked. This might be bad. I couldn't be going soft, could I?

I refocused my mind on the evening ahead, and settled down to enjoy the ride. I couldn't keep a smirk from creasing the corners of my face, and after a few minutes she turned slightly in her seat to look at me. As I drew up to a stop light, just a couple of blocks from the restaurant, she finally asked, "So, just what exactly do you have planned? I don't know you at all, and yet I know that look means something bad for me."

I faked a horrified look and said, "Why, whatever do you mean? Bad? I've been looking out for your dirty little pleasures all evening my little kumquat. The whole reason why we're going out to dinner is such that I can make sure you have nothing but a good time while you are here. I'm just enjoying this very pretty car of yours and thinking about what I get to do to you later, that's all."

She seemed slightly mollified, and slid back down into her seat a little. We only got another block before we hit yet another red light, and I handed her back her phone, saying, "We're two blocks from the restaurant, you have about two minutes to check your mail and messages before I'm putting that away until later."

As she pulled up whatever she needed to be doing, I pulled my own phone and fired off a quick text to Carlo. "Stopping by for dinner - you don't know me. Special SUBject in tow :)"

As the light finally changed, and we moved across the final major highway into the cultural wasteland of this particular strip mall, I pulled the car into a parking spot towards the rear of the restaurant and got out. The parking lot was halfway empty, and I could easily have parked all the way up towards the front wall of the restaurant, had I wanted to. However, this location down near the back door and the hedge that backed onto scrub land served my purposes better, both now and for what I had planned later.

I watched as she got out of the car, wincing slightly as her bare feet found some of the inevitable gravel chips that all of these places seem to have. She glared at me as she hobbled around the car and handed me her phone.

"You really are a piece of work, you know that?" she said. Without waiting for a reply she made her way awkwardly and slowly towards the front wall of the restaurant where the main entrance was located. I clicked the button on the remote and watched the car flutter it's eyelashes at me and utter an electronic squawk before I strode off after her.

As I pulled open the heavy wooden slab that masqueraded as the door to the restaurant, I ushered my companion in front of me to stand behind a much older couple who were in line ahead of us. As she shifted from foot to foot, conscious of the looks she was starting to get at the obvious mismatch between her very attractive and fashionable dress and rather weirdly bare feet, I leaned forward and whispered in the slut's ear, "So, I never did get a chance to ask... what's your name?"

She turned and looked at me, not entirely able to hide the look of surprise on her face. She probably wondered why I was bothering, or maybe she was wondering if there was something else going on for which I was setting her up. I couldn't blame her, but I genuinely wanted a name to be able to put to this very pretty face. Pumpkin and slutsicle were becoming a little worn out by this point.

"It's... errmmm... Emma..." she said hesitantly. "I didn't think you were interested..."

I smiled warmly and looked her straight in the eye. "Nonsense Emma, it's twice as hot if I use your name when I tell you to suck my cock. Entirely more personal, wouldn't you agree?"

She colored, a faint blush showing on both cheeks as she hastily dropped her eyes to the floor and brought her hands in front of her, clasping one with the other. I gently took her chin in one hand and lifted her eyes back up to meet mine. My raised eyebrow underlined the question I had just asked her, and she mumbled something back, a little too quietly to be heard over the clatter and bustle of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry Emma, I didn't quite catch that. I said... doesn't it feel more personal when I say 'suck my cock Emma' than when I say 'suck my cock little slutsicle'?"

"Yes Sir, it... is.... does have more of an effect... Sir... on my....Sir". She shifted from one foot to the other, looking first to one side and then the other to see if anyone was paying her any attention.

"On your what, my little tart? On your dripping wet gash? You'll have to speak up if you don't want me to ask you to repeat yourself."

"My dripping wet pussy Sir!" she said, just a little too vehemently.

Unfortunately for her, that reply fell in one of those temporary lulls you seem to get as the music changes and people momentarily pause as they become aware of the drop in noise level. I think it might be something to do with the lizard brain and evolutionary development and listening out for predators, or something. Anywho, what it meant for dear, darling Emma was that her statement carried much further than she had anticipated. The Bluehair in front of us twitched mightily, and for just a moment I thought she might turn around and start screeching on about public decency and how it wasn't like it had been in her day.

Instead, she held as steady as a rock, almost quivering at attention. Judging by the size of the hearing aids which were fighting a battle to the death with the hair growing out of his ears, I guessed that the old boy next to her probably hadn't heard a thing.

"Why thank you, darling, for clearing that up for all of us," I said, just as loudly, "I'll be sure to make the Maitre d' aware of your needs and see if there's anything he can do for your condition".

The poor little tart looked like she wished the ground would swallow her whole right then and there. Her eyes were two large round circles, and her mouth was hanging open in shock. Probably something akin to the look someone might have if they suddenly realized all their clothing had evaporated just as they walked into the office one busy Monday morning.

I leaned forward and rubbed her arm reassuringly, making sure to slowly brush my fingers across her nipple as I withdrew them, and I was amused to see that look morph first into one of surprise and then irritation in quick succession. "Don't worry my pet, I'm sure he'll do his best to sort you out, they have the reputation here of taking very good care of their customers."

I leaned in a little closer such that we were almost touching, and grasped one nipple between my fingers and started to gently roll it back and forth. She almost brought her hands up to brush mine away, but caught herself in time, and dropped them back stiffly by her sides. I increased the pressure slightly and watched in satisfaction as the little bud stiffened and swelled slightly, becoming instantly apparent through the thin fabric of her dress. I quickly shifted sides and rhythmically squeezed the other one until her lips parted and I could hear her breathing quicken slightly. Her eyes were fixed on mine and I grinned as I glanced over her shoulder to see Carlo striding towards us as the hostess arrived and led the oldsters away to a small table next to the window.

"Good evening Sir.... Signorina..... Oh my! What

did

happen to your wardrobe Signorina? No shoes to complement such a pretty dress, you must be devastated?! Thankfully, as the manager here I can waive our 'shirt and shoes' policy for someone so obviously in need of help!"

I coughed, trying to cover the rapidly growing grin on my face as I picked up Carlo's subtle reference to the text message I had sent him earlier. He knew just what my proclivities were, and the sub reference had clued him in to just what the power dynamic was here. And yes, Emma was

very

much in need of help, she just didn't know it yet. Nor did she understand the fact that Carlo was going to be the one she would have to ask.

"Won't you both please step this way?" Carlo led us the long way round to one of a pair of large booths on the back wall. With a great view of the restaurant floor, I knew he usually kept this empty in case the owner stopped by, or a celebrity came in. As we walked, he went to great pains to make sure no-one came too close to us or turned round and accidentally stepped on my hapless companion's bare feet. In the process, he 'unfortunately' made it apparent to everyone who hadn't yet noticed, that she wasn't wearing any shoes. By the time we arrived at the table and Carlo headed off to find us some water, the poor girl was about the same shade of red as the banquettes we were about to sit on.

Whilst I didn't give the owner many points for originality, (after all who calls their restaurant 'Giovanni's' when their name is actually Sidney?), the food here was difficult to beat. It was situated in a small suburban strip mall, a little way out from the center of town and so didn't get the level of foot traffic that somewhere central would do. This made it easier to get a table when I did stop by - not that I ate here very often, given the prices, but I was certainly going to make up for that this evening!

The interior was dimly lit, with a few windows on the short wall at the front which probably didn't transmit much daylight, even at lunchtime. The walls were a burnt orange - the designer had probably referred to it as 'Sienna' or something equally inane, and the walls were covered in cute little pictures of 'lord-knows-who' that you were probably supposed to imagine were the owner's grandfather and family working in their own restaurant in a little village in Tuscany. Sidney's grandparents had moved here from England, so I knew this was all fake. An army of tall greenery in large terracotta pots, white tablecloths on the tables, and waiters in black waistcoats and white shirts (which made them look a little bit like lost penguins), all helped to build the stereotype that seemed to be so keenly admired in this style of horribly generic, 'mock foreign' restaurant. Thank god the chef seemed to be authentic - his name was Vinnie - and whilst I couldn't be sure his accent wasn't affected, the food really was good enough to make me want to visit Italy some day.

Our table was in the corner of the restaurant, and one of only two that were shaped in a circle like the ones you would see in an older style cabaret club, or similar, where everyone could face the stage and see the show. Our booth, another circular one like ours, as well as a half dozen other regular tables were all situated on a slightly raised dais which gave something of an air of superiority to our position. The corner location meant that as I slid into the side of the banquette that gave a slightly better view of the serving Station (Carlo's usual hang out), I was glad that I could see anyone who came towards us with plenty of warning. Emma dropped into the other side but left a noticeable gap between us as she quickly pulled up the menu, obscuring her face from my view.

I pouted slightly, and patted the seat next to me, "Awwww is der widdle baby shy? I don't bite cupcake. Slide that very pretty ass over this way, and make Daddy happy. You do want to make Daddy happy don't you?" She rolled her eyes as she dropped the menu back on the table and slid two feet further around the table towards me. "Juuuuuust a little more, my little chickadee... Daddy wants to be able to finger your little fuckhole whenever it takes his fancy".

She glared at me again, but finally slid the last twelve inches around the banquette until she was right next to me.

"Now there's a goooood little girl," I purred as she picked up the menu again. "Oh, but just one thing - don't forget the fingering part now - Daddy's fingers are all impatient and don't like it when there's stuff in the way..."

The menu plopped to the table and after a brief hesitation, she reached down and inched the hem of her dress halfway up her thighs.

"Oh for fuck's sake slutcake, if you don't bring the fucking thing level with your pussy right now I'm going to make you lift it up to your waist. You'll have a much harder time covering it with the damn tablecloth like that."

Her reluctance was replaced by that now familiar look of consternation as her brow creased up and her mouth puckered into that little girl 'O' shape. She slid the fabric slowly up until it was level with the creases at the top of her legs, and quickly pulled the edge of the tablecloth up to her belly to cover things as best as she was able. I flicked the tablecloth away and slid my hand down her stomach and through her neatly trimmed triangle, until my middle finger rested over her clit.

"If... you... so... much... as... touch... that... tablecloth... again... without... my... permission...."

I punctuated my words with little spanks on her clit with my fingers. Both of her hands shot out to grab my wrist and a sharp little series of staccato in-breaths made it evident just how uncomfortable that sensation was. Not completely unsatisfying though, judging by the way I could feel the little bud starting to swell by the end of its workout.

I withdrew my hand and watched Carlo as he came back towards us bearing a couple of pint glasses that were mostly ice with the merest hint of water to adorn them. I smiled again as I realized he was playing his role to the hilt and hadn't brought me water with no ice, which he knew was the norm for me.

I could see Emma staring at him out of the corner of my eye, and I imagined that she was nervous that Carlo would lean forward when he put the glasses on the table and get an eyeful of pink, naked clam, but it didn't look like he'd seen anything yet. "Thank you, but would you mind if I got water with no ice?" I asked him, as he straightened up.

"Of course Sir, it would be my pleasure," he simpered in his oiliest voice. I had to be careful or he was totally going to blow my cover. The unctuous and smarmy persona he had put on was so much in contrast to the normally bluff and dismissive guy I knew, that I was having a really hard time keeping a straight face. I also knew that it wasn't his responsibility to wait tables, so I guessed he was doing this just so that he could get an idea of what was going on here. I planned to involve him in our dinner quite extensively as a thank you for previous services rendered.

As he strode away to get rid of the ice, I grabbed my phone and quickly fired off a message, "Dude, I'm going to lose it in a minute - you're reminding me of the waiter in Monty Python's Mr Creosote sketch! Turn it down a bit, but stay in character - if you can be our waiter tonight, I'll TOTALLY make it worth your while."

A few second later and he replied, "Just a waffffer thin mint, Sir? K, you've piqued my curiosity. The girl's smoking hot - totally jealous!"

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket as I saw him turn back from the serving station and wend his way back to our table. As he replaced the glass on my coaster, he pressed his hands together and beamed at us, "My name is Carlo, I am the duty manager here, and I will be looking after you this evening as, unfortunately, one of our wait staff is out sick. Would you like to start with something to drink?"

As Emma opened her mouth to speak, I overrode her, "I'll have a Perfect Old Fashioned please, and a Negroni for the lady."

"Ahh, a very discerning choice Sir, do you have a preference for the whiskey, Sir?"

"What would you suggest?" I countered.

"Well, our bartender prefers Bulleit as a solid staple of our cocktails, but I've got a bottle of Alberta Dark Rye which is quite fascinating and could add a nice little kick to complement the mixture of vermouths?"

Oh wow, Carlo was prepared to break into his personal supply for this evening, he must be signaling his interest in what I had mentioned about making it worth his while. "Hmm, sounds fascinating, I totally trust your judgment," I grinned back at him as he glanced at Emma before heading to the bar.

"Well that was nice of him, wasn't it?" The lack of reply and the thin line of her lips told me that my unfortunate companion wasn't as impressed by Carlo's attentions as I was.

I reached over and grabbed hold of the nearest available nipple, squeezing and twisting sharply. "Until you can learn to behave in a way that befits your station, I'm going to keep penalising your failure to respond promptly and sweetly. Pull your neckline down and hook it over your nipples."

The look of disbelief on her face was pretty comical, and when she didn't immediately reply I added, "Of course, we can raise the hem of your dress to your waist as well, if you like?"

Her hands came up, slowly, to her chest and pulled the scooped neckline of the stretchy fabric down to show a significantly larger amount of creamy boob flesh. The amount of time she obviously dedicated to working out meant that they were full, and well defined. Those firm taut curves, which I had gotten such a good view of earlier had small, crinkly areolae that were just delectable. They made me want to pull the entire dress over her head so that I could stare at them all evening.

She got close to hooking the edge of the neckline over one pert bud, but it wouldn't quite stay, and between her nervous glances out into the restaurant, and the thinness of the fabric, I could tell I was onto a loser with that idea. Instead I had her pull the fabric down as low as it would go without them quite being visible. That ended up being just above the areolae, but low enough that no red blooded male would be able to miss the change in her outfit.

"As a forfeit for being slow to respond, you will touch your boobs at least three times when Carlo next comes to the table, and it had better be obvious - if I don't see his eyes drawn to your hands each time, I will up the stakes," I cautioned her.

She shifted in her seat, and I watched as her eyes darted from the tables in front of us, to Carlo where he stood at the bar, back to the tables, and then back to Carlo again. Her lips parted slightly and her hand strayed to twirl her hair. This was going to be interesting to see how she played things - Carlo wasn't a bad looking guy, in a rugged and slightly dour way. However, his more usual brusqueness suited him better, in my opinion, than the smarmy hipster he was currently imitating.