The Light Between the Trees

[Author's note: Traumatised by being held hostage in the cafe siege, Chloe has chosen a new direction in her life. She gives up her steady boyfriend and stable job to seek out new thrills in risky encounters. We also cross paths with Zoe from

A World Of Our Own

.

The story contains themes of female submission, edge play and autassassinophilia. Discretion is advised: please check the story tags to see whether this a series you'll enjoy.]

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THE EVERYTHING ENGINE

Are you on Kikster? If not, how the fuck are you getting your news feeds? Legacy hardcopy media? Seriously? You'd be in the minority by now, since we've got tens of millions of profiles registered in the Engine, serving up info on everything from pancake recipes to the proper way to recite the Benediction.

One thing about working at Kikster, they do a great lunch menu. It's free and fast. I'm under no illusions that it means we stay in the building, talking amongst the people we work with, cross-pollinating ideas. I don't need to go down a rabbit hole with the Everything Engine to find all that out. You make a bubble and you keep your employees in that bubble, all happy and productive. It works really well, until it doesn't.

It's Monday morning, and I'm riding the elevator up to my floor. I'm bone weary after another night trying to get to sleep. I don't know what it is, but I'm constantly restless, tossing and turning in bed. A guy at the hospital who checked me out after the siege talked to me for an hour about consequences, what to look out for, all that shit. Honestly though, I just watched his mouth move until he stopped and I could leave. He had a nice mouth, there was something kind about it. He handed me some material on counselling services but really, who has the time for all that?

What I mean there is that there are two types of people in this world: the type who front up and get it done, and the type who just go to pieces. I'm the former camp. I don't need hand-holding. I'm a big girl so I put on the big girl pants and get on with my life. That's what had killed it with Toby, the endless checking in on me, seeing if I was really okay.

I admit, I still think about the girl sometimes, just that moment where Kaylee is running towards me as I'm sprawled on the ground, then the red bloom across her chest. I think I'm doing fucking spectacularly well if that's the only thing I'm dealing with, the occasional flashback.

I step out of the elevator and I'm wearing a skirt. I do the morning stand-up huddle with my team, and we're discussing the data breach in a competitor, the new look user interface, the storage upgrade, the usual stuff. Zoe is giving her update on the latest release, and I watch the way she stands as she talks. She's always been quiet, a little shy, but there's something different about her now, after the wedding ring went onto her finger. I put her in charge of the AI core upgrade and she's handling it like a pro, her first big step up. She's really getting her shit together these days.

Out of everything we're covering, the upgrade is the big ticket item, it'll enable us to feed the Everything Engine, the AI at the heart of Kikster, even more data. Its ability to tailor your feeds just for your own unique proclivities should go up nearly tenfold. We all accept implicitly that this is a good thing to do.

But that's the secret that we don't tell anyone: people believe they are each perfect unique snowflakes, but they're not. There are about forty buckets we put people in. That's it. You may be a Bohemian with eclectic tastes in trance electronica, but to us you're bucket thirty-five. Sorry if that bursts your bubble, but yeah, you're not that special. You're not special at all.

The last item is the user interface upgrade and the requirements that the new screens will have on the Engine. I don't care, and even before hooking up with Travis, I wasn't interested in it. Previously, I could dodge the meetings and concentrate on the stuff that matters, the AI wrangling, the bit that I'm good at. Now, however, there's a little extra complication.

Travis and his offsider join the huddle at the end, giving his update. His eyes are on me, travelling down my body, noting the skirt that he told me to wear. I'm running the meeting, all the attention is on me in our little circle in the middle of the floor, stood between the desks in the open-plan office. I'm used to eyes on me, but this is different. I'm showing leg, and when we break up and I turn away, Travis doesn't. His eyes follow the curve of my bottom and part of me regrets wearing a tight skirt like he told me to. I should have stuck to jeans.

There is another part of me now, and I feel a little tingle. Travis calls out as everyone drifts away.

"Wanna grab a pod?"

He nods to one of the conversation pods in the middle of the floor, a semi-circular seating area with a high back that curves overhead, like half an onion. I nod and we walk over and sit down in it. The sounds of the office become muted, and when he speaks it's like we're alone.

"Nice."

His eyes flick down to my bare legs and for some reason, I cover my knees with my hands.

"I had fun on Saturday," he continues in a conversational tone, "I hope I wasn't too hard on you. How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"Good, anyway, just wanted to check in."

He gets up to leave, as if that's it, as if we don't need to talk about it. But it's already playing back in my head, the feeling of helplessness, with his belt wrapped around my wrists, splayed out wide on his bed while he slipped himself into me. I recall vividly how I tried to accommodate him, stretching to fit his oversized girth, until I was carried away on waves of ecstasy. I don't react in time as he reaches out to put a hand on my knee.

I look at him, frozen. His hand drifts up my thigh, approaching the hem of my skirt. I'm in the middle of the office: if anyone looked my way now they would see Travis touching me. He gives my thigh a little squeeze and then a pat.

"I'll catch you at lunch," he says as he stands up, a little grin on his face.

I watch him walk away, but I don't leave the pod. My hand rests on my skin where he touched me. Deep inside there's a little thrill. Just like that, he's turned me on.

It's something that I wrestle with for the rest of the morning. I'm in the middle of a technical review when my email pings. I glance at it, still mid-sentence, then I stop. It's a meeting request, the subject line is brief and to the point: interface at lunchtime. It's from Travis. I tap it quickly, hitting accept. When I look up at the people around the table, I realise that I have completely lost my train of thought.

Travis has booked one of the small meeting rooms on the floor above, and he's waiting for me when I arrive. I'm carrying my salad bowl as if I'm going to eat. I walk in and take a seat at the little table.

"So," I begin, "What's this about?"

Travis drags a chair over to the door and closes it, wedging the back of the chair under the handle. He turns back to me.

"Thought we could use a little privacy."

"Privacy?" I reply, "For what?"

"There you go again, in charge."

"Travis, what...."

"I mean, you accepted this meeting," Travis interjected, talking over me, "You came to this room. I see that you took my advice."

He indicates my skirt.

"Nice legs by the way."

He grins at me and my words die in my throat. I watch as Travis sits down in the chair he braced against the door. It's the only exit. My mouth is dry.

"What's this about?" I repeat.

Travis leans forward, still grinning. "You already know what this is about."

"Do I?" I reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah, of course you do. You came to this meeting room to be fucked."

It's the way he says it, as if it's a simple matter of fact, that twists my guts. When he gets out of the chair and approaches me, I can feel my pulse hammering in my throat. He stands over me, dwarfing me with his bulk.

"You want to be fucked."

"Do I?" I croak, my bravado evaporating.

He strokes my cheek gently, and I stiffen at his touch. His fingers trace my jawline, circling behind my ear, tucking a loose strand of my long dark hair into place. His hand strokes the back of my neck and I stare up at him. He's in charge now, and I realise I'm just going to sit and let him continue.

His fingertips trace my collar bone to the little v-shape below my throat, working down until they encounter the first button of my top. He pauses, watching me, judging my reaction, then undoes the button, opening up the soft skin of my cleavage for his hand to explore. I don't break eye contact with him, even as I feel his hand sliding under the fabric of my top, his fingers tracing over the orb of my breast, teasing me. He spreads his fingers wide and cups my breast, brushing his thumb over my bra, tracing the hardening tip of my nipple.

"See," Travis says, "You want to be fucked."

His hand withdraws slightly, but then it plunges down again. This time, his fingers slide between my bra and my skin, holding my naked breast. He traps my nipple in the gap between his thumb and his forefinger, closing, squeezing me, sending a little jolt of pleasure down into my guts, down between my legs. I squirm without meaning too, cursing myself for giving him a sign.

"You want to be fucked," he repeats.

I shake my head, and he laughs, which I somehow worse than the fact that I'm allowing him to play with my breasts in the middle of the day at work. I don't know how I got here, I don't understand why I let him. I don't understand why my crotch is slickening.

He begins to unbutton me, taking his time. He knows now that I won't object. Even when he pushes the blouse off my shoulders and unhooks my bra, I make no move to stop him stripping me topless. His thumb brushes against my lips for a moment, then I feel the pressure as he opens my mouth. His thumb slides in, teasing my tongue. I close my lips around the intrusion.

"Suck."

I do as I'm told, painfully aware of my bare breasts being on full display to him. I move my arms to cover up, but he brushes them away. His thumb pops out of my mouth, gleaming now, and he begins to circle my other nipple, using my saliva to lubricate his motions, teasing me erect. He squeezes and I gasp, feeling the spike travelling down my body all at once, ending at my clit.

I don't struggle as he reaches down, sliding his hand under my skirt, up between my thighs. I feel his fingers coiling in the fabric of my panties and I raise my hips without him needing to ask, letting him tug them down my legs, leaving me bare. He peels my skirt up over my hips and then takes a step back to admire what he's done to me.

I remain seated, completely exposed now but for my skirt wrapped in a band around my waist. His eyes drift down my body from my breasts, from my swollen, thickened nipples, down to my crotch. He makes a motion with his fingers and I comply, spreading my legs to show him my pussy.

"Good. I told you how hot you'd look in a skirt."

Travis unzips himself and pulls out his substantial manhood, massaging it with his hand as he approaches me. He holds the tip up in front of my face, reaching out to cup the back of my head with his free hand. I resist.

"Oh, no, you don't want to do that," he murmurs, giving me a little sad look, "Otherwise I might not fuck you. You don't want to miss out, do you?"

He looks down at me, a sympathetic expression on his face, as if he understands my difficulties and he's trying to help me overcome them.

"You do want to be fucked don't you?" he murmurs, "Why don't you just say it?"

He's hardening rapidly, and the hand holding his cock drifts down to my nipple. He rolls it between his thumb and finger.

"You'll feel better once you admit it. It won't be as hard for you."

Travis builds up the pressure and I begin to squirm, but it's kindling a fire between my thighs. I look up into his face, pleading silently.

"I want to be fucked," I whimper.

Travis grins. "Good girl."

His thumb presses on my chin and my mouth opens. The swollen purple tip of his cock approaches my open mouth and I stare at it. He slides himself between my waiting lips and I close around him, beginning to suck. The hand holding my head begins to caress the back of my neck, but I'm under no illusion: I'm not going to be able to pull back as he pushes himself into my mouth, until he's filling it with his girth, pressing against the back of my throat. I gag a little and he pulls back, pausing. I suck at his manhood and then he pushes in again, filling my throat with his tip, holding it there until I begin to retch. He pulls back.

"We'll need to work on that," he tells me, his free hand reaching down and teasing between my labia, exploring my moistness.

"My girlfriend was the same," Travis continues, "But now she can take me all the way in. It just needs practice."

I cough, gagged by his cock, unable to respond as he tells me he has a girlfriend and that he's trained her to give him oral the way he likes it. I should be outraged that he's trying to do the same to me, probing my throat with his tip, working on my gag reflex, but his fingers are toying with my clit, sending little perfect shivers through my body. I find that I'm only concentrating on one thing: how his cock fills my mouth, how hard he feels as my tongue explores his shaft. I find myself imagining how it would be, if I was able to swallow him, taking in the extra inches as I open my throat to him, how that would feel to take him completely. I wonder how long his girlfriend took before she was able to do that for him. I think of everything but the fact that he's got a girlfriend, which makes me... what?

"I fucked her this morning, before work," he says, "She's so beautiful."

His fingers dance over my clit and I begin to squirm. I suck harder.

"The way her eyes light up when she cums."

His fingers part me, dipping inside, and I sigh around my mouthful.

"Do you wanna cum too?"

He's thrusting into my mouth now, and I suck him in, feeling him pushing against the back of my throat, trying not to make the gurgling gagging sounds each time. He slides all the way in, holding me there with his hand, and I wriggle.

"I asked you a question."

When he pulls back, I look up at him, see the unyielding look on his face. He slides a second finger inside my pussy and begins to thrust between my labia. He has a girlfriend; he's already had sex today; he's using me for a bit of fun at work before he goes back to her. I wonder if he's going to fuck her tonight as well, and I realise that far from being outraged that he's using me like this, I feel slicker between my legs at the thought. It's deeply humiliating, but I can't help myself and I nod, sucking hard on his cock for emphasis.

Travis pulls out. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. What?"

He's staring down at me now, the fingers paused inside me while he waits patiently.

"I want to cum," I respond, in a soft voice.

I look up at him, mortified to have so easily given him what he wants, my cheeks burning with the shame of it. Then I realise with a little twist of anguish that he's not done.

"Ask nicely, Chloe. Say please."

His thumb brushes over my clit and I gasp at the sudden intensity of the sensation.

"Please," I mumble.

"Use your words. Please may I cum."

I grit my teeth, staring up at him, the full length of his cock dancing in front of my face, gleaming with my saliva. His thumb taps my clit, and I can't believe I'm doing it, but I open my mouth.

"Please may I cum?"

He grins at me, and I feel utterly debased, forced to beg, just like that. But, he's done something to me, tapped into something that I didn't know was there, a need to please him.

"Up."

I get out of my seat and he turns me around, pushing me down onto the table, pressing my bare breasts against the cold wooden surface. I'm bent over with my bottom sticking out, my skirt wrapped around my waist, almost completely naked, letting his fingers explore my glistening pussy.

"You were so assertive in the meeting this morning. Not such a boss bitch now, are you?"

I turn my head to look at him, but a hand stops me, grasping my neck. Another hand is on my hip, fingers digging in. I can feel something tapping me between the legs, insistent, firm.

"I didn't ask on Saturday, but I'm assuming you're taking precautions, yeah?"

I nod, but he isn't waiting for my answer, already sliding himself inside me anyway, stretching me with his girth, teasing back and forth as I lubricate his shaft with my juices. Travis is treating me like a fuck doll and I'm wetter than I have ever been. I should be outraged, I should tell him to take his oversized ego and go fuck himself, but instead the only sound I make is a long, soft moaning noise as I concentrate on how long he is, how deep he's going.

Travis takes his time, working his way in, letting me feel all of him. I spread my legs a little wider, forgetting all about being naked in a meeting room at work. My world has shrunk down to exquisite sensation of being stretched by Travis, trying to accommodate his size. My vaginal walls pulse involuntarily and I hear him laugh.

"Feels like you're eager," he says, "Wanna go harder?"

Again, it's rhetorical. He picks up the pace, thrusting all the way in and then pulling almost completely out, leaving me feeling strangely empty inside, before filling me again, over and over until I'm groaning without realising that I'm groaning, my hands balled into fists.

Travis rides me harder, until I can feel the edge of the table cutting into the tops of my legs with each stroke, my nipples brushing against the wood as he moves my body. A thought flashes through my mind: did he take his girlfriend like this? Did he bend her over a stool in the kitchen and fuck her from behind this morning? The picture is in my head now, and I feel a strange, disgusting thrill, imagining it. I clench around him again, teetering on the edge of pain as I contract, feeling him stretch and fill me.

Toby had never been like this. Besides the difference in size, he would never have placed me in this position, fucking me with careless abandon. He had always been so considerate, kissing me, cuddling me, checking for consent. I felt ashamed, thinking about how he'd react if he could see me now, stripped naked, with a huge cock slamming into me from behind, anf me dripping wet, pushing back at each stroke to maximise the thrill of what Travis was doing to my body.

It would break his heart. As I think that, I begin to quiver, trembling deep in my core, the waves of bliss from his cock sending luscious thrills through me. I could imagine Toby's face, like the last time, giving him his goodbye fuck only two days ago, already two men on from him by Saturday night. What sort of person does that?

"Ssh," Travis grunts.

I know I'm groaning, and he clamps a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. I groan louder, to spite him. The hand disappears and I open my mouth to speak. Fabric is stuffed between my lips, filling my mouth, and I taste something, but I can't twist my head away or spit it out because his hand is there again, clamping my lips together, forcing me to take little sharp breaths through my nose. He's gagged me with my own panties. I can taste my own moisture. I want to scream at him, but instead he begins to drive into me hard, and all thoughts are extinguished as my body reacts to his onslaught.

I forget that he's gagged me with my own underwear, or that he's bent me over the table, or that he really gave me no choice about how I was going to be fucked. I close my eyes and concentrate on the exquisite pleasure of his cock pounding into me. I'm making little muffled cries now, each time he fills me, shuddering around him on the crest of an earth-shattering orgasm. I can hear his breath behind me, ragged, and his rhythm falters. I brace myself because I know what's next.