Her Master Demands (Dark BDSM Erotica) (4 page)

“Thank you, Master!” cried Emily with relief. It was a relief
that she was granted for only a few seconds.

“So make sure it’s round your neck this afternoon. I know it’s
not my place, what with me being part of the rabble who actually do
some work in the company - but I thought it might be nice to take a
look around the top floor. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other, and
I expect you to be properly dressed when we do... Hey, just think
about it, Blondie – what if your boss was there as well. That would
be funny - your two ‘masters’ together. Bit of a dilemma though,
wouldn’t you say – what if we were to give you conflicting orders.
Which ‘master’ would you obey?”

The line went dead without waiting for an answer.

Emily squeaked in horror. Her mobile phone fell from her hand
to land on the bench with a thud. Tears welled in her sapphire
eyes.

Her secret life had just taken a hideous turn and moved on to
a new and frightening phase. From verbal abuse in the elevator to
rough sex in the basement – that had been phases one and two. Now
Her Nemesis had taken things out of the office and had made contact
in the park. That in itself wasn’t so bad – it had been quite
thrilling in a way after the initial shock. But the spectre that
haunted her wasn’t going to stop there. All Emily’s suppressed
fears were coming home to roost, following her back to the office
to confront her in her sanctuary of power. Her Nemesis Master was
coming to the top floor, and not only that... he was coming with
demands!

Chapter 5

There was a strong temptation to claim illness and go home –
Emily certainly felt sick and looked as pale as a ghost, so it
would be a credible story to make. But she didn’t dare defy the man
who expected to see her this afternoon on some pretext for visiting
the top floor. So instead, Emily rushed back to the office – her
stomach in turmoil, her mind racing around possible scenarios, each
so hideous it would make an encounter with the four horsemen of the
apocalypse seem like a pleasant day out at Ascot races.

Flushed on arrival, Emily entered the building. She joined the
small group of people waiting in the lobby for the elevator, too
panic stricken to take any note of them. The elevator arrived a few
moments later. People spilled out to be replaced by a dozen others,
each pressing or requesting their respective numbers on the panel
by the door. Emily pressed twenty to take her to the top floor then
retreated to the rear where she skulked in a corner.

The doors closed and the ascent began. Ignoring the gaggling
conversation of some women that filled the claustrophobic air,
Emily mentally ran over the C.E.O.’s schedule for the afternoon,
anxious about a possible encounter with Her Master. Her boss,
Donald Harper, was at lunch at present, entertaining important
clients at a restaurant Emily had personally inspected. He was
expected back by two o’clock when he would meet with Barry Norris,
the Financial Director. It was their weekly get together which
normally lasted an hour, although if the numbers looked bleak it
could overrun by some way – sadly for Emily that wasn’t the case at
the moment as the company had just reported a whopping great profit
that had sent the share price soaring. At five Donald was scheduled
to attend a product launch at the Savoy, which would take him
twenty minutes to get to, so in theory he would be free from around
three till half four – that was the danger time when the worst
could happen, and two men might collide and destroy Emily in the
carnage! But normally Donald kept himself shut away in his office
during such periods in the day, working on strategy, replying to
e-mails and making telephone calls as he generally ran the company.
There was a risk they could meet, but Emily considered it to be
low: highly unlikely that Donald Harper would stray into the
corridor just at the very moment Emily’s Nemesis Master was
passing, and be there to witness some embarrassing situation.
Surely Fickle Fate wouldn’t be as malicious as that!

Her thoughts were jolted by a pinging sound. The ascending
elevator came to a halt and the doors opened to allow a quartet of
chattering young women to pile out, taking their conversation with
them, but leaving behind their lingering perfume. A lewd comment
was made followed by a burst of laughter, but Emily’s gaze was
already searching for the topic of their sluttish mirth. Drawn by
some mysterious force, she saw it through the gap the departing
women had created, and found it no laughing matter. Fickle Fate
wasn’t malicious, Emily decided – it was a complete and utter
bastard! For there stood Her Master waiting to come in: devilishly
smart and achingly handsome in a new and rather expensive looking
suit!

Their eyes locked. Emily gawped. Then with a rush of blood
that flushed her cheeks, Emily nervously looked away.

“Mrs. Johnson!” the man cried then excused his way through.
“How are you? I take it you’ve been outside enjoying the fine
weather.”

“Yes... yes I have,” Emily muttered, averting her eyes as the
man came and stood directly beside her. He sided up to within
inches, unnecessarily close in the generous sized elevator which
was now far from cramped - invading personal space in a way that
would normally be frowned on, even when someone was claiming an
acquaintance. Emily made no protest however, nor did she try to
move away. She held her spot on shaking legs, fearful of a grossly
impolite comment, a vulgar remark or even worse - an order for some
inappropriate action, or a demand for his title to be used. It
would be the end of her. Word of even the slightest impropriety
would spread like wildfire though the gossip hungry office, into
the ears of Tessa Clifford who would then hound her to
resignation.

But Her Master said no more as the doors hissed together and
the elevator resumed its ascent. With the group of women gone, the
people that remained tried to ignore each other and create a bubble
of isolation in the confined space they found themselves briefly
trapped in. Everyone faced forward, eyes averted, doing their best
to desensitise the upward journey.

That could never be the case though for Mrs. Johnson! And it
wasn’t Fickle Fate that would see to that!

Emily felt a contact. She sucked in a breath of electrified
dread as her arm was brushed by Her Master’s. The man had moved to
fold his hands behind him, placing them out of sight. It was an
innocuous stance, outwardly innocent, but for Emily it was
dangerously threatening given the proximity they shared. The menace
was heightened by some subtle pressure, the man pressing his arm
into Emily’s.

With this trigger, awareness flowed as senses enlivened. Emily
could smell Her Master’s familiar scent – a rich musky aroma of
pure masculinity and did the oddest things to her sex. But there
was something else that was new to her – subtle and expensive – a
good choice of aftershave in Emily’s opinion, splashed onto his
trademark black stubble. She could feel Her Master’s heat through
the material of their clothes. She could hear his steady breathing
above the pounding of her own heart. The man radiated confidence
and an aura of virility – just his presence was enough to thrill
Emily to the core – Her Master’s strength winning over the young
woman’s fears of the moment.

There was another ‘ping’ which broke Emily’s sensory trance.
More people got out at the seventh floor, leaving only a couple of
men standing a few yards in front of them, both facing away. More
silence ensued as the ascent continued. Like before, there was no
attempt to engage in conversation, although Emily and Her Master
remained pressed together – the man refusing to use the extra space
that had just been created. It was awkward. But Emily was gaining
some confidence in the bizarre situation as it would appear Her
Master didn’t intend to humiliate her by some public display of
authority.

Then that blossoming confidence was shattered when Emily felt
more movement. Out of sight, behind their backs, the man reached
over to fondle Emily’s ass – stroking the buttocks, giving the buns
a good grope, and forcing his fingers into the crack to prod at the
hole he’d claimed as his.

Emily was shocked. She was utterly stunned by the audacity of
the act. She wanted to flee but she knew she was trapped. All she
could do was stand and accept what was happening – keep still as a
statue and pray that nothing was detected by the other people in
the elevator.

The groping continued, and despite her terror of being exposed
as a shameless slut who had allowed this display of public
indecency, Emily could feel herself getting embarrassingly aroused
– her pussy oozed and her nipples hardened – a sexual flush
coloured her face.

Then more horror struck. She could feel the material of her
skirt being grabbed. The man pulled it up so the hem rose at the
back – it rose at the front as well! From a few inches above the
knees, it crept higher and higher in a shameless display. With her
fears growing, Emily looked to the panel where only two lighted
numbers glowed – ‘twelve’, which they were approaching, and the
other being ‘twenty’.

Panic struck. It hit Emily like a fist hard in the solar
plexus. Soon they would stop and the doors would open. Would Her
Master get out? That seemed unlikely – this was obviously the visit
to the top floor he had threatened. The other men would leave
though, which would be a relief. But one of them might turn round
to make a parting nod, and if he did he would surely spot Emily’s
dishevelled state and put two and two together. Or even worse -
perhaps there would be someone waiting outside, directly facing –
someone she knew, going to the top floor. It would be mortifying
beyond belief.

Emily turned to Her Master and mouthed the word ‘please’.
Tears of shame welled in her eyes. She got a grin in reply along
with a slow shake of refusal. The hand wasn’t removed. The skirt
remained disgracefully raised and Emily silently cried.

Ping!

They were there! The twelfth floor had arrived. Emily held her
breath as the elevator doors parted, dreading a familiar face with
a pair of shocked eyes. But there was no one outside. The corridor
was empty. Her luck continued as the final two men left, exiting
the elevator without turning round. After an eternity of anguish
the door finally closed. Emily breathed a huge sigh of
relief.

“That was exciting, wasn’t it Blondie?” laughed Her Master
once they were safely alone.

Emily let out a nervous croak in response, before managing to
utter an affirming, “Yes, Master.”

“I thought you would enjoy it, you filthy slut! Now get down
on your knees and show me some cock worship. I expect proper thanks
for giving you such a thrill.”

“But...”

“No buts!” snarled the man, spinning round on Emily and
raising his fist in blatant threat. “Now hurry up. We’re already
passing the fourteenth floor. You don’t have much time, and I don’t
have much patience for slaves who don’t obey me!”

Emily knew it was no joke. And she knew she had no will to
defy this man even if it led to total disgrace. She sank to her
knees before Her Master, and in a blur of motion that looked
whorishly hasty she pulled down his zip and battled through the
flies, under the briefs to the heat of his cock that had bloated
into a fine semi-erection – wonderfully large, but thankfully still
pliable. Emily managed to pull it out.

“Sixteen and rising, Blondie,” laughed the man, seemingly
impervious to his own perilous state that would see him sacked on
the spot for such degenerate behaviour, no matter how impressive
the dick he was exposing.

Numb with fear, burning with lust – Emily pulled the foreskin
back to fully expose the knob. Whilst the generous sized shaft
hardened in her hand, Emily slurped the swelling head into her
mouth and lashed it with her tongue, tasting the flavour that oozed
from the eye.

“Eighteen, Blondie – we’re almost there.”

Emily made to pull away, assuming this was her cue and the
permission to stop. But Her Master grabbed her head and thrust with
his hips, stuffing his cock that was now solid as a rock, all the
way into Emily’s gagging throat.

“Nineteen, Blondie!” the man brazenly chortled as he made a
few pumps then quickly withdrew, leaving Emily gasping for air.
“Now lick my boots like you did yesterday evening. Carry on licking
until I tell you to get up. Show me that I own you, even here on
the top floor.”

Tears streamed from her horror struck eyes, but Emily obeyed –
how could she not. Despair smothered her in a doom laden cloak as
she envisaged the scene that was about to be exposed. It wouldn’t
take an encounter with Donald Harper for this man to end Emily’s
career. It would be over in a moment, as soon as the elevator
stopped and those bloody doors opened with their bitchy little
hiss. For in the area directly outside sat a receptionist at her
desk – a right little floosie who loved to chat, and was
particularly friendly with Tessa Clifford – the evil witch who
headed Human Resources and who would then use this information to
gleefully crush Emily Johnson with.

Through the blur of tears Emily heard Her Master fumbling. The
man rushed to put his cock away as Emily licked the leather of his
boots – a pair of highly polished brogues that looked new and
expensive just like his suit. Then Emily heard a ping followed by
the hiss of doors. Her world had surely come to an end.