Zoe's Awakening Pt. 03

I walk in to work the next day feeling confident that I can take some control back here. I can play this game, and possibly win, if I work it just right. So, I sashay in, hips swinging, knowing how incredible my ass looks in this skirt.

It seems to work, as Page's jaw practically drops when he sees me. He's pretty good at keeping his face neutral, though, and his surprised look vanishes as quickly as it came. He motions smoothly for me to come into his office, shutting the door behind me, barking orders immediately.

"Spread your legs wide, put your hands on the desk and arch your back. Really stick your ass up for me," he says, his voice edgy and just the slightest bit shaky.

I comply immediately, sneering a little, a hint of the defiance I feel on my face in knowing I caused him to lose a bit of that steely control he seems so proud of.

He leans forward then, peeling my skirt up to my hips, exposing the black thong and garter belt I'm wearing. I hear him groan, and feel his hands digging into my ass cheeks, squeezing greedily, spreading my ass apart. Then, he sinks to his knees behind me and licks, long and slow, his heavy tongue sliding along the outside of my panties, causing me to writhe and moan.

Then, his voice: "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

I bit my lip and nod, reluctant to admit it, but unable to deny it. Page stands suddenly, pushing my soaked underwear aside, sliding two fingers into me from behind, using slow, firm motions, working deeper, pressing into me, feeling the incredible wetness and heat there.

"Say it," he growls into my ear, pausing his ministrations to wet his thumb in my pussy before sliding it into my ass, then slipping three fingers into my dripping cunt.

"Yes..." I hiss, my teeth clenched, feeling myself on the verge of orgasm, his fingers and thumb working in perfect circles inside me, hitting every sensitive spot at once.

"Say please," Page taunts, and my knees give out a little, a moan escaping my lips unbidden.

I clamp my mouth shut, unwilling to beg, and he pulls his fingers out of me, then walks around the desk and shoves his hand in my mouth.

"Suck my fingers clean, and say 'Please fuck me.'" Page commands, his voice cold and hard and uncompromising.

I suck his fingers and look him in the eye, determined to win somehow. "Make me," I whisper.

His eyes narrow to slits as he stares at me. Then, suddenly, he grabs me, hauls me up onto his desk, pulling open a drawer. From it, he pulls several lengths of soft cord. Within moments, he has me hog tied, ankles, wrists and knees tied together. Simple, but effective. He's definitely had practice, I think wildly, not really processing what has just happened.

Another cord gags me, and Page finished by looping a last cord around my knees, and over my neck, leaving me completely trussed up and helpless on the desk, knees pulled up around my shoulders.

"I gave you..." he sneers, slapping my ass hard with an open hand, "A chance." Another slap, each one punctuating his speech. "You could've been good." SLAP. "You could've said 'PLEASE'" SLAP. "You could've asked to be fucked..." Another slap, on my pussy, making me jolt and flood with wetness. "But..." SLAP, my ass burning now... "You tried to be clever."

He smacks my tits again, setting them shaking, my nipples getting harder and harder as the slaps increase in savagery. Then he plunges three fingers back into me, rhythmically pumping them, the squishing and squelching noises seemingly spurring him on.

"I was going to give you what you wanted. I was going to fuck you hard, over this desk, I was going to use you like I know you've been dying to be used. Like a slut, like a worthless goddamn whore whose only fit to be fucked full of come and dumped at the side of the road..." he says, voice rising as his anger becomes more apparent.

Abruptly, he stops pumping his fingers inside me, probably sensing how close I am to coming. A tiny whimper escapes my gag.

"Now you can watch instead whilst I give someone else all the cock you would've gotten."

He dumps me unceremoniously onto the floor under his desk, throwing my crumpled blouse and skirt on top of my prone form. I can hear him pick up the phone and dial, then a nasally female voice answers.

Page's voice, again, low and cool and inviting, sensual even. "Hello, Cindy? Can you come into my office please? Bring a notepad, I'm going to need you for a while..."

+++

So, here I am, tied up, turned on beyond any rational thought, and shoved under my boss' desk. And I think he's going to fuck Cindy. Cindy. It makes me shudder with a combination of hatred (of him and her, equally), envy, anger, and, Jesus Christ it's true... lust. I wriggle around under the desk so that my face is pressed to the floor. There's a slight opening that I can see out of, and I have a decent view of the two chairs that sit opposite Page's. I hear footsteps approaching and a rap on the door.

His voice, calm, inviting. "Cindy? Come on in, lovely." Fucking bastard. She already wants to fuck you, I think, stop playing it up so much. I roll my eyes, although no one has the benefit of seeing it.

Cindy's voice now, annoying. High pitched. Nasal. Eager, breathless. Stupid cunt. I think spitefully, though I'm not sure why. "Oh, um, hi Mr. Page. What can I do you for? I mean, do for you?" A nails-on-chalkboard giggle escapes her mouth, like she's a 16 year old school girl rather than an almost 50 year old divorcee.

She's actually not that bad a person. For some reason, though, I just find her unbearable. She'd gotten a divorce a while back due to her husband cheating on her, and I felt bad enough for her, but her constant woe-is-me attitude never sat well with me. I'd overhear her talking to another divorcee in the office, saying things like "Well, Joe just wanted oral sex all the time, but I'm sorry, I can't do that sort of thing every three days! I guess he needed to get it somewhere, so he ruined our lives over it." I'd hear shit like this and feel a sense of exasperation. I'd kill to get my husband to fuck my face, I'd think, angry. It had created an irrational sense of hatred that was bubbling over at the moment.

Page's voice again, smooth as a hot knife through butter: "Please, Cindy, sit down. I'd love to talk to you about some opportunities within the department."

Opportunities my fucking ass, I think savagely. He sits at his desk and Cindy sinks into a chair in front of me. I can see up her skirt a little. I look away, not quite ready to deal with what's about to happen. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my lower back. Page kicked me! Fucking asshole, I think, turning my head slightly and nipping his ankle. I'd love to see his face right now. But he give no indication that he felt it, so I turn back and continue watching the show.

He makes idle small talk with poor Cindy, who's a hot mess from what I can see. She's squirming in her chair and looking all kinds of bothered. I wonder what sort of bedroom eyes he's staring at her with up there. Suddenly I hear the conversation turn to Cindy's divorce. He's all sympathy, saying "if you ever need anything, anything at all...I'm here for you." God I could throw up. Damn if it's not working, though. Cindy makes a joke about being friends with benefits.

I realize then that Page fucking made her come on to him. At this point, I have to admit... he's pretty fucking good at this. A real mater manipulator. I wonder if that's what makes him so angry, so spiteful, when he fucks me - that I didn't exactly offer myself up for this. I wonder if my reluctance, my defiance has anything to do with the way he grabs me and slaps me and treats me like a whore. I guess I'd better not stop being reluctant, I think, or the best sex of my life will end. It makes me a little sad to admit it, but fuck, it's true. I've never come so hard, in all my slutty years.

I realize I was lost in thought as I hear and feel Page leave his desk and cross the room, standing next to Cindy's chair. I can see up to mid torso, and I notice the bulge in his pants and wonder idly if it's really from dear old frumpy Cindy or from the knowledge that he has a little fuckslave tied up and gagged under his big mahogany desk.

"Well, Cindy, does this answer your question?" I hear him ask, placing her hand on his erection.

Cindy's breath is ragged, coming in random bursts. She lightly runs her fingers over Page's crotch outside of his slacks. I can just see her face, and it looks like all her dreams have come true. Christmas has come early, sweet little Cindy, I think randomly, and have to choke back a wild little giggle.

The rest of the build up is a blur. Soon, though, his shirt is off, Cindy running her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest, looking dazed. He's really going textbook on her, complimenting her figure, kissing her neck and ears, playing with her breasts. Slowly, he gets a little rougher with her, and when she sinks down to give him a blow job I can tell he's pushing her head. Ah, but sweet Cindy hasn't had much practice it seems and she gags on that big cock. Not a pretty gag either. I swear I'll laugh hysterically if she pukes. She doesn't but she seems a little disgusted and he finally hauls her up, bends her over the desk in front of me, and eats her pussy and ass like a dog eating a bowl of oatmeal. Cindy, probably never having experienced such finesse, is a writhing mess. I can see her legs shaking and starting to give out and I hear her come with a loud "Oh my GOD!"

I have to admit that knowing he's making her come is doing some fucked up things to my brain. I'm throbbing all over, not just my pussy but every part of me it seems. The ropes are starting to get uncomfortable. All I can think about is the fact that I'm so hot right now, I'll let him fuck me after he's come in Cindy. It disgusts me, really, but I know I will. That's how bad I need it at this point.

I'm shaken from my reverie again by the unmistakable sounds of animalistic fucking. Cindy's bent over the desk, I can see both pairs of legs in front of me. Page is plowing her from behind it looks like. I can tell his hand is shoved in her mouth because my oh my our little Cindy is a squealer! He's whispering in her ear, but I can't make out what he's saying. It seems to be igniting Cindy's nerves, though, because she moans and pants after everything he says. I can tell he's gonna come soon, the pace has picked up from luxurious to frantic. I hear it moments later, the muffled "Hhnggghhhh" of satisfaction as he fills Cindy up with come.

The rest of the time is a blur, I can't think anymore. A haze of lust has clouded my thoughts, every single ounce of my brain power now focused totally on being fucked in every hole. I didn't realize it but a low moaning sound has been coming from me, for God knows how long, as the images of all the things I want Page to do to me flood my slutty brain: him, fucking me like this, trussed up or hogtied, using a hitachi on my clit while he fucks my ass, me, laying across the bed, head hanging off the side, as he fucks my face like it's my pussy and uses a riding crop to slap my tits and clit relentlessly. I'm shaking all over when Page finally leans his face down to look at me. Cindy is apparently gone to clean up.

He smiles at me and I start crying.

+++

I don't really know why I'm crying. I don't have the presence of mind at the moment to examine any deep emotions or thoughts, all I know is that I'm totally overwhelmed. I have the distinct feeling that some imaginary line has been crossed. A line I drew in the sand between my former self and my "new and improved self". I'm right back to where I started - depraved slut. Begging for more, getting off on pain and humiliation. Except now I've upgraded from a frat house to a corporate office, with the added problem of having other people in my life who could be seriously hurt by my actions.

The worst part? I don't actually care. Mark is just a buffer, a nice guy I sunk my hooks into in order to give myself some semblance of normalcy. To project a perfectly crafted image that I had thought up, packaged with a pretty bow, and claimed as my own. But that image is certainly not me. Not now. Not here, a crumpled mess under my boss' desk, tied up and enjoying the humiliation of having to listen to and watch him fuck someone else. But now it's over, Cindy's gone, probably dick-drunk at her desk, unable to complete the simple tasks required of her for the rest of the day.

Page is in front of me, his cock still out and covered in her juices, and his own cum, and it's semi-hard and he's telling me to clean it off and I'm doing it, eagerly, little noises coming from the back of my throat that I didn't even realize I was making. I barely register the taste, not caring, just wanting to feel something. I suck his dick like I'm trying to suck a bowling ball through a straw, licking the balls too, lost in my utter depravity. I can feel his cock coming completely to life, filling my mouth, and it excites me even more. I want to feel it in the back of my throat, choking me. Punishing me. All too soon, he's hauling me off, telling me to get dressed for a meeting. I dress quickly, in a daze, feeling like I exist somewhere in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, the only reminder of the here and now a dull ache between my thighs, reminding me that I'm alive and I need to come and I'm a fucking whore.

We get in Page's car, an expensive little two seater that I'm sure Mark would have a much greater appreciation of than I do. I almost laugh out loud at the thought of Mark in this moment, but bite my lip hard to keep it from escaping. Instead, I give a strange little sob. I feel like I might actually be going insane. We pull up to a health food store, which baffles me. But, in my daze, I'm unable to comment, instead just sitting passively in the car as he runs in for whatever it is he's buying. Before long he's back and we're driving again, the drive becoming more and more familiar. I realize we're headed to my house. The one I share with my husband. No no no no no I think, not able to process this on top of everything else that's occurred.

Page pulls into my driveway and I stiffen, looking at him with quiet fury. "What is this?" I ask, not really expecting any response. I was right. He just stares at me, and offers me the choice between leading him inside nicely or walking naked around my neighborhood, finishing with a nice cumshot on my chest for all the neighbors to see. I know he's bluffing, that he would just force me in the house regardless, but I'm sure he's enjoying the thought nonetheless, and so instead of acknowledging it, I lead him inside as calmly as possible when my heart feels like it will beat through my chest.

I try to rationalize this. I'm being forced. Blackmailed. What am I supposed to do? Some part of me, the tiny little decent part I have, replies, quietly "Call it off. Tell your husband. Come clean. Apologize..." but I shake my head, not willing to damage my pride, not willing to give up the intense pleasure that Page has been able to give me, that physical pleasure mixed in with the heady excitement of wrongdoing. I am such a fucking bitch, I think. The thought doesn't arouse any particular emotion one way or the other. It's just a statement of fact, pure and simple.

Once inside, Page shoves me toward the stairs, urging me to lead him to the bedroom I share with my husband. The thought of fucking him there - in our bed, where Mark and I had our first time, where he sometimes makes me come (but only if I'm thinking really hard about what I'd rather be doing) - makes me wet, the horrible slut that I am. He kisses me then, invading my mouth with an expert tongue, claiming me, making sure I obey. But it was never really a question. I turn silently and open the door, then undress as directed. We're both standing now and my heartbeat quickens as he opens a jar of coconut oil - So that's what he purchased at the health food store - thinking of the filthy mess we'll end up making all over my lovely king size bed makes me salivate. Knowing he will be able to make me come again and again in a way that Mark never could makes my knees weak.

I wonder what makes Page's cock harder, the idea of violating me in the bedroom I share with my husband, or the sight of me as he smears coconut oil all over my tits, stomach, arms, making them shine and look almost luminous. His touch as he rubs me down is almost gentle, and if I close my eyes I could imagine someone who cares about me doing the same thing. But I don't close them, I stare at him, the knowledge of his - what is it exactly? - hatred, lust, anger, all of the above? - actually making the pleasure stronger, more primal. He leans down and takes one of my nipples into his greedy mouth, sucking and biting gently at first, then much harder, making me twitch and moan and ache with need. His mouth leaves me as he grabs another scoop of solid oil, which quickly melts when it meets the flesh between my thighs. He takes his time, covering every inch of my pussy with the now warm oil, fingers sliding along my slit, feeling like they're everywhere at once, until I'm shaking and about to come. He senses my closeness and quickly flips me over to my stomach so he can focus on slathering oil on my back and ass. Once I'm totally covered, I feel him start to work his fingers in and I realize he's going to fuck my ass. He's warming me up now with the oil and fingers, but soon enough, he will replace them with his thick, hard cock. The idea makes me hungry, needy. I haven't had a dick in my ass since college.

I want it. I need it. I don't want it. I don't need it. I hate it. I love you. I hate you. My thoughts are a psychologist's wet dream of cognitive dissonance and I squirm and writhe on the bed as his fingers invade me, now in both my ass and pussy, filling me up, tearing moans unbidden from my throat.

Then, it's my turn. Page pushes the other jar of coconut oil into my hands with the order to oil him up and I'm more than happy to oblige. All sense of decorum, of reluctant shyness I may have been clinging to, has vanished with the knowledge of what's about to happen, of what has been happening. My hands shake a little as I scoop some of the oil out and start to slather it on him, starting with his broad chest, feeling the hair underneath my fingers and suddenly, violently overcome with the desire to lick every inch of him.

I haven't had time or inclination until to get a proper look at his body, but I can certainly appreciate it now, and as I work the oil into every inch of his skin, I'm aware of how incredibly sexy he is. I hate him and love him all over again. I worship and revile him simultaneously. I finally reach his cock and eagerly coat it in oil, working both hands over the shaft, exploring every single centimeter of flesh.

We're both completely coated in the oil, our bodies warm and slick and wet and shiny, and then Page yanks my hair, directing me to get on all fours on the bed. I hear his voice, stern and commanding, from behind me: "Beg me to fuck your ass. Tell me why you want this thick cock to use you and fill you to the brim with come..." A low keening sound, almost like an animal in pain, escapes my lips, as I try to gather my thoughts and explain the depths of my depravity, beg him to satisfy some seemingly unquenchable thirst within me.

"Please. Please fuck my ass. I want... no. I need to be used like a filthy fucking slut. I want you to fuck me in every hole, fill me with come, make me your fucktoy..." I continue begging quietly, subtle, whimpering pleas as he starts to invade my ass.

As he enters, he seems to lose whatever modicum of control he had previously and rams the entire length of his hard cock into me, causing me to shriek in a glorious combination of pleasure and pain. I don't know what I'm saying anymore, only know that I'm still talking, like he's my fucking therapist and I need to tell him every sick and depraved desire that's ever crossed my mind. Soon, he's flipping me over on my back, reaching for something out of sight.