Clark ignored the people he passed on his way back to his office. He did not like having to meet at another executive’s office and he did not like Ablemore. The combination of the two made him slightly irritated, even after Abby’s ministrations. He should have been walking on air, finally having dominated a woman who’d spurned him for so long. But of course it wasn’t the same; she didn’t recognize him and she was happy to serve. It made his stomach turn. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he should have known Bethany wasn’t in there anymore. At least, not enough for her to. . .
Well, he had hoped there was something amiss in her programming, Clark admitted to himself. But Abby had seemed the perfect SecSlave.
She’d done as Ablemore asked after Clark had settled himself on the couch, crawling to him on her hands and knees to lick him clean and raise him again for another round. He had planned to take her ass next. He knew it would be a tight fit, since Ablemore wasn’t into that sort of thing. Her eyes had been on his until he frowned, then she dropped her gaze and closed her eyes, seemingly content with her place between his legs.
Clark’s attention returned to the hall and the man he’d bumped into.
“Sorry, Mr. Ayreshire,” the man blinked nervously and swallowed before kneeling to collect scattered papers. Clark watched him a moment before continuing on his way.
Clark did not like Ablemore. He detested the overweight, whiny, bleeding-heart, middle-aged. . . Clark sighed and tried not to think about his business partner’s shortcomings. He stood quietly outside the double-doors to his own office suite, collecting himself before he entered. In the silence of the hall he heard the silence of his own SecSlave, waiting. He allowed himself a small smirk before opening the door.
Unlike his wrinkle-shirted, sloppy partner, Clark kept his SecSlave in her place. It wasn’t enough for him to have a secretary he could fuck any time he liked.
There she was, against the far wall, naked, hairless, denuded of personality. Her collar was not the romantic black velvet ribbon Abby wore but a wide stainless steel band. Chains ran from soldered rings on the collar, through heavy-gauge nipple rings, to black leather wrist and ankle cuffs, which were in turn clipped to rings in the wall at the moment. It was a great annoyance to him that he had to let her off that wall at the end of the day and during weekends. The engineers had explained that SecSlaves, being once human, needed to change positions occasionally, otherwise they wouldn’t work properly.
“We need to take care of our toys,” Ablemore had said when they had last met with the engineers and programmers. Clark had arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
Ablemore had scheduled the meeting after Clark’s last SecSlave had fainted. He hadn’t noticed until the end of the day, when he wanted to take his frustration with Accounting out on her. He’d called the techs who, in turn, called the in-house nurse who, in turn, called the on-call doctor. By then Clark had left for the day. She was techs’ problem, not his. A new SecSlave was in his office when he arrived the next morning.
This one, Brynly, had lasted the longest and he had to admit it was partly due to his new policy of releasing her from the wall. As he walked toward her, her crimson lips parted, her eyes watching his crotch. He could hear a faint mechanical hum as he drew closer. But he ignored her and settled in his chair at his desk. There was work to do.
Brynly’s work was to listen. If no one was speaking she listened to the hum of the vibrator that was attached to the wall less than half an inch from her. On occasion it would rise against her for a split second. If she was good. If she listened. If she could repeat verbatim upon request. But of course she could, it was part of her programming.
She knew she was a SecSlave, no longer wholly human. She could recall memories of being a mail sorter for the post office and of dating Bruce. But the memories elicited no emotional response and she rarely thought about her former life. She thought about sounds. She thought about her Executive. Both thoughts made her cunt wet with desire, though she’d never admit it, even if Mr Ayreshire asked her directly. She knew the correct answer: “I feel nothing, Sir, but the desire to serve you as you allow me to.” It had taken her only a few minutes under the sting of his waffle-gridded paddle to arrive at the proper answer and she clung to it like a lifeline in this strange new world.
Mr Ayreshire wanted her to be aware of everything and to react to none of it. He had taken a great delight in punishing her when she failed at one or the other. Her programming had been basic when she arrived at his suite, just like any other SecSlave, and her mind had been prepped to program itself after the needs and wants of the Executive. Mr Ayreshire’s method of expressing his needs and wants was particularly brutal.
Brynly let her tongue move in her mouth but did not lick her lips, as she would have liked. Her eyes were on her Executive, what little she could see of him. The techs who freed her from the wall often entertained each other by guessing why he’d display her on a wall and then arrange his office so that his back was to her while he was seated at his desk.
She ignored the techs, ignored their gropes and fruitless pulls at her clit. She was not interested in them and she certainly wasn’t going to tell them why her Executive acted as he did. But Brynly knew why his back was to her and she would have smiled if she wasn’t so well-trained.
Mr Ayreshire liked to take a break from work by masturbating, swiveling his chair to face her on her wall. He’d let his gaze travel along the lines of her flesh as his hand moved faster and faster. Sometimes he’d aim for her from his chair, sometimes he stood and came closer to ensure that his semen hit her in just the right spot. When his hot cum landed on her she breathed into her own strong and silent orgasm, fingers twitching, nostrils flaring. It was as much physical expression as he allowed. He wanted her to cum and he wanted to punish her for cumming. It was a fine line for both of them.
Clark started going through his e-mails and came across the photos of Abby that marketing wasn’t happy with.
“I should have brought you along to meet her,” Clark said aloud as he looked through the pictures. Abby was clothed, wearing what looked like a pimp’s version of a professional white-collar outfit - white button-down shirt with half the buttons undone, the collar ending in sharp vees over a dark blue woolen blazer. Her matching skirt ended just above the knee and had slits on either side that, in at least one photo, exposed the curve of the bottom of her ass as well as the tops of her navy blue stockings and matching garter straps. Her eyes sparkled above moistened lips, the look on her face promised that she’d do everything as your personal assistant to make sure you and your customers and staff were satisfied. He felt his lip curl.
The photos were fine. He typed up a note saying so and sent it off.
Things were getting close. In less than a month a stack of brochures would be in his briefcase and he would be on a plane to China. He still hadn’t decided whether or not to take Brynly or his wife on the trip. What he really wanted to do, he admitted to himself, was take both. Brynly spoke Chinese, as well as three other languages, thanks to the SecSlave programming. But, even clothed, she’d stand out with her shaved head and her electric blue eyes. And he knew his wife would be uncomfortable around her. Not a month went by that she didn’t make some sort of comment intimating that she’d prefer he had a male secretary.
“Brynly, the remainder of today’s scedule,” he said aloud as he rose from his desk and crossed the white carpet to the kitchenette. He found his lunch in the small refrigerator, placed the sandwich on a china plate, and took it to the coffee table. He watched her as he ate. Her eyes were on the crotch of his trousers, as she’d been trained.
“One o’clock meeting with Mr Shultz to approve basic SecSlave programming for the Asian market. Two o’clock meeting with Ms Lim to approve basic SecSlave wardrobe and accessories for the Asian market. Three o’clock meeting with Mr Fong to approve short list of presale customers in Beijing. Three thirty meeting with Mr Ablemore -”
“What?” Clark sighed. He’d have to see his business partner again.
“Three thirty meeting with Mr Ablemore,” Brynly repeated, “and Mr Shultz to discuss basic SecSlave programming for the Middle East market. Follow up meeting with Mr Ablemore to discuss sourcing raw material for product. There are no further meetings scheduled today. After work, pick up Chinese food for dinner at home. There are no further items on today’s list.”
Brynly’s clit bucked against the burst of pleasure from the vibrator as it tapped against her. The knowledge that it would had shortened her breath as she recited the day’s list and had primed her for a sharp orgasm. She bit her lip in an effort to avoid displaying her reaction to the sensations that flooded her muscles and mind. But Clark noticed the lip biting and he sighed melodramatically.
“At some point you’ll learn to act like the emotionless robot you are, Brynly. I can see that you need a little more practice.”
He rose from the couch and approached her. She kept her eyes on his crotch. Maybe today. Maybe today he’d fuck her. No, she wasn’t a proper SecSlave robot, he wouldn’t deign to stick his cock in her. She had bitten her lip when she came. She was bad.
Clark unclipped her wrists and ankles from the wall, then the collar. She immediately knelt at his feet, her eyes still locked on his crotch, the palms of her hands against the bottoms of her feet, her thighs wide apart.
“Get over the coffee table,” he said, glancing at his watch. He had twenty minutes or so before the one o’clock meeting with tech.
Brynly practiced walking mechanically until she reached the coffee table in front of the couch. She knelt at one end and draped her torso over the small, low table, arms over her head, wrists loosely dangling over the far side. She rested her right cheek against the smooth, cool wood and closed her eyes, waiting.
The first time he’d done this he’d had to restrain her. Even with the programming her basic instinct to protect herself had kicked in and she’d moved her hands to cover her ass. But she was able, now, to hold herself still without external aids and the idea of a hard paddling excited her, especially since it was her Executive.
Clark opened one of the drawers that rose vertically alongside Brynly’s niche and withdrew a ping pong paddle. Not as heavy as others he had, which meant he could enjoy himself a bit longer before his wrist gave out. There were some things his daily dose of ViralViril couldn’t address.
He turned to look at his SecSlave draped invitingly over the low table. Her smooth, flawless bottom jutted out just the slightest bit. She’d spread her legs slightly, knees lined up against the legs of the table, revealing her hairlesss, wet slit.
“Tell me what you did wrong, Brynly,” he said as he approached her exposed form.
“I used a human expression even though I am a robot,” she replied dutifully, opening her eyes and idly taking in the shape and color of the couch.
“What were you before you were a robot?” he asked her in a stern voice. He sat on the couch, his knees near her shoulder, and gently ran the edge of the paddle along her spine, back and forth. She could see him out of the corner of her eye but she did not try to look at him, instead trying to focus on the middle distance, to look more like a robot.
Brynly knew this call and response conversation by heart now and mechanically replied, “I was an addict and was sentenced to life without parole for a drug-related crime in which a woman was killed.” She willed herself to stay still under the slight tickle and pressure of the paddle.
The confession brought to mind the scene of that night, the men she was with, breaking into what they thought was an empty apartment filled with cash. The cash part was true, but the young prostitute in the apartment had tried to protect the pile and Brynly’s boyfriend had knifed her. It wouldn’t have been fatal except for the fact that no one had called 911.
“And when the choice came?” Clark said, priming her for her next words. He stopped caressing her and lifted his hand away.
“I chose servitude over jail,” she said without emotion.
“And how do you feel about choice you made?” he asked, nudging her knee with the toe of his shoes.
“I feel nothing, Sir, but the desire to serve you as you allow me to.” If she’d been allowed to answer honestly she would have said, “I worship you with my heart and soul.” But even that thought was subsumed by a sharp sensation as Clark brought the paddle down on her bottom.
Brynly hung on to the thought that she must act like an android, she must let her body stay slack, as though incapable of feeling or reacting to pain. She focused on her eyelids, how they automatically closed and opened, and on her breathing, keeping it as even as possible.
The blows sounded high and clipped. Clark watched as the skin of her ass moved from a delicate pink to a brighter red and then, in some places, a hint of purple. He was lifting the blood up from this recovered body before him. A body that would have been shut away from the light and the life of a free person. A body that, while not free, had been liberated from the rule of a drug-addled mind incapable of making good decisions.
Finally he stopped, his wrist was too tired to continue. He dropped the paddle to the floor and ran his hands over her hot flesh, kneading it, virtually willing her to drop the facade he’d taught her to perfect. But she remained still and silent, patient, involuntary tears rolling from her mute eyes.
“Open your mouth,” he said as he unzipped his trousers. She did as he asked. He moved her arm out of his way, letting it drop toward the floor, her hand resting on the carpet, then reached behind her head and roughly pulled her to the edge of the coffee table.
He was already hard. He unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock. He teased himself, looking at Brynly staring vacantly at his member, while he used the fingers of both hands, sliding them up and down his shaft in more of a caress than a hand job, swirling them around himself. She was almost ready, almost perfect.
Clark shifted forward until the tip of his penis rested against Brynly’s parted lips. She resisted the urge to bob her head forward and swallow him up. For what seemed to her like an eternity he just sat there, looking at the tableau he’d arranged. Her lips had been tattooed red and the color framed his member in a lascivous way. Her blue eyes and small nose completed the obscenity in a way that made his erection harder, moved him that much closer to orgasm. And her fair and long neck, half of it hiding behind the iron collar, made him think of a queen or a courtesan. It amused him to imagine the drug-addled Brynly had actually been a queen and was now a slave.
He shifted forward again and slid his cock between her red lips. He watched intently as he disappeared into her mouth. It was deliciously warm and wet. Brynly kept her tongue still. She stared at the fabric of his trousers as if nothing he could do would move her gaze.
Clark sank himself further into her mouth until his belly was against her nose. Brynly focused on breathing, although she almost couldn’t. His cock was the best she’d ever had. The best tasting, the perfect size. She wanted to tell the whole world that she’d found the best lover and yet she was silent. Her Executive did not want to hear about how perfect he was.
As he fucked her mouth Brynly felt her pussy getting wetter and wetter. The fire from the paddling seemed to fade as her sex heated up. His movements were becoming jerkier. He held her head still and Brynly rejoiced in the confinement, in knowing he was happier with her head pressed against the low table. She felt herself starting to fade into a collection of moments - breathe, hold breath, breathe, hold breath, blink, breathe - the moments continued into infinity, swept before her by his moans and sighs.
Finally he could stand it no longer. He let himself go, spilling into her mouth. She swallowed automatically and was still again. He held her head to his belly until the aftershocks subsided, until he could breathe again, then he let her breathe, too.
“Mount the wall face-first,” Clark said as he zipped himself up and stood. He crossed the room to Brynly’s niche and took out a suction-cup dildo from the column of drawers beside it. He licked his thumb and dragged it across the base of the toy then affixed the base to the wall at head height. Brynly’s gaze at the silicone member and realized it matched her Executive’s cock exactly. She stood before she could be reprimanded and stepped up to the wall. Clark adjusted the height of the toy so she wouldn’t be standing on tip-toes then stepped back. His SecSlave immediately opened her mouth and took the dildo in, spreading her arms and legs so he could clip her on to the wall again.
The feel of the silicone in her mouth was strange but not bad. If her Executive wanted her in this position then this was what she wanted, as well. She closed her eyes and listened to the small, relentless hum between her legs.
“That ought to make it easier for the engineer to focus on the meeting,” Clark said, admiring Brynly’s red and well-sculpted ass. “I know he’s a tit man.”