Cat and Mouse
Angela Mason minced carefully down the street. Her new four inch heels made anything but the tiniest baby steps too risky. Making it even more difficult, the previously conservative young lawyer was wearing an immodestly short skirt. It barely covered the top of her thighs and was extremely tight, further hobbling her movements.
Angela had paired it with a clingy knit blouse cut low to reveal the tops of her full breasts. For all the world, she looked like a woman so desperate for attention that she was willing to sacrifice comfort and self-respect to get noticed. Judging from the leers she was attracting from men and the hostile looks from many of the women, it was working.
“Hi, Angie, baby,” a snickering voice right behind her said, breaking into the private misery of her thoughts and almost causing her to lose her balance. “Damn but you’re looking fine.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brandt, sir,” she said, responding to his compliment, if that’s what it was. She was careful not to stop or even turn in his direction. He didn’t like her to look him in the face, even by accident. The last time it had happened, just a few days before, she had been severely punished – right there in her office. Mr. Brandt had forced her to hike up her skirt, drop her panties and bend over the desk while he spanked her. Her tattooed ass had been bright red for the rest of the day. Sitting had been absolute agony. But even worse was the humiliation. Afterwards, she had to thank him, and he had kept her panties. No doubt about it, he was her client from hell, breaking her spirit as he turned her into a public spectacle.
His hand gripped her forearm, just tight enough to be uncomfortable, guiding her forward. She knew what an odd couple they made. Anyone looking at them would see a blonde whore with her college-age john. Mr. Brandt didn’t appear to be even 21 which made him at least 12 years younger than her, and he was nerdy – tall and skinny and balding with a long pink scar running along his right temple.
“How’s work, angel tits?” Mr. Brandt asked.
“Terrible, Angela said, “absolutely awful.” She knew better than to try to con him. “I’ve gone from being the firm’s shining success story – a lawyer on track to be the first female partner – to a total embarrassment.”
“And why’s that?” He was toying with her, playing a cat and mouse game whose only purpose seemed to be her complete humiliation.
“Because of how I dress. What I wear would be embarrassing on the firm’s most sex-crazed junior secretary let alone an ambitious lawyer trying to build a reputation as a successful litigator. I graduated at the top of my class at Duke, and you’ve made me look like a dumb slut.”
“Is that all?” he asked with deceptive mildness. He was going to make her recite the whole bitter story.
“I’m horny all the time. If I’m not at my desk, I’m probably in the women’s room masturbating. All a guy has to do is look at me and I’m ready to screw him or suck him off. Yesterday, I did all the guys in the mailroom. They had me on my hands and knees. There was one guy pounding me from behind while another fucked my face.” Despite herself, she blushed a furious scarlet. Mr. Brandt insisted she describe her sexual escapades in full detail using the most vulgar language, but she didn’t have to like it. Just remembering the utter humiliation of it was adding to the sexual heat which had become a constant for her.
“Go on,” he said.
“They tore open my blouse so my tits were hanging out. My knockers were swinging back and forth, and the guys were grabbing at them, pinching my nipples. They treated me like I was some dumb bitch in heat. While they were fucking me, they were laughing and high-fiving, and they came all over me. By the time they were done, I was drenched in cum.”
“And how did all that make you feel?” Mr. Brandt continued with a broad smile that Angela would have hated if she had been allowed to look at him.
“I … I loved it.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “I felt angry and totally humiliated, and I loved every minute of it. The more they abused me the hotter I got.” That was the worst of it, this weird inappropriate arousal she constantly felt. Somehow he had perverted her feelings to make her a willing participant in her degradation.
“Okay,” he said, “so you had a good time. I’m glad. I want you to enjoy yourself. What happened afterwards?”
“I was so ashamed. After they left, I hid until I thought everyone was gone. Then I snuck into the bathroom and tried to clean myself up. My blouse was so badly ripped, it was impossible to keep it closed. Anyone who saw me would know exactly what I had been doing.”
“And did anyone see you?”
“Yes. Some of the cleaning people and the guard in the lobby. When I got to my apartment building, I had to sneak in through the back and climb the stairs to the fifth floor because I didn’t dare take the elevator.” Just thinking about it, being forced to re-live it was having a predictable effect. If she were alone right now, she would have found a bathroom stall, lifted that joke of a skirt and strummed her fingers into her needful cunt. She had never thought of it as a cunt until recently, but that’s what it was. That’s also what she was, a cunt. He had turned her into one.
“In the future, no more hiding or sneaking through back alleys,” he continued, and the thought planted itself in her mind, becoming part of her new operating reality. “From now on, you’ll just have to live with the consequences of your behavior. It’s not like you’re fooling anybody anyhow.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, careful not to let any of her resentment show. He would enjoy it too much.
Surprised, she realized he was leading her into a small bar, not much more than a hole-in-the-wall on a nondescript side street. After lunch, it was pretty much empty, and a stale yeasty beer smell lingered in the air. It was the sort of place that Angela Mason, star corporate lawyer and yuppie snob, would never have entered. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder what fresh horror awaited her. They found a table in the back and sat down.
After a moment, the waitress, a stout middle-aged woman with her hair wrapped in a blonde bun, reluctantly approached them, her face frozen in a scowl. Angela felt a spasm of anger, another insult and from someone totally beneath her. But instead of lashing out, she just smiled and resisted the urge to place her hand over her gaping cleavage.
Before the waitress could say anything, Mr. Brandt quickly gave their order. “A Coke for me, whiskey straight up for the lady.”
The waitress froze for a moment with her mouth open and an index finger raised as though she was in the midst of some internal struggle. Then she smiled, “Certainly, sir, right away, sir. If you don’t mind, it’s on the house. It’s not often we get such a fine gentleman as yourself here.”
“In that case,” he said, “make it a large Coke for me and three whiskeys for the lady.” He winked. “Working girls need a lot of nourishment, and she’s had a very busy morning.”
The waitress hastened away, eager to fill their order.
“So, tell me, Angie, what does your afternoon look like?” Mr. Brandt asked once they were alone again.
She told him. She had a meeting with one of the senior partners. No doubt he was going to fire her. She had been on probation, and all of her cases had been taken away from her. There was really nothing left except to pack up her office and take whatever severance pay they would give her. It probably wouldn’t be much. “After all the embarrassment I’ve caused the firm, they don’t owe me a damn thing,” she concluded bitterly.
The waitress returned and placed their drinks on the table, lining up the three glasses of whiskey in front of Angela. “Will that be all, sir?” the waitress asked, smiling at Mr. Brandt, completely ignoring Angela.
“The lady and I were just talking about her tits,” he said. “She doesn’t think they’re big enough, and we wanted your opinion.” He turned his attention back to Angie. “Baby, pull out those jugs. Show the lady what you’ve got.”
Trembling with disbelief, Angie hiked up her knit top, raising it above her shoulders. As it came up, her boobs lifted up and bounced free. She was appalled, totally humiliated to be so exposed in public, but then why were her nipples so hard and why had her chest flushed a bright red?
“Go ahead,” he urged the waitress. “Check those babies out. Angie likes to have her nipples pinched. Isn’t that right, sweet cakes?”
“Y-yes,” Angela stuttered. “P-p-please pinch my nipples, the rougher the better.”
The waitress reached forward and hefted one breast in her palm, as if weighing a melon then she gripped the nipples, tugging them hard.
Angie gasped, squirming but making no effort to free herself.
“Very nice,” the waitress said, with her thumbs stroking the hard nubs, poking out so brazenly, “She really likes it, doesn’t she?”
“She’s a total slut,” Mr. Brandt agreed. “She fucked her way through law school and has screwed all the senior partners. But now her lack of competence has caught up with her, and they’re about to fire her ass. Isn’t that right, Angie?”
“Yes, sir” she said, lowering her head in shame. The waitress was still squeezing her nipples. Pressing her thighs together, Angie resisted the urge to lower a hand between them and pleasure herself.
“Do you want her?” he asked the waitress. “She likes girls, too. Ask her nicely, Angie. Maybe she’ll let you go down on her.”
P-please, please, ma’am, may I please lick your cunt?” Angie’s face flamed scarlet. “I’m really g-good.”
“No,” the waitress said sharply, that long suppressed look of disgust finally appearing on her face. She released Angie’s tits. “I don’t want the likes of you anywhere near me. Just finish your drinks and get out.”
“Sorry, Angie, we tried,” Mr. Brandt said, with a wave of his hand, dismissing the waitress. Despite herself, Angie watched the middleaged woman retreat with real regret.
“Okay, sweetmeat,” he continued, bringing her back to the present. “Let’s talk about your so-called law career. I know it’s hard for you to pay attention to anything but your cunt, but listen up. This is important.”
Angie tried to resist, tried focusing her anger on him, but she couldn’t. Instead, she found herself listening passively, hanging on his every word.
“From now on,” he continued, “whenever you try to think about legal matters, you’re going to get an enormous headache. Go ahead, let’s try it. Why don’t you tell me what habeas corpus is?”
Angie opened her mouth to speak but instead grimaced, pressing her hands to her head.
He let her suffer for a long moment then slid one of the glasses of whiskey in front of her. “Down the hatch,” he said. If you take a quick drink, the pain will go away.”
With a shaky hand, Angie reached for one of the glasses. She poured it down her throat, coughing violently, her boobs frantically bouncing. After a moment the coughing subsided, and she was able to catch her breath. Best of all, the pain in her head was completely gone.
“Here are some other things that will make the pain go away: thinking about sex or better yet, having sex. That’ll always make you feel good. Try it. Imagine yourself lying across this table with your skirt around your waist, and a big cock between your legs.”
Angie concentrated, picturing the scene. It was amazingly vivid, and she smiled broadly.
“The only thing better than thinking about sex is having sex,” Mr. Brandt continued. “But in your free time you’re also allowed to think about clothes and make up. Do you know why?”
Angie hesitated, really concentrating. “Because it’ll help me get more sex,” she finally said, a question in her voice.
“Very good, sweetmeat.” Mr. Brandt beamed at her. “You’re absolutely right.”
Angie smiled with relief. It was nice to be right for a change. Lately her self-esteem had taken a real beating.
“And working out, doing aerobics. From now on, that’s something you’re going to do a lot. Do you know why?”
It wasn’t fair, all these questions. Angie screwed up her face, really concentrating. “To make myself more appealing to men,” she said after a moment.
“Right again, doll face. And no more reading serious books or newspapers. Guys don’t like to fuck girls who think too much. Fashion and celebrity magazines are okay, and you can watch as much television as you want.”
She nodded, absorbing his words, the thoughts lodging in her head, part of her new reality.
“Any questions?”
He watched with obvious pleasure as she struggled to get her thoughts in order. Finally, she asked, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Why do you think? You tell me”
“Because you’re a monster.”
“Could be,” Mr. Brandt replied with a smirk. “Better drink up. You still have two more shots to do. If you hurry, you shouldn’t be too late for your meeting.” He stood up to leave then turned toward her again. “One more thing. On your way out, better tuck in those tits.” You don’t want to get arrested.”
Forty-five minutes later, Angela staggered into the law firm’s reception area. She weaved past a startled secretary who made a halfhearted effort to stop her and propelled herself into the office of William Wall, senior partner and notorious prick.
“Hi Willie, ol’ buddy,” Angela slurred, plopping down in the seat across from his desk. Her skirt, already scandalously short, hiked up giving him an excellent view of her bare thighs and narrow thong.
“Really, Ms. Mason,” Wall harrumphed. “You’re seriously late for our meeting and judging by your appearance none to sober. I would have thought … ”
“Oh fooey. Can it, Willie,” Angela interrupted. “Too mush thinkin’ is bad for you.” She staggered to her feet, grabbing hold of his desk and leaning forward as the room swayed drunkenly around her. She noticed with pleasure that he was staring down her blouse at her full breasts. Just in case he couldn’t see her hard nipples, she leaned forward a bit more.
Suddenly, Angie knew exactly what she had to do to save her job. Hiking herself onto his desk, she crawled on hands and knees toward him across the polished mahogany surface. In the process, her skirt rose to around her waist, and her tits popped free, practically dangling in his face.
Wall popped to his feet as though he had been slapped. But the bulge tenting the crotch of his pants told another story. Awkwardly, Angie managed to climb down from the desk and crouch at his feet. In an instant, she had lowered his zipper and was fishing in the capacious folds of his pants for his cock. It was large and hard and definitely ready for her. Angie wasn’t an experienced cocksucker. But her job was at stake, and she had always been a fast learner.
Holding his cock with one hand, she lapped at it with her tongue. Opening her mouth wide, she managed to wrap her lips around its head. To her surprise, she found she liked the way it felt in her mouth and even its musky masculine smell.
Instinct took over. Wall arched his hips and slid down her throat. She was so excited to be sucking him that she couldn’t stop salivating, and her pussy was dripping. His hands went to the sides of her head, rocking her back and forth.
“Unbelievable, unfucking believable,” Wall muttered as he energetically, almost ferociously fucked her face. His rhythm grew more and more frantic, and Angela felt a strange pride in being able to handle this rough, almost brutal, treatment. She could feel him tense, and a moment later she was rewarded with a mouthful of sticky jism. She swallowed frantically, but it continued to gush until it dribbled down the sides of her mouth and cheeks.
“Delicious,” she said when they finally disengaged, sticking out her tongue to show Wall the thick white coating. “So do I still have a job, darlin’?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a whole new position created just for you.” It was his cock speaking. But it certainly didn’t hurt her case that she was still nestled at his feet, licking him clean.
“When do I start?” she asked, looking into his face. Despite herself, she smiled.
“You already have.” He leaned forward and hit the intercom button on his desk. “Janine,” he barked to his secretary. “Cancel the rest of my meetings this afternoon. Something has come up.”
Raising Angie to her feet, he steered the woozy sex-addled lawyer toward a leather couch in the corner of his office. “Congratulations,” he said. “Now let’s see what you can really do.”
Since her meeting with Wall, Angie’s life had fallen into a regular routine. She was now his special assistant and sat in a small cubicle in a busy hallway right next to the copy machine. The location guaranteed a steady stream of traffic, and she suspected many of the people coming by simply wanted to gape at the ex-lawyer in her revealing outfits.
Today, Angie was having a pink day. She was decked out in a semitransparent shocking pink blouse with a shelf bra. The bra presented her breasts like twin offerings, leaving her nipples bare and partially visible through the blouse’s gauzy thin material. The equally pink micro-mini she wore did nothing to preserve modesty. When she sat the skirt barely covered her cunt and was constantly riding up to reveal a miniscule thong, also pink of course.
It wasn’t as though the outfits were her idea. She had a regular four o’clock meeting with Wall, mostly because the old goat usually wanted an end-of-day blowjob before going home to the suburbs. Generally, he would tell her what to wear the next day. The sexy school girl look was a special favorite as were his numerous color-theme days.
It would have been difficult to keep up with these special requirements if her clothing allowance hadn’t been so generous. It was now considerably larger than her salary which had shrunk to the level of an entry-level clerical employee. Angie had been forced to give up her penthouse apartment for a small little efficiency in a questionable neighborhood, and that high-powered BMW she had once driven was a distant memory. These days her ride was an old Ford Focus with a crumpled fender.
Mr. Brandt was of course still calling the shots. She had seen him leaving Wall’s office on several occasions. If she wasn’t careful, she would start to get angry which would trigger one of her headaches. Other times she would find her thoughts drifting to legal matters – it was after all a law office – and the pain would flare up in her temples with almost blinding intensity.
To deal with it, she kept a flask of cheap bourbon in her purse. Four or five slugs a day worked wonders for her mood. She just had to be careful when she walked. Between the booze and the four inch heels Wall favored, she was none too steady on her feet. The results were predictable. Colleagues who had once been her equal now treated her like a dumb slut.
Her computer chimed and a meeting notice came up on the screen: “Staff meeting – lunch duty,” it said.
Hastily, Angie checked her makeup. Pulling out her flask, she took a quick nip of bourbon then minced toward the conference room. Conversation died as she opened the door. Everyone turned to gape.
“Oh good, Angie, you’re here,” Wall said. “We’ve got a big group today. Hope you can handle it?” He chuckled sadistically.
Working her way around the table, she began taking down lunch orders, writing them down with a little pencil and a stenographer’s notebook, trying to keep it all straight. Some of the guys copped feels. By the time she left the conference room, she was angry, humiliated and horny all at once.
She headed straight to the bathroom, found a stall and plunged her fingers into her needful slit. Only after a few quick cums could she clear her head enough to go downstairs to the delicatessen. It was agony returning to the conference room to distribute all those box lunches only to find that she had messed up the orders again. By the time the process was over, she was back in the bathroom stroking herself through another series of orgasms.
“Could it get any worse?” Still in the stall, she slumped forward, letting her head sink into her hands.
It was 3 a.m., and Angie was coming home from a date with three Japanese businessmen who were law firm clients. They had ungallantly abandoned her on the sidewalk outside her building. It wasn’t too surprising that they didn’t want to be seen in public with her. She was dressed like an oriental schoolgirl in a snug white blouse with a little red bow and a short flippy shirt that showed off her white cotton panties with every step she took. Her hair was fastened into two pigtails, and she wore more makeup than she had since she was 12 years old and playing grown up.
Her dates had taken her to a strip club where she had been carded to her further embarrassment. After that, she had spent the night being passed around the table from one lap to another. They didn’t buy her anything to drink. Instead, they had her sip from their drinks, simply holding them up to her lips. As a result, she had gotten thoroughly wasted. They had almost been kicked out of the club because their antics were distracting other patrons from the dancers, but then one of the men had pulled out a wad of cash and the party had moved into a VIP room.
They’d had a lot of fun with their blonde bimbo, as evidenced by how gingerly Angie was walking – she was so filled with cum she almost squeaked. Scrapping the key against the lock, she managed after a couple tries to open her apartment door and fumble for the light switch.
What she saw scared her sober.
There on the couch sat Mr. Brandt, reading a magazine, waiting for her like a large predatory snake.
“”Hi Angie, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said in his mocking voice. “Love your outfit. It’s so wonderfully girlish. I’ve been hearing all kinds of good things about you. You’re making quite a name for yourself.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, remembering to keep her eyes down.
He toyed with her for a few more moments then had her sit down on the chair across from him. “It’s time we had that serious talk,” he continued. “But first open your legs and play with yourself. Just don’t come.”
God, it felt so good, so nasty to do his bidding. She was such a sticky mess.
Does the name Oliver Brandt mean anything to you?” he asked.
Shocked, she forgot her fingers in her soggy cunt and looked up startled. It was a mistake. His eyes were glaring, so angry they almost seemed to glow. Quickly she lowered her eyes again and put her fingers back to work.
“Tell me about it,” he demanded. “Tell me how you know him.”
“He was my client,” she said, thoroughly miserable. “He was a brilliant scientist and inventor. He developed a whole new approach to brain imaging technology.” She faltered.
“Keep going, sweet tits,” he said. “Tell me the rest of the story.”
“He trusted me. I was supposed to help draw up the incorporation papers for the company he was starting.”
“And did you?”
“Y-yes.” She was getting close to orgasm. “B-but I …”
“Go on, my little sex toy.’
“His parnters paid me to sneak some extra provisions into the contract so they could wrest control of the company from him and steal his inventions.” She shuddered. Her fingers picked up speed.
“Keep going,” he said. “What happened?”
“Everything. They got everything.”
“And it killed him, wrecked his health and eventually killed him,” Mr. Brandt said. The anger in his voice came through hot and strong. “Well, guess what, my little sex toy? Oliver Brandt was my father.”
She couldn’t hold out any longer. Her body was suddenly wracked by a powerful orgasm. She gasped and heaved, bucking her hips frantically as it overwhelmed her. In the aftermath, she lay sprawled across the chair, utterly wrecked, unable to move or even frame a coherent thought.
“But they didn’t get everything, not quite,” Mr. Brandt continued. “Before he died, my father developed a truly amazing device, a neurological interface capable of transmitting human thought patterns. But it can only work when it’s implanted in a brain.” He touched the long scar running across his temple. “I found a surgeon unscrupulous enough to perform the operation. There were some complications, and I almost died. But the important thing is it works. It works very well.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
“Why, sugar, you already are. Now get your ass in gear. I’ve already packed your suitcase. We have a plane to catch. You’re embarking on a whole new career.”
Three weeks later, Angie strode into what looked like a jury room. The skirt of her powder blue suit was scandalously short, barely reaching the top of her thighs, and her white blouse was snug, the top three buttons undone to show off a spectacular new pair of DD porn star breasts. Her nipples were the size of thumb tips and pierced with thin gold rings, clearly evident through the thin blouse. Mr. Brandt was particularly proud of the rings. They were his own design, and when her nipples swelled with arousal, the rings rose until they stood straight out.
The actors playing the jury awaited her, nine men and three women chosen for their stamina and aggressiveness. Quickly they closed on her. Within moments, Angie had been stripped and lay across the jury table. Legs spread, her bare slit glistened, damp and inviting. The labia had been pierced, and on her shaved pubes, the word “Welcome” was tattooed in red script. It was another of Mr. Brandt’s “improvements.” He had been careful not to make any changes to her face or hair. Angie now looked like a cheap slut, but anyone who had known her in her previous life would find her immediately recognizable.
Within moments, the once-respectable lawyer was engulfed in a sea of bodies, one cock up her cunt while another worked its way into her ass. One of the female jurors had joined her on the table and was straddling Angie’s face while Angie eagerly munched her cunt, her tongue lapping the other woman’s clit.
Body after body assailed her, and Angie quickly lost track of who she was doing. There was just the need, a volcano of mindless lust punctuated by almost random orgasms. Toward the end, Angie just lay on her back, splattered in cum, her nipple rings standing straight up, while the men and women of the jury took their turns. As each one finished, they quickly slipped away. The last person to leave was one of the female jurors who leaned forward to kiss Angie’s lips while her hand strayed to her cunt, willfully stroking and dipping her fingers into its well-worked folds. Her hips bucked as the woman played with her, leading her to one last orgasm.
Finally, Angie was all along, lying on the table, maxed out on sex, too exhausted to move. Along the way, someone had scrawled “Guilty” across her forehead in red marker.
“And cut,” the director called out. “It’s a wrap.”
The last scene had been perfect, and Angie’s performance had been scorching, as promised. When her manager, Mr. Brandt, had first discussed the project, the director had been skeptical. Sure, she had the body for it, but there were other girls in the industry every bit as hot looking and even prettier. But Mr. Brandt was a persuasive guy, and the director was glad. The film, Guilty as Charged,” was sure to make Angie an adult film star and earn the director a bunch of money.
Hell, the on-camera action had even gotten him hard. His cock was tenting his trousers. If she weren’t such a cum-splattered mess, he would do her right now. She wouldn’t mind. The girl was about as dumb as they came – the idea that she could play a lawyer was totally absurd – but she was the most enthusiastic lay he’d ever seen, a real natural.
“Oh, what the hell,’ the director decided, giving in to temptation. By now, Angie was sitting up, dangling her legs from the table. She had a fucked-silly smile on her face, and the nipple rings tipping her massive jugs, were at half mast.
“Oh goody, more cock,” she said in a high-pitched voice as he approached. Her eyes traveled down to the obvious tent in his pants. Easing herself from the table, she promptly positioned herself on her knees. Cupping her tits, she held them out and opened her mouth wide. The bright red letters across her forehead were like a judgment, inviting rough use.
“Punish me, Mr. Director Man,” she said. “I’m a very bad girl.”
Quickly he freed his cock. It sprang straight up, reporting for duty. His fingers went to her tit rings, and he used them to tug her forward. Angie’s lips engulfed his manhood, and she worked his prick down her throat. Her free hand went between her legs to pleasure herself. Soon the only sound were Angie’s muffled grunts as she worked to get them both off.
Meanwhile, trapped and powerless in a tiny corner of her mind, Angie’s old self looked on in helpless rage.