Poppy had the kind of eyes I always fall for, clear and optimistic, full of the joy of life. I suppose it is my weakness, being a romantic, but here I am and I won’t change. Not that I can. But it does make things complicated sometimes.

She had popped her head around my office door to ask me if it was ok if she left early. I had no objection; I’m a relaxed employer as long as the work gets done, and sometimes everyone needs to bunk off a little. She smiled and I melted a little more, my eyes taking in her legs and her cleavage and her off-beat hair with its white streak then she turned and was gone. Such a gorgeous young woman and a credit to the firm: such a shame about the clear and damning details about her. Still, it’s gratifying when a plan comes together.

xxxxx

The car park was dark and almost empty and her car was easy to find. Two flat tyres later I retreated to my Jaguar, strategically parked in the opposite corner. The shopping centre was closing so I didn’t have to wait long for Poppy. I relaxed and breathed deeply as she walked across the tarmac, imagining her cunt as her legs moved, her heels clicking and her boutique bag swinging. I chuckled gently as she stopped abruptly in front of her car and her shoulders slumped.

“Rough luck!” I called out in my friendliest voice as I pulled over next to her.

“Oh, I am glad to see you. Can I use your spare as well as mine?” she said, relief in her voice.

“Out of luck, I’m afraid. I lent mine to a neighbor just this morning. You’ll need to get the garage out for it.”

She sighed and reached for her phone, and I studied her again. Her skirt finished three inches above her knee, respectable enough (just) for the office, but clearly chosen to accentuate the smooth curves of her pert arse and the full length of her slender legs. Soon enough I would spread those legs, ploughing into her cunt and hearing her squeal.

“Not the best idea, Poppy. Do you really want to wait around here on your own? In the dark?”

She glanced around at the shadows that the sodium lights failed to illuminate, unsure now. I hoped she was feeling a twinge of insecurity. I would offer her hope, only to make its later withdrawal all the sweeter.

“Look, I’ve got a particularly dull meeting at my house with Miss Hewson. Please, come back with me and call the garage from mine, have a coffee, and take my mind off the resolutely un-amusing Jane. When the meeting is over I’ll give you a lift back here and you can meet up with the recovery driver.”

It was so simple, so reasonable; that moment in the literature when the heroine struggles with her inner voice, but when it’s her charming boss and not a leering stranger? She grasped the outstretched branch and pulled herself to shore, and with her boutique bag by her side she sat in the passenger seat, filling my car with a hint of perfume. I felt so much calmer with her there, smiling gratitude at me, as I knew the first hurdle was so easily overcome. The rest would surely follow. I smiled back and discussed the strange rash of flat tires that seemed to be breaking out as I drove home, the inconsequential chatter lulling her perfectly; I had my thunderbolt to deliver, and those are always more startling from a clear sky.

As we pulled into my driveway my headlights illuminated the back of Jane Hewson’s car. A word about Jane Hewson; she is one of nature’s classic beauties but I have never met a more work-focused, obsessively driven, humorless irritant in my life. Her redeeming features are minimal and well hidden. But she is efficient, and she does so enjoy lesbian domination in her cold way, so it’s not all bad.

Of course, the one thing Jane Hewson most certainly cannot do is lighten a mood. But Poppy was the perfect antidote, relating mildly titillating office gossip as our eyes swam over the account books. She was entrancing and sophisticated as a beautiful thief should be and I stole another glance as she lent forward, her lips parted slightly as she breathed out in mock concentration, a cheeky grin and her eyes meeting mine. I sighed and decided that now was the time, regretful that this game could not be spun out forever.

“Of course, there is the other issue,” I said to Jane, our prearranged signal.

“Yes, the Jervis and Pratt situation,” said Jane, maintaining her cold detachment.

Poppy was trying (and failing) to disguise her sudden confusion; had we discovered her treachery? Was this merely innocent? Would she be able to breathe out again, her second moment of relief that evening? Had she even heard correctly?

“Perhaps you could shed some light on the matter, Poppy,” I said, a stern undertone to my voice as I looked her straight in the eye, the change occurring in milliseconds. And she knew at that instant, that second when I wasn’t all smiles anymore. The color drained from her face as she looked at me and I prepared my pin to stick through her, fixing her in my collection.

“Poppy, if you sell confidential information to a competitor, at least make sure that the owner isn’t in the same Lodge as me. Jervis will certainly use that information and I don’t blame him, though it isn’t as vital as he thinks, but it hasn’t stopped him from telling me that I have a spy in my midst and precisely who it is,” I said, savoring her turmoil. She had no answer, and to her credit she didn’t even try.

“It seems to be a police matter, then. I expect you will escape with a suspended sentence, but the criminal record will close every door you ever wanted open. ”

She may have been resigned but that didn’t stop the whip crack of my words. She wiped away a tear that had formed in the corner of her eye with her fingertips, but she resolutely refused to make a sound. There was much that was admirable about her, a certain strength that could be useful, and if she made the right choice I would certainly be lenient in my own fashion. The wrong choice? She could go hang for all I cared.

“I want to offer you a way out,” I said quietly.

She looked up, hopeful again; poor little trapped Poppy. I suspect I was a cat in a previous life for the play was as good as the kill. I sat on the corner of my desk and used my height to intimidate her. Casually I reached out and took her boutique bag and checked the contents. It was nicely expensive underwear, artfully designed scraps of lace and cotton calculated to excite her boyfriend, some under-deputy-junior drone in our call centre. I sniffed its newness then looked into Poppy’s eyes again as I dropped her lingerie back into the bag. She bit her lip as she glanced across at Jane then froze, and I grinned as I saw the intent expression on Jane’s face as she mentally stripped and fucked Poppy in an instant.

Poppy looked back at me and I nodded. I could see the calculation behind her eyes and then slowly, so slowly, she reached up to the top button of her blouse. I knew she would make the right choice! And my inquiries had suggested that she might not altogether mind.

“Stand up!” I ordered as I went back behind my desk and sat down. Slowly Poppy complied, her eyes expressionless now.

“Continue undressing”, I said, and she eased open the second button, then the third, her cleavage more inviting with each reluctant twist of her fingers. The last two buttons were soon undone and then she flicked open her cuff buttons. She looked at me quizzically and I raised my eyebrows expectantly. Did she really think I would relent with my cock rapidly expanding? I could almost feel the pulses of blood rushing along my shaft, hardening it for the fucking to come.

Poppy’s blouse dropped and Jane unfolded from her chair. She prowled around Poppy, appraising her, and only long practice allowed me to see her tell, a sneering flare of her disdainful nostrils. Her slow movements hypnotized Poppy, who could only flinch and breathe in sharply as Jane suddenly took hold of Poppy’s bra straps where they rested on her shoulders. Jane was gentle for a moment, caressing Poppy’s soft skin before whipping the straps down to Poppy’s elbows and exposing her breasts. Poppy gasped, staring at me with another mute appeal and I returned my evilest smile as Jane took hold of the hem of Poppy’s skirt. Slowly and deliberately Jane pulled it up to show the tops of her tan stockings, and as she eased the skirt over Poppy’s hips, a skimpy pair of white panties.

“Take them off!” whispered Jane savagely in Poppy’s ear. Poppy didn’t react to this so Jane smoothly wrapped Poppy’s hair in her fist and yanked Poppy’s head back. I noticed that Poppy’s knees were trembling and once more, I found myself being impressed by Jane’s particular skills. “Take them off!” Jane whispered again, more softly but this time with real menace as Poppy suddenly panted and quavered. The little whore was enjoying this in her twisted way but that was no surprise; my informants weren’t cheap, but they were accurate.

Poppy tentatively reached for the sides of her panties and slowly rolled them over her hips and down her thighs, her head still pulled back and Jane looking for all the world like a wolf with a young deer. Poppy’s panties fell to her ankles and she lifted her left foot out of them, letting them stay on her right, and Jane slowly eased her grip. I drank in Poppy’s body, fixing this look among my treasured memories as she stood, shaken, her stiff little nipples high on her breasts, and her cunt shaved but for a strip; my favorite look. Poppy was most certainly made for me, but before I took possession I had one more hook to bait.

“I know what you were doing last Thursday night,” I said levelly, and from the look of shock on her face I knew that I had hit home, “and the Saturday before that. And I know your boyfriend doesn’t know. So be a bit more enthusiastic and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

I smiled to myself at this last little barb; unknown to her boyfriend Poppy was an habitué at one of the nastiest bars in town, where she let herself get picked up by the roughest of bastards then discarded after the act was done. It was her darkest need, devoid of emotion, an all-consuming itch to be owned, controlled, to be someone’s dog.

Poppy’s sweet face was transfigured by a lust she couldn’t fight down now as Jane reached around her, methodically placing her manicured fingers on Poppy’s breasts. Poppy’s breathing was heavy as Jane caressed her tits until suddenly she pinched her nipples, hard, and at that second when Poppy moaned instead of screaming I knew our conquest was complete. Hardly relaxing her grip Jane twisted her around, pushing her back until her bottom brushed up against the cool wood of my desk before forcing her down until she lay on her back, her legs dangling, her feet not quite reaching the floor. She looked so succulent that my cock strained once more, and I freed it from my trousers, letting it stand straight up and ready to come inside this beautiful, treacherous slut.

Jane used her knee to force Poppy’s legs apart and then, leaving one hand on her chest to pin her, she pressed fingernails into Poppy’s skin. Poppy gasped again, and from the sudden aroma of cunt that enveloped me there was no doubt that she was wet. Jane then dragged her nails down across Poppy’s stomach, and she pushed her hips up, trying to move her cunt towards Jane’s hand.

“Greedy slut!” said Jane as she moved her hand up to Poppy’s throat, “what do you say?”

“Please touch me, please fuck my cunt,” Poppy replied in a tiny voice that almost made me come there and then.

“And don’t forget it,” Jane said as she moved down to Poppy’s cunt once more. Poppy moaned loudly and deeply as Jane pushed a finger into her, fucking her for a second before pulling her finger out again and rolling Poppy’s wetness between her finger and thumb. She stepped away and picked up her work bag and Poppy began to close her legs. I knew that Jane would not be amused by such behavior.

“Don’t fucking move, slut!” Jane barked, stern and unyielding, and Poppy froze, stung, only her eyes now following Jane as she reached into her bag and produced a large black dildo. Her eyes goggled as I saw her wondering if she could take it all in her cunt, but I knew Jane, and depending on her mood Poppy might be begging for it between those sweet lips before too long, given the alternative. Jane stepped back to Poppy and held the dildo close to her face, making sure she could see all its dimensions.

“I don’t think I can…” Poppy began to whimper.

“No one asked your fucking opinion,” said Jane, holding the dildo by Poppy’s mouth, “spit on it.” At the second time of asking Poppy managed to spit a glob of glistening saliva on to the latex.

“Rub it in,” ordered Jane, and Poppy reached out her hand tentatively and began to stroke her spit around the head and along the shaft. I watched intently as she wanked the toy and I watched Poppy’s face, too, as she had to know what this was a prelude to. And the little back-stabbing whore was completely focused, almost loving, though the apprehension was still evident. When Jane was satisfied she took the dildo and put it between Poppy’s legs, the head an inch away from her overheated slit. For a moment everything was still, perfect, pregnant, and then Jane pushed the head of the dildo between Poppy’s cunt lips, stretching her as she moaned desperately, her nails scraping along the top of my desk.

I stood and began to remove my clothes as Jane stared into Poppy’s eyes, pushing the dildo an inch deeper into her. Poppy began to work her hips on the dildo, and as I dropped my trousers I saw both hunger and self-disgust in the look she was giving Jane, knowing that we understood exactly what she was. Poppy now moved her own hands to her breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples as Jane eased the dildo even deeper into her.

“Tell me you’re my slut.” said Jane, still staring at Poppy.

“I’m your slut,” replied Poppy, shame fighting with lust, and Jane pulled the dildo almost completely out of Poppy’s cunt before pushing it firmly back into her, making her moan uncontrollably once more.

“Again!”

“I’m your slut! I’m your cunt! Please fuck me!”

I decided that it was only appropriate at that moment to climb onto the desk and kneel next to Poppy’s face. My cock was swaying as I moved, deliciously hard and I knew that her touch would make me feel primal. “Open your mouth. No teeth,” I said, and I grabbed her hair to hold her steady and let my hard cock fall on her waiting tongue. After a moment I pushed my head between her lips, savoring the softness of her mouth and feeling a familiar rush of power.

I must say her skills were first class as I began to fuck her mouth, a little deeper with each thrust until she had half of me in her. Her moans were muffled now, as Jane continued to fuck her and I gloried in my cock owning her mouth, her tongue on my shaft. I reached down and twisted one of her nipples, and the jolt it caused forced her mouth even further onto my cock. Not deep throat yet, but not far away.

However, I had decided that the payment plan for Poppy’s offenses would be long and there would be plenty of time for everything. And I wanted her cunt more than her mouth at that moment.

“My turn, Jane,” I said as I pulled free of Poppy and climbed off the desk. Jane gave Poppy a last, vicious look as she stepped away, placing the dildo upright on the corner of the desk. I moved between Poppy’s legs and put my hands under her thighs, lifting her legs up and keeping them apart. Poppy instinctively moved away from me, her arse slipping back along my desk to keep her cunt away from my rock hard cock. But she wasn’t to escape and I roughly pulled her back to me. Her lips brushed the head of my cock and a tiny ‘oh’ formed on her mouth, made bigger as I pushed into her soaking hole.

She was everything I had hoped for, a beautiful contradiction; her eyes showing her turmoil, even as her cunt betrayed her base needs. I pushed myself deeper as her folds enveloped my head completely and her tunnel caressed the top of my shaft. So far I had been soft, but now I was going to impose my authority. I used my strength then, pushing relentlessly until I was deep in her. Then I withdrew once to pound myself hard back into her, her squeals music to my ears.

I was ruthless, despicable, a pantomime villain devouring a trembling innocent as I fucked her mercilessly. She was mine now, and I watched her pleasure intently, her panties dangling from her ankle, her tits moving with every thrust, her knuckle in her mouth and her teeth biting down on it as her hips bucked up, meeting my cock as I violated her. She was close, her cunt rippling along the length of my cock, but it was too soon.

Pulling out I told Poppy to stand up and turn around to face the desk. Poppy eased herself upright, trembling slightly, her hands clenched on the edge of the desk to stop her legs giving way. From under my desk I produced a spreader bar and showed it to Poppy, and she looked at me with that curious mixture of lust and revulsion so indicative of the internal battle of the educated whore. I turned her and roughly pushed her legs further apart, then handed Jane the spreader bar as I pushed Poppy forward, making her bend at the waist until her breasts were squashed against my desk, her arse presented to me.

Jane efficiently secured the spreader bar to Poppy’s ankles, as I teased the poor girl, moving a finger in gentle circles around the entrance of her cunt, dipping into her then pulling back. Her moans were growing in intensity again, little squeaks that became full-throated when I reached between her legs and pushed the ball of my thumb on to her clit. However, my pleasure was paramount and I was ready, my cocking bobbing and jerking of its own accord as it rested in the soft cleft between Poppy’s cheeks.

Swiftly I rammed myself into her cunt again and she shuddered, her moans even louder and now animalistic. She wasn’t allowed to vocalize her deep pleasure for long, however, as Jane was naked now. Jane’s body was perfect, but I had learnt over the years that it held as much for me as a sculpture or a machine, fine to look at but devoid of personality. She climbed onto the desk and sat in front of Poppy, her legs open and her cunt lips full. She grabbed Poppy by the hair and pulled her face into her just as I thrust my cock even more savagely into Poppy, enjoying another flood of slick wetness around my shaft as I grasped her arse cheeks and kneaded them powerfully.

I began to pump deep and hard into Poppy, loving her muffled moans and the occasional gasps and squeals as Jane pulled her face out of her cunt to look down at her juices smeared across Poppy’s face. I was fucking her faster and faster, and she gripped me; a wonderful feeling from the base of my shaft to the ridge around my head. The girl was clearly talented, and I had no doubt I could expand her education in ways I would revel in. And with the thought that I would have many lessons with Poppy I felt the ecstasy rise inside me and then focus on my cock as my cum rippled up my shaft before jetting into her cunt. My hard jerking was too much for the slut and she lost control, shaking and wailing as I jerked four more times, shooting my god-like spunk into her before I subsided, pulling my cock free of her as Jane forced her mouth back onto her cunt.

For the moment Poppy was of less interest to me than a bug and I stared down at her, detached, still shaking as Jane began to grunt with the beginnings of her own release. I reached down and lifted up Poppy’s right ankle, slipping off her panties and wrapping them around my cock, watching them absorb the residue of my cum before slipping them into her shoulder bag as I strode over to my drinks cabinet and poured myself a victorious single malt.

xxxxx

Poppy made a big play of dressing rapidly, her face turned to the wall and little sobs shaking her frame. Her sudden modesty and regret made no impression on me; I had seen inside her soul and what’s more, she made no attempt to locate her panties as my come trickled down her thigh. I looked over at Jane and noted her hooded eyes. If I were a more sympathetic soul I might have pitied Poppy her future meetings with Jane but I have been blessed with an absence of such weakness.

I reached into my desk draw and pulled out a butt-plug, enjoying Poppy’s red-rimmed eyes widening once more as I handed it to her. I reached out my hand and gripped her face for an instant, searching those eyes for a hint of that optimistic joy that had melted me earlier. There was a trace of it, behind the hate/lust she clearly felt for us, and the revulsion she felt for herself in submitting so willingly to our foulness. And behind it all was a clear desire for more.

“I will check randomly tomorrow to ensure you have inserted this,” I informed her, and I could see she had no doubt that I meant it.

I led her to the door and I’m sure that she thought I would now drive her to her car, which just confirmed that she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. I opened the door and let her step over the threshold then stopped.

“Don’t forget this,” I said as I handed her the boutique bag, “and don’t forget to tell that boyfriend of yours that you’ll be working late at the office tomorrow so you won’t be able to wear it for him yet.”

And as she stared at me the horrifying realization that I really did own her smacked into her, not just today but for the foreseeable future. I slammed the door in her face.

Punishments within Punishments

“White panties? After last night?”, I said as I lent on the coffee room door frame, enjoying watching Poppy jump and try to keep the steaming water pouring from the kettle to her mug and not over her hand. She turned and stared at me, a rabbit in my headlights, although the metaphor is poor; the rabbit is transfixed for the merest moment before the inevitable squelch. Poppy, on the other hand, had much more to endure before being flattened.

I could see her thinking ‘how?’, ‘how did he know?’. Well, my dear, I didn’t; I surmised and you confirmed and I’m rather good at this game. The deduction was actually quite simple. The previous night I had defiled Poppy, as had my deputy manager, Jane Hewson, a woman for whom the term ‘frozen hearted lesbian dominant bitch’ might have been invented. Poppy, having replayed the details of the night over and over again in her mind (indeed, found it difficult to sleep from thinking about it given the dark smudges under her eyes) sought to dress in as unsexy a way as possible. Simple, plain summer dress, no lace, no hint of transparency, no stockings, and most certainly no black, red, pink. But white? White would be admirable, giving an undeserved innocence to our subject, who is already forgetting why she was defiled and is building that usual human construct on events which results in a clear conscience.

“We need to talk about last night. Come into my office,” I said, calm and reasonable.

Poppy nodded and I could read her like a book. She was hoping that I would stress how inappropriate it all was. How I shouldn’t punish her that way. How I knew that she was loyal really, and had only been tempted once. How the slate was now wiped clean, but by all means we could perhaps continue on a more exclusive basis, with me in charge, of course. No such luck, Poppy.

I indicated the chair in front of my desk and she sat as I closed my door. I took my place and looked across the desk at her.

“I think perhaps last night went too far,” I said.

A rush of relief spread across her face. “I am really sorry about betraying you,” she said and began to dissolve into tears, “I needed the money.”

Real sobs went through her, racking her as her shoulders heaved. I let the emotion play out, never taking my eyes from her, grave as I handed her a tissue to deal with the strings of snot that dropped unbroken from her nose. A last spasm left her and she composed herself, steadying her breathing, ready for the rest of what she thought would be my forgiveness.

“I know you needed the money. I know you were desperate. That’s why the police aren’t dragging your body from the reservoir this minute,” I said, calm but menacing, and she got the message, her eyes losing a little lustre as her hope ran into the wall, “but we went too far: I certainly don’t want my house to be used for our meetings in future. I will decide on other locations and inform you.”

Poppy sat silently, her eyes down in her lap now, and her fingers twisting.

“There are some things you want to say. Say them,” I said.

“I… I wanted you to know that I realize that I have to repay you. That you’ve chosen this way, and I just have to do it, and it’s fair in a way and I don’t want to go to prison. But please don’t ask me for too much,” Poppy said, her eyes slowly meeting mine as she spoke, clearly much happier for being able to talk to her tormentor like a reasonable person, hoping to be able to negotiate.

I stood up and walked around the desk until I stood behind her then rested my hands firmly on her shoulders. She flinched at my touch but I held her firm, waiting. Sure enough, a second later she tentatively rested her cheek on the back of my hand.

“That’s not what you wanted to say, is it?” I continued, “What you really wanted to say was that you enjoyed it and you hate your body for being as treacherous to you as you were to me. You want to tell me that you were soaked knowing that I was watching your humiliation at Jane’s hands.”

I felt a little tremor run through her.

“You want to tell me that you were aroused to the depths of your being when I pinched your nipples, when I held your legs apart, when I forced myself inside you. You want to tell me that you were ashamed when you came with my cock in your cunt, but it felt so good that when you finally got home you went into the shower and within moments you’d pushed two fingers up your soaking hole.”

“Yes,” came the tiny reply, almost lost it was so quiet.

“You want to tell me that you howled when you came, wishing that it was me instead of your own fingers. You want to tell me that I can do what I want to you. And you want to beg me to not make you available to Jane Hewson again.”

I gently massaged her shoulders as I spoke, her cheek still on my hand, and her breathing became heavier, rhythmically following the pace of my voice and the pressing of my thumbs. She shifted in her seat and let out the tiniest of gasps. I couldn’t quite decide if it was boring or not. Yes, it was all too easy, but then I thought of her enthusiastic cunt rippling and grasping at my cock as her false modesty fell away. There was no doubt that she would do, for now.

I broke away from her and sat down again, looking directly at her and seeing… was that the beginnings of something deeper in her eyes, that thing that hot wires cunt and emotion? Oh, my dear girl, things really are going to get bad for you, aren’t they? One of my ex-wives, in a rare moment of perspicacity, once described me as a monster. She wasn’t exactly right, of course, but she wasn’t too far from the truth though there was plenty of time yet for Poppy to make the ultimate discovery.

“Anyway, as flattering as it is that you’re wearing the same panties I used as a cum-rag yesterday my desires are moving in a different direction today,” I said, savoring her realization that I really did know everything. I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a wad of banknotes, casually tossing them to her and suppressing a smirk as she fumbled and caught them at the second attempt. “After you’ve seen Jane take a couple of hours and go lingerie shopping. Something classic. In black, matching, with stockings and suspenders. You can go home and change out of that summer dress too. Something more formal is preferable. We have a meeting here at 6.30 and I need you back for that.”

Poppy was confused at the change of direction and clearly disappointed that she had to visit Jane and show that she had inserted the butt-pug I had given her the previous evening. Most certainly it was by turns uncomfortable and powerfully arousing, and I idly wondered in what state Jane would find Poppy’s arsehole. And I wondered if Poppy would try the little girl lost routine on my deputy manager. She was a fool if she did, and would only waste her breath. Still, time to wave the bone under the dog’s nose.

“And I will take your preferences regarding Jane under advisement. Please me well enough and you need do no more than the minimum in that direction,” and with that I ushered her to the door, closing it behind her.

xxxxx

Arthur Jervis is a foul individual, and that’s me saying it. It’s not that he neglects personal hygiene, or fails to play by the rules of the game, or kicks small animals, though he does all those things. It is his impatience which makes him foul, an impatience fuelled by a sense of entitlement that would shame Midas, nurtured into his middle age.

He sat on my leather sofa in the ridiculous little ‘meeting area’ Head Office insisted I have in the corner of my office to show that I’m a people person (I most certainly am not). Swilling my malt and breathing cigar smoke in my face he regaled me with interminable gossip from the Lodge as I sat in an armchair and watched the clock tick around to 6.30. Appearing interested in his pompous clap-trap was the hardest work I’d done on a day when I had to plough through the bureaucratese that constituted the Quarterly Review.

6.29 and there was a knock on my office door and a second later Poppy entered. I’m sure my eyes flared at the sight of her. She was the closest to perfection I had ever seen. Her long raven hair was tied back accentuating the thin strand of white that stretched from her roots to her tips. Her make up was almost impossibly light and an amber necklace nestled just bellow her neckline, revealed by the open top button of the silky black blouse she was wearing with the collar up. Her jacket and skirt were black too, and her legs were encased in seamed silk that ended at her laced up black high heeled shoes. Very retro, and very, very hot, and clearly for my benefit.

Arthur Jervis almost jumped out of his skin as he saw her, which was appropriate because so did Poppy. I love it when old friends meet, particularly when one of them is dressed up just as the other imagines them in the dark recesses of the night. But I really couldn’t have them staring open-mouthed all evening, particularly as I wanted the odious Arthur Jervis and his even more odious cigar out of my office as expeditiously as possible.

“Poppy, if you could sit,” I indicated the other leather armchair. I looked at them staring at each other, Poppy shivering, Arthur a mask of quivering, greedy lust, a hound ready to slip the leash. I had to suppress a giggle.

“If we’re sitting comfortably then I’ll begin,” the humourless bastards didn’t get my little joke but I suppose they had other things on their minds, “I think we can dispense with the introductions; we’re all… associates here. Poppy, you have placed Mr Jervis in a most awkward position. He is now the possessor of some sensitive commercial information. His duty to his shareholders is to make the maximum use of this information to the detriment of his competitors, to whit, your employer. But, his duty to his Lodge Brother, myself, is to be loyal to him. This places Arthur in a predicament, and as you supplied him with the information, that means you have placed him in this predicament.”

Poppy nodded, still in shock, not quite seeing where this was leading.

“You have paid part of your debt to me. Don’t you think you should relieve some of the guilt you undoubtedly feel for placing Arthur in such an incongruous position?”

Poppy glanced at me and the penny dropped, then glanced at Arthur who was literally slavering at the thought of sticking his cock in her (he was quicker on the uptake). She certainly was far less keen on the thought of Arthur as she was on the thought of me but I was hardly flattered. Hurrah! I’m a better prospect for a fuck than Arthur! But then, so is tripe.

Very reluctantly Poppy stood up and took a single faltering step towards Arthur, who promptly unzipped himself and sat back on the sofa, his legs hanging open and his crotch displayed.

“Get yer arse over ‘ere, girl, and suck Arthur’s cock,” he said, the lust evident in his voice alongside his utter lack of class.

Poppy glanced over at me with disbelief and I nodded apologetically. Arthur was already far more effective than I had calculated and by the end of this little session Poppy would truly regard me as her saviour. For a moment I worried that things were going too well, but my concern soon passed as Poppy looked steadily at me, her expression seeming to tell me that she was doing this for me, to help me. How sweet.

She sighed a little and knelt in front of Arthur, reaching into his trousers as he finally put the cigar down in the ash-tray. Poppy pulled out his cock, half-hard and twitching at her touch and, seeming to detach herself from the situation, began to bend forward, her mouth open ready for him.

“Hold on a sec, lets see those tits, eh?” leered Arthur, keen to get his money’s worth.

Quickly and efficiently, but above all with supreme detachment, Poppy flicked open the buttons on her blouse and pulled it out of the waistband of her skirt to reveal her firm breasts encased in an almost transparent, lacy black bra. Arthur grunted his approval, and his hand shot out, snakelike, and grasped the base of Poppy’s ponytail. He used his strength, forcing her mouth down on to his rapidly swelling cock.

Poppy’s detachment vanished almost instantly as Arthur put his other hand under her chin, holding her firmly as the head of his cock disappeared between her lips. Small sounds of muffled disgust came from her as he pulled her head forward on to him, and her reluctance seemed to energise him. His cock was almost fully erect only a second or two after she had unwillingly taken him.

He face fucked her, using her rather than letting her use her undoubted skills to please him, which I thought was rather a waste and confirmed every negative opinion I had of him. He thrust his cock further into her, intent on having her lick his balls as she sucked him, and her tears began to form, not yet tumbling down her cheeks. I locked eyes with Poppy again, holding her pained gaze and in that fraction of a second I fucked her up more than a hundred Arthurs ever could, letting her see regret, and something more; a tinge of jealousy, and a lot of disgust for the abominable Arthur for hurting my girl. Ah love, such a perfect weapon.

Whatever tender emotion I stirred, no, reinforced, in Poppy she didn’t have time to reflect on it then. With a powerful, grinding thrust Arthur forced the final inch of his cock into her mouth. She tried vainly to push him back, her hands on his abdomen, but he was stronger and he took her relentlessly. Drool hung from the corner of her mouth and tears now trailed down over her cheekbones. The only sounds in the room were her choked sobs and Arthur’s brutal endearments, fit for the barracks or lower-league terraces.

“Get on yer feet,” he said brutally as he finally pushed her head away from him, his cock glistening with her saliva. She staggered a little as she stood and wiped away her spit with the base of her hand.

“Get yer skirt up and bend over that chair.”

Poppy seemed exhausted as she struggled to pull up her skirt, her wrists shorn of any power. I admired the curve of her arse in her delicate panties, part of a set with the suspenders that ran to the top of the retro style silk stockings, but this was lost on Arthur; never watch that man eat. He reached up and yanked down her panties as she bent over the back of her chair, staring directly at me and summoning her courage. I very nearly fell in love with her, or perhaps I did just for that second, as I saw she had depths of will power and a strength she didn’t know she possessed.

“You dirty cow!” crowed Arthur, leering at the butt plug still wedged in Poppy’s tight hole. Then he spat in his hand and smeared it on his glans and as Poppy scanned my face I directed every thought at her, telling her to be strong, telling her that she was proving herself to me. Telling her that I wouldn’t abandon her.

Poppy cried out in pain as Jervis pushed his fat cock between her lips and butted through into her vagina. Her eyes fluttered and she put her left hand in her mouth, and as Arthur continued to grind and push himself deeper she bit down, leaving teeth marks in the back of her hand. I willed her to look at me and she responded, and I promised her I would take the pain away.

Arthur pulled back and then pushed himself forward again, and once more Poppy cried out as he groaned. Greedy again, he was already close to coming, wasting his chance just to bolster his ridiculous ego. Instead of playing the violin he was smashing rocks together, convinced he was composing a concerto. I determined at that moment that Project Arthur was going to take a turn for the worse; for him, of course. He reached down to pull out the butt plug and at that I shook my head.

“I’d rather that that stayed there, old chap.”

He looked a little frustrated for a second but then leered and winked, ramming himself hard into Poppy, his head dropping backward to expose his sweating neck. Oh, for a knife! A moment more and Arthur growled and shuddered as he came, bending forward and letting Poppy bear his weight as he jerked again.

When he was done he pulled out of her, and without even looking for something to wipe himself on he pushed his shrinking cock back into his trousers and zipped up, then looked on the coffee table for the ashtray and his cigar. He was out of luck as it lay there, brutally stubbed out.

“See you on Thursday, then?” I asked him brightly, closing the meeting.

Behind him Poppy pushed herself up and tottered back until she leant on the wall, her mouth disfigured by her silent sobs. She let herself slide down the wall and slumped, her arms hugging her knees. Arthur smiled again, then winked.

“Right you are,” and he was gone, his absence a blessing.

I quickly got to my feet and went to her. I knelt, slightly to one side of her, and slowly offered her my arms.

“Shh!” I whispered as she feebly tried push me away, needing my comfort more than anything.

I was slightly firmer but still gentle as I folded her into my embrace, letting her weep into my chest as her arms unfolded and grasped me tightly as she broke. I was slow but steady, calming her, never pushing her, letting her come to her own conclusions as we stayed clasped together and the clock ticked onwards. As her tears subsided she moved against me, millimeter by millimeter, accustoming herself to my body, learning her comfort zones. I pressed her softly, almost imperceptibly, and suddenly her questing mouth was searching for mine, her breathing intense. I let her find me, and marveled again at the passion that women can express as she kissed me, softly and firmly and desperately, leaving me in absolutely no doubt that she was mine, body and soul. Aye, Poppy, it’s the good cops that get you. Every fucking time.

I picked her up and carried her to the sofa, laying her gently down as she softly ran her hand down the front of my shirt, her eyes closed and her lips parted. I left her for a moment and took a box of tissues from my desk and put it on the coffee table. Then I joined her on the sofa, stretching out next to her and cradling her head on my left arm.

“Here, let me help you,” I said softly as she looked up at me, and I reached out and took a tissue, every so gently wiping at the corner of her eyes. As the edge of the tissue absorbed the first touch of a tear Poppy smiled at me stupidly, and silent tears flooded her. I grinned back at her, foolish man, trapped by the eyes.

“Stop crying, silly,” I joked, gently, “or I’ll have to use the whole box.”

The tension broke and she laughed, throwing her arms around me and kissing me deeply once more. This time her lips were more proprietary though none the less passionate, but I gently pulled back with a smile.

“Seriously, I have to help you clean up. It is absolutely the least of the things I should do for you, but certainly the thing I should do right now.”

She kissed me again, meaning to be quick but lingering, unwilling to stop once her lips met mine, our tongues caressing and her hand stroking my cheek. Then she broke away and lay back, contented, as I wiped her face, slowly and completely, focusing every fibre on her comfort. She glowed. I took long minutes, caressing her face then buttoning up her blouse, arranging it so she was comfortable.

“There’s one more thing I have to do,” I said seriously, and she opened her eyes. That look was back, bolstered by trust. I stood and held out my hand to her, leading her into my private bathroom. She was curious, but unconcerned, as I took one of my small towels and wet the corner in the sink.

“If you face the wall and open your legs a little,” I said, the politest of commands.

Her expression darkened immediately, but I was ready, moving close behind her.

“Let me clean Arthur off you,” I murmured, “let me show you that I know what it meant to you, what it took out of you, what you’ve gained by doing it,” and she relaxed, leaning back into me for a moment, nuzzling my cheek before leaving me to face the wall, her legs apart and her center vulnerable.

I knelt behind her and brought the corner of the towel up to her inner thigh, and with infinite care I began to wipe Arthur’s drying semen from her. Poppy gave a tiny sob and I felt her shaking, but I continued, gently, making it tender not sexual. I moved up patiently to her lips, brushing them with the towel as I cleaned closer and closer, always devoted to her well being. Poppy had never been this aroused by sincerity before, and she relaxed, seduced and ultimately trusting.

And then I began to gently clean her slit, the wet towel moving along her lips as she let out a deep, breathy gasp. I cleaned her with slow strokes and Poppy was almost humming, pushing back sensuously against each stroke of the towel. She let her head fall back and entered the moment, reveling, moving, not even noticing that I no longer moved the towel but just held it steady, allowing her to pleasure herself. She let her hips flick forward at the end of every stroke and moaned in pleasure, her right hand now caressing and pulling at her right breast. But now was not the time; I wasn’t having her come while I cleaned Arthur’s cum out of her (the things I’ve done…).

“I’m starving,” I said as I suddenly stood up, her last moan ending in a squeak of disappointment, “fancy a pizza?” Her eyes were hooded for a moment but then she brightened and nodded, all smiles as she realized that this was merely a break. She straightened her skirt and gave me a small kiss.

“Nothing with pineapple,” she said, and disappeared back into my office, my cock suddenly throbbing but deliciously aware of the pleasures of delayed gratification.

We had a riotous couple of hours; whiskey, poker dice, four cheese pizza, and lots of hand holding. There wasn’t a cloud on her horizon, which was impressive given what had gone before. I found myself respecting her ability to adapt and shut out Arthur, and decided that I would apply some mercy in Poppy’s case. The axe would still fall but the condemned could be lulled.

“I forgot one thing,” I said, tender and concerned again.

“Anything,” she said as she looked at me directly and openly.

“Sit on the chair,” I said, pointing to the same chair where she had been violated so recently. She didn’t bat an eyelid but sat down and looked at me, her eyes shooting sparks.

I sat down on the floor in front of her, resting on my knees with my lower legs under me, then reached out and firmly took her around the hips and eased her arse closer to me until her cheeks rested on the edge of the seat. She looked hungrily at me as I started to slide her skirt up her thighs, wiggling to make it easy for me, and lifting her arse until the skirt nestled around her waist. Her legs fell open and I gazed at her cunt, moist and inviting, willing me to touch and explore.

She exhaled deeply as I gently ran fingertips over her inner thighs, relaxing her, allowing her to enjoy as she pushed her shoulder blades back into the chair. Leaning forward I blew softly on her, closing her eyes for her as she reached out to stroke my hair. I moved my left hand to her stomach, spreading my fingers and massaging her as I kissed her mound then softly licked around her lips. She sighed and let her legs open wider and I breathed deeply, savoring her arousal before putting my tongue on her slit, enveloping her as I licked upwards stroking her leg with my right hand as I did so.

I had all night and I let Poppy know, intently finding her places, her buttons, always considerate as her breaths became gasps and I basked in her smell and her wetness. She reached up her hands behind her to grip the top of the chair and If she had been humming before she was singing now, and I moved a finger to her hole, circling my fingertip and hearing her drawn-out ‘oh!’, I looked up, all burning sincerity, and she took a moment to refocus her eyes.

“I need to take it out of you,” I said and in response she just angled her hips, easing my access to the butt plug as I lent into her cunt again. Smoothly and firmly I took hold of the base of the butt-plug at the same moment my tongue flicked against her clit, and her gasps became moans as I pulled on the toy. I slid it out of her, little by little, lapping at her as she writhed now, her hips bucking up at me, until, with a sudden swish, I pulled it out of her and she shook and shuddered and moaned and cried, pulses of electricity twitching her legs until finally, in silence, she came down.

All that time I didn’t move, just watched, making sure that when she opened her eyes I would be the first thing she saw. Imprinting, if you like. She smiled at me contentedly and glanced down at the bulge in my trousers.

“I don’t just like vanilla, you know,” she said cheekily, and I almost roared, sweeping her up and carrying her to my car, her head resting possessively against me.

If anyone can break my rules it’s me and I did so without a second thought, taking her back to my house; a trophy to be bedded in my cave, this time for fun and not for punishment. Although that would come, as it always must.

Her or Me

As Poppy slept I did some serious analysis. Something had changed the balance and it was within me, inspired by her. I’d had this problem before and I knew the solution, but I hesitated. I pulled out my phone and stared at it for hours as I sat by the window. I didn’t want to make the call but I knew that I had to; an unaccustomed sense of pity could hobble me, and Head Office would look very dimly on inefficiency.

I forced myself to look at her with a rational mind as she stretched naked beneath my sheets. I’d brought her back and we had been pulling at each other’s clothes even before my door had slammed behind us. By the time we had reached my bedroom her cunt had been like a furnace as I spread her legs. There had been little foreplay and less need as I took her, then turned her and took her again, and then she had drifted off.

But no matter how much I appreciated her adaptability, her inner strength and her acceptance of my will she was still a thief. The company had a strict policy on thieves and punishment was essential. And the company had a stricter policy on operatives who failed to follow guidelines. It was time to decide but in truth my power to decide was an illusion. Hobson’s choice, if you will. I called Curtis and made the arrangements.

I climbed into the bed next to her, her warmth surrounding me, enveloping me. I didn’t need to sleep but I felt I deserved it. A chance to turn off my brain for a couple of hours before I faced the inevitable.

I fell asleep.

xxxxx

I awoke in an empty bed to the sound of my phone and I blindly reached for it, pressing it to my ear to find, to my intense irritation, that I was connected to Arthur Jervis.

“That Poppy from last night,” he said immediately, greed trumping courtesy.

“Hmm?”

Arthur was suddenly reticent, but I certainly wasn’t going to prompt him.

“Is she… available?”

“Available for what, Arthur?”

“She’s pretty open-minded, isn’t she? She made me think she was open-minded.”

“Where’s this going, old chap?”

Silence.

“I have some friends,” Arthur finally volunteered, as if it provided some answer.

More silence.

“What kind of friends?” I said when it became clear that Arthur was going to need some prompting after all.

“They… we look for new… talent.”

“Poppy’s talented, I’ll give you that.”

“So…”

“So?”

“So…”

“So, Arthur,” I broke in, finally impatient, “do you want her dressed as a school girl or a girl scout?”

Arthur gulped.

“Girl scout,” he stammered.

“Outside then, I suppose?”

“In the forest.”

“Would you chase her?”

“Might do.”

“Would you hunt her down, strip her?”

“Rather the point,” Arthur was getting confused. You’d have thought it would have been a condition he was used to.

“Would you roast her? Gang fuck her? Sodomise her?”

“Look…”

“Would she like it, Arthur?” I asked innocently.

“Probably not,” and I could almost hear Arthur grinning. How dare he expect me to pimp out my asset to his scummy little friends. I’d already seen the way he played and it was pathetic, insulting, the man knew nothing and that was the height of his ambition.

“Would she come back damaged?” I asked, my voice still calm.

“It’s possible.”

I was silent, waiting for Arthur to make me the offer.

“Of course, we could always invite you along when we have our lads’ nights. Y’know,

scratch your back, like?” There it was.

“I’ll think about it. Let you know on Monday?”

“Thanks, you won’t regret it.”

And I ended the call, staring at the ceiling. Why are cunts like Jervis always so fucking, fucking, obvious? Enough! He wanted to fuck up something I was taking serious pains over just to offer me the chance to rape some poor unsuspecting girl? I had taken commensurate pains to ensure Arthur didn’t know what the fuck I really was, but he was about to find out just what I could do. I punched a series of numbers into my phone, none too gently, and hit send. The code would set a pre-prepared plan in motion, ensuring that a raft of very incriminating documents would land in the hands of the wrong people, at least as far as Arthur was concerned.

Arthur was about to find his world crashing in around him. Arthur was going to be broken. Arthur was going to be charged with embezzlement, child sex offences, living off immoral earnings and conspiracy to commit human smuggling. Arthur was going to lose everything. Arthur was not going to enjoy prison: Arthur was not going to survive prison. Don’t insult an Angel of fucking Mercy, Arthur! Should be Rule Number One.

And I forced the tension out through my fingers, savagely twisting them, loosening them, feeling an age old call to action as the adrenaline sped through my veins. Today was going to be a good day and by the end of it, I would be free.

xxxxx

I padded into my kitchen, wearing t-shirt and pants, and there was Poppy, her back to me. She was stirring the scrambled eggs in the pan, naked except for an apron, humming gently to herself. I moved quickly, stealthily, her hair suddenly gripped in my hands as I pulled her head back, exposing her neck. I saw my teeth rip into her throat, tearing, rending, ripping, a crimson arc spurting as she screamed and gurgled, flesh laid bare by the wound, pulsing, her legs collapsing as she sank to the floor.

“No more vanilla,” I whispered savagely in her ear, and she trembled, pushing herself back into me as she moved the pan off the heat, clever girl.

“I could wrap my hand around your throat,” I whispered, feeling her shiver, “and squeeze the life out of you. I could push your face forward, hold you down on the flame, watch your skin blacken, your eye explode, laugh at your terror. And you couldn’t stop me.”

The sound she made was guttural, primeval, owned.

And here I am, turning her, gripping her, planting fierce kisses on her neck, ripping the apron away and laying her on the kitchen table. She pushes her body up into mine as I pull at her, her mouth hot and willing, her cunt hot and willing. I take my time, building, always building, as I bite and scrape, feeling the fever growing inside her until her cunt is searching for me, her sounds incoherent as she grips me. I’m inside her now, moving, pumping, her legs wide and her head thrown back. Deeper, longer, faster I take her, ravishing her as she urges me on, and then I’m exploding, every neuron directing my flame into her womb. And now I’m looking down at her, hair disheveled, a sheen of sweat coating her skin, and a flush spreading to meet the madness in her eyes.

An air of happy domesticity gathered in my kitchen as we ate the eggs. Poppy was alternately shy and bold, laughing one moment, timid the next. She told me her life, her dreams, she sang me her world, unconcerned and unknowing. There was something of that look back in her eyes and I found myself warming to her even more. I checked myself, analyzing my emotions and not liking what I found. I had work to do and I was allowing personal feelings to cloud my judgement. I could afford mercy but I couldn’t cancel the sentence, and yet here I was, changing under Poppy’s gaze as she slyly watched me loading the dishwasher.

I told her we were going for a drive but first I would take her home, sure she would welcome a change of clothes. Her flat was small but tidy, organized in that comfortable way woman are so adept at. There were a few books, a lot of fabrics, and plenty of pictures of her family; parents, younger brother. No pictures of her boyfriend.

I looked down at her answering machine as she was showering. She hadn’t even glanced at it when we came in. The green light was blinking. I played back the messages, one an inconsequential report of family goings-on, the next hesitant. I focused.

“Err… Poppy,” her boyfriend, it would appear, “if you want to end it, ok. But I really don’t like being left standing on the street. I’ve tried your mobile but its straight to voice mail [of course, old boy, I had work to do so I hacked her account and diverted her calls to a dead account we use]. I just wanted to tell you that it’s a shitty way to end things. I thought you were better than that.”

I liked his voice and as I deleted the message I made a mental note to call him into my office next week. A promotion would be in order, I felt, and perhaps a company car if I liked him in person. And there were a number of personable young women who worked for me; an introduction or two wouldn’t go amiss. The rest was up to him. Quid pro quo.

Poppy appeared dressed for a day in the country, powder blue t-shirt, denim skirt, trainers. We drove over the Downs and through dormant villages, easing around the tourist traffic with my windows down, Johnny Thunder blasting, enjoying the breeze that took the edge off the heat that day. I pulled into a small gravel car park fringed by trees and Poppy got out, breathing the summer in deeply. Taking her hand I led her further into the trees, careful to watch her face as the wonder flashed across her features.

The trees had opened out and we we’re standing in front of two impossibly clear pools of water, one a little higher than the other, connected by a short runnel the water had carved through the upper greensand. The water was so clear that the bottom was clearly visible, strange blues and greens fading into each other. Poppy loved the place, clasping my hand as we wandered along the path that skirted the lower pool.

“There’s a legend about this place,” I said, “have you noticed how quiet it is here?”

Poppy stopped and listened.

“The story goes that Bad King John, or perhaps a Saxon prince, was riding and came upon this place. He espied a maiden bathing at the edge of the pool, washing her hair or some such. He was immediately seized with a raging passion and determined to take the maiden there and then. She was chaste, however, and determined to keep her virtue. But he was strong, powerful, and she knew that if she ran he would ride her down in a twinkling. So she plunged into the pool, wading out into the middle to try and keep clear of him. But she couldn’t swim and her heavy woollen dress was dragging her down. Her brother heard her screams and came running, diving into the pool to save her. But he couldn’t swim either. They both drowned.”

“What happened to the king?”

“He rode away, no doubt amazed at the stupidity of the peasantry. Nobles were like that. Anyway, the point is that it’s silent because the birds are supposed to refuse to sing here, aware of the tragedy that attends this place. And hence the name, Silent Pool.”

“He’s a bit like you,” said Poppy after a thoughtful silence.

“The king or the brother?”

“A bit of both,” she said as she turned to face me, “there’s something happening and my feet can’t feel the bottom. You pushed me in and then you came and dragged me out, and I think you always will.”

I looked at her closely and could see that she was forgetting, building something else in her mind, something that involved me. And suddenly she was pressing herself against me, kissing me deeply. I kissed back for a moment, my tongue lingering in her before I broke away, knowing that this couldn’t go any further or ‘things’ would be said that should be left unsaid.

Afternoon turned into early evening over food in a small pub in Clandon, and we enjoyed the sun sinking passed the tree canopy, lingering over the late lunch. I spent a lot of time holding her hand, circling my fingertip in her palm. I was definitely feeling unbalanced and Poppy’s proximity was magnifying my discomfort every second. If I wasn’t careful I’d have questions to answer. This confirmed it; I was right to call Curtis.

We drove into Sussex with the dusk and I turned along a quiet road. After a little more than a mile I pulled over and I turned to look at Poppy in profile.

“There’s one last thing you must do,” I said as she faced me, her eyes looking troubled as the implications sank in.

“Don’t worry,” I hastened to reassure her, “nothing to do with that moron Jervis.” She shuddered at the mention of his name. “But I think you’ve forgotten what’s been happening, and you need to be reminded. And this time, I think you’ll enjoy it a little more.”

“If it’s anything like this morning …” And she chuckled.

“Not quite,” I said as I opened my glove compartment and pulled out a heavy silk blindfold, “and you’ll need to be … helpless.”

Poppy exhaled deeply, lustily, as I reached around her to secure the blindfold. She lifted up her arms to help me pull off her t-shirt. I threw it on the back seat and then reached around her again, flicking open the clasp of her bra. I pulled it away from her, and let my fingers brush against her left nipple. Her tiny gasp betrayed her excitement. Then she lifted her arse a little, allowing me to unzip her skirt. She helped me slip it down her legs, followed a moment later by her panties. I glanced down at her trainers. They were too ugly for what was to come, and I congratulated myself for picking up her retro lace-up high heels when we were at her flat. I slipped off her trainers and guided her feet into the new shoes. We were all set, and I pulled away again, driving the final mile with a beautiful naked woman in my passenger seat.

The company had bought the disused factory some time previously and I knew it was the perfect location. It hadn’t been difficult to ensure that the security was absent for the weekend, and I was confident that Curtis had prepared the place properly. I parked just outside the main door to one wing of the derelict u-shaped building then led Poppy across to the other wing, appreciating the way she walked.

I took her into the building and up to the first floor. The windows had all been smashed years before and the doors removed but the structure was still solid. I guided Poppy into the room Curtis had prepared and made her stand still as I turned on a light he’d hooked up to a car battery. The room was as I had ordered; a chain hanging from the centre of the ceiling, a bed against the back wall with an iron bedstead, a bag waiting for me in the corner of the room.

I led Poppy into the center of the room and positioned her underneath the chain, telling her to wait. Inside the bag the handcuffs were waiting, as was the padlock. I returned to her and enjoyed her heavier breathing as I ran my hands up the side of her torso, before moving her arms together in front of her, flicking the handcuffs around her wrists.

“Hey…”

“Helpless, remember?” I said, pressing myself against her back and arse. She exhaled deeply again as she pushed back into me, then I lifted her arms up and wrapped the end of the chain around the links of the handcuffs, clicking the padlock closed and fastening her in position. She gasped again as she realized that she was restrained in this position and I ran my fingertip down her spine, marveling at the tiny tremor that rippled her skin as I helped her to build a powerful feeling of sexual excitement.

“So, what are you going to do with me,” she breathed huskily.

“Not me,” I whispered in her ear, “you’re going to have some visitors. They’ll use your body, and I know you’ll like it. Just think, the sound of footsteps on the stairs, a sudden touch, unknown breath in your ear,” Her lips were parted and she was almost panting in anticipation, “this is the final part of the punishment. Once it’s finished you’ll be free.”

I walked around her a final time, admiring her hard nipples and closely studying her face as she followed the sound of my footsteps. She was certainly a fine young woman but her effect on me was unacceptable. I would miss her but it had to be, so I walked out of the room and down the stairs, leaving her to the cool night air.

Curtis was waiting for me, his shaved head catching the moonlight. He pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against as I approached. Wordlessly I handed him the envelope and he opened it, counting the notes to check his payment was correct. I had never defaulted on a payment but I respected his caution. He nodded back at the shadows and his two sidekicks appeared. I didn’t know them, and I didn’t need to. They looked typical for Curtis sidekicks, athletic young thugs who would do anything for money. I trusted Curtis had them firmly under control; he knew he’d better have.

I walked over to the other wing of the derelict factory and climbed up to the first floor. I pulled up the chair that had been left for me and sat in the shadows by the window. Poppy was clearly visible in the strong light, still waiting and undoubtedly thrilled by the possibilities of what could happen in the next few minutes.

She started as she heard Curtis and his friends walking slowly up the stairs (trust him to build the tension!) and I saw her bite her lip as they entered the room. They still moved slowly, coming up to her and then Curtis reached out, putting his hand on her stomach and I could see that she moaned at the first touch.

One of his friends knelt behind her, parting her legs a little and once she was balanced again pulling her arse back towards him. He began to kiss her cheeks, rubbing them with his hands as he did so. Then he parted her cheeks and leant forward and I knew that he was licking her now from the expression of pleasure that radiated across her face. Curtis was massaging her breasts, pulling at her nipples. I could see that she was moaning again, and a faint sound of her pleasure echoed across to me.

The other man stripped and then walked over to Poppy, pressing himself against her then grabbing her hair, pulling her head back and planting savage kisses on her neck. I could see that she was finding it difficult to stand, her legs trembling and shaking. Curtis stepped away and began to undress, then reached into the bag and I saw that he’d grabbed the key to the padlock.

He walked back to Poppy and reached up, unlocking the padlock and unwinding the chain then grabbing her arms to stop them falling too fast. Then he pulled her over to the bed, leading her by the links of the handcuffs. She walked uncertainly, deprived of her sight she clearly felt vulnerable. Curtis then pushed her down on to the bed and used a belt to tie the handcuffs to the iron bedstead. She was presented to them, available to be used in any way they wanted.

Curtis and his friends were all naked now, and they wanted Poppy to make them ready. They climbed on the bed and positioned themselves around her head. Curtis reached down and took Poppy by the hair and pulled her towards his cock. She clearly understood what was required of her, or maybe one of the lads had given her instructions, as her mouth was already open. She licked Curtis, running her tongue from the base of his cock to his glans. He let his head fall back, clearly enjoying her attentions, and then he looked down at her again as he guided himself between her lips.

Poppy sucked him for all she was worth and I could guess that she was running her tongue around him as well. The other two men were obviously getting a little impatient, and very soon Poppy was in the middle of a blow-bang, her head pulled backwards and forwards, and side to side as the lads greedily sought out her mouth, each of them growing and hardening. Her legs had fallen open, and the men weren’t ignoring her cunt, fingers pressing and probing her even as she serviced them. She moved her hips in rhythm with the movement of their hands and fingers and I could see that she needed them to fuck her, hard.

Curtis was ready to oblige, but he was also a little bit of a bastard (I couldn’t have worked with him if he wasn’t). He moved down until he was between her legs, holding them apart with his hands behind her knees. And then he teased her, rubbing the head of his cock around her mound as she wriggled, trying to push herself onto him. He took his time, pulling away from her whenever her cunt almost captured him, until finally he lunged forward, pushing into her. She was shaking a little from the moment he was inside her even as her mouth continued to be used by Curtis’s friends.

He fucked her slowly at first, deep determined thrusts that filled her, stretched her. I could see that she was loving every second, pushing her hips up to meet him and moaning and gasping whenever she had a moment free from the attentions of the other men. Then the pace picked up again, with Curtis and his friends exchanging positions, fucking Poppy with a deep hunger to possess her. They spread her legs even further apart, ploughing into her as the sweat dripped off them. She was abandoned in her passion and I recognised the signs. Sure enough, a few moments later she began to buck and shudder, her orgasm overtaking her.

Curtis and his friends hadn’t finished yet but I’d seen enough. I’d allowed her to be queen for the day, the last gift to the condemned. But like a sacrifice in those ancient pagan times the day had to end and with it came the price. I returned the chair to the back wall and took a final look at the scene opposite me. Curtis had left Poppy and was wiping off his sweat with a towel. His face was flushed and he’d clearly had his pleasure. He dropped the towel back into the bag and reached in, pulling out the Glock and quietly pulling back the slide.

xxxxx

I was already walking down the rubble-strewn stairs when I heard the first shot, followed a few moments later by the coup de grace. I would question Curtis closely; if she knew it was coming I’d break him, methodically, implacably.

Sitting behind the wheel of my Jaguar I exhaled, looking out into the darkness and searching for something, trying to feel wistful, rolling the concept around my mouth. My phone interrupted me and I cursed as I saw that Head Office had texted me. They could wait, for once; I needed some time. I allowed myself to sink through the leather seat, down through the bodywork, past the tarmac, down, down, down.

I walked along the infinite corridor, smiling as I looked down at my shiny black shoes pacing on the bright red carpet, passed door after door, never ending. I stopped and reached out, turning the handle, stepping through. And there she was, sitting demurely on the end of the bed; silk blouse, skirt, retro lace up high heels, amber necklace. Light flooded the room, mingling with the newly washed smell of the bedclothes, the colours bright with an aroma of peace: a room she had created with the freedom I had given her. I lent forward and kissed her, softly and completely, and she moved herself onto me; not sexually but calmly, totally, her ego dissipating.

I lifted her, my left arm around her back, my right under her knees as I carried her into the corridor, finding the lift, the doors already open. I placed her down gently in the corner of the lift, resting her comfortably so she wouldn’t be disturbed by the movement. She stroked my cheek one last time, her mind already leaving, and stepping back I pressed the top button, gazing at her as the doors swished shut. The lift carried Poppy upwards, out of Purgatory, her punishment over.

I turned to leave then spotted the other door. Arthur’s door. The room was dark and empty, for now. I gazed at the grey, scorched walls and rusting pipes, the rack, the unlit brazier. I wandered over to the rusting steel table in the corner and picked up a chisel, feeling its weight as I looked at the screwdrivers and the hammers lying in a bed of grime. Arthur would be here soon; I could blink and he would be here now but I had no desire to see it. And Arthur wouldn’t be alone; my colleagues were already awaiting him, sharpening their knives for his long, slow cleansing. I turned and left, never to visit that room again.

I reached for my phone and checked my message, a cool breeze through the open driver’s side window tingling on my skin. A new project, a new name, new details. The crime was so sadly ubiquitous; all humans seemed to do was steal from each other or kill each other. The rest was just modus operandi. I thought about the punishments I was called on to inflict and I knew that to the humans I was evil. But they are the ones with free will.

I looked at the photograph and noted her wild red curls tumbling down one side of her face, her parting off center. I studied her mouth and her neck, already feeling my fingertips searching her, sensing her soul. And I looked at her eyes, always the eyes. She had the kind of eyes I always fall for …

THE END