0 comments/ 16730 views/ 1 favorites The President's P.A. By: Nickton "Go on through - he's expecting you. I'll buzz him to let him known you're on your way up." Kristy smiled nervously back at the receptionist, who sat stern faced, clad in a severely cut suit. Her whole manner seemed to disapprove of Kristy and the slight backward tilt of her head, prominently displaying her nostrils indicated that she clearly felt that Kristy had no business even setting foot in her office, let alone the President's. "Through here?" queried Kristy, nodding towards two immaculately polished swing doors, situated behind and to the right of the receptionist's desk. It was more an attempt to make conversation, to get some flicker of humanity from the harridan on the desk, to put her at her ease. After all, she must know how nervous Kristy felt. None of the other young women busy working on pcs, or writing copious longhand notes at their own desks looked up or even acknowledged Kristy's presence in the 19th floor office- or the 'Inner Sanctum' as workers on the lower floors referred to it. "Yes. Go on through and up the stairs at the end of the corridor. Mr Thulgar does not like to be kept waiting," clipped the receptionist icily, giving a barely discernible nod of her head in the direction of the doors. "Thank you so much," said Kristy briskly, fighting to suppress her anger at being treated like some office junior. If this was the attitude of the staff on the 19th floor, she wasn't sure she wanted to be a part of their team - if, indeed, this was a proposition on offer. But then again, she mused as she pushed the doors open, noticing how soundlessly they moved on well-oiled hinges over a rather plush, dark blue carpet, why would the President ask her to compile the report and bring it to him personally, if not to offer her some sort of promotion? As she walked along the corridor, her stomach fairly fluttering with butterflies, Kristy recalled how, just a week ago, she'd been called aside by her supervisor and told about the special assignment, sent down from the President of the company. "Mr Thulgar requires cost projections for the next quarter, based on our performance in the electronic media market," Sarah had said, rather awestruck herself. "The thing is Kristy, he's specifically asked you to prepare the report." "M-Me?" Kristy had stammered, wondering what could possibly have brought her to the President's attention. "I - I'll be glad to, yes, glad to, b-but I've got the Henderson account to prepare and -." Sarah waved her hand impatiently. "I'm taking you off the Henderson account - with no loss of bonus," she added smoothly, "I'll get young Jason to do it. Time he had a chance. No, I want you to concentrate fully on the President's report from now on. You've got full access to all records and databases, he's approved your higher security clearance for the duration of this project." Kristy almost said "Wow", but tempered her excitement and instead asked how long she had to complete what was after all, a major undertaking. "One week exactly," Sarah replied. "The President's office will let us know where and when to deliver the report. He's specifically said it's for his eyes only, so I'm not even to check it for you." Kristy couldn't help but smile. She was good at reading body language and faces in particular. Sarah liked to think she had a poker face, but the thinness of her lips and the set of her shoulders indicated that she was pretty ticked off at this affront to her seniority. That had been a week and a lifetime ago. So here she was, seven days down the line, on an unremarkable, but at the same time extraordinary Tuesday morning, approaching the President's office with the precious report, neatly compiled and bound in a brown folder, tucked under her arm. It had taken several late nights, working until gone ten, and all weekend, but she'd finally finished it. The detailed, yet concise report, with all its cost projections, fiscal analysis and cross-referencing, had been completed on Sunday evening. Monday had been spent printing it up, indexing and annotating where necessary and binding the whole thing together. Hopefully, there'd be a fat bonus in this for her, not least for the overtime hours worked, but, better than that, maybe a promotion to the 19th floor. After all - and her close workmates speculated openly about this - why would Mr Thulgar have asked Kristy to not only compile the report but to bring it to him personally? Kristy reached the end of the wood panelled corridor and walked up a small, curving flight of carpeted stairs to the 20th floor, the President's own domain. Very few workers had ever ventured up here - certainly not as a matter of course, and very few people knew exactly what was up here. Of course, the President had his own private office there, but he was also alleged to have private living quarters there too. In any event, the whole suite was accessible only via the Inner Sanctum on the 19th floor or, in the President's case, via a private elevator from the lobby or via helicopter on the roof. The stairs gave on to another corridor; this time carpeted in a green plush pile, and with tasteful paintings in the impressionist style along the oak panelled walls. Kristy swallowed nervously. She couldn't remember feeling as nervous as this in many years and she certainly hadn't felt this nervous during her interview for her first junior position at the company seven years before when she'd come there straight from university. Oh yes, she was well qualified, no doubt about that. She'd continued her education via various study courses and evening classes whilst working her way up to Senior Account Manager. It had been hard work, but well worth it, with an enviable salary and an apartment overlooking Central Park. Boyfriends had been few and far between, although she hadn't sacrificed her looks - or her occasional needs - for the sake of the job. But domesticity and a family of her own were not in her game plan this side of thirty. She was well thought of in the company, trusted and sought after by clients. Maybe now all that hard work had paid off and Mr Thulgar, nobody's fool as the success of his business had proven, had noticed her. The report was clearly a test of her mettle; as such a report would normally be compiled in three days by a team of accountants and cost analysts. Well - if there was a Vice Presidency in the offing, or a post on the 19th floor, Kristy was more than ready for it. And now here she was, standing in front of the big double doors, situated halfway down the corridor. A small brass plaque on the right hand door indicated 'N Thulgar - President'. Cursing her own nervousness, Kristy brushed any specks of dust off her neatly tailored suit, checking that all the buttons on her jacket were fastened, adjusted the collar of her white blouse and smoothed down her knee-length skirt. Her patent leather court shoes gleamed, her light stockings the perfect contrast to the dark blue of her suit. Her hair was neatly pinned back, but with just a few wisps dangling down, framing her face. Attractive, yet business-like. She took a deep breath and, still feeling like a student summoned to the principle's office, rapped smartly on the door. Three knocks, not too loud, nor too hesitant. The sort of knocks that indicated a confident manner and sense of purpose. She waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. Long seconds dragged by. Maybe the President was talking on the telephone - but inclining her head slightly she could hear no sound from beyond the doors. Maybe he'd left via his private elevator. But he should be expecting her. The summons to his office had been set for 11 am prompt. What should she do? Should she knock again? Should she go back down to the 19th floor and risk telling the harpy on the reception desk that the President wasn't answering? Swallowing hard, Kristy poised her knuckles over the door, ready to knock again. "Enter!" She stopped her knuckles from connecting with the door with about a quarter of an inch to spare. What would he have thought of her if she'd knocked again just as he'd bid her enter? Squaring her shoulders, Kristy twisted the solid brass door handle and pushed the right hand door open, realising that she was, indeed, entering into the unknown. The door slid silent open admitting Kristy to a surprisingly large office - or at least it appeared to be large. The sparse - some might say Spartan - furnishings gave an impression of space. As Kristy walked forward purposefully, her eyes quickly scanned the office. To the left, most of the wall was taken up with simple wooden shelves, upon which, tightly packed, were various box files, bound reports and, surprisingly, what appeared to be a large number of leather bound, obviously antique books. To the right, various abstract prints lined the walls, whilst on low, polished tables sat a fax, a xerox machine and a coffee percolator, with cups and saucers neatly stacked next to it. Straight ahead was a large window, vertical blinds half open, admitting enough sunlight to illuminate the highly polished wood of the vast, solid antique desk directly in front of it. A large, black leather executive chair sat behind the desk, its back facing Kristy, the occupant obviously facing the window, his elbows just visible resting on the chair's arms. As though sensing Kristy's progress towards the desk, the occupant slowly swivelled the chair round, bring Kristy face to face with Mr Thulgar, the company President. She stopped, a discreet couple of steps in front of the desk, momentarily taken aback by the striking - arresting - presence of the man sitting in front of her. Of course, she'd seen the President's photograph in the company annual report and portfolio, but the nearest she'd come to seeing him in the flesh was watching him from the far side of the lobby as he strode outside to his waiting limousine. But this was no substitute or seeing him up close. To start with, he was a big man - not fat, but solid, rather muscular, well proportioned, with broad shoulders, dressed in an immaculate, well-cut suit, with a white shirt, silk tie and, she noticed gold cufflinks - tasteful, not in any way ostentatious. He had a stern, craggy face, his grey hair cropped short so as to almost render him bald, his skin tanned but not ridiculously so, more the kind of tan which came from outdoor pursuits such as sailing - certainly his skin was weather beaten, but not unattractively so. Perhaps the most disconcerting thing about Mr Thulgar, however, was his eyes. Blue, like frozen pools of the deepest ocean, the dark eyebrows above framing them and channelling their piercing stare directly into Kristy's eyes, boring deep, as though probing her every secret thought. And what secret thoughts! Kristy suddenly had an image of herself, sprawled across Thulgar's desk, her skirt up around her waist as he fucked her within an inch of her life. Jeeez! Where did that come from? Kristy was shocked at her own thoughts, her own feelings of submission upon first sight of this undoubtedly powerful, if somewhat older man - it wasn't just his obvious wealth, but his sheer presence... Kristy felt herself blush and mentally shook herself, aware that she was staring at Thulgar and he was waiting for her to speak. "Um... your report Sir," said Kristy, struggling to keep her shaking voice steady. Thulgar said nothing, but simply held out his hand. For at least three seconds Kristy made no move, wondering what he wanted, then she realised, with a start, that she still had the precious report tucked under her arm. Cursing her all-too-obvious nerviousness, she whipped the envelope from under her arm, stepped forward and handed it to Thulgar. He took it, his grip, she noticed, very firm. Instead of thanking her, or asking her to take a seat in the hard backed chair situated in front of the desk, Thulgar simply took the report from the envelope and began to flip through it. Kristy decided it would be pertinent to wait until the President gave her his attention, so she adopted an 'at ease' stance, her legs slightly apart, her hands held behind her back, eyes front. Thulgar however, was no longer looking at her - in fact she might not have even been there at all for all the attention he was paying her. This irked her somewhat. After all, she was no gauche junior, the lowest form of life in the company; she was an Account Manager in her own right. However, she reasoned, this might just be his way - it might even be part of the test Kristy noticed that he might flick over two or three pages at a time, but then obviously read a passage here and there very closely, occasionally turning back to a preceding page. She'd handed enough reports to senior managers and supervisors in her career to know when somebody patently didn't understand a word in front of them. Some didn't even make the pretence of reading the report and merely turned to the final page and the idiot-proof conclusion. Thulgar was obviously a different animal altogether - he clearly not only understood what he was reading, he knew exactly what he was looking for and where to look for it. As she waited, Kristy's gaze fell on the President's desk. The leather top was an attractive, slightly faded red colour, embossed with tasteful gold edging. The desk itself wasn't exactly neat, but had a workmanlike clutter to it; two or three folders, an in-tray with letters awaiting signature and various memoranda, a telephone with a number of different line indicators, a smart wooden pen holder containing three solid pens - fountain pens by the look of them - and, to her surprise, a paperweight which appeared to be a human skull, cast in bronze, expertly detailed and somewhat disconcerting, its eye sockets dark and menacing, almost as deep as Thulgar's own living eyes. But what caught her attention most was an ornate desk lamp. The bulb and green angled shade were standard enough, but the lamp stand itself - like the paperweight fashioned in bronze - was far from standard. It was a woman - almost naked, but wearing what looked like a ragged tunic, barely covering the tops of her thighs, one side of it flapping down, as though torn, exposing one of the figurine's ample breasts, the prominent nipple a finely sculpted point, proportioned in exact detail. The woman's long hair flowed and cascaded down her shoulders, her head was thrown back, her eyes closed in almost orgasmic pleasure. Her arms, which reached the top of the lamp stand, held above her almost beseechingly, seeking supplication from some unseen master. The figurine was so beautifully crafted, so precise in every minute detail. It was certainly not politically correct and would put any woman ill at ease, and Kristy found herself responding to it in a way that shocked her. Yes, it was sexist. Yes, it was even shocking, but it was.... sensuous.... erotic even. Suddenly she snapped out of her reverie, aware that the President had spoken to her, but she hadn't heard what he'd said. She brought her attention firmly back to Thulgar, noticing a quick flick of his eyes towards the lamp, before they settled, disconcertingly, back on her. "Sir?" she queried, straightening her back, trying to give the impression that she was paying attention all along. "Name," said Thulgar, his voice gravely, but precise, his accent - somewhat refined, but hard to place. British maybe? Kristy looked blankly at him. Name? Name? "Your name," he clipped, as though fully aware of her mental confusion. "Er - Kristy Reynolds, sir," said Kristy quickly, still feeling for all he world like some schoolgirl about to be reprimanded by the principle. Thulgar almost casually tossed the report into the in-tray, placed his large, shovel-like hands on the desk and levered himself up, standing at around six feet tall, several inches taller than his build had suggested from a sitting position. He walked slowly round the desk, determinedly, but with the minimum of movement, almost like a big cat loping casually through the pampas. "Well Reynolds," he said quietly, "I'm pleased. A good, solid report, just what I expected." Kristy flinched a little at the use of her surname: No-one in the company had ever addressed her in such a manner. Clients and junior staff might address her as Ms Reynolds, at last until they got to know her better. But then, she reasoned, Thulgar appeared to be somewhat old-fashioned in his manner, although his age was hard to guess - he could be anywhere between fifty and sixty. Perhaps this was just his way. Perhaps, too, this was part of the test? He walked slowly around her, looking her up and down, as though appraising a waxwork or an interesting statue in an art gallery. Kristy felt herself blushing again - his close proximity to her was not acceptable - he was invading her space, and yet she felt powerless to step back or to even say anything. Not only did he walk - prowl - around her as though he had every right to do so, but she almost felt that it was within his rights to do so! She'd certainly never put up with that sort of behaviour from any other worker, manager or not. His movements were almost predatory, his stare seeming to strip away the layers of her clothing to appraise her naked body, but then go deeper, peeling away her flesh and staring into her very soul. Kristy felt decidedly uncomfortable under this scrutiny and struggled to find her voice to say something. But when she tried to speak, she felt light headed, faint even. Was it hot in his office? Had the stress of working so hard and of bringing the report to the President exhausted her? Such a thing had never happened to her before and she felt doubly disturbed by this. Thankfully, the spell was broken somewhat when Thulgar abruptly turned away and leaned back against the desk, arms folded, but still holding her with his piercing stare. "I've heard good things about you Reynolds," he clipped. "Your supervisors all speak highly of you. Your annual appraisals all indicate a conscientious attitude towards your work, coupled with clear initiative and ambition. Your clients all display great satisfaction with your handling of their accounts and you clearly have a sound grasp of the company's position in the world market and of its financial standing and capabilities." He nodded towards the report to emphasise the latter point. His delivery had been precise, unhurried, stating the facts with no emotional edge to his words. Kristy felt herself flush again, but this time with pride. He was pleased with her! This was it - there was surely a promotion or some sort of bonus on offer. However, Thulgar's next words brought her aspirations to earth with an almighty bump. "I have to say, Reynolds, that I remain unimpressed." Kristy was aghast. What did he mean 'unimpressed'? Her anger welled up and she opened her mouth to query indignantly what he was suggesting. But Thulgar spoke over her, silencing her protest before she could give it voice. "Your intelligence is of no concern to me whatsoever," he said, simply. "You are a good worker, but intelligence is not a trait that I find desirable amongst females. Your role is not to display intelligence or to emulate the male, but to be subservient to the male and do his bidding. Women exist to serve and give pleasure to men." The sheer audacity of his statement hit home and Kristy's temper finally snapped. "How dare you suggest such a thing!" she exclaimed, her voice rising with indignation, stabbing her finger towards Thulgar. "I've never heard such blatantly sexist bullshit in my life! I am deeply insulted and demand an apology! I am a Senior Account Manager with seven year's loyal service to this company and I do not expect to be sexually harassed and belittled by its President, no more than I would the post boy!" The President's P.A. To her amazement and increased annoyance Thulgar merely gave a little smile, like some benign uncle indulging a recalcitrant niece. "I need an Personal Assistant, Reynolds," he said quietly. "Are you the woman for the job?" The relief Kristy felt was palpable - it was all a test after all. Thulgar obviously had said such gross things to rile her, to see how far he could push her. He obviously wanted a feisty assistant who could stand up for herself and represent him to the best of her ability. "I think I am, Sir," smiled Kristy, self-consciously smoothing down her clothing and lifting a few stray strands of hair back into place, realising they had become dislodged after her burst of finger-pointing anger. "Good," he said simply, standing up and talking a step closer to her. "Now - on your knees before me, eyes downcast." Kristy giggled, albeit nervously. Thulgar was a convincing actor, no wonder he was so successful in business - that kind of talent would be invaluable in negotiations. Talk about a poker face, too - you could believe her really meant it and -. "I said, on your knees before me, eyes downcast!" His voice raised slightly towards the end of the sentence, his eyes still holding Kristy in their piercing stare, like a butterfly pinned mercilessly to a display board. "I'm sorry, I've had enough of this play acting," began Kristy. "I hope I've impressed you enough now Sir for you to -." "Silence!" Thulgar's barked command was like a physical blow and again, causing Kristy's heart to skip a beat, Suddenly she felt the same woozy, light-headedness, felt her knees almost ready to buckle beneath her. It was as though, through his stare, Thulgar was somehow siphoning off her own energy, sapping her will, controlling her thoughts. In fact, she almost felt compelled to kneel before him. Almost. With a supreme effort of willpower, Kristy shook her head to clear the dizziness and stared back. "No! I've had enough of this," she said. "I don't need this. I can walk into any other job with my qualifications and experience! I can do without games, Mr Thulgar." She turned smartly on her heel, breaking the fearful eye contact and began to walk towards the door. She hadn't gone more than two steps when a heavy hand grabbed her collar and jerked her backwards, actually lifting her off the floor momentarily and cannoning her into his desk, the backs of her upper legs painfully chaffing against the unyielding solid wood - no doubt hard enough to cause a bruise. The ornate lamp juddered for a few seconds, but remained upright. Thulgar glowered down at her. Kristy couldn't find her voice, aware that her mouth was wide open with shock. The man was mad! She had to get out of this office quickly. She'd contact the police, yes; she'd have him charged for assault, sexual harassment... "Never, but never turn your back on me!" growled Thulgar menacingly, his eyes narrowing now, his fists bunched. He grabbed her lapel with his left hand, wrenching her up from the desk, the material of her jacket protesting at this rough treatment "You can't do this," gasped Kristy, grabbing his hard, leathery hand and somehow managing to pull herself free of his grip. "This is bullying! Sexual harassment! I'm going to -." She never finished her sentence. His remarkable sped, Thulgar's right hand shot out, the open palm connecting his her cheek, the sheer force more like a punch than a slap, almost clubbing her to the floor. Kristy sprawled on the carpet, tasting blood, her head spinning. He'd - he'd hit her! She had to get away from this madman, before he - Once again Thulgar's iron grip was on her collar, pulling her up off the floor. She felt his breath on her cheek, and again, the dizziness and confusion overtook her, causing her vision to swim and blur. As though from a long way off she heard his voice hiss malevolently in her ear: "You will kneel, because you are my slave! You will obey me!" With that she felt herself thrown back towards the floor, but she felt strangely detached from her body, sensing rather than experiencing her fall, and, remarkably, not even registering the inevitable impact. Slowly, her senses returned, her head stopped spinning although she kept her eyes shut, hoping that when she opened them her vision would clear. But now a confusing range of sensations washed over her. The first feeling was of a change in temperature - she suddenly felt cold, as though she were in some kind of outbuilding. Next, the air felt heavy, smelt musty, almost like a stables, with a hint of - disconcertingly - human urine... and worse. The next thing was the feel of the floor. The carpet had been replaced by hard stone, but with something on top of it, something rough and scratchy, although softening the stone slightly - it smelled like, felt like - straw! She hardly dared open her eyes, but when she did she was lying, sprawled on straw-covered flagstones, the brightness of the office now replaced by a subdued gloom, lit of the flickering light of an open flame from somewhere just outside her range of vision. Forgetting the threat from Thulgar - in fact, forgetting him completely in her dazed state, she slowly, painfully, sat up - and then realised that wherever he was, it certainly wasn't the President's office on the 20th floor of a New York office block. In fact, everything her senses were telling her seemed to be a lie - albeit a massive sensory conspiracy, because every one of her senses was telling her that yes, this was a dungeon, and what's more, she was in it! The walls, although shrouded in gloom, were build of solid, rough hewn bricks, their colour indeterminate, but blackened with soot from the guttering torches which flickered moodily in iron holders bolted higher up the walls. Doubtless, from the smell of things, the walls had a fair amount of mould growing on them too, but this could not be discerned in the dancing shadows. Kristy slowly stood up, tottering slightly on her heels, as the flagstones were pitted and uneven. To her horror, there were heavy chains and manacles hanging from the walls, whilst in front of the wall ahead of her stood an iron brazier, its coals glowing an angry red, little tongues of flame licking up from between the coals and out through the holes in the side of the black metal brazier. Propped against the wall to her left was a large wooden pallet of some description, with two thick leather straps at the top and again at the bottom - obviously some kind of restrain for wrists and ankles. In fact, they were all classic dungeon furnishings, but horribly, startlingly real. This was no movie set, no mock-up, no faux playground for Dungeons and Dragons geeks - somehow she knew, just knew, that this was the real thing, the whole, gruesome, eldritch reality impossible to ignore. It event felt as though it was below ground level, as though the weight of whatever building it lay under was weighing heavily upon the dungeon, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. A voice, echoing slightly in the cavern-like space: "Oh dear. We're not in Kansas now, Toto." Kristy wheeled round, having forgotten Thulgar's presence and realised she'd forgotten all about him. Wherever she was, he'd followed her and was standing there, his eyes still as piercing and hypnotic, even in the gloom, although the flickering of the torchlight reflected in them, adding a diabolic air to his whole persona. But Thulgar looked different - gone was the expensive, well-cut business suit. Now he was clad in a linen jerkin of some kind, with a leather waistcoat affair, but sporting broad shoulder pads, decorated with evil metal studs. The jerkin was low cut, exposing his broad, tanned chest. His arms were bare, and showed bulging muscles stretching the hardened skin. His wrists were adorned with metal bracelets, again studded but otherwise undecorated. Leather breeches and boots encased his tree trunk-like legs. The whole ensemble would have been laughably pantomimesque, had the situation itself not seemed to horribly real. His arms we folded implacably across his broad chest, a wry smile creasing his face. Kristy felt a hot rush of anger that temporarily fought down her fear. "Where am I? What have you done to me?" she demanded. "You must have drugged me somehow - that's it, you drugged me. I felt light headed in your office. Boy, you are so going to get a lawsuit from me for this!" "Am I?" said Thulgar, quietly. "Too right! Abduction, assault, attempted rape for all I know!" retorted Kristy. "I don't know what you get off on doing this to women, but you've picked the wrong one with me." "You have a cell phone," replied Thulgar quietly, unmoving. "Use it. Call the police, Call your lawyer." Kristy's hand darted to her left hand pocket, half expecting that her cell phone had been removed, but no, there it was. She pulled the small, slim instrument free, flipped the cover and punched in 911, keeping her eyes fixed on Thulgar, should he make a move. She bit her lip as she realised there was no signal on her phone. Obviously the signal was being blocked by wherever she was. "Just let me go now," she said, struggling to keep her voice even, to control her weakening bladder as the fear began to gnaw away at her, "I'll not press charges. That fair enough?" Don't beg, don't plead, and don't show weakness, she told herself over and over. Give him room to manoeuvre and retain his male pride. Let him think he's won. Get the bastard arrested after you get away. Don't become a victim! "They tell you plenty of crap at the anti-rape courses, don't they?" said Thulgar, slowly walking towards her. "Psychological tricks don't work with me. I know you women like to feel empowered, but you don't feel very empowered now, do you?" "Keep back!" shouted Kristy, backing away, holding the cell phone in front of her, cursing herself for the futility of this gesture. Thulgar swatted the phone out of her hand, sending it spinning through the air and into the darkness. Suddenly Kristy could no longer move, her arms grabbed from each side. She screamed and then gasped with pain as her hair was grabbed, her head wrenched backwards, bringing tears to her eyes. Suddenly the grip on her hair was released and her head pushed forward. The hair clips had gone, her long hair fell loose over her face. She twitched it out of her eyes as she frantically looked to her left and right, aware now that her arms were being held - with surprising strength - by two women. Both were about her age, dressed - almost - in brief, plain tunics which covered their upper thighs, making Kristy think, bizarrely of the figurine lamp on Thulgar's desk - wherever that was. One of the women was blonde; the other a redhead, their hair loose around their shoulders, but it appeared to be clean and well styled. Both wore make up, rather akin to that which Kristy had seen on pictures of high-born Egyptian women as depicted in ancient frescoes, their eyes highlighted by dark mascara, giving them both a cat-like quality, whilst their lips were full and red. Kristy noticed that both appeared to be wearing identical yellow chokers or collars of some description, tight around their throats. Despite her terror, Kristy could see from the tightness of the women's tunics over their breasts and lower bodies that neither was wearing any undergarments. "Let me go!" she sobbed, struggling against their grip, all pretence at self-control gone now. The women's grip tightened. Neither spoke, but one of them grabbed Kristy's hair and jerked her head back again, causing Kristy to cry out. The meaning was clear, so Kristy subsided. Her hair was released again, the sharp pain tingling on for several seconds. She almost slumped, her predicament hopeless, and looked up at Thulgar, who stood, quietly, his eyes still boring into her. For several seconds he appraised her, then finally he spoke: "There is nowhere to run, Reynolds. No one to come to your rescue. There is no secret exit back to the office. You are here, in my world and here you will learn to submit to me and be my slave." "Pl-please," stammered Kristy, "I haven't done anything to you! Let me go. I really won't say anything and -." Her words were cut off by a sudden, unexpected slap across her cheek, adding to the throbbing pain on her other cheek where he had struck her before. She gasped at the force of the blow and the speed with which Thulgar had lashed out, like a deadly cobra. "You will not speak unless I permit you to speak!" he snapped. "That is your first lesson, slave! You know you are no longer in New York, you know - instinctively - that you are no longer even in the same world. As I said, you are in my world now, I am have brought you here and you will do my bidding!" "I'll be missed!" shouted Kristy desperately, trying to lie her way to freedom. "My boyfriend knew I was coming in to see you at 11. If I don't turn up to meet him at lunchtime he'll know something's wrong! People will miss me and the police'll be on to you!" She howled as Thulgar's heavy palm left its stinging imprint across the same cheek, more blood bubbling into her mouth, her head spinning with the force of the blow. "I did not give you permission to speak," he said, quietly. "However, as to your 'boyfriend', I seem to think that you live alone have no regular partner or even causal male acquaintance. Your widowed mother lives in Colorado with your brother and his wife, but I'm sure she'd forget that she had a daughter named Kristy, just as your brother never had such a sister... just as any friends and colleagues of yours will similarly forget your existence. Memories are transient things, Reynolds and, as such they are easily manipulated. Evidence of a person's existence is, at best, ephemeral. Computer records can be deleted, tenancy agreements can be altered, even high school photographs and records can be expunged. In short, slave, you are not only a non-person in your world, you have never existed." Kristy stared, wide-eyed with horror. Thulgar was not shouting, not gesturing, he was calmly stating a fact. Bizarre though it sounded, Kristy knew - just knew - that this man could do this to her. He did not need to prove anything. She was here, held by two apparent slave girls, in a dungeon, being faced by someone who looked like some kind of barbarian overlord. But there was no break for commercials, no shout of "That's a wrap!" from the Director... this was her life, now and, it seemed, forever. Thulgar turned his eyes towards the two slave girls and barked a single word in some strange, guttural language that Kristy had never heard before. Its tone was clear however - it was a command. The girls immediately grabbed Kristy's lapels and together they tore her smart jacket open, wrenching it from her in seconds, not giving her a chance to react. Her white blouse was unceremoniously ripped from her in the same manner. Kristy screamed, and belatedly tried to cover her breasts, their only protection being her lacy white bra, but found her arms twisted behind her by the redhead whilst the blonde grimaced and slapped Kristy hard across the mouth, adding the pain she already felt. Kristy felt the cold, dank air of the dungeon kiss her exposed skin, turning it into a network of goose bumps, her nipples involuntarily hardening in sympathy. The slaves turned their heads questioningly towards Thulgar, who nodded towards the far wall. Kristy found herself being propelled towards the dungeon wall, her arms grabbed again and held tight. The redheaded slave wrenched her wristwatch off and dropped it to the floor, dismissively. She stumbled on the way, losing her shoes, her stockinged feet feeling the cold of the rough flagstones, the flimsy hose laddering immediately. With a yelp, Kristy connected with the wall, only just managing to jerk her head aside in time to prevent her nose being crunched into the rough brickwork. She could feel the damp, cold stone on her exposed flesh, sickened by the reaction of her nipples to the touch of the stone through the silk of her bra, stiffening even harder than they had when exposed to the cold air. Her arms were roughly pulled up above her head and unyielding steel manacles snapped around her wrists, biting into the flesh of her hands. Kristy tugged on the chains above her, but wincing as the manacles dug harder into her flesh. As it was her feet were only just flat on the floor, she had to stand on tiptoe to gain any respite from the harsh pull of the manacles on her protesting arm muscles. The slave girls stood to each side of her, smiling adoringly at Thulgar who strode over to her. Kristy craned her neck, trying to look over her shoulder at him, wondering with stomach-knotting anticipation what he was about to do. "Do you submit as my slave?" he asked, his tone reasonable, as though he was asking her if she'd settle for a smaller bonus in her salary. Despite her fear, pain and shock, Kristy surprised herself by snapping through swollen, throbbing lips: "Go to hell, Motherfucker!" She saw the blonde slave girl raise her hand menacingly and braced herself for another slap in the face. Instead, the blow did not come. She saw Thulgar raise a hand to say the slave girl's action. Sickeningly, the blonde lowered her eyes and gave a small bow, accepting her master's command. "You're all fucking mad," whispered Kristy, slowly shaking her head. "Totally fucking mad." She felt he wasn't losing anything by speaking her mind, as she figured that her predicament couldn't get much worse, although she was soon to learn how wrong this assumption was. She heard a low chuckle from Thulgar who was now directly behind her. He uttered another guttural instruction to the red haired slave girl, who swiftly disappeared beyond her range of vision into a recess to her left, where she could hear the sound of something being picked up, rustling across a wooden surface. She heard the slave approach Thulgar and sensed that she had handed something to him. "Your last chance," said Thulgar quietly. "Do you submit to me as my slave?" "Go fuck yourself!" snapped Kristy, tensing in the manacles, expecting another slap. Suddenly she felt Thulgar grab the back strap of her bra and with one savage, powerful wrench, he tore the fastening apart, the bra flapping open, exposing her back fully. He ripped her skirt away, the ruined garment falling around her ankles, her only clothing now her panties, the hopelessly laddered stockings and the torn bra. He stepped back from her and spoke again to the unseen slave. Something rustled behind her, she felt a movement in the cold air and - Kristy heard the sound of displaced air cracking loud in her ears and felt the breath expelled from her body as surely as though someone had landed on her back. These sensations were prevalent until, at least three seconds later, the pain lanced through her body, searing from her left shoulder to her right buttock, her flimsy panties offering no protection against the whip's cruel passage across the soft flesh. She couldn't cry out, gasping for breath, trying desperately to fill her lungs with air, to give voice to her pain, to beg Thulgar not to hurt her further. But once again she was physically crushed into the wall by the force of the next blow, her tummy and breasts painfully scraping against the rough stone, but this pain nothing compared to the searing pathway through her skin, this time stretching from her right shoulder to her left buttock, the point where the second welt crossed the first burning a deep pit into the small of her back. This time she screamed, her voice seeming to come from a long way off, belonging to someone else. Kristy's eyes were wide open and she saw the blonde slave girl blink rapidly as something flicked onto her cheek. Slowly and with deliberate care, the slave girl ran her finger over her cheek and, smiling, sensuously sucked her now red fingertip. With a thrill of horror Kristy realised that the red flecks on the girl's face was blood - her blood. The President's P.A. Kristy's hands gripped the chains, hauling herself onto tiptoe, feeling fingers of pain, like red hot knives, stabbing into her back and through to her vital organs. She could almost visualise the searing welts on her back splitting as she moved. Finally, she managed to blurt out: "Pl-Please! I'm - I'm sorry! No more... please!" "Did you speak?" Thulgar's voice was calm, reasonable almost. Kristy hated that voice, almost as much as she hated Thulgar. "Please.... No more..." she groaned. Her scream echoed around the dungeon as the whip slashed across the tip of her right shoulder, severing the bra strap, curling down onto her upper breast, then withdrawing, flicking past her ear and depositing droplets of blood onto her face in its wake. "Do you beg forgiveness?" "Y-Yes.... Please.... Forgive... m-me...." moaned Kristy, praying that she would faint and be released from this maelstrom of torment. She released her grip on the chains, her palms and fingers bloodied, ignoring the pain as the manacles dug viciously into her wrists. "Very well," said Thulgar quietly. "Your initiation will continue presently." With that he barked an order in the same strange tongue to the slave girls, who immediately hurried over the Kristy and unfastened the hateful manacles, supporting her sagging, bloodied body between them. They turned her round to face Thulgar, but her head drooped, her eyes closing. She felt her hair being pulled again, her head forced up, but the pain was muted, almost inconsequential compared to the searing, blazing ache across her back and buttocks. Her eyelids flickered open and she saw Thulgar looking down at her, his expression implacable. He did not speak, seeming instead to be carefully appraising her, calculating perhaps what else she could endure. Finally he nodded to the two girls, turned on his heel and strode off across the dungeon and into the inky gloom. Kristy sensed rather than saw a door open - there was no discernible change in the light level caused by this, more a shifting of the darkness, but her head sagged again and then her own personal darkness mercifully claimed her. Kristy stirred, deciding that she'd have another couple of minutes before the alarm went off again. Although - maybe it had gone off twice. In that case then, she reasoned, she'd better twitch the duvet cover back, slip gracefully out of bed and pad with perhaps less grace into the kitchen, fix herself a light breakfast and a strong pot of coffee before getting off to work. But somehow she was having trouble finding the duvet but, more disconcertingly, she couldn't seem to move her hand to grip the duvet. Come to that - the bed didn't feel that soft in fact it felt downright painful. Her back hurt, really hurt and - Kristy's eyelids snapped open and she would have sat bolt upright if she could have done. Memories came flooding back as she stared up at the grim, arched stone ceiling of the dungeon, the shadows dancing menacingly in the guttering torchlight. She brought her gaze down and was aware that she was strapped to the wooden pallet she'd glimpsed earlier, the leather ankle and wrist straps holding her rigidly in place. The pallet was obviously fixed to some kind of hurdle, as she was clearly lying down, although the upper part of the pallet was tilted up slightly, like a dentist's chair. Her back screamed its protest as she squirmed slightly, splinters from the rough wooden surface virtual arrows in her ruptured flesh. Strangely, however, her back only seemed to hurt when she moved, otherwise it just felt bizarrely numb and quite cold. Maybe they'd put something on it deaden the pain, she thought. Maybe they -. She was suddenly aware that the two slave girls were standing on other side of the pallet looking down at her. The blonde girl was holding a small knife, not bigger than a vegetable knife, but fashioned out of steel. The redhead was wielding a small pair of scissors, rather like the old-fashioned shears used to shear sheep. With a sudden jolt of shock, Kristy realised that not only was she now fully naked, the remnants of her clothing having obviously been stripped away whilst she was unconscious, but that the redhead was holding out a long hank of Kristy's hair from her head and snipping it off with the shears. "What the fuck are you doing?" croaked Kristy, struggling to sit up, but succeeding only in causing tongues of fire to sear across her back. She swallowed hard, desperately trying to moisten her lips, get some spittle into her dry mouth and remonstrate with the slave. To her horror she was aware of long strands of her hair lying across her chest and round her shoulders. "No, not my hair, please!" moaned Kristy. The redhead simply smiled and brushed the long hanks of hair away onto the floor, even bending down to gently blow smaller strands off Kristy's chest. She quickly clipped a little more around Kristy's jawline, leading Kristy to realise that her hair had been cut - hacked - to above shoulder length. "Shhh, lie still, the numb salve will only work if you are still," whispered the blonde slave, "You must look good for the Master." With a jolt, Kristy realised that the girl could speak English. Not only that, her accent sounded...British. "Who are you?" she hissed, fearful that Thulgar might overhear her, wherever he was. "All new slaves have their hair cut short," said the girl conversationally. "Although drudge slaves have their heads shaved." She wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Drudge slaves aren't even fit for the public brothels." Before Kristy could say anything else she winced as she realised what the blonde slave was doing with the knife - she was slowly, carefully shaving Kristy's pussy. "No, please - don't!" begged Kristy, feeling tears springing to eyes, aware with odd detachment that she hadn't cried when she was being whipped - that had gone beyond mere upset and hurt - but this - this humiliation - was too much to bear. "All slaves must be clean and open for their Master," purred the blond girl, dipping the knife into a bowl of water set on a small table next to the pallet, washing the shaved pubic hairs away and then returning to her task. Kristy tried a new tack. "Are you - are you English?" she asked. "You sound English. What's your name? Did he abduct you too?" "My name is Dia," said the girl, deftly scraping away more of Kristy's hairs, causing her to bite her lip. "I used to work at the London office. You won't remember me. No one will remember me. Master found me and brought me here two years ago." She sounded almost dreamy, happy even. "He gave me my name. Perhaps he'll rename you, too." "Rename me?" Kristy was incredulous. She turned her face towards the redhead, who was now blowing small hairs off the shears, her task completed. "What about you?" he asked. "Did he do this to you too?" "Arla is a home-born," said Dia. "She doesn't speak English, Master bought her at the market." She could have been discussing a pound of apples for all the importance she attached to the statement. "Look," said Kristy urgently, "You've both got weapons haven't you? Cut me loose, we could take him easily when he comes back. We could get away together. Make a statement to the police!" "Oh no, we couldn't do that," sighed Dia. "Master would punish us. Besides," she added, her voice hardening slightly, revealing that her mind was more focussed than it first appeared, "We'd still be in the Master's house in his world. We can only move to your world if he wills it." "My world? It's yours too!" babbled Kristy urgently, deciding to accept that somehow she was, indeed, on another world, maybe in some parallel dimension or whatever it was called. The key to escape was Thulgar. Somehow he'd brought her here and only he could take her back. Before she could take this line of thinking any further, she suddenly gave a jolt of surprise as the cold steel of Arla's shears touched her nipples. Arla smiled, laying the flat of the shears blade against the hard nubs. Kristy felt revulsion welling up inside her - revulsion at the slave for doing this to her and revulsion at her own body by reacting to it in such a way. But somehow her breasts were responding to Arla's attention. With horrified fascination, Kristy watched Arla bend down and gently, lightly, lick each nipple in turn, warming the frozen points, allowing blood to soften them slightly, gently teasing them with her teeth, pulling, nibbling.... "Noooooooooo," moaned Kristy, trying to arch her back, ignoring the sudden stabbing pain. Arla pushed Kristy back down with a hand on her left breast whilst she sucked greedily on the right breast. Another moan escaped Kristy as she felt Dia's hand stroking her now bald pussy, running over the naked mound, her fingers deftly parting the lips of Kristy. It had been so long since anyone had touched Kristy in such a way. In fact, nobody had ever touched her quite in that way, not Mark, her last casual partner, a year ago, nor the senior college student who had introduced Kristy the innocent freshman to the pleasures of Bi-Curious. Dia inserted her long index finger deep into Kristy's aching and now moist cunt, stimulating her throbbing clit, causing the waves of pleasure to dispel the pain and fear that had wracked her body since she had arrived in this fearful place - whenever that was. It could have been two hundred years ago for all Kristy knew. No, this is wrong! They've imprisoned me here against my will. They've stripped me, abused, me, hurt me and now they're sexually assaulting me, Kristy told herself, I can't be enjoying it, but I don't want them to stop. What are they doing to me? Why am I submitting like this? Do I... Do I...want this? "Oh no, please, please don't stop!" moaned Kristy, as Dia's finger worked busily away, releasing such a torrent of desire as she'd never felt before, as Arla's teeth transferred their attention to her left nipple, raking the aching point. Suddenly Arla was pulled away from Kristy, painfully so and Thulgar's powerful bulk hoed into view. If he'd entered the dungeon the same way he'd left, neither Kristy nor the slave girls has heard him. His massive hand was twisted in Arla's hair, causing her to screw her eyes up. But she did not cry out, her body language was submissive, accepting this rough treatment. Dia sprang away from Kristy and dropped to he knees, eyes downcast, meekly awaiting any punishment. Thulgar muttered something in the strange language and literally hurled Arla away from him, spending her sprawling onto the floor in front of Dia. Arla immediately scrambled to her knees and she, too, hung her head. Thulgar ignored them and turned to Kristy. "So," he said, his face breaking into a cruel grin, "You seem to like being pleasured. I know you have the potential to give pleasure, slave. So shall we see how much pleasure you can give?" Kristy shook her head, not speaking, her eyes following Thulgar's slow, deliberate movements to the flap at the front of his breeches, aware of the massive bulge therein. He reached inside the flap and pulled free his cock. Huge, erect, hard - the purple head glistening with precum in the torchlight. Its girth was almost as impressive as its length and Kristy couldn't help but admire the sheer sexual power of this man. It was almost as if.... as if.... he should be her Master! Arla and Dia stood up, running their hands slowly and sensuously over Thulgar's powerful bare arms, straying down his chest, leaving dry trails in the glistening sweat, moving further, hungrily, greedily seeking the massive tool... He shrugged them roughly away and stepped forward, kneeling on the pallet, positioning himself over Kristy. He smiled down at her; one massive hand stroking her now shortened hair. "You will submit," he whispered. Kristy opened her mouth to say something - anything - but once again, her breath exploded out of her lungs as Thulgar thrust the full length of his throbbing cock deep inside her, tunnelling a pathway through the spongy interior of her cunt. Once again, Kristy felt the breath expelled from her body in one great rush, causing her to gasp - and not just with shock - at the sheer depth and power of Thulgar's thrust. He almost withdrew from her in one, long, easy stroke, virtually leaving a vacuum in his wake, then he powered his way inside her again, the ring of flesh around his shaft viciously grinding against her clit and then onwards inside the delicate membranes of her wet passageway. Kristy realised that Thulgar wasn't just violating her - he was invading her, staking his claim on her body. But... but she couldn't fight it. It was impossible to fight. This man was just so... male. Was he even human? She wasn't sure, in her confused frame of mind nothing seemed real any longer. As she felt her raw back and buttocks being pressed down onto the rough wooden pallet by Thulgar's sheer bulk and strength, she felt that perhaps the world she had come from, with its conventions, manners, clothing and social mores... well... maybe that was the fantasy. This dungeon, with its smells, sensations, pain, and pleasure - this was reality, almost the only reality she knew... or had ever known. Kristy realised she had her eyes screwed shut, so she opened them to see Thulgar's lined face looming close, his almost bald head with the close cropped hair, the beads on sweat on his scalp, she could feel his breath as he pumped ever harder, deeper into her, smell his strong male odour which alone was enough to fire her senses and increase the pleasure she was feeling.... craving. No man had ever satisfied her this deeply before, not that Thulgar was even trying to please her.... His pursuit of pleasure alone was causing her far greater pleasure then she'd ever felt in her life. It was only right, therefore, that she submit to him totally. Somehow he'd actually brought her to life, real life! She wished she could respond more, so wanted her arms to be freed, so that she wrap them around his broad frame, to dig her nails into his back, to feel his muscles rippling beneath his, to hold his head, to feel.... She let out a cry of pained shock as Thulgar bent his head to her left breast and bit her flesh, his teeth and tongue scraping across her soft flesh to lave a livid mark, almost like a brand of ownership. Kristy tried to part her legs further, but the tough straps held her firmly in place. Maybe her legs were far enough apart for Thulgar to gain entry but she would have loved to raise her knees, or wrap her legs around his waits and feel him grind ever deeper into her. She moved her own thighs in rhythm to his deep strokes, ignoring to pain from her back and buttocks, seeking to take in as much of him as she possibly could. Perfectly attuned to Kristy's needs, Thulgar slipped his huge hands beneath her buttocks, gripping each tightly and pulling her up to meet his downwards thrusts. "Yes! Oh my God, yes!" yelled Kristy, "Take me! Fuck me!" She was aware of the sound of material being torn - she'd heard enough just recently to know that this was clothing being ripped, now that her own clothing had been torn from her, freeing her from restrictions and her own staidness. She craned her head to see Arla and Dia, their lust fired by their Master's actions, both lying on the grimy dungeon floor, tearing each other's tunics away, revealing their magnificently naked bodies. Each slave was madly sucking and licking the other, then kissing passionately, tongues eagerly exploring each other's throats, their fingers busily kneading breasts, dipping into their glistening cunts. This sight fired Kristy's senses even more, she could almost smell the pheromones of male and female, filling the dungeon and assailing her senses. Suddenly Kristy felt Thulgar's cock spasm deep within her, followed by a gush of hot semen, triggering her own release, her juices cascading free, meeting his, the electrifying spasm of pleasure firing every nerve in her body. She realised that the scream echoing in her ears was hers, even her voice now strangely removed from her own control. Slowly Thulgar withdrew from her, this very act causing more waves of delicious ecstasy. She lay there, heart pounding, chest rising and falling as she gulped in air to feed her protesting lungs, her cunt muscles slowly contracting, the precious juices now dribbling down her legs and pooling beneath her. Thulgar stood up straight and slowly slid his still hard cock back into his breeches. He smiled down at her, but said nothing. He uttered a command as he walked away form the pallet, which brought the now naked Dia and Arla to their feet, their hair awry, their faces, and indeed their whole bodies, livid with the lust they had been sharing. Swiftly and silently, the slaves unfastened the tight restraints and pulled Kristy off the pallet, helping her up. She nearly collapsed, as her feet wobbled and seemed incapable of supporting her. She was grateful when the slave's hands forced her down to her knees in front of Thulgar. Kristy instinctively bowed her head, her eyes downcast, meekly awaiting Thulgar's bidding. She felt strangely detached, the pain of her whipping, the throbbing ache within her cunt somehow muted, as though belonging to another. She heard Thulgar's voice, as though from a long way off, and this seemed to provide an anchor in reality, to pull her back and force her to experience the mixed sensations coursing through her body. "Do you submit to me, Reynolds?" His voice was firm, authoritative. A voice one could respect. The voice of... a master. "Yes." Kristy's voice sounded small and insignificant against his deep timbre, not even drawing an echo in the dungeon. "Yes, I submit," she added meekly. "Do you accept that you are a slave and that I am your master?" "I do." "Raise your head." Kristy slowly raised her head and looked up at Thulgar. He scowled at her, and then cuffed her across the side of the head, knocking her sideways. She hurriedly scrambled to her knees and bowed her head again, her vision swimming, her head throbbing from the blow. "You address me as 'Master'!" yelled Thulgar, his voice booming around the dungeon, all around her. "You never look me in the eye unless I tell you to! Do you understand?" "Yes Master," said Kristy meekly, the added for good measure: "Please forgive me Master." This seemed to placate her new Master, who simply said: "Good." She heard Thulgar barked an order and one of the slaves - she couldn't be sure who as she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the flagstones in front of her - went to fetch something and handed it to Thulgar. "You may raise you head and look at me, he commanded. Kristy did so. She noticed that Thulgar was holding a collar, similar to the ones worn by Arla and Dia, made of a light leathern fabric, with a buckle, like a dog collar. The only difference between this one and theirs was that this one was blue rather than yellow. "Stand!" She stood and felt a thrill of excitement as Thulgar fastened the collar around her neck, tugging the strap tight at the back and then fixed the buckle in place. Kristy swallowed hard, feeling the surprisingly soft band around her throat, realising that she now truly belonged to Thulgar to do with as he wished. "Kneel, eyes downcast!" he commanded. Obediently, Kristy dropped to her knees and lowered her eyes. "You are now collared," said Thulgar evenly. "You wear the blue collar of my special companion slave. You are my property. You exist only to serve me, to give me pleasure and do my bidding, do you understand?" "Yes Master," whispered Kristy, some little part of her consciousness screaming at her out of incredulous outrage that she should be surrendering her values, her beliefs, surrendering herself so fully to this man. But this small inner voice was lost, overridden by the burning, lustful, intoxicating desire she felt for her Master.