Controlling Sister 3 Controlling Daughter
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Controlling Authority 01 free porn video
Luke grinned and flexed his hand as he left the conference room, working out the residual ache. He was still feeling pretty damned good despite the early meeting schedule. Not about the meeting itself of course, that had been the usual boring financial tripe. No, he was still reveling in the memories of last night. Last night... His chest swelled with pride and his ego grew to bursting proportions. Fuck, it had been fantastic!
Thinking back he chuckled to himself, remembering scoffing at her idea when she’d first brought it up. She’d been so tentative, like she was embarrassed to suggest it. “I want to try something new,” she’d suggested. And after she explained her fantasy, he’d resisted.
Not as much as she resisted last night, he thought, opening and closing his hand and feeling the vestiges of the impact of his palm on her fleshy globes. He grinned as he walked the hallways back to his office, standing proud, stepping more lively than he had in years. It had been incredible! HE had been incredible!
She’d convinced him, over time, not letting the idea drop, eventually wearing him down until he’d agreed. Was that really only weeks ago? But she’d been so excited to do it, he’d had to concede. And he had granted her wish, fulfilled her fantasy. In spades!
He’d done the research she’d asked, although she’d made it sound awfully complicated. Maybe I’m just a quick study , he bragged to himself. He hadn’t read all the long boring stories she’d sent him links to, but he’d watched the videos. They’d been pretty hot, although he’d felt a little foolish, at first, imagining him doing those things to Lorraine. He straightened his back as he walked, squaring his shoulders, standing taller. He didn’t feel foolish now. He felt… Christ, he felt invincible!
It had been so good! He had been so good! Once he’d started he’d gotten so aroused he’d thought his cock would burst! He’d fallen into the role of Dom as though born to it, spanking her ass, feeling the sound of each slap as he turned her butt pink, then red, then glowing, until his hand had tingled with the repeated impact and his arm felt like it would fall off.
To her credit, Lorraine had been pretty good as well, play-acting her resistance to arouse him further, squirming and pretending to wriggle in her bonds. Her squeal muffled in the gag he’d stuffed in her mouth. But he knew his role, and he’d played it perfectly. He snorted a laugh in his reverie, imaging how loud she might have screamed if he hadn’t gagged her. God, she’d been good. But he’d been better.
He had Dommed his girlfriend like a pro, and she’d loved every second. He’d given her everything she’d dreamed of and more, he knew. He could tell he’d done it right, just the way she’d wanted. In his head, he relived the muffled cries and sobs, the panicked look in her eyes, the sound of his hand on her ass, over and over. And his cock, rigid as stone, pushing into her ass, and her wailing high-pitched squeal muffled inside her gag…
He’d been fantastic for her, and it had felt incredible!
Man, what a fucking high!
"Mr. Slater, your ten cancelled, but there are two men in your office," his assistant informed him, shattering his reverie.
He stopped abruptly at Bonnie's desk and looked quizzically at her, "MacPherson cancelled?"
"Yes sir,” she replied, “just a few minutes ago. It was... odd."
He looked at her, struck by her use of the term 'sir' and vaguely wondered if perhaps Bonnie had a submissive streak, too. From what he'd read, all women wanted it. He had a flash of her in thigh-high black stockings, kneeling with her arms bound behind her, desperate tears streaking her face as his cock choked her. His eyes caught the photo of her with her family on her desk and the vision vanished. He shook his head to clear the thought and asked her to repeat what he'd missed in his distraction.
"Yes, sir, the two men, they said you'd approved them taking the ten.” She carried on, “You were in the meeting, so I assumed that you must have organized it from your cell."
Puzzled, he stood and blinked away his confusion. No matter. "Okay, thanks Bonnie," he said, visualizing her bent over her desk and begging for his huge cock, saying ‘ Yes Sir’ . He wiggled his hips to adjust the beginnings of a semi, then took the few steps to the door, stopped and took a deep breath. Couple of opportunists, no doubt. Not a problem. He'd make short work of them, the mood he was in. Today, he thought, I am the fucking king! Ain't nobody going to rain on MY parade!
He stepped into his office with a confident flair and saw two men there. The first was tall and wiry and was sitting in his visitor’s chair. He’d turned it sideways to the front of his desk with one ankle over the other knee, perfectly polished shoe methodically bouncing as he rested one elbow on the desk edge. As if he fucking owns the place! The other was a big fella, all muscle, like a gorilla. He hunched by the bookcase, looking at the photos. They both wore suits, but not well.
"Gentlemen," he announced, closing the door, "I admire your ingenuity in getting past Bonnie," he said as he strode assuredly to his desk chair. He smiled broadly at each of them as they regarded him, and then sat down with an exaggerated flourish. "But I assure you that I am really very, very busy and don’t have time for interruptions."
He opened his day planner and flipped the pages to two weeks ahead, despite actually having plenty of free time the following week. "How about we make an appointment for you gentlemen, say, two weeks from Wednesday?" He picked up a pen and prepared to write, with a half-polite smile on his face.
The men stared at him impassively. ‘Wiry guy’ bobbed his foot. The big one turned a little, impassively looking over his shoulder, one of Luke’s framed photos still in his meaty paw.
"Put that down, eh?" he addressed the big one, then added, "Please?"
The big guy stood, silent and unmoving, until the quiet in the room almost bulged with tension and became a physical presence. Luke glanced from one to the other, motioning nervously with his pen, ready to write and wondering if maybe they were deaf, or foreign or something?
Finally, Wiry guy turned his head to Big Guy and nodded towards Luke, "He's busy," he said. The words sliced the silence like a scalpel with a sandpaper edge. Luke thought maybe he used to smoke, or that smokers wished their rasp sounded like this.
"Busy..." Big Guy echoed and then snorted out something that sounded like either derisive laughter or metal scraping concrete. He repeated the word without inflection, "Busy..." as though sounding out a new language. He turned his attention back to the photographs, his broad back facing Luke again.
"Mr. Slater," Wiry said, dropping his leg and uncoiling himself to lean forward, "I'm going to need to see your card." He held his hand out expectantly, palm up, waiting.
Luke shrugged nonchalantly and reached for his stack of business cards. He slipped one out of the plexiglass holder on his desk, and offered it to the thin man.
Wiry looked at him, down at the card and then back to him with an expression bordering on intolerance. He took the card and smiled, examined it, then turned to Big Guy. "A funny guy, Tommy," he clipped with indolent sarcasm. "We got us a funny guy."
"Funny guy," Tommy echoed and made that rumbling, scraping sound again. He was holding the autographed baseball which Luke had bought on the Internet. Wiry, still smiling, turned back to Luke. He placed the business card carefully, face up, on Luke's desk.
"Your Union Card, Mr. Slater. I want to see your Union Card," he repeated, his voice overly steady, slow and spaced out, as though he was talking to a child.
"Union card?" Luke screwed up his face, not understanding, his good mood suddenly shattered by the lanky stranger and his large-pawed sidekick, who was still manhandling his stuff. "Maybe you should tell me who you are, hmm?" He wasn't about to let these characters best him in his own office! "What company are you with? We don't have a union here and, if you're looking to organize the staff, well, you've got the wrong man, you should be talking to Pearson, in Personnel."
Wiry raised his eyebrows in exaggerated incredulity. "Pearson in Personnel?" He turned to his mountain. "Tommy, he wants us to talk to H R, to Human Resources,” he almost coughed out the words.
"Yoo-minn Ree-zor-sez," came the slow, rumbling mispronunciation, followed by the sinister, metallic grating.
Wiry turned back to face Luke and placed his forearms on the desk, rattling a cup of pens as he pushed them aside to make room. "Let me make myself clear, Mr. Slater. My name is Terrence. My associate,” he motioned with his head, “Little Tommy, and I are here from Local Twelve-Eleven because a complaint has been lodged.” He leaned forward, staring directly at Luke and smiled overly politely, “Now, can I please see your Union Card?"
Luke felt his face scrunch up in confusion as the last of his euphoria dissolved into mist. "Local twelve-eleven? What the fuck is that?" His eyes flicked between the two men. "Complaint? What the hell are you talking about?"
As Terrence slipped an arm from the desk and reached inside his jacket, Luke felt his stomach clench and his breath caught in his throat. He exhaled again when the man produced nothing more dangerous than a wallet. The wiry angular arm extended and the wallet flipped open, dangling a clear plastic sleeve showing an official I.D. Card. Luke saw the emblem, read the print as the raspy voice recited the credential.
"Local 1211, Master’s Craftsman Guild," he relayed, his expression suspicious, through narrowed eyes. "The Dom Union. Investigations and Infractions Division. As I said, we're here in response to a complaint." In one swift movement, he deftly flipped the wallet closed and slipped it back into his pocket. "Now," he said slowly, dragging the words out for effect, "May I see your Union Card, Mr. Slater?"
Luke's mind descended into a maelstrom of confused thought. Dom Union? Complaint? Who the fuck complained? Who the fuck knew ? Shit, did the neighbors hear? Was someone watching through the window? He thought back to the unsavory clerk at the shop where he'd bought the clamps and restraints. Anyway, who the fuck were these guys to stick their noses in his business? He felt his mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water, his teeth clacked together as he snapped it shut. A fucking Dom Union? There's no such thing!
"Bullshit, Terry!" he spat with a bravery that he didn't really feel, but his incredulity blurted without his consent. "There's no such Union. You guys are jerking me around. This is a joke, right?" He glanced back and forth between them. Little Tommy had stopped admiring the photos and collectibles, and was leaning casually against the wall. Terrence regarded him coldly, through slitted eyes. They didn't react to his accusation. "Seriously, who put you guys up to this? Was it that guy in the store? I knew I shouldn't have used my credit card in a place like that!"
"It's Terrence, not Terry," he spat, with undisguised irritation. "Your card. Please."
"What are you talking about? I don't have a fucking card!" he wailed, almost shouting, exasperated. "Get the fuck out of my office you, you..." his face puckered with distaste. "Phonies! You... bad actors!"
Luke stood up from his seat and Little Tommy was suddenly alert, freeing himself from the wall and taking a step forward with an agility that belied his size. Without looking, Terrence gave a dismissive wave in his direction and Tommy stood down, but didn't quite relax. The lanky arm moved back in Luke's direction lowering his hand slowly, and Luke found himself dropping obediently back into his comfortable, leather desk chair.
"Let’s all just relax, shall we?" Terrence suggested. "I can assure you, Mr. Slater, that we are who we say we are." With the tension somewhat diffused, he eased his elbows back to recline on Luke’s desk. "Am I to understand then, that you are not a member of Local 1211?"
"There's no such thing," Luke replied without vehemence, then added more forcefully, "and, even if there was , so what? What business is it of yours?"
"Fucking amateur.” Terrence gave a shake of his head and rolled his eyes, glancing over at his cohort. “Same shit, every time."
"Amateur," came the echo, but this time there was no grating laugh.
Unfolding himself from his relaxed pose, the wiry fellow leaned forward, lifting himself from the seat to half stand, bent over and pressing his palms flat on the desk. There was an air of sudden intensity in his stance which had Luke shrinking back into his chair.
"I can assure you, Mr. Slater, that this is our only business and you have apparently fucked up, royally. As I said, we are here in response to a complaint, and--"
"Who the fuck complained?" Luke managed to interrupt.
Terry smiled with false congeniality. "That is confidential."
Luke harrumphed, but quietly to himself and turned his head. It was as about as much obstinate defiance as he could muster.
Terrance loomed over him and snorted disdainfully. "Understand this, Mr. Slater. You have been accused of a very serious violation. We take our skills seriously, we take our confidentiality seriously. We take our membership seriously." He leaned closer, lifting one eyebrow. "We are trained, skilled craftspeople , Mr. Slater. It is who we are. And we do not take kindly to unskilled 'hobbyists' stealing food from our children's mouths, so to speak," he sneered. "Not to mention the potential harm you might have inflicted."
Luke thought of objecting but when he saw when he saw the expression on the tall man’s face, mere inches from his own, he thought better of it. Terrance held his gaze for a few seconds more before standing upright. "However," he stated with some ceremony, "we are not an organization without soul and your situation , while bleak, is not completely without hope. We can help you, or rather, we can offer you help. Assistance. Training. Perhaps, with the right study and practice, you might even be offered membership.
"Membership," came the rolling echo, once again followed by that nerve-rattling laugh.
"If you could just verify your address," he said to Luke, sliding a paper across the desk, "two of our Business Agents will visit with you. This Saturday evening? Say, around seven?"
Luke looked up from the paper. "What?" he blinked, confused, "At my house ?"
He remembered last night, recalling it as though it were already the distant past. The image of his Lorraine, tied down, ass in the air and practically glowing from his smacks. In his mind, strangers suddenly joined them, watching and taking notes. "No, no, that's not possible. No." He shook his head. "No way."
Terrance turned to Little Tommy and shrugged, raising his palms in a gesture of futility and rolled his eyes skyward. Luke looked at Tommy as the big man took a vacation photo from the shelf and drove his fist through it before returning the shattered frame to the bookshelf. Luke's mouth hung open, mid gasp, staring. Tommy’s expression never changed.
"Please, Mr. Slater," Terrance soothed, "let’s not make this difficult?" He bent to the desk and retrieved the paper. "So, Saturday at seven?"
"Yes," Luke’s eyes were downcast as he muttered with resignation. "Fine, I suppose."
Terrance gave him a smile that was more of a grimace and held his hand out to the side, palm up. Little Tommy lumbered forward to place a pair of envelopes in the waiting palm. Terrance gave them a cursory glance before handing them across the desk.
Luke took them, flipped them. They were sealed. One had his name printed neatly on the front. The other showed Lorraine’s.
"Good, then. Those are your instructions. Follow them carefully.” He stood then, next to his trained gorilla. He didn’t offer his hand. “It'll be for the best, you'll see."
*
"It was bizarre, Lorraine,” Luke babbled as he drove, speaking into his Bluetooth earpiece. "They scared the shit out of me, these two guys, barging into my office, after manipulating my calendar! How the hell did they work that?" He heard a noncommittal sound from her and blundered on, venting his spleen. "But they were serious, I swear. They’re sending people to the house on Saturday. Saturday! This week! They..." he stammered, "they said you have to be there! Christ, they even gave me a list of things to buy." His mind drifted as he recalled the envelopes and he paused, remembering how good it had been, how excited he’d been. How Lorraine had moaned and twisted as he’d tit-slapped her.
Then he was sounding his horn at a driver who was taking too long to pull into the line of traffic, causing a bottleneck. “You fucking idiot! Learn how to drive!”
"Where was I? Oh yeah, clothes, and, uh, other stuff." Another short pause as he caught his breath. "You'll be there, right?" He blew out a frustrated breath, never listening for her answer. "I don't know what's going to happen, but they're serious. I swear to fucking Christ, ‘Raine," he blathered, whipping himself into a frenzy. "I don't know what their deal is, what they want. Money, no doubt; fucking Union thugs. Shaking me down for membership fees or something!"
Images floated through his head, memories of Lorraine as he’d pulled the gag from her face, shoving his cock into her mouth to muffle her protests, hand wrapped tightly in her hair. Her blubbering, choking sounds making it feel so authentic. He’d really fucked her face hard, his inner animal tearing loose, slapping her tits hard, shoving his cock deep into her throat. His cock was hard now, just remembering. Fuck, he’d been incredible!
He never heard her exasperated sigh as he continued his tirade.
"Somebody fucking complained? What the fuck is that about? Who the fuck knows what we did? And besides, you know. I was fucking amazing! A Membership Card? They should give me a fucking medal, those assholes!” His cock, swollen to full mast, strained in his pants and one hand slipped from the steering wheel to massage it, the sensation recalling the night before. “Right, Rainey? You know how good I was, right?”
His hand squeezed his cock, making it feel just the way it had when he’d pushed it into her asshole. Fuck, she was so tight! And the way her ass was all red, and she had wriggled, trying to avoid him. But he’d done it just like he’d seen in the videos, with a hand on the back of her neck, holding her down. Just like she wanted it. The memory of her muffled squeal, her face buried in the pillow as his cock pushed into her ass, the muscles gripping his shaft, the heat from her reddened cheeks against his belly.
A horn sounded next to him and he jerked the wheel, releasing his cock to flash the finger over his back. He was breathing hard.
“And what fucking right do they have? I swear, I'm going back to that fucking store, I'm gonna take that piece of shit apart until he confesses, that fuck. I know it was him--"
"Luke?"
"That cocksucker, I fucking knew I shouldn't have used my card there. I didn't trust that piece of shit as soon as I laid eyes on him."
"Luke." A little louder, but he talked through it.
"Fucking file a complaint? On me? That miserable little fuck! He doesn't know who he's dealing with here, that fuck. I'll fucking eat him for fucking breakfast."
She tried again, "Luke, don't--"
"He won't know what fucking hit him, that piece of shit, I'll fucking own that place when I'm done, and the first thing I'll do is fire his ass--"
"Luke, stop!" her voice was suddenly sharp and loud.
"Huh?"
"Luke, it..." There was a long pause and he looked at the in-dash screen, as though trying to see Lorraine through the electronics. The tires hummed on the highway.
"...It wasn't him."
"The fucking hell it wasn't! Who else could it have been? The neighbors? No way," he stated with authority. "It was that weasel. He knows what I bought. I swear, I'm gonna--"
"It wasn’t h im !" she shrieked. The intensity of her voice brought him right back to last night, how she’d protested and wailed.
Then, it had thrilled him.
Now the shout silenced him. He waited, but there was nothing more from her.
"What?" he asked.
There was another long pause. He thought he heard some uncomfortable shuffling.
"It wasn't him, Luke. The guy in the store. He didn’t file the complaint."
"How the hell can you be so sure?" he countered.
Then realization struck him. She knew something!
He blundered ahead, "Oh, fuck, you know who it was?" he asked excitedly. "Tell me it was that asshole Jenkins next door? That fuck, he always--"
She cut in, "It was me."
There was a much longer pause this time, as her words sank in. He felt his chest tighten and his ears turn red. The sound of the engine and tires seemed suddenly too loud, drowning out his ability to think. Another car horn blared, chasing him back into his lane and he forced his hands to maintain a grip on the steering wheel, as he struggled for control of the car and himself.
It had been so good. The spanking, the tit slapping. He felt the sensation in his hands again as flashes of his palm raining blows on her ass flickered through his mind. Her cries. Her tears. How she had loved it, resisted it, tried to escape. Her exhilarating, lusty wail as he’d shoved his cock up her ass. The feeling of power, of control, of… fuck, of domination .
He blinked. His cock had gone completely soft.
"You?" He asked, unbelieving. There was no answer. "Lorraine? You?"
END PART ONE
This story developed from a conversation with my Mazza. And while I did most of the writing as the story developed, her involvement was critical to the outcome, pushing me to clarify the characters and action, and making the story (in my view) better than what I usually write. Thanks, Maz! You’re a dear!
Thinking back he chuckled to himself, remembering scoffing at her idea when she’d first brought it up. She’d been so tentative, like she was embarrassed to suggest it. “I want to try something new,” she’d suggested. And after she explained her fantasy, he’d resisted.
Not as much as she resisted last night, he thought, opening and closing his hand and feeling the vestiges of the impact of his palm on her fleshy globes. He grinned as he walked the hallways back to his office, standing proud, stepping more lively than he had in years. It had been incredible! HE had been incredible!
She’d convinced him, over time, not letting the idea drop, eventually wearing him down until he’d agreed. Was that really only weeks ago? But she’d been so excited to do it, he’d had to concede. And he had granted her wish, fulfilled her fantasy. In spades!
He’d done the research she’d asked, although she’d made it sound awfully complicated. Maybe I’m just a quick study , he bragged to himself. He hadn’t read all the long boring stories she’d sent him links to, but he’d watched the videos. They’d been pretty hot, although he’d felt a little foolish, at first, imagining him doing those things to Lorraine. He straightened his back as he walked, squaring his shoulders, standing taller. He didn’t feel foolish now. He felt… Christ, he felt invincible!
It had been so good! He had been so good! Once he’d started he’d gotten so aroused he’d thought his cock would burst! He’d fallen into the role of Dom as though born to it, spanking her ass, feeling the sound of each slap as he turned her butt pink, then red, then glowing, until his hand had tingled with the repeated impact and his arm felt like it would fall off.
To her credit, Lorraine had been pretty good as well, play-acting her resistance to arouse him further, squirming and pretending to wriggle in her bonds. Her squeal muffled in the gag he’d stuffed in her mouth. But he knew his role, and he’d played it perfectly. He snorted a laugh in his reverie, imaging how loud she might have screamed if he hadn’t gagged her. God, she’d been good. But he’d been better.
He had Dommed his girlfriend like a pro, and she’d loved every second. He’d given her everything she’d dreamed of and more, he knew. He could tell he’d done it right, just the way she’d wanted. In his head, he relived the muffled cries and sobs, the panicked look in her eyes, the sound of his hand on her ass, over and over. And his cock, rigid as stone, pushing into her ass, and her wailing high-pitched squeal muffled inside her gag…
He’d been fantastic for her, and it had felt incredible!
Man, what a fucking high!
"Mr. Slater, your ten cancelled, but there are two men in your office," his assistant informed him, shattering his reverie.
He stopped abruptly at Bonnie's desk and looked quizzically at her, "MacPherson cancelled?"
"Yes sir,” she replied, “just a few minutes ago. It was... odd."
He looked at her, struck by her use of the term 'sir' and vaguely wondered if perhaps Bonnie had a submissive streak, too. From what he'd read, all women wanted it. He had a flash of her in thigh-high black stockings, kneeling with her arms bound behind her, desperate tears streaking her face as his cock choked her. His eyes caught the photo of her with her family on her desk and the vision vanished. He shook his head to clear the thought and asked her to repeat what he'd missed in his distraction.
"Yes, sir, the two men, they said you'd approved them taking the ten.” She carried on, “You were in the meeting, so I assumed that you must have organized it from your cell."
Puzzled, he stood and blinked away his confusion. No matter. "Okay, thanks Bonnie," he said, visualizing her bent over her desk and begging for his huge cock, saying ‘ Yes Sir’ . He wiggled his hips to adjust the beginnings of a semi, then took the few steps to the door, stopped and took a deep breath. Couple of opportunists, no doubt. Not a problem. He'd make short work of them, the mood he was in. Today, he thought, I am the fucking king! Ain't nobody going to rain on MY parade!
He stepped into his office with a confident flair and saw two men there. The first was tall and wiry and was sitting in his visitor’s chair. He’d turned it sideways to the front of his desk with one ankle over the other knee, perfectly polished shoe methodically bouncing as he rested one elbow on the desk edge. As if he fucking owns the place! The other was a big fella, all muscle, like a gorilla. He hunched by the bookcase, looking at the photos. They both wore suits, but not well.
"Gentlemen," he announced, closing the door, "I admire your ingenuity in getting past Bonnie," he said as he strode assuredly to his desk chair. He smiled broadly at each of them as they regarded him, and then sat down with an exaggerated flourish. "But I assure you that I am really very, very busy and don’t have time for interruptions."
He opened his day planner and flipped the pages to two weeks ahead, despite actually having plenty of free time the following week. "How about we make an appointment for you gentlemen, say, two weeks from Wednesday?" He picked up a pen and prepared to write, with a half-polite smile on his face.
The men stared at him impassively. ‘Wiry guy’ bobbed his foot. The big one turned a little, impassively looking over his shoulder, one of Luke’s framed photos still in his meaty paw.
"Put that down, eh?" he addressed the big one, then added, "Please?"
The big guy stood, silent and unmoving, until the quiet in the room almost bulged with tension and became a physical presence. Luke glanced from one to the other, motioning nervously with his pen, ready to write and wondering if maybe they were deaf, or foreign or something?
Finally, Wiry guy turned his head to Big Guy and nodded towards Luke, "He's busy," he said. The words sliced the silence like a scalpel with a sandpaper edge. Luke thought maybe he used to smoke, or that smokers wished their rasp sounded like this.
"Busy..." Big Guy echoed and then snorted out something that sounded like either derisive laughter or metal scraping concrete. He repeated the word without inflection, "Busy..." as though sounding out a new language. He turned his attention back to the photographs, his broad back facing Luke again.
"Mr. Slater," Wiry said, dropping his leg and uncoiling himself to lean forward, "I'm going to need to see your card." He held his hand out expectantly, palm up, waiting.
Luke shrugged nonchalantly and reached for his stack of business cards. He slipped one out of the plexiglass holder on his desk, and offered it to the thin man.
Wiry looked at him, down at the card and then back to him with an expression bordering on intolerance. He took the card and smiled, examined it, then turned to Big Guy. "A funny guy, Tommy," he clipped with indolent sarcasm. "We got us a funny guy."
"Funny guy," Tommy echoed and made that rumbling, scraping sound again. He was holding the autographed baseball which Luke had bought on the Internet. Wiry, still smiling, turned back to Luke. He placed the business card carefully, face up, on Luke's desk.
"Your Union Card, Mr. Slater. I want to see your Union Card," he repeated, his voice overly steady, slow and spaced out, as though he was talking to a child.
"Union card?" Luke screwed up his face, not understanding, his good mood suddenly shattered by the lanky stranger and his large-pawed sidekick, who was still manhandling his stuff. "Maybe you should tell me who you are, hmm?" He wasn't about to let these characters best him in his own office! "What company are you with? We don't have a union here and, if you're looking to organize the staff, well, you've got the wrong man, you should be talking to Pearson, in Personnel."
Wiry raised his eyebrows in exaggerated incredulity. "Pearson in Personnel?" He turned to his mountain. "Tommy, he wants us to talk to H R, to Human Resources,” he almost coughed out the words.
"Yoo-minn Ree-zor-sez," came the slow, rumbling mispronunciation, followed by the sinister, metallic grating.
Wiry turned back to face Luke and placed his forearms on the desk, rattling a cup of pens as he pushed them aside to make room. "Let me make myself clear, Mr. Slater. My name is Terrence. My associate,” he motioned with his head, “Little Tommy, and I are here from Local Twelve-Eleven because a complaint has been lodged.” He leaned forward, staring directly at Luke and smiled overly politely, “Now, can I please see your Union Card?"
Luke felt his face scrunch up in confusion as the last of his euphoria dissolved into mist. "Local twelve-eleven? What the fuck is that?" His eyes flicked between the two men. "Complaint? What the hell are you talking about?"
As Terrence slipped an arm from the desk and reached inside his jacket, Luke felt his stomach clench and his breath caught in his throat. He exhaled again when the man produced nothing more dangerous than a wallet. The wiry angular arm extended and the wallet flipped open, dangling a clear plastic sleeve showing an official I.D. Card. Luke saw the emblem, read the print as the raspy voice recited the credential.
"Local 1211, Master’s Craftsman Guild," he relayed, his expression suspicious, through narrowed eyes. "The Dom Union. Investigations and Infractions Division. As I said, we're here in response to a complaint." In one swift movement, he deftly flipped the wallet closed and slipped it back into his pocket. "Now," he said slowly, dragging the words out for effect, "May I see your Union Card, Mr. Slater?"
Luke's mind descended into a maelstrom of confused thought. Dom Union? Complaint? Who the fuck complained? Who the fuck knew ? Shit, did the neighbors hear? Was someone watching through the window? He thought back to the unsavory clerk at the shop where he'd bought the clamps and restraints. Anyway, who the fuck were these guys to stick their noses in his business? He felt his mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water, his teeth clacked together as he snapped it shut. A fucking Dom Union? There's no such thing!
"Bullshit, Terry!" he spat with a bravery that he didn't really feel, but his incredulity blurted without his consent. "There's no such Union. You guys are jerking me around. This is a joke, right?" He glanced back and forth between them. Little Tommy had stopped admiring the photos and collectibles, and was leaning casually against the wall. Terrence regarded him coldly, through slitted eyes. They didn't react to his accusation. "Seriously, who put you guys up to this? Was it that guy in the store? I knew I shouldn't have used my credit card in a place like that!"
"It's Terrence, not Terry," he spat, with undisguised irritation. "Your card. Please."
"What are you talking about? I don't have a fucking card!" he wailed, almost shouting, exasperated. "Get the fuck out of my office you, you..." his face puckered with distaste. "Phonies! You... bad actors!"
Luke stood up from his seat and Little Tommy was suddenly alert, freeing himself from the wall and taking a step forward with an agility that belied his size. Without looking, Terrence gave a dismissive wave in his direction and Tommy stood down, but didn't quite relax. The lanky arm moved back in Luke's direction lowering his hand slowly, and Luke found himself dropping obediently back into his comfortable, leather desk chair.
"Let’s all just relax, shall we?" Terrence suggested. "I can assure you, Mr. Slater, that we are who we say we are." With the tension somewhat diffused, he eased his elbows back to recline on Luke’s desk. "Am I to understand then, that you are not a member of Local 1211?"
"There's no such thing," Luke replied without vehemence, then added more forcefully, "and, even if there was , so what? What business is it of yours?"
"Fucking amateur.” Terrence gave a shake of his head and rolled his eyes, glancing over at his cohort. “Same shit, every time."
"Amateur," came the echo, but this time there was no grating laugh.
Unfolding himself from his relaxed pose, the wiry fellow leaned forward, lifting himself from the seat to half stand, bent over and pressing his palms flat on the desk. There was an air of sudden intensity in his stance which had Luke shrinking back into his chair.
"I can assure you, Mr. Slater, that this is our only business and you have apparently fucked up, royally. As I said, we are here in response to a complaint, and--"
"Who the fuck complained?" Luke managed to interrupt.
Terry smiled with false congeniality. "That is confidential."
Luke harrumphed, but quietly to himself and turned his head. It was as about as much obstinate defiance as he could muster.
Terrance loomed over him and snorted disdainfully. "Understand this, Mr. Slater. You have been accused of a very serious violation. We take our skills seriously, we take our confidentiality seriously. We take our membership seriously." He leaned closer, lifting one eyebrow. "We are trained, skilled craftspeople , Mr. Slater. It is who we are. And we do not take kindly to unskilled 'hobbyists' stealing food from our children's mouths, so to speak," he sneered. "Not to mention the potential harm you might have inflicted."
Luke thought of objecting but when he saw when he saw the expression on the tall man’s face, mere inches from his own, he thought better of it. Terrance held his gaze for a few seconds more before standing upright. "However," he stated with some ceremony, "we are not an organization without soul and your situation , while bleak, is not completely without hope. We can help you, or rather, we can offer you help. Assistance. Training. Perhaps, with the right study and practice, you might even be offered membership.
"Membership," came the rolling echo, once again followed by that nerve-rattling laugh.
"If you could just verify your address," he said to Luke, sliding a paper across the desk, "two of our Business Agents will visit with you. This Saturday evening? Say, around seven?"
Luke looked up from the paper. "What?" he blinked, confused, "At my house ?"
He remembered last night, recalling it as though it were already the distant past. The image of his Lorraine, tied down, ass in the air and practically glowing from his smacks. In his mind, strangers suddenly joined them, watching and taking notes. "No, no, that's not possible. No." He shook his head. "No way."
Terrance turned to Little Tommy and shrugged, raising his palms in a gesture of futility and rolled his eyes skyward. Luke looked at Tommy as the big man took a vacation photo from the shelf and drove his fist through it before returning the shattered frame to the bookshelf. Luke's mouth hung open, mid gasp, staring. Tommy’s expression never changed.
"Please, Mr. Slater," Terrance soothed, "let’s not make this difficult?" He bent to the desk and retrieved the paper. "So, Saturday at seven?"
"Yes," Luke’s eyes were downcast as he muttered with resignation. "Fine, I suppose."
Terrance gave him a smile that was more of a grimace and held his hand out to the side, palm up. Little Tommy lumbered forward to place a pair of envelopes in the waiting palm. Terrance gave them a cursory glance before handing them across the desk.
Luke took them, flipped them. They were sealed. One had his name printed neatly on the front. The other showed Lorraine’s.
"Good, then. Those are your instructions. Follow them carefully.” He stood then, next to his trained gorilla. He didn’t offer his hand. “It'll be for the best, you'll see."
*
"It was bizarre, Lorraine,” Luke babbled as he drove, speaking into his Bluetooth earpiece. "They scared the shit out of me, these two guys, barging into my office, after manipulating my calendar! How the hell did they work that?" He heard a noncommittal sound from her and blundered on, venting his spleen. "But they were serious, I swear. They’re sending people to the house on Saturday. Saturday! This week! They..." he stammered, "they said you have to be there! Christ, they even gave me a list of things to buy." His mind drifted as he recalled the envelopes and he paused, remembering how good it had been, how excited he’d been. How Lorraine had moaned and twisted as he’d tit-slapped her.
Then he was sounding his horn at a driver who was taking too long to pull into the line of traffic, causing a bottleneck. “You fucking idiot! Learn how to drive!”
"Where was I? Oh yeah, clothes, and, uh, other stuff." Another short pause as he caught his breath. "You'll be there, right?" He blew out a frustrated breath, never listening for her answer. "I don't know what's going to happen, but they're serious. I swear to fucking Christ, ‘Raine," he blathered, whipping himself into a frenzy. "I don't know what their deal is, what they want. Money, no doubt; fucking Union thugs. Shaking me down for membership fees or something!"
Images floated through his head, memories of Lorraine as he’d pulled the gag from her face, shoving his cock into her mouth to muffle her protests, hand wrapped tightly in her hair. Her blubbering, choking sounds making it feel so authentic. He’d really fucked her face hard, his inner animal tearing loose, slapping her tits hard, shoving his cock deep into her throat. His cock was hard now, just remembering. Fuck, he’d been incredible!
He never heard her exasperated sigh as he continued his tirade.
"Somebody fucking complained? What the fuck is that about? Who the fuck knows what we did? And besides, you know. I was fucking amazing! A Membership Card? They should give me a fucking medal, those assholes!” His cock, swollen to full mast, strained in his pants and one hand slipped from the steering wheel to massage it, the sensation recalling the night before. “Right, Rainey? You know how good I was, right?”
His hand squeezed his cock, making it feel just the way it had when he’d pushed it into her asshole. Fuck, she was so tight! And the way her ass was all red, and she had wriggled, trying to avoid him. But he’d done it just like he’d seen in the videos, with a hand on the back of her neck, holding her down. Just like she wanted it. The memory of her muffled squeal, her face buried in the pillow as his cock pushed into her ass, the muscles gripping his shaft, the heat from her reddened cheeks against his belly.
A horn sounded next to him and he jerked the wheel, releasing his cock to flash the finger over his back. He was breathing hard.
“And what fucking right do they have? I swear, I'm going back to that fucking store, I'm gonna take that piece of shit apart until he confesses, that fuck. I know it was him--"
"Luke?"
"That cocksucker, I fucking knew I shouldn't have used my card there. I didn't trust that piece of shit as soon as I laid eyes on him."
"Luke." A little louder, but he talked through it.
"Fucking file a complaint? On me? That miserable little fuck! He doesn't know who he's dealing with here, that fuck. I'll fucking eat him for fucking breakfast."
She tried again, "Luke, don't--"
"He won't know what fucking hit him, that piece of shit, I'll fucking own that place when I'm done, and the first thing I'll do is fire his ass--"
"Luke, stop!" her voice was suddenly sharp and loud.
"Huh?"
"Luke, it..." There was a long pause and he looked at the in-dash screen, as though trying to see Lorraine through the electronics. The tires hummed on the highway.
"...It wasn't him."
"The fucking hell it wasn't! Who else could it have been? The neighbors? No way," he stated with authority. "It was that weasel. He knows what I bought. I swear, I'm gonna--"
"It wasn’t h im !" she shrieked. The intensity of her voice brought him right back to last night, how she’d protested and wailed.
Then, it had thrilled him.
Now the shout silenced him. He waited, but there was nothing more from her.
"What?" he asked.
There was another long pause. He thought he heard some uncomfortable shuffling.
"It wasn't him, Luke. The guy in the store. He didn’t file the complaint."
"How the hell can you be so sure?" he countered.
Then realization struck him. She knew something!
He blundered ahead, "Oh, fuck, you know who it was?" he asked excitedly. "Tell me it was that asshole Jenkins next door? That fuck, he always--"
She cut in, "It was me."
There was a much longer pause this time, as her words sank in. He felt his chest tighten and his ears turn red. The sound of the engine and tires seemed suddenly too loud, drowning out his ability to think. Another car horn blared, chasing him back into his lane and he forced his hands to maintain a grip on the steering wheel, as he struggled for control of the car and himself.
It had been so good. The spanking, the tit slapping. He felt the sensation in his hands again as flashes of his palm raining blows on her ass flickered through his mind. Her cries. Her tears. How she had loved it, resisted it, tried to escape. Her exhilarating, lusty wail as he’d shoved his cock up her ass. The feeling of power, of control, of… fuck, of domination .
He blinked. His cock had gone completely soft.
"You?" He asked, unbelieving. There was no answer. "Lorraine? You?"
END PART ONE
This story developed from a conversation with my Mazza. And while I did most of the writing as the story developed, her involvement was critical to the outcome, pushing me to clarify the characters and action, and making the story (in my view) better than what I usually write. Thanks, Maz! You’re a dear!
Ofelia
- 28.03.2021
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- Category:
- BDSM
