FIFTY SHADES OF RED
Chapter 2
We walked across the hallway and entered a door marked "Human Resources," where the receptionist smiled at us as she said, "Go on in, Shelley. The Director is waiting for you."
The second door bore a name in gold-leaf lettering, reading "Dr. Julia M. Detterding, Director," and as we walked through it, I saw an older woman seated behind a desk that was almost as large as Mr. Vijor's. She was wearing a no-nonsense business suit, and her hair was pinned up in a bun on the top of her head, giving her a severe appearance. I was momentarily taken aback, until she looked up and gave me the sweetest smile I'd seen in a long time.
"You must be Sharon. It's so good to see you in person at last. Mr. Vijor has told me so much about you Sharon, and it's wonderful to see you at last in person." As I stood there in front of her desk, her eyes roved down my body and then back to my face before she continued, "It's easy to see why he was so impressed by you. You're easily the most-beautiful young woman we've had here, and I mean no disrespect to you, Shelley."
For her part, my escort chuckled deep in her throat, then said, "None taken, Director. I have eyes in my head, too. We're all looking forward to having Sharon just as soon as possible, and I know Mr. Vijor has already asked you to expedite the process."
The older woman replied, simply enough, "Yes, he expressed that opinion in his memo of last week. Rest assured that everyone here in HR will have her ready for him just as soon as possible."
My head was already spinning from the speed that things were happening, but when Dr. Detterding casually mentioned that it had been assumed for at least a week that I would be joining the company, I literally forgot to breathe for several seconds. Luckily for me, the Director then dismissed Shelley, and after the door had closed behind her, she turned to me.
"Now, Sharon, we need to get right down to processing you just as quickly as we can. What I'll be doing today is taking all your vital information, so you can be added to the payroll records immediately. After that, I'll take you to the company psychologist so she can run you through the mandatory testing, just to make sure we've made the correct decision about adding you to our close-knit group of employees."
She then swiveled her chair to the side, and as she asked me a series of questions, she entered my responses on a keyboard. It was the very-ordinary routine of doing that which restored my composure, and by the time she had entered my final answer, I was feeling almost normal once again.
As soon as my information had been saved, she turned to face me once again, saying, "Very good, Sharon. You are now a part of J-M, Inc., and we look forward to seeing you in other circumstances just as soon as possible. Now, I'd like to take you to the psychologist, so she can complete your preparation for Mr. Vijor."
She then stood and walked around the desk. Taking my hand, she drew me to my feet, then out a second door. I don't know why, but at no time did it occur to me to question what she mean by the phrase, "in other circumstances." I guess it just seemed so ordinary for her to use that phrase that I never wondered just exactly what it meant. Now that I know, at the remove of a few days, what was left unsaid, I can honestly say that I wouldn't raise any protests if I had it to do all over again.
As soon as Dr. Detterding introduced me to the psychologist, she left the room, and I studied the woman sitting behind the desk, who was entering some data on her keyboard as she said, "Just a second, Sharon, while I get the test set up."
Then, satisfied that everything was in order, she stood up and led me into an adjoining room. There was a couch there, with a chair beside it. A table beside the couch held a computer monitor, and underneath the table was what appeared to be an ordinary computer, although there were some cables plugged into it and running to the chair. Two of the cables terminated in spring clips, looking very much like ordinary wood clothespins. The third cable was connected to a corrugated tube that appeared to be flexible, and I had no idea what its purpose could possibly be.
Leaving me standing beside the couch, she went to a small refrigerator standing on a countertop against a nearby wall. She took out a plastic bottle that was a duplicate of the one Mr. Vijor had given me. As she handed it to me, she said, "I'm sure you're thirsty after riding your bicycle so hard during this hot day. Please drink all of this to make sure you're ready for the test."
As soon as I had swallowed the entire contents of the bottle, the woman told me to lie on the couch on my back, and as she busied herself with the keyboard until the single word, "Ready," was on the monitor, she spoke to me in reassuring tones. "This is just a simple test to measure your reaction to various stimuli, Sharon. We have found that those who are suitable for our company exhibit different reactions than those who would not be good fits. Please just relax and don't try to control your reactions to what you'll see on the screen, because this test is sophisticated enough that it can't be fooled. In point of fact, the water you just drank contained a mild sedative that will make you more accepting of what you see during the test, assuring us that your responses are normal."
She then picked up the corrugated tube, and as she disconnected one end of it, she instructed, "Please pull your shirt up above your breasts. This device will monitor your breathing rate, which is an important part of evaluating your responses."
I hesitated for a second, but when she added, "Please, it's necessary as part of your testing," I arched my back and pulled the shirttail out of my slacks. Even with her reassurances, though, I was reluctant to pull my shirt up so far, because I had never worn a bra, and I knew I'd be embarrassed to have this woman I hardly knew see my bare bosoms. At last I found the courage to do as she asked, and then lay there with my eyes closed and my face burning red.
When she asked me to lift my back once again, I opened my eyes to see her holding the corrugated tube. I held my back off the couch, and she slipped the free end of the tube under it, wrapped it across my chest right below my exposed breasts, and reconnected the end.
She then picked up one of the clips, and with no warning other than, "Your nipples will need to be erect to allow the computer program to evaluate your heart rate," she massaged my right nipple until it was standing proud. The clip was then placed on it, and I did my best to stifle my gasp as the cold metal met my warm flesh.
The second clip was soon installed on the other engorged nipple, and then it was time for the test to begin.
"There will be a series of images flashing across the monitor during this test. In all, there are 100 images, showing various subjects and situations. Your reactions to those images will be recorded by the program, and will tell us all we need to know about you. As I said before, please don't try to suppress your reactions, because it is impossible to game the system we have here."
Then, holding a pair of headphones in one hand, she said, "I need to put these on your ears, because there is an audio component to the test." As she carefully placed the phones where they needed to be, she added, "Hundreds of women have been required to complete this same test, and I feel quite confident it won't give you any problems, whatsoever."
She then seated herself in the chair, and as her hand hovered over the mouse, she gave me one last instruction.
"Please look directly at the monitor during the test. Do not look away from it even for a second, because the images will be on-screen for no more than five seconds." Then as she clicked the mouse, she whispered, "Now we begin."
The first few images, probably ten in all, were of people and animals in pleasant situations, and as they flashed past, the doctor said, "These are just normal images that we use to establish a baseline of your responses to stimuli. The testing images will begin in just a few seconds."
And then, they did begin. Oh, how they did begin!
Rather than the animals and people being in situations that would be thought of a "normal," they concentrated on naked men and women, and every image had a sexual component. The first series of pictures showed a naked woman, probably of an age similar to mine. She was leading a dog into what was undoubtedly a bedroom, since there was a large bed against one wall.
She led the dog to the bed, then as she dropped the leash, she lay back on it with her feet still on the floor. As she spread her legs, I heard her voice commanding, "Lick," and the next picture showed the dog with his nose between her legs. In the next picture, the voice commanded the dog to, "Mount," and he did. The final picture in that series showed his penis buried deep inside her vagina.
The next series showed a woman of my age, again naked, kneeling beside what was obviously a stallion, given that his huge erection was easily seen beneath his belly. In the second picture, she was holding his organ to her mouth, with the head completely inside it. The third showed her on her back on an oddly shaped table, with the stallion over her and his penis about halfway into her body. I could hear her saying, "Oh, it hurts so much! Please push it inside me all the way! Make it hurt! Please!" The final picture showed his erection buried inside her pussy, and I could hear her screaming in pain and ecstasy, over and over.
The third series started with a naked woman being led into a room by a naked man, his stiff penis leading the way. Although it wasn't nearly as large as that of the stallion, its length and girth was far beyond my wildest imaginings in my wet dreams. In the background of the photograph, I could see several pieces of strangely-shaped furniture, but the dim, red lighting didn't show it plainly enough for me to recognize anything there.
The second photo showed the woman bent over a high, padded bench, with her hands tied to metal rings on the floor. The man was standing beside her, holding what I was sure was a whip, although it had many thongs instead of just the one that I'd seen stagecoach drivers using in western movies. The woman was moaning in my ears, and gasping, "Please, sir! Please whip me as hard as you can! Please, sir!"
The final picture in that series showed her legs far apart, and the whip descending toward her bottom, which was already covered with vivid stripes and welts. The woman continued to moan and gasp and beg him to whip her harder.
The next series showed the same woman lying on her back on a large table, with her hands and feet spread toward their respective corners of the tabletop. I could see her wrists and ankles had been bound in place, and that ropes had been wrapped around her breasts. There was a large metal hook embedded in her pussy, and she was begging him to, "Lift me as high as you can, sir! Please, sir."
The second photo showed her body above the table, with her breasts stretched far above their usual place. The hook had also been raised, carrying her impaled lower body along with it.
The final picture showed her being viciously whipped, and every part of her body except her face was covered with livid welts. In my ears her voice was pleading for even more punishment.
The next photograph showed the same girl, but this time she was hanging upside down. There was a rope tied to each of her ankles, which then ran though pulleys on the ceiling. The pulleys were spaced so far apart that her legs were painfully spread, as evidenced by her cries of pain, interspersed by pleas for even more punishment.
The following picture showed her receiving that punishment, but this time her torturer was an older woman. She was holding a huge candle above the girl's pussy, and letting the burning-hot wax drip through a large funnel that had been inserted in that particular opening to her body. Her horrible screams of agony were broken only by her begging for even more wax to fill her hole.
The last series of photographs I can recall were of the same girl being tortured by the same older woman. In the three pictures I remember, the girl was placed on the sort of table that used to be called a "rack," and her body was horribly stretched by the winches at the top and bottom of the table. The woman was standing beside her, thrusting long needles through her breasts and pussy lips, stopping only when there was no flesh remaining to be pierced.
I don't know how long the pictures continued to flash on the monitor, but at some point in time I opened my eyes to the sound of the doctor's voice, urging me to wake up. I saw her leaning over me, and then in a rush of shame, I realized my crotch was pumping up and down in frenzied motion, and my moans and gasps were the duplicates of the woman in the photographs.
I struggled to bring my body under control, and at last managed to ask, "Did I pass?"
She laughed out loud at my question, then whispered, "Sharon, I've been administering this test for more than ten years by now, and you're the first woman who has ever been in the 99th percentile. You not only passed, you achieved the best score ever. I know Mr. Vijor will be just as proud of you as I am."
And then she continued to lean over more and over, until at last our lips met, and we shared the most-passionate kiss I had ever received or given.
Then, as if a door had closed, she was once again the professional psychologist she had been before. She removed the headphones and then the nipple clips. I was asked to raise my back far enough to allow her to remove the tube that encircled me, and then as I pulled down my shirt, she helped me stand up.
I thought the testing was at an end, and I would be escorted from her office, but that's not what happened. Instead, she took my hand and led me through a door at the back of that room, and then said, "Sharon, Mr. Vijor has extended his invitation for you to join him for dinner in his suite. I know you don't have any other clothes to wear, so I took the liberty to have an evening gown purchased for you to use. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up before you meet the Master, and you have full use of this room to do so."
For the first time I took my eyes off her face and looked around the room, and could see that it was a complete bathroom. There was a shower area in one corner, with a toilet nearby. A nearby clothes rod projecting from the wall held a beautiful, pale blue gown, that was so sheer that it seemed all but invisible. I tried to imagine my body dressed in something so costly, but completely failed in the attempt. I had always been a tee-shirt and jeans sort of girl, and had no confidence at all that I could wear something like that beautiful gown.
My attention returned to the doctor when she said, "Please remove your clothing now, and I'll see to it that everything will be cleaned and ready for you to wear again, if you so desire."
I looked around for a dressing room, or at least a curtained-off part of the room, but there was nothing like that in there. In fact, the only door was the one we'd walked through just minutes before. I stood there blushing at the thought of her seeing me naked, even though my breasts had been totally exposed to her view during the test.
She must have encountered that very same situation several times before, for she immediately assumed control, and pointing to a chair said, "You can sit there to take off your shoes and socks, and then put your other things on the wall hooks above it."
Still I was unable to respond, so she took my arm in her hand and guided me to the chair, where I sat down and took off my footwear. Then, again with her assistance, I stood and unbuttoned my shirt, feeling as naked as I ever had when she pulled it over my shoulders. My jeans were next, but it again took her guidance and directions before I could force my hands to unfasten them, and then push them over my hips so they could fall to the floor.
That left me standing there in nothing but my panties, and before I could insist that I could handle that part by myself and she could leave now, she dropped to her knees, hooked her fingers in their waistband, and in one fluid movement dragged them to the floor. I was left standing in front of her, my body as bare as it had ever been, and my face burning in embarrassment.
I heard her say, as if from a great distance, "You're beautiful everywhere, Sharon. We all knew you would be, of course, but the reality is so much better than the fantasy, isn't it?"
She had to clear her throat before she could continue, but at last she was able to add, "Mr. Vijor does not let any of his employees wear pubic hair. I thought that you probably still had yours, so I took the liberty of stocking this room with cream and a razor. After your shower, I'll help you remove your unsightly hair. As soon as you can, though, you'll need to schedule time to be in the group that receives a Brazilian wax once a month."
She then took my hand once again, and led my unresisting body toward the shower, then almost as an afterthought, asked, "Do you need to use the toilet before you bathe, Sharon? If so, you probably should do that now, since it will be inconvenient to do so later."
Swallowing even more embarrassment, I struggled to say that I did need to pee, and she led me to the toilet, then stood there waiting as I sat down and did my best to think of anything else so I could get started. Finally, after a long wait, I felt the immense sense of relief that always comes when an overly-full bladder is emptying.
When my stream came to an end, I looked around for toilet tissue, but the doctor had already anticipated me, and said, "You can just get in the shower. After all, there's no need to waste perfectly good paper when I'm going to wash you anyway, is there?"
I was way beyond making any answer by then, and meekly followed along as I was led to the shower, and then stood under the needle-sharp stream of hot water as it laved my tense body. She then picked up the bar of soap and used it to wash my body, making very sure that every square inch had been thoroughly cleaned, and then again made sure every part, no matter how private, had been just as thoroughly rinsed.
At last the water was turned off, and she toweled me dry, taking her time about exploring every crevice on my body. Then, and only then, did she lead me back to the chair.
After instructing me to sit with my bottom at the very edge of the seat, with my legs spread, the doctor sprayed some of the cream in the palm of her hand and began to rub it onto that part of my body that had never before been touched by another woman, at least since my mother changed my diapers, anyway.
That part accomplished, she very expertly plied the razor as she used her fingers to stretch and smooth every square millimeter of skin between my legs. The result, when she pronounced the job finished, was that my entire crotch was smoother than it had been in probably twenty years.
It was a relief when she at last pulled the evening gown over my shoulders, then adjusted it to drape itself to my best advantage. I asked if I should wear panties, but she merely chuckled as she replied, "That's another thing Mr. Vijor has forbidden to his employees. Don't worry about it, though, because after an hour of so of not wearing panties, you'll love the feeling so much you'll never wear them ever again."
As if suddenly remembering something important, she said, "Oh, I almost forgot. You need to drink some more water, because otherwise you may find yourself getting tipsy when the Master shares a bottle of wine with you during dinner." Leaning over to open the door of a small refrigerator, she drew forth a duplicate of the bottle of water she'd given me to drink before the testing started. Given how small it was, I swallowed the entire contents in just a couple sips, and then the bottle was tossed in a nearby trash can.
After brushing my hair vigorously, placing a diamond and pearl necklace around my throat, and helping me slip into the middie-heel evening slippers, she pronounced me, "Pretty enough to eat," and then, laughing as she did so, led me from the room. We were soon in the elevator, being taken to the penthouse and my new employer's suite.
After knocking lightly on the door, the doctor opened it and escorted me into a room that was surely larger than any house I'd ever lived in, and was definitely better furnished. There were several large paintings hanging on the walls, and even with my limited knowledge of art, I felt sure most of them were originals painted by the old masters. The furniture was definitely modern in style, but was so understated that it immediately made me feel comfortable and right at home, even though I'd never been there before.
We had barely made it halfway across the room when Mr. Vijor walked in from a hallway. He was dressed casually, in custom-made slacks and what I was sure was a silk shirt, unbuttoned about halfway down to show off his muscular chest. He still bore the air of being in total charge of the situation, which was the first thing I'd noticed about him in his office that afternoon.
He greeted the doctor with kisses to both cheeks, which she returned, and then turned to me. Taking both my hands in his, he held me at arms length, taking his time as his eyes roamed up and down my almost-naked body. At last he looked right into my eyes and said, "Sharon, you're more beautiful than I thought could be possible. None of the pictures I've seen of you did justice to your beauty."
I stammered out my thanks, and almost before I'd finished them, he turned to my escort.
"Julia, I've read your report concerning Sharon's tests, and I have to say that I'm finding it hard to accept that her D.I. was at the 99th percentile. Can that number be correct."
She nodded her head as she said in an eager voice, "Yes, Master, it's the correct placement. In fact, I'd stake my reputation that if there were any higher category, she'd be in it, probably all by herself. I've never seen anyone, woman or man, respond more positively to the test images and voice cues. She's very special, but then I think everyone here was expecting that."
He looked pensive for a moment, then quietly replied, "Well, I'll take your professional judgment as fact, then. Although, I'm sure you know you're staking more than your reputation if you turn out to be wrong."
A look of fear flashed across her face for a split-second, but was quickly replaced by one of total confidence.
"Sir, I stand by the test results, and I recommend that you proceed immediately to the next step with her."
His quiet reply was, simply enough, "I will." Then visibly shaking himself, he said, "That will be all, Julia. I'll keep you apprised of the situation."
As Mr. Vijor took my hand and led me away from the entry to his suite, I heard the door softly closing behind us. Giving me no time to even think about the fact that I was now alone in his home with a man who would easily rank in the top-ten of powerful people in the United States, if not the whole North American continent, he again assumed command.
He treated the situation in such a matter-of-fact manner that I never even thought to voice any objections, and just followed along meekly as he led me to the large glass doors that were standing open to allow access to the balcony. I have never been subject to fear of heights, but I have to confess that the thought of standing on the clear-glass floor of the balcony, protected by nothing other than the equally clear-glass railing, I had to force myself to leave the safety of the room behind me. The fact that I was standing 56 floors above the sidewalk, with seemingly nothing between me and there but a sheet of glass struck me with so much force that I would have fallen if Mr. Vijor hadn't been expecting that very reaction, and wrapped one arm around my body to keep me upright.
The reassuring, confident tone of his voice as he pointed out the other nearby buildings, telling me of his plans to acquire them in the future, at last brought me out of my fear-induced funk. Then, even before I knew it had happened, I accepted my fear and conquered it, and gave it no further thought as he pulled out a chair to seat me at a small table.
He pressed a button on the control panel recessed into the tabletop, and instantly a young woman appeared. As she stood quietly beside us, Mr. Vijor seated himself close to me, then said, "We're ready for the wine now," and the girl hurried back inside to carry out his instructions.
As my host pointed out the highlights of the scenery to the west of our viewpoint, she returned with an ice bucket holding a bottle of wine, along with two drinking glasses that I thought were probably what were known as champagne flutes. That was confirmed when the girl poured some of the wine from the bottle, and I was able to read the label.
He sampled the champagne, then after announcing its acceptability, waved his hand nonchalantly to direct her to fill both glasses. That evidently ended her part at that time, and she once again retreated inside the suite. Even before she was gone, he had lifted his glass to mine, and as the sound of the finest crystal rang as they touched, he said, "A toast to the epitome in beauty that is before us. We see the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains, we see the setting sun beginning to disappear behind them, and we see the beauty Mother Nature has given us. Most of all, though, I see the most-beautiful woman in the world sitting here beside me. I vow to make her mine in every meaningful way."
As he moved the flute to his lips to drink to the toast, my own hand did the same, with my mind in confused turmoil. I understood every part of his toast, and could even appreciate his reference to me as the "most-beautiful woman in the world," but what I did not understand was what he meant when he vowed to "make her mine in every meaningful way." Did he mean to marry me? Did he mean to make me his mistress? Of did a man of his power and wealth attach another definition to the simple word, "meaningful."
I tried to ask him that very question, but just at that moment the girl appeared once again, this time pushing a cart with dinnerware on it, as well as several steaming, silver bowls. Apparently, dinner was served, and my stomach began demanding to have its own needs met.
Never in my life had I eaten such wonderful food! From the quail's breast in cranberry sauce to the final course of cheese and wine, what I was given to eat had no compare. Of course, given that I had subsisted for years of fast food from McDonald's or Jack in the Box, I guess that's not saying much. I do know, though, that once I had eaten such things, I could never go back to my former dining habits.
As soon as the final course had been consumed and the table had been cleared, Mr. Vijor once again filled my flute with champagne, then suggested we sit on the nearby couch and watch the "final performance Mother Nature will put on for us."
So, we did, and that's where we were sitting when the last bit of the sun disappeared behind the mountain peaks to the west of us. At that moment we were treated to the sight that very few people on Earth have ever seen, and even though I had been living for four years in mountainous scenery, I had seen that phenomenon fewer than five times.
The scientific name for what we were seeing is "crepuscular rays," which I have always thought to be a particularly unattractive name for something so beautiful. In actuality, the effect is caused by unseen clouds behind the mountains that line up with the sunlight in such a way that there appears to be hundreds of beautiful ribbons of light originating at the location where the sun disappeared. Think of the crown on the head of the Statue of Liberty, and you will be able to imagine what we were seeing right then.
In a matter of seconds, the rays faded from the sky, and then, as if trying to compete with the show we'd just seen, the stars popped out. They were more clear from the balcony than I'd seen them since I'd left Texas, probably due to the fact that we were above the low-hanging air pollution in Denver. That didn't matter to me right then, though, because it just seemed like another part of this perfect night.
As we finished our champagne and placed our flutes on the coffee table sitting in front of the couch, Mr. Vijor asked, "Sharon, I'm sure your mind must be brimming with questions. If so, I encourage you to ask me, and I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity."
Well, to tell the truth, all I had in my mind right then was question after question, so many in fact that I had no idea where to start. However, I was able to reply with, "Yes, there is one thing that I'd like to know, if you don't mind my asking."
He looked deeply into my eyes, then in a low-pitched voice said, "Sharon, I will answer any and every question you have, but I ask only one thing in return. I want you to ask one question, and then I will give you the most-honest answer I can. Then it will be my turn, and I will ask one question, and I expect you to answer truly and honestly. Do we have an agreement?"
What else could I do or say, except to nod my head and answer, "I agree."
He then took my hand in his, and as he moved closer to me, he said, "Ask whatever you will, and I will answer with nothing but the truth."
My question was, "What is a 'D.I. percentile?' "
He chuckled deep in his throat, then answered, "I wondered if you'd caught Julia's reference to that result from her tests on you this afternoon. The simple answer is this: The abbreviation stands for 'Deviancy Index," but the long answer, which I think is probably what you want, is that it means that 99% of the population in general is below you, in terms of interest in what would generally be thought of as 'deviant behavior,' or maybe fascination with the darker side of sexual activities would better describe it."
It took me a while to come to terms with what he'd told me, and just as I began to try to question him further, he held up his hand.
"You've had your first question, and now it's my turn."
He paused while I composed myself, then continued.
"My question also concerns the test Julia administered to you earlier today. Julia noted your heart rate and respiration were literally off the charts when you looked at the images of the young girl with the stallion, and I want to ask you if that's been an interest of yours all your life, or just since you entered puberty."
My face was instantly flushed with shame as I thought of that particular set of pictures, especially those that showed the stallion's penis in the girl's mouth, and then in her pussy. Unbelievably, that identical scene had been a regular part of my sexual fantasies where my mother and her friends took me out to a ranch and tied me across a breeding table. I had dreamed many times of being forced to perform oral sex on the stallion before he bred me, just as I knew was going to happen in the test photos.
As my mind's eye recalled that set of photographs, I could still hear her cries of pain ringing in my ears, and how inflamed I'd been by her pleas for him to penetrate her pussy even more deeply, even though she knew it would hurt her horribly.
Mr. Vijor interrupted my reverie by saying, "Sharon, I answered your question as honestly as I could. Will you do the same for mine?"
I simply could not look at him as I stammered out my response, and instead dropped my eyes to the floor.
"I know exactly when it started, and as you mentioned, it was during the first few months of puberty that I became fascinated by the idea of that happening to me. I had read a story, a romance novel as I recall, where the heroine was explaining to her best friend why she loved beyond all else riding her horse. Her exact words, and I've known them by heart ever since, were, 'I love being astride him, and feeling his power between my legs.' Well, it didn't take me long to transpose her words to, 'I love him bestriding me, and feeling his powerful thrusts between my legs.' "
He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it fervently before whispering, "Thank you for answering so honestly. I was sure you would, because your honesty is just one more thing that puts you above 99% of the other women in the world. Now, do you have a second question?"
In fact, I had a whole list of them, but the one that was at the top of the list was, "Yes, I need to know why you're doing all this for me. I'm not all that special, but you've not only offered me a job that sounds far more exciting than anything else I could think of, but you're treating me as part of your ******. Why?"
"Sharon, don't ever think you're not special, because you truly are. That's why you came to the notice of the professor who told me about you, and why I have devoted so much of my resources to learning about you. It is those special qualities you have that made you score so high on your Deviancy Index. Most of all, though, it's those special qualities that make me want you so much that I would sacrifice literally everything I have in order to possess you.
"Now, to answer your question as honestly as I can, I can only say that I want with all my heart to have you ask to be my submissive. I want to be your Dominant, and I want to own you in every way possible.
"And now, my question to you is this. Could you ever give yourself to me, body and soul, to commit yourself to being my property, my possession, for the rest of your life? Could you ever serve me in any manner I should require, no matter what it may be, never thinking of the consequences of what I would do to your body if you were mine?"
He stopped talking abruptly, then sat there trying to gain control of himself, all the time looked deep into my eyes, as if he thought my answer would be written there.
At last, I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it, then whispered, "Yes."
His only answer was to gasp, "Oh, god! Thank you!"
We both sat there in silence for I don't know how long, looking out over the beautiful lights of the city, and the stars twinkling above as if they were mere reflections of them. After a while, he took a deep shuddering breath, then again looking at me, said, "There is something you must know before you make such a committment. I know you've never had any experience with what I would demand of you if you became my submissive, and I want to show you something that will help you make an informed decision."
He then stood, pulling my unresisting body to its feet beside him. The only words he needed to utter were, "Come with me," and I was forcing my feet to obey him. As we entered the room and then walked down the hallway, he explained, "If you were to become my submissive, I would spend the brunt of my time training you to serve me as I require. If you fail to serve me as expected, I will punish you without fail, with the severity of the punishments based on the type of disobedience you exhibited.
"Whenever you need to be punished, I will take you to my punishment room, and that's where your failings will be dealt with." By the time he'd completed that sentence, we had reached the end of the hallway, and were standing in front of a door that had not only a locked handle, judging by the keyhole in it, but also a deadbolt lock, again with a keyhole, about 12" above the handle. He took a key from his pocket, and after unlocking the two devices he pushed the door open as he said, "If you become my submissive, you will be taken to this room at least once each day, and more often if you cannot control your behavior."
With that, he clicked the switch beside the door, and the room immediately brightened as red lamps came on. There were so few of the lamps, though, that most of the room remained in shadows, contributing to the sinister effect.
"After you have signed the contract giving yourself to me, you will not be allowed to wear any clothing once you enter the penthouse. That means that when you are brought to the punishment room, no time will be wasted in removing your clothes, and you will immediately be taken to one of the punishment areas you see here."
Again leading me by my hand, he pulled me toward an odd-looking bench, which resembled somewhat a carpenter's sawhorse, in that it had a crossbar and four legs. The thing standing there, though, was different in that the crossbar was heavily padded, and there were shackles attached to the lower ends of each leg.
He continued, "This is called a 'horse,' for reasons unknown to me, which is not important. What is important is how it will be used to punish you." Pointing to the horizontal, padded top part, he said, "You will be forced to bend over the top rail, and then your wrists and ankles will be placed in the schackles. I'm sure you can see that your legs will be widespread, giving me easy access to your cunt and your ass. It will be those parts of your body that will be punished the most, and the instrument I will use on them will be one of the whips on the rack there on the wall."
As he said that, his free hand indicated the rack in question, and I saw that it held at least a dozen types of whips, each one distinctly different from the others. He chose one of the whips, which had a short handle on one end, and several flat leather straps attached to it that formed the other end.
"This is called a 'flogger,' and it is the least-painful type of whip I will use on your body." He then raised the thing high in the air before bringing it down sharply against the padded leather top of the horse, and as the sharp crack rang out, I gasped and cried out in fear. My reaction made him chuckle before he continued his explanation, adding, "That blow would be falling on your beautiful ass were you secured there. When I punish you in this manner, I will give you a minimum of ten strokes, spreading them over your back, your ass, your legs, and then the remainder along your crack. Your asshole and your cunt will be my favorite targets, as they should be."
Without pausing to give me a chance to say anything, which I would have been incapable of doing, anyway, he continued.
"If your disobedience has angered me sufficiently, you will be ordered to lie over the horse face up. Again, your arms and legs will be shackled in place, and then I will give your body the whipping it has earned by disobeying me. However, the stokes will fall on your tits first, and then work their way down your body to your cunt. Since your legs will be spread so widely, your slit will be held open for me, and I will concentrate on punishing your clitoris with most of my strokes.
"For your first few visits to the horse, I will use the flogger on you to get you used to the pain. After that, you will graduate to the cat, which is this one here."
He then replaced the flogger on the panel before lifting off a different type of whip. It, too, had a black-leather handle on one end, but there the similarities to the flogger ended. The thongs, which he said were nine in number, which was why its full name was a "cat-o-nine-tails," were more than two feet long, and were much thinner than those of the first whip.
As he'd done to demonstrate the power of the flogger, he raised the cat high into the air, then brought it sharply downward and against the padded top of the horse. The sound that it produced struck fear in my heart to the point I simply could not breathe for so long I thought I was going to pass out. I'm sure it was the distraction of his words that brought me back, and as I gasped for air, he explained how terrible it would be for me to be whipped like that.
"I'm sure you can imagine the effect the cat will have on your lovely body. It leaves welts that will give you agonizing pain for several days. Try to imagine the effect such a whipping will have on your beautiful tits and your lovely cunt, not to mention your defenseless clitoris. Most women pass out before I am even halfway through the required number of strokes, but I'm sure you are made of sterner stuff, and I won't be forced to slap you awake before I continue with the rest of your punishment."
After replacing the cat on the panel, he led me to the second "station," which I immediately recognized as the table that had featured so heavily in the torture of the girl who had been suspended by ropes around her breasts, as well as the huge hook in her pussy. Indeed, when my eyes were drawn upward, I could see the hook hanging from its rope, as if eager to meet its next victim.
"This, Sharon, is called simply enough, 'the rack.' I'm sure you recognize that it is patterned after what was used to torture sinners during the Inquisition. The purpose of it is to stretch the victim's arms and legs to the point it feels as if her joints will be pulled apart. Depending upon the severity of your disobedience, the winches where your wrists and ankles will be secured will be turned a few times, or several times. That pain alone should assure your obedience to my simple requests in the future.
"Of course, while you are being tortured in that manner, your tits will also receive their share of the stretching. They will be bound with ropes which will be attached to the winch above them, and your upper body will be lifted until it is high above the tabletop.
"At the same time, the hook you have already seen will be inserted deep in your cunt, with the slight curve in it preventing it from slipping from your hole. As you know from the images you saw, it will then be winched upward, lifting your ass completely free of the surface. Then, once you are in position, you will be given a full-body whipping, and it will not stop until you are unconscious."
His breathing was ragged by then, and was more a gasping for air than anything else. His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were wide, all testaments to his arousal as he pictured me there, being tortured by him. As I glanced lower down his body, I was surprised that I couldn't see a huge tent standing there, because I was sure he was very aroused from describing how he would torture me.
At last, his gasping for air ceased, and he cleared his throat several times before he could continue in his raspy voice, "Now do you see what it will mean for you to become my submissive, Sharon? Once you sign the contract, you will never again have any choice in the matter of what happens to your body. I will own it totally, and I will use it to give myself the greatest amount of satisfaction I can wring from it.
"Think carefully before you make your decision."
Taking my hand in his once again, he began to lead me to the door, but I had one last question that sprang forth unbidden.
"Master, what's behind that door back there? Is there another punishment room in there?"
His eyes darted to the door I had noticed, which was barely visible in the low light. As they came back to look at me, he said, "What is back there is not any of your concern at this time. If you do decide to become my submissive, maybe I'll let you see what's in there, but right now you don't need to know."
Of course, his words did nothing but excite my curiosity far beyond what it had been before he spoke, as they would have with any woman in the world. However, I told myself that all I had to do was wait for another 24 hours, and then ask him again when I was his submissive.
And just like that, the understanding swept through my brain that I'd already made my decision. I knew there was no question that when he presented the contract for my approval, I'd sign it and instantly become his slave for the rest of my life. Even the thought of him bringing me into the punishment room to correct my behavior did nothing to change my decision. In fact, if the truth be told, it did nothing but make me more convinced I needed that to happen.
Continued in Chapter 3
Questions or comments? Please write to me at: sharon_smif@gmx.com
Chapter 2
We walked across the hallway and entered a door marked "Human Resources," where the receptionist smiled at us as she said, "Go on in, Shelley. The Director is waiting for you."
The second door bore a name in gold-leaf lettering, reading "Dr. Julia M. Detterding, Director," and as we walked through it, I saw an older woman seated behind a desk that was almost as large as Mr. Vijor's. She was wearing a no-nonsense business suit, and her hair was pinned up in a bun on the top of her head, giving her a severe appearance. I was momentarily taken aback, until she looked up and gave me the sweetest smile I'd seen in a long time.
"You must be Sharon. It's so good to see you in person at last. Mr. Vijor has told me so much about you Sharon, and it's wonderful to see you at last in person." As I stood there in front of her desk, her eyes roved down my body and then back to my face before she continued, "It's easy to see why he was so impressed by you. You're easily the most-beautiful young woman we've had here, and I mean no disrespect to you, Shelley."
For her part, my escort chuckled deep in her throat, then said, "None taken, Director. I have eyes in my head, too. We're all looking forward to having Sharon just as soon as possible, and I know Mr. Vijor has already asked you to expedite the process."
The older woman replied, simply enough, "Yes, he expressed that opinion in his memo of last week. Rest assured that everyone here in HR will have her ready for him just as soon as possible."
My head was already spinning from the speed that things were happening, but when Dr. Detterding casually mentioned that it had been assumed for at least a week that I would be joining the company, I literally forgot to breathe for several seconds. Luckily for me, the Director then dismissed Shelley, and after the door had closed behind her, she turned to me.
"Now, Sharon, we need to get right down to processing you just as quickly as we can. What I'll be doing today is taking all your vital information, so you can be added to the payroll records immediately. After that, I'll take you to the company psychologist so she can run you through the mandatory testing, just to make sure we've made the correct decision about adding you to our close-knit group of employees."
She then swiveled her chair to the side, and as she asked me a series of questions, she entered my responses on a keyboard. It was the very-ordinary routine of doing that which restored my composure, and by the time she had entered my final answer, I was feeling almost normal once again.
As soon as my information had been saved, she turned to face me once again, saying, "Very good, Sharon. You are now a part of J-M, Inc., and we look forward to seeing you in other circumstances just as soon as possible. Now, I'd like to take you to the psychologist, so she can complete your preparation for Mr. Vijor."
She then stood and walked around the desk. Taking my hand, she drew me to my feet, then out a second door. I don't know why, but at no time did it occur to me to question what she mean by the phrase, "in other circumstances." I guess it just seemed so ordinary for her to use that phrase that I never wondered just exactly what it meant. Now that I know, at the remove of a few days, what was left unsaid, I can honestly say that I wouldn't raise any protests if I had it to do all over again.
As soon as Dr. Detterding introduced me to the psychologist, she left the room, and I studied the woman sitting behind the desk, who was entering some data on her keyboard as she said, "Just a second, Sharon, while I get the test set up."
Then, satisfied that everything was in order, she stood up and led me into an adjoining room. There was a couch there, with a chair beside it. A table beside the couch held a computer monitor, and underneath the table was what appeared to be an ordinary computer, although there were some cables plugged into it and running to the chair. Two of the cables terminated in spring clips, looking very much like ordinary wood clothespins. The third cable was connected to a corrugated tube that appeared to be flexible, and I had no idea what its purpose could possibly be.
Leaving me standing beside the couch, she went to a small refrigerator standing on a countertop against a nearby wall. She took out a plastic bottle that was a duplicate of the one Mr. Vijor had given me. As she handed it to me, she said, "I'm sure you're thirsty after riding your bicycle so hard during this hot day. Please drink all of this to make sure you're ready for the test."
As soon as I had swallowed the entire contents of the bottle, the woman told me to lie on the couch on my back, and as she busied herself with the keyboard until the single word, "Ready," was on the monitor, she spoke to me in reassuring tones. "This is just a simple test to measure your reaction to various stimuli, Sharon. We have found that those who are suitable for our company exhibit different reactions than those who would not be good fits. Please just relax and don't try to control your reactions to what you'll see on the screen, because this test is sophisticated enough that it can't be fooled. In point of fact, the water you just drank contained a mild sedative that will make you more accepting of what you see during the test, assuring us that your responses are normal."
She then picked up the corrugated tube, and as she disconnected one end of it, she instructed, "Please pull your shirt up above your breasts. This device will monitor your breathing rate, which is an important part of evaluating your responses."
I hesitated for a second, but when she added, "Please, it's necessary as part of your testing," I arched my back and pulled the shirttail out of my slacks. Even with her reassurances, though, I was reluctant to pull my shirt up so far, because I had never worn a bra, and I knew I'd be embarrassed to have this woman I hardly knew see my bare bosoms. At last I found the courage to do as she asked, and then lay there with my eyes closed and my face burning red.
When she asked me to lift my back once again, I opened my eyes to see her holding the corrugated tube. I held my back off the couch, and she slipped the free end of the tube under it, wrapped it across my chest right below my exposed breasts, and reconnected the end.
She then picked up one of the clips, and with no warning other than, "Your nipples will need to be erect to allow the computer program to evaluate your heart rate," she massaged my right nipple until it was standing proud. The clip was then placed on it, and I did my best to stifle my gasp as the cold metal met my warm flesh.
The second clip was soon installed on the other engorged nipple, and then it was time for the test to begin.
"There will be a series of images flashing across the monitor during this test. In all, there are 100 images, showing various subjects and situations. Your reactions to those images will be recorded by the program, and will tell us all we need to know about you. As I said before, please don't try to suppress your reactions, because it is impossible to game the system we have here."
Then, holding a pair of headphones in one hand, she said, "I need to put these on your ears, because there is an audio component to the test." As she carefully placed the phones where they needed to be, she added, "Hundreds of women have been required to complete this same test, and I feel quite confident it won't give you any problems, whatsoever."
She then seated herself in the chair, and as her hand hovered over the mouse, she gave me one last instruction.
"Please look directly at the monitor during the test. Do not look away from it even for a second, because the images will be on-screen for no more than five seconds." Then as she clicked the mouse, she whispered, "Now we begin."
The first few images, probably ten in all, were of people and animals in pleasant situations, and as they flashed past, the doctor said, "These are just normal images that we use to establish a baseline of your responses to stimuli. The testing images will begin in just a few seconds."
And then, they did begin. Oh, how they did begin!
Rather than the animals and people being in situations that would be thought of a "normal," they concentrated on naked men and women, and every image had a sexual component. The first series of pictures showed a naked woman, probably of an age similar to mine. She was leading a dog into what was undoubtedly a bedroom, since there was a large bed against one wall.
She led the dog to the bed, then as she dropped the leash, she lay back on it with her feet still on the floor. As she spread her legs, I heard her voice commanding, "Lick," and the next picture showed the dog with his nose between her legs. In the next picture, the voice commanded the dog to, "Mount," and he did. The final picture in that series showed his penis buried deep inside her vagina.
The next series showed a woman of my age, again naked, kneeling beside what was obviously a stallion, given that his huge erection was easily seen beneath his belly. In the second picture, she was holding his organ to her mouth, with the head completely inside it. The third showed her on her back on an oddly shaped table, with the stallion over her and his penis about halfway into her body. I could hear her saying, "Oh, it hurts so much! Please push it inside me all the way! Make it hurt! Please!" The final picture showed his erection buried inside her pussy, and I could hear her screaming in pain and ecstasy, over and over.
The third series started with a naked woman being led into a room by a naked man, his stiff penis leading the way. Although it wasn't nearly as large as that of the stallion, its length and girth was far beyond my wildest imaginings in my wet dreams. In the background of the photograph, I could see several pieces of strangely-shaped furniture, but the dim, red lighting didn't show it plainly enough for me to recognize anything there.
The second photo showed the woman bent over a high, padded bench, with her hands tied to metal rings on the floor. The man was standing beside her, holding what I was sure was a whip, although it had many thongs instead of just the one that I'd seen stagecoach drivers using in western movies. The woman was moaning in my ears, and gasping, "Please, sir! Please whip me as hard as you can! Please, sir!"
The final picture in that series showed her legs far apart, and the whip descending toward her bottom, which was already covered with vivid stripes and welts. The woman continued to moan and gasp and beg him to whip her harder.
The next series showed the same woman lying on her back on a large table, with her hands and feet spread toward their respective corners of the tabletop. I could see her wrists and ankles had been bound in place, and that ropes had been wrapped around her breasts. There was a large metal hook embedded in her pussy, and she was begging him to, "Lift me as high as you can, sir! Please, sir."
The second photo showed her body above the table, with her breasts stretched far above their usual place. The hook had also been raised, carrying her impaled lower body along with it.
The final picture showed her being viciously whipped, and every part of her body except her face was covered with livid welts. In my ears her voice was pleading for even more punishment.
The next photograph showed the same girl, but this time she was hanging upside down. There was a rope tied to each of her ankles, which then ran though pulleys on the ceiling. The pulleys were spaced so far apart that her legs were painfully spread, as evidenced by her cries of pain, interspersed by pleas for even more punishment.
The following picture showed her receiving that punishment, but this time her torturer was an older woman. She was holding a huge candle above the girl's pussy, and letting the burning-hot wax drip through a large funnel that had been inserted in that particular opening to her body. Her horrible screams of agony were broken only by her begging for even more wax to fill her hole.
The last series of photographs I can recall were of the same girl being tortured by the same older woman. In the three pictures I remember, the girl was placed on the sort of table that used to be called a "rack," and her body was horribly stretched by the winches at the top and bottom of the table. The woman was standing beside her, thrusting long needles through her breasts and pussy lips, stopping only when there was no flesh remaining to be pierced.
I don't know how long the pictures continued to flash on the monitor, but at some point in time I opened my eyes to the sound of the doctor's voice, urging me to wake up. I saw her leaning over me, and then in a rush of shame, I realized my crotch was pumping up and down in frenzied motion, and my moans and gasps were the duplicates of the woman in the photographs.
I struggled to bring my body under control, and at last managed to ask, "Did I pass?"
She laughed out loud at my question, then whispered, "Sharon, I've been administering this test for more than ten years by now, and you're the first woman who has ever been in the 99th percentile. You not only passed, you achieved the best score ever. I know Mr. Vijor will be just as proud of you as I am."
And then she continued to lean over more and over, until at last our lips met, and we shared the most-passionate kiss I had ever received or given.
Then, as if a door had closed, she was once again the professional psychologist she had been before. She removed the headphones and then the nipple clips. I was asked to raise my back far enough to allow her to remove the tube that encircled me, and then as I pulled down my shirt, she helped me stand up.
I thought the testing was at an end, and I would be escorted from her office, but that's not what happened. Instead, she took my hand and led me through a door at the back of that room, and then said, "Sharon, Mr. Vijor has extended his invitation for you to join him for dinner in his suite. I know you don't have any other clothes to wear, so I took the liberty to have an evening gown purchased for you to use. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up before you meet the Master, and you have full use of this room to do so."
For the first time I took my eyes off her face and looked around the room, and could see that it was a complete bathroom. There was a shower area in one corner, with a toilet nearby. A nearby clothes rod projecting from the wall held a beautiful, pale blue gown, that was so sheer that it seemed all but invisible. I tried to imagine my body dressed in something so costly, but completely failed in the attempt. I had always been a tee-shirt and jeans sort of girl, and had no confidence at all that I could wear something like that beautiful gown.
My attention returned to the doctor when she said, "Please remove your clothing now, and I'll see to it that everything will be cleaned and ready for you to wear again, if you so desire."
I looked around for a dressing room, or at least a curtained-off part of the room, but there was nothing like that in there. In fact, the only door was the one we'd walked through just minutes before. I stood there blushing at the thought of her seeing me naked, even though my breasts had been totally exposed to her view during the test.
She must have encountered that very same situation several times before, for she immediately assumed control, and pointing to a chair said, "You can sit there to take off your shoes and socks, and then put your other things on the wall hooks above it."
Still I was unable to respond, so she took my arm in her hand and guided me to the chair, where I sat down and took off my footwear. Then, again with her assistance, I stood and unbuttoned my shirt, feeling as naked as I ever had when she pulled it over my shoulders. My jeans were next, but it again took her guidance and directions before I could force my hands to unfasten them, and then push them over my hips so they could fall to the floor.
That left me standing there in nothing but my panties, and before I could insist that I could handle that part by myself and she could leave now, she dropped to her knees, hooked her fingers in their waistband, and in one fluid movement dragged them to the floor. I was left standing in front of her, my body as bare as it had ever been, and my face burning in embarrassment.
I heard her say, as if from a great distance, "You're beautiful everywhere, Sharon. We all knew you would be, of course, but the reality is so much better than the fantasy, isn't it?"
She had to clear her throat before she could continue, but at last she was able to add, "Mr. Vijor does not let any of his employees wear pubic hair. I thought that you probably still had yours, so I took the liberty of stocking this room with cream and a razor. After your shower, I'll help you remove your unsightly hair. As soon as you can, though, you'll need to schedule time to be in the group that receives a Brazilian wax once a month."
She then took my hand once again, and led my unresisting body toward the shower, then almost as an afterthought, asked, "Do you need to use the toilet before you bathe, Sharon? If so, you probably should do that now, since it will be inconvenient to do so later."
Swallowing even more embarrassment, I struggled to say that I did need to pee, and she led me to the toilet, then stood there waiting as I sat down and did my best to think of anything else so I could get started. Finally, after a long wait, I felt the immense sense of relief that always comes when an overly-full bladder is emptying.
When my stream came to an end, I looked around for toilet tissue, but the doctor had already anticipated me, and said, "You can just get in the shower. After all, there's no need to waste perfectly good paper when I'm going to wash you anyway, is there?"
I was way beyond making any answer by then, and meekly followed along as I was led to the shower, and then stood under the needle-sharp stream of hot water as it laved my tense body. She then picked up the bar of soap and used it to wash my body, making very sure that every square inch had been thoroughly cleaned, and then again made sure every part, no matter how private, had been just as thoroughly rinsed.
At last the water was turned off, and she toweled me dry, taking her time about exploring every crevice on my body. Then, and only then, did she lead me back to the chair.
After instructing me to sit with my bottom at the very edge of the seat, with my legs spread, the doctor sprayed some of the cream in the palm of her hand and began to rub it onto that part of my body that had never before been touched by another woman, at least since my mother changed my diapers, anyway.
That part accomplished, she very expertly plied the razor as she used her fingers to stretch and smooth every square millimeter of skin between my legs. The result, when she pronounced the job finished, was that my entire crotch was smoother than it had been in probably twenty years.
It was a relief when she at last pulled the evening gown over my shoulders, then adjusted it to drape itself to my best advantage. I asked if I should wear panties, but she merely chuckled as she replied, "That's another thing Mr. Vijor has forbidden to his employees. Don't worry about it, though, because after an hour of so of not wearing panties, you'll love the feeling so much you'll never wear them ever again."
As if suddenly remembering something important, she said, "Oh, I almost forgot. You need to drink some more water, because otherwise you may find yourself getting tipsy when the Master shares a bottle of wine with you during dinner." Leaning over to open the door of a small refrigerator, she drew forth a duplicate of the bottle of water she'd given me to drink before the testing started. Given how small it was, I swallowed the entire contents in just a couple sips, and then the bottle was tossed in a nearby trash can.
After brushing my hair vigorously, placing a diamond and pearl necklace around my throat, and helping me slip into the middie-heel evening slippers, she pronounced me, "Pretty enough to eat," and then, laughing as she did so, led me from the room. We were soon in the elevator, being taken to the penthouse and my new employer's suite.
After knocking lightly on the door, the doctor opened it and escorted me into a room that was surely larger than any house I'd ever lived in, and was definitely better furnished. There were several large paintings hanging on the walls, and even with my limited knowledge of art, I felt sure most of them were originals painted by the old masters. The furniture was definitely modern in style, but was so understated that it immediately made me feel comfortable and right at home, even though I'd never been there before.
We had barely made it halfway across the room when Mr. Vijor walked in from a hallway. He was dressed casually, in custom-made slacks and what I was sure was a silk shirt, unbuttoned about halfway down to show off his muscular chest. He still bore the air of being in total charge of the situation, which was the first thing I'd noticed about him in his office that afternoon.
He greeted the doctor with kisses to both cheeks, which she returned, and then turned to me. Taking both my hands in his, he held me at arms length, taking his time as his eyes roamed up and down my almost-naked body. At last he looked right into my eyes and said, "Sharon, you're more beautiful than I thought could be possible. None of the pictures I've seen of you did justice to your beauty."
I stammered out my thanks, and almost before I'd finished them, he turned to my escort.
"Julia, I've read your report concerning Sharon's tests, and I have to say that I'm finding it hard to accept that her D.I. was at the 99th percentile. Can that number be correct."
She nodded her head as she said in an eager voice, "Yes, Master, it's the correct placement. In fact, I'd stake my reputation that if there were any higher category, she'd be in it, probably all by herself. I've never seen anyone, woman or man, respond more positively to the test images and voice cues. She's very special, but then I think everyone here was expecting that."
He looked pensive for a moment, then quietly replied, "Well, I'll take your professional judgment as fact, then. Although, I'm sure you know you're staking more than your reputation if you turn out to be wrong."
A look of fear flashed across her face for a split-second, but was quickly replaced by one of total confidence.
"Sir, I stand by the test results, and I recommend that you proceed immediately to the next step with her."
His quiet reply was, simply enough, "I will." Then visibly shaking himself, he said, "That will be all, Julia. I'll keep you apprised of the situation."
As Mr. Vijor took my hand and led me away from the entry to his suite, I heard the door softly closing behind us. Giving me no time to even think about the fact that I was now alone in his home with a man who would easily rank in the top-ten of powerful people in the United States, if not the whole North American continent, he again assumed command.
He treated the situation in such a matter-of-fact manner that I never even thought to voice any objections, and just followed along meekly as he led me to the large glass doors that were standing open to allow access to the balcony. I have never been subject to fear of heights, but I have to confess that the thought of standing on the clear-glass floor of the balcony, protected by nothing other than the equally clear-glass railing, I had to force myself to leave the safety of the room behind me. The fact that I was standing 56 floors above the sidewalk, with seemingly nothing between me and there but a sheet of glass struck me with so much force that I would have fallen if Mr. Vijor hadn't been expecting that very reaction, and wrapped one arm around my body to keep me upright.
The reassuring, confident tone of his voice as he pointed out the other nearby buildings, telling me of his plans to acquire them in the future, at last brought me out of my fear-induced funk. Then, even before I knew it had happened, I accepted my fear and conquered it, and gave it no further thought as he pulled out a chair to seat me at a small table.
He pressed a button on the control panel recessed into the tabletop, and instantly a young woman appeared. As she stood quietly beside us, Mr. Vijor seated himself close to me, then said, "We're ready for the wine now," and the girl hurried back inside to carry out his instructions.
As my host pointed out the highlights of the scenery to the west of our viewpoint, she returned with an ice bucket holding a bottle of wine, along with two drinking glasses that I thought were probably what were known as champagne flutes. That was confirmed when the girl poured some of the wine from the bottle, and I was able to read the label.
He sampled the champagne, then after announcing its acceptability, waved his hand nonchalantly to direct her to fill both glasses. That evidently ended her part at that time, and she once again retreated inside the suite. Even before she was gone, he had lifted his glass to mine, and as the sound of the finest crystal rang as they touched, he said, "A toast to the epitome in beauty that is before us. We see the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains, we see the setting sun beginning to disappear behind them, and we see the beauty Mother Nature has given us. Most of all, though, I see the most-beautiful woman in the world sitting here beside me. I vow to make her mine in every meaningful way."
As he moved the flute to his lips to drink to the toast, my own hand did the same, with my mind in confused turmoil. I understood every part of his toast, and could even appreciate his reference to me as the "most-beautiful woman in the world," but what I did not understand was what he meant when he vowed to "make her mine in every meaningful way." Did he mean to marry me? Did he mean to make me his mistress? Of did a man of his power and wealth attach another definition to the simple word, "meaningful."
I tried to ask him that very question, but just at that moment the girl appeared once again, this time pushing a cart with dinnerware on it, as well as several steaming, silver bowls. Apparently, dinner was served, and my stomach began demanding to have its own needs met.
Never in my life had I eaten such wonderful food! From the quail's breast in cranberry sauce to the final course of cheese and wine, what I was given to eat had no compare. Of course, given that I had subsisted for years of fast food from McDonald's or Jack in the Box, I guess that's not saying much. I do know, though, that once I had eaten such things, I could never go back to my former dining habits.
As soon as the final course had been consumed and the table had been cleared, Mr. Vijor once again filled my flute with champagne, then suggested we sit on the nearby couch and watch the "final performance Mother Nature will put on for us."
So, we did, and that's where we were sitting when the last bit of the sun disappeared behind the mountain peaks to the west of us. At that moment we were treated to the sight that very few people on Earth have ever seen, and even though I had been living for four years in mountainous scenery, I had seen that phenomenon fewer than five times.
The scientific name for what we were seeing is "crepuscular rays," which I have always thought to be a particularly unattractive name for something so beautiful. In actuality, the effect is caused by unseen clouds behind the mountains that line up with the sunlight in such a way that there appears to be hundreds of beautiful ribbons of light originating at the location where the sun disappeared. Think of the crown on the head of the Statue of Liberty, and you will be able to imagine what we were seeing right then.
In a matter of seconds, the rays faded from the sky, and then, as if trying to compete with the show we'd just seen, the stars popped out. They were more clear from the balcony than I'd seen them since I'd left Texas, probably due to the fact that we were above the low-hanging air pollution in Denver. That didn't matter to me right then, though, because it just seemed like another part of this perfect night.
As we finished our champagne and placed our flutes on the coffee table sitting in front of the couch, Mr. Vijor asked, "Sharon, I'm sure your mind must be brimming with questions. If so, I encourage you to ask me, and I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity."
Well, to tell the truth, all I had in my mind right then was question after question, so many in fact that I had no idea where to start. However, I was able to reply with, "Yes, there is one thing that I'd like to know, if you don't mind my asking."
He looked deeply into my eyes, then in a low-pitched voice said, "Sharon, I will answer any and every question you have, but I ask only one thing in return. I want you to ask one question, and then I will give you the most-honest answer I can. Then it will be my turn, and I will ask one question, and I expect you to answer truly and honestly. Do we have an agreement?"
What else could I do or say, except to nod my head and answer, "I agree."
He then took my hand in his, and as he moved closer to me, he said, "Ask whatever you will, and I will answer with nothing but the truth."
My question was, "What is a 'D.I. percentile?' "
He chuckled deep in his throat, then answered, "I wondered if you'd caught Julia's reference to that result from her tests on you this afternoon. The simple answer is this: The abbreviation stands for 'Deviancy Index," but the long answer, which I think is probably what you want, is that it means that 99% of the population in general is below you, in terms of interest in what would generally be thought of as 'deviant behavior,' or maybe fascination with the darker side of sexual activities would better describe it."
It took me a while to come to terms with what he'd told me, and just as I began to try to question him further, he held up his hand.
"You've had your first question, and now it's my turn."
He paused while I composed myself, then continued.
"My question also concerns the test Julia administered to you earlier today. Julia noted your heart rate and respiration were literally off the charts when you looked at the images of the young girl with the stallion, and I want to ask you if that's been an interest of yours all your life, or just since you entered puberty."
My face was instantly flushed with shame as I thought of that particular set of pictures, especially those that showed the stallion's penis in the girl's mouth, and then in her pussy. Unbelievably, that identical scene had been a regular part of my sexual fantasies where my mother and her friends took me out to a ranch and tied me across a breeding table. I had dreamed many times of being forced to perform oral sex on the stallion before he bred me, just as I knew was going to happen in the test photos.
As my mind's eye recalled that set of photographs, I could still hear her cries of pain ringing in my ears, and how inflamed I'd been by her pleas for him to penetrate her pussy even more deeply, even though she knew it would hurt her horribly.
Mr. Vijor interrupted my reverie by saying, "Sharon, I answered your question as honestly as I could. Will you do the same for mine?"
I simply could not look at him as I stammered out my response, and instead dropped my eyes to the floor.
"I know exactly when it started, and as you mentioned, it was during the first few months of puberty that I became fascinated by the idea of that happening to me. I had read a story, a romance novel as I recall, where the heroine was explaining to her best friend why she loved beyond all else riding her horse. Her exact words, and I've known them by heart ever since, were, 'I love being astride him, and feeling his power between my legs.' Well, it didn't take me long to transpose her words to, 'I love him bestriding me, and feeling his powerful thrusts between my legs.' "
He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it fervently before whispering, "Thank you for answering so honestly. I was sure you would, because your honesty is just one more thing that puts you above 99% of the other women in the world. Now, do you have a second question?"
In fact, I had a whole list of them, but the one that was at the top of the list was, "Yes, I need to know why you're doing all this for me. I'm not all that special, but you've not only offered me a job that sounds far more exciting than anything else I could think of, but you're treating me as part of your ******. Why?"
"Sharon, don't ever think you're not special, because you truly are. That's why you came to the notice of the professor who told me about you, and why I have devoted so much of my resources to learning about you. It is those special qualities you have that made you score so high on your Deviancy Index. Most of all, though, it's those special qualities that make me want you so much that I would sacrifice literally everything I have in order to possess you.
"Now, to answer your question as honestly as I can, I can only say that I want with all my heart to have you ask to be my submissive. I want to be your Dominant, and I want to own you in every way possible.
"And now, my question to you is this. Could you ever give yourself to me, body and soul, to commit yourself to being my property, my possession, for the rest of your life? Could you ever serve me in any manner I should require, no matter what it may be, never thinking of the consequences of what I would do to your body if you were mine?"
He stopped talking abruptly, then sat there trying to gain control of himself, all the time looked deep into my eyes, as if he thought my answer would be written there.
At last, I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it, then whispered, "Yes."
His only answer was to gasp, "Oh, god! Thank you!"
We both sat there in silence for I don't know how long, looking out over the beautiful lights of the city, and the stars twinkling above as if they were mere reflections of them. After a while, he took a deep shuddering breath, then again looking at me, said, "There is something you must know before you make such a committment. I know you've never had any experience with what I would demand of you if you became my submissive, and I want to show you something that will help you make an informed decision."
He then stood, pulling my unresisting body to its feet beside him. The only words he needed to utter were, "Come with me," and I was forcing my feet to obey him. As we entered the room and then walked down the hallway, he explained, "If you were to become my submissive, I would spend the brunt of my time training you to serve me as I require. If you fail to serve me as expected, I will punish you without fail, with the severity of the punishments based on the type of disobedience you exhibited.
"Whenever you need to be punished, I will take you to my punishment room, and that's where your failings will be dealt with." By the time he'd completed that sentence, we had reached the end of the hallway, and were standing in front of a door that had not only a locked handle, judging by the keyhole in it, but also a deadbolt lock, again with a keyhole, about 12" above the handle. He took a key from his pocket, and after unlocking the two devices he pushed the door open as he said, "If you become my submissive, you will be taken to this room at least once each day, and more often if you cannot control your behavior."
With that, he clicked the switch beside the door, and the room immediately brightened as red lamps came on. There were so few of the lamps, though, that most of the room remained in shadows, contributing to the sinister effect.
"After you have signed the contract giving yourself to me, you will not be allowed to wear any clothing once you enter the penthouse. That means that when you are brought to the punishment room, no time will be wasted in removing your clothes, and you will immediately be taken to one of the punishment areas you see here."
Again leading me by my hand, he pulled me toward an odd-looking bench, which resembled somewhat a carpenter's sawhorse, in that it had a crossbar and four legs. The thing standing there, though, was different in that the crossbar was heavily padded, and there were shackles attached to the lower ends of each leg.
He continued, "This is called a 'horse,' for reasons unknown to me, which is not important. What is important is how it will be used to punish you." Pointing to the horizontal, padded top part, he said, "You will be forced to bend over the top rail, and then your wrists and ankles will be placed in the schackles. I'm sure you can see that your legs will be widespread, giving me easy access to your cunt and your ass. It will be those parts of your body that will be punished the most, and the instrument I will use on them will be one of the whips on the rack there on the wall."
As he said that, his free hand indicated the rack in question, and I saw that it held at least a dozen types of whips, each one distinctly different from the others. He chose one of the whips, which had a short handle on one end, and several flat leather straps attached to it that formed the other end.
"This is called a 'flogger,' and it is the least-painful type of whip I will use on your body." He then raised the thing high in the air before bringing it down sharply against the padded leather top of the horse, and as the sharp crack rang out, I gasped and cried out in fear. My reaction made him chuckle before he continued his explanation, adding, "That blow would be falling on your beautiful ass were you secured there. When I punish you in this manner, I will give you a minimum of ten strokes, spreading them over your back, your ass, your legs, and then the remainder along your crack. Your asshole and your cunt will be my favorite targets, as they should be."
Without pausing to give me a chance to say anything, which I would have been incapable of doing, anyway, he continued.
"If your disobedience has angered me sufficiently, you will be ordered to lie over the horse face up. Again, your arms and legs will be shackled in place, and then I will give your body the whipping it has earned by disobeying me. However, the stokes will fall on your tits first, and then work their way down your body to your cunt. Since your legs will be spread so widely, your slit will be held open for me, and I will concentrate on punishing your clitoris with most of my strokes.
"For your first few visits to the horse, I will use the flogger on you to get you used to the pain. After that, you will graduate to the cat, which is this one here."
He then replaced the flogger on the panel before lifting off a different type of whip. It, too, had a black-leather handle on one end, but there the similarities to the flogger ended. The thongs, which he said were nine in number, which was why its full name was a "cat-o-nine-tails," were more than two feet long, and were much thinner than those of the first whip.
As he'd done to demonstrate the power of the flogger, he raised the cat high into the air, then brought it sharply downward and against the padded top of the horse. The sound that it produced struck fear in my heart to the point I simply could not breathe for so long I thought I was going to pass out. I'm sure it was the distraction of his words that brought me back, and as I gasped for air, he explained how terrible it would be for me to be whipped like that.
"I'm sure you can imagine the effect the cat will have on your lovely body. It leaves welts that will give you agonizing pain for several days. Try to imagine the effect such a whipping will have on your beautiful tits and your lovely cunt, not to mention your defenseless clitoris. Most women pass out before I am even halfway through the required number of strokes, but I'm sure you are made of sterner stuff, and I won't be forced to slap you awake before I continue with the rest of your punishment."
After replacing the cat on the panel, he led me to the second "station," which I immediately recognized as the table that had featured so heavily in the torture of the girl who had been suspended by ropes around her breasts, as well as the huge hook in her pussy. Indeed, when my eyes were drawn upward, I could see the hook hanging from its rope, as if eager to meet its next victim.
"This, Sharon, is called simply enough, 'the rack.' I'm sure you recognize that it is patterned after what was used to torture sinners during the Inquisition. The purpose of it is to stretch the victim's arms and legs to the point it feels as if her joints will be pulled apart. Depending upon the severity of your disobedience, the winches where your wrists and ankles will be secured will be turned a few times, or several times. That pain alone should assure your obedience to my simple requests in the future.
"Of course, while you are being tortured in that manner, your tits will also receive their share of the stretching. They will be bound with ropes which will be attached to the winch above them, and your upper body will be lifted until it is high above the tabletop.
"At the same time, the hook you have already seen will be inserted deep in your cunt, with the slight curve in it preventing it from slipping from your hole. As you know from the images you saw, it will then be winched upward, lifting your ass completely free of the surface. Then, once you are in position, you will be given a full-body whipping, and it will not stop until you are unconscious."
His breathing was ragged by then, and was more a gasping for air than anything else. His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were wide, all testaments to his arousal as he pictured me there, being tortured by him. As I glanced lower down his body, I was surprised that I couldn't see a huge tent standing there, because I was sure he was very aroused from describing how he would torture me.
At last, his gasping for air ceased, and he cleared his throat several times before he could continue in his raspy voice, "Now do you see what it will mean for you to become my submissive, Sharon? Once you sign the contract, you will never again have any choice in the matter of what happens to your body. I will own it totally, and I will use it to give myself the greatest amount of satisfaction I can wring from it.
"Think carefully before you make your decision."
Taking my hand in his once again, he began to lead me to the door, but I had one last question that sprang forth unbidden.
"Master, what's behind that door back there? Is there another punishment room in there?"
His eyes darted to the door I had noticed, which was barely visible in the low light. As they came back to look at me, he said, "What is back there is not any of your concern at this time. If you do decide to become my submissive, maybe I'll let you see what's in there, but right now you don't need to know."
Of course, his words did nothing but excite my curiosity far beyond what it had been before he spoke, as they would have with any woman in the world. However, I told myself that all I had to do was wait for another 24 hours, and then ask him again when I was his submissive.
And just like that, the understanding swept through my brain that I'd already made my decision. I knew there was no question that when he presented the contract for my approval, I'd sign it and instantly become his slave for the rest of my life. Even the thought of him bringing me into the punishment room to correct my behavior did nothing to change my decision. In fact, if the truth be told, it did nothing but make me more convinced I needed that to happen.
Continued in Chapter 3
Questions or comments? Please write to me at: sharon_smif@gmx.com
