Office Politics

“I’m bored.”

Rhianna looked up from her computer.  Kirti, her boss, was lounging over her desk, eyes flickering around the office.  A tall, slender Indian woman, Kirti was fast approaching forty but doing well to hide the fact.  Her pale brown skin was still smooth and unblemished.  One had to look hard to spot that it had a slightly artificial sheen; and that was even before the daily mask of subtle cosmetics had been applied.  Any grey traitors in her long black her were rigorously dyed out.  Rhianna also knew that more than a little surgery had been required to maintain that statuesque, hourglass figure.

“And horny,” Kirti added; unnecessarily because Rhianna had already recognised the signs.  She shrugged and logged off her computer.  She had no work which couldn’t wait.  Rhianna herself was a black woman who, though only in her mid-twenties, was rather less careful about her figure.  She would describe her 38D bust and ample hips as cuddly; others might call her borderline obese.  She was as unkempt as Kirti was elegantly tailored, wearing scruffy blouses and trousers and her frizzy hair in an unruly ponytail.  They made an odd couple physically but the two women were close friends.  And together they ran the office.  Kirti was manager, Rhianna head of HR and Kirti’s unofficial assistant.  They ran their domain rigidly and took advantages that other bosses wouldn’t dream of.

Take Mei and Lao, for example.  Chinese sisters who had been hired six months ago solely because Rhianna and Kirti wanted to fuck them.  So they did, frequently, and the girls let them.  Neither were actually lesbians but they had been brought up in fine Chinese traditions of deference and humility.  Timid and silent, they were overawed by their bosses.  And they had no qualifications and needed their jobs; and it had been explained to them that doing anything they were told to was a condition of their employment.  Several evenings a week they were told to present themselves to Kirti’s house wearing very few clothes, none of which they wore for long.  But the acts weren’t confined to out of office hours.  Rhianna first arranged for half an hour’s cover for Mei.  Small, slender and very pretty, with a heart-shaped little face, she was a good choice for the reception desk.  Then the black woman murmured in the ear of Lao who, being taller than her sister but nearly twice as wide, had been banished to accounts.  Soon the girls were stood in Kirti’s office.  The Indian woman diverted her calls and pulled her blinds down.  Without even waiting for a command, Mei and Lao began to undress.

Kirti sat on her desk and pulled down her expensive skirt and knickers.  She parted her slender legs.  Mei obediently crouched beside the table and stuck her tongue into the waiting vagina.  Meanwhile Rhianna had also removed her lower garments and slumped in Kirti’s chair.  When Lao kneeled in front of her, she wrapped her thick lips around the girl’s shoulders and drew her into her groin.  Both of the managers closed their eyes and leant their heads back.  For a long time there was no sound in the office beyond the slurpings of two busy tongues and the increasingly loud, ecstatic moans of two happy women   And soon the ritual would have been completed.  They should have dressed again, washed their faces and gone back to work.  But this time something went wrong.  As Kirti was groping in her drawer for her dildo, in order to stick it up Mei’s ass and watch the bewildered pleasure on the girl’s face, the door handle turned.  Kirti just had time to wonder if she had remembered to lock the door when it opened.  Peter and David walked in.

The two men were her only challenge to absolute domination of her office.  David ran a rival department of the same company.  Peter was a recent appointment who supervised them both.  Kirti suspected he had been hired solely to break her power.  She had held him at bay so far but loathed him and his new ally David.  They were both quite young but depressingly old-fashioned laddish extroverts.  Remarks which were racist, sexist, homophobic or all three were never far from their mouths.  Despite exploiting vulnerable members of her staff, Kirti considered herself very politically correct.  She was an ethnic minority lesbian, after all, a member of three repressed groups, and considered it her duty to take the men to task.  She looked at the intruders with horror and recognised the leer on their faces.

“Got you,” Peter said.

Both women froze for a second.  Kirti was the first to recover.  She pushed Mei away, pulled her knickers and skirt up and sprang off the table.  While Rhianna was still fumbling with her pants, Kirti was confronting the men with her hands on her hips.

“What do you want, Peter?” she demanded.  “We don’t have an appointment.”

“And you can drop that tone,” he smiled.  “You’re fucked, Kirti.  I’ve just fucked you.”

“Because of this?  I know you screw your own secretary.  Don’t pretend otherwise.  They both gave their consent.  Didn’t you?”  The Chinese girls were still too shocked to speak.  But it was Peter’s next words which struck Kirti dumb.

“No, not because of the dyke love-in.  Though it doesn’t look good, does it?  Consent or not, it’s still not the best use of office time.  Actually, though, I was talking about this.” He held up a thick file.  “Evidence of you and your fat mate systematically defrauding the company over the past year.  It’s all in here.”

Rhianna had risen but had to sit down again now.  She thought she was going to faint.  They had been…. They had been so careful, she was sure they had.  Nobody could have found out.  And now… She only dimly registered Peter’s speech continuing.

“…quite a decent amount too.  Enough to put you too away for a fair old time.  Course, you might enjoy prison, what with all the dykes in – And cut that out,” he added as Kirti made a blind grab for the folder.  “I’ve got everything backed up on disc anyway.  Face it.  You two are in the shit.”  He paused.  The women stared at him in horror.  “But I might deal with this internally,” he finally said.  “Your sterling work over the years and all that.  I think I can sort you out.  That’s what I was brought in to do after all, sort out problems.  We’ll see.  Turn around and bend over the desk.  You too, chubby,” he called to Rhianna.  “Get over here and do the same.”

In a dream, Rhianna obeyed.  She bent down beside Rhianna across the hard wood.  Her skirt was thrown over her waist.  A moment later she felt fingers tugging her pants down.  She did not protest, even stepped up obediently to let her knickers be pulled over her shoes.  Beside her Kirti was letting herself be half undressed just as passively.  The two women were still in shock after Peter’s revelation.  Rhianna’s mouth was hanging half open.  Her knickers were roughly shoved into it.  They were tied tightly around her head to gag her.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw each man was unlacing one of their shoes.  When she looked again, a minute later, David was rearing up behind her with his shoe raised.   Rhianna still did not comprehend what was happening until the soul landed heavily across her backside.

She screamed in her throat but the sound only came out as a muffled grunt.  The blow was like an electric charge flashing through her body.  A second later her skin started to throb dully.  But that was blown away as the shoe landed a second time.  Rhianna tried to jump up but suddenly David’s other arm was on the small of her back, pressing her to the desk.  The shoe landed several more times in swift succession.  The shock wasn’t quite so bad now that she could prepare herself for it.  But the ache grew in force each time.  A prickling had also started running across her skin, like a thousand tiny needles stabbing into her.  She bit hard into the gag.  She had finally made the connection between the beating and Peter’s talk of ‘internal discipline’ and realised that, painful and humiliating as this was, she would have to accept it.  Glancing to her right she saw Kirti also pressed to the desk, also gagged by her own knickers.  The Indian woman’s teeth were bared as she bit hard into the sensuous black lace.  Her eyes were screwed tightly shut.  Then Peter’s arm dropped and a crack echoed around the office.  Kirti’s head jerked back, her long hair slapping across her face.  A second later Rhianna forgot about her boss as hard leather struck her own backside again.

It did so time after time.  At first Rhianna was unconsciously counting the blows but lost track at around twenty.  By then the ache from her cheeks had become intense.  Even in between the blows she was shaking her head back and forth, trying to find an outlet for the pain.  And when the shoe struck her increasingly tender skin once more, the agony was exquisite.  More and more it felt beyond the level of physical contact and seemed that she was being burned.  It was awful.  Rhianna’s sole comfort after each stroke was that it had to be the last one, she would surely be released now.  But she wasn’t.  On and on the punishment went, each blow landing with the same quick rhythm.  The echoes of leather striking flesh and the muffled squeals of the chastised women continued rolling around the small office.  Rhianna should have had the comfort of her cushioning layer of flab.  But she had never been good at pain.  Once she had caned a girl – another secretary – and despised how quickly her target became a blubbering wreck.  She was sure she would retain her pride for longer.  She didn’t, however.  She was soon weeping, shaking, pleading silently into her gag.  And Kirti was faring no better.  Martin’s strokes were almost falling straight onto her bone.  She was suffering even more than Rhianna and coping with it no better.  The two women lay helplessly across the desk, faces contorted, eyes swimming with tears, heads thrashing, fists pummelling the wood, while their brown cheeks were turned scarlet.  All under the astonished gazes of the two Chinese girls formerly under their power.

Finally the strokes ended.  Rhianna’s skin was smarting so badly that she didn’t notice at first.  The pain was almost as intense in between each smack as it was when they landed.  But she gradually became aware that the throbbing was growing less severe and the sharp cracks had stopped.  The women were pulled upright by their tormentors.  Their knickers were untied from their heads.  They were ordered to put them back on and get dressed.  They obeyed without a word but with many pitiful whimpers and moans.  Rhianna glanced at Kirti as she covered up her tender cheeks.  The Indian woman was rocking unstably on her high heels, her head down and tears streaking down her cheeks.  Rather than the proud, haughty woman Rhianna knew before, she looked defeated and broken.  The sight increased Rhianna’s sense of being in a dream; except that the throbbing from her ass told her otherwise.

“Excellent first stage, ladies,” Peter said.  “I think we’d better continue this at my place.”

It took a few moments for them to comprehend his words.  “What?” Kirti asked dully.

“Back to my house, if you don’t mind.  We’ll drive.”

The dread inside Rhianna deepened until it had no bottom.  Peter and David had had the temerity to spank them in the office with dozens of people outside the door.  There was no telling what they might to in the privacy of Peter’s house.  But she knew she had no choice.  It was not, she realised, simply that the men could get her fired and arrested.  The spanking had established their dominance over her.  Rhianna had never experienced a feeling like that, at least not since she was a child.  She loathed it but felt she could not resist.  For the moment at least, Peter and David controlled her.

Mei and Lao were instructed to wait in the office.  The other four trooped out into the car park.  The few people they passed in the corridor glanced curiously at them, wondering why the women looked so uncharacteristically subdued.  Fortunately the car park was deserted.  Kirti got into Peter’s car, Rhianna into David’s and they were both ordered to climb into the back and lie on the floor.  A few moments later Rhianna felt David lean over and grip her arms.  Then she could not separate them.  A pair of leather cuffs had been fastened to her wrists, fixing them behind her back.  Still the black woman did not protest.  All she did was sob gently to herself throughout the uncomfortable, terrifying ride.

Peter lay in a large detached house in the suburbs.  David took Rhianna indoors and upstairs.  She did not see what had happened to Kirti.  When she was pushed into a tiny attic bedroom and ordered to lie on the floor, she feared the worst for herself.  But the worst was not coming just yet – although it would.  David bound her ankles together with more cuffs.  More rope was fastened to a leg of the bed so Rhianna was attached to it, her body arcing uncomfortably backwards.  Finally he gagged her again.  This time he didn’t use her knickers but a large rubber ball which was shoved into her mouth and strapped behind her head.  With his black captive thus helpless, he headed to the door.

“Well, got to get back to work,” he called over his shoulder.  “See you later, nigger.”

The door slammed shut.

Office Politics – Part Two

Rhianna lay in the attic for hours.  Her back began to ache fiercely, adding to the gradually diminishing but still potent pain fro her ass.  But her physical anguish was nothing compared to her mental one.  Her sense of horror grew as the endless afternoon dragged on.  At the very best she was going to be beaten again.  At the worst… She tried to check her imagination but, starved of distraction, it ran freely.  It was still hard to believe all this was real.  The day had begun as normal.  A few hours ago she was coming to work like normal.  Not that long ago she had been exploiting her power over one of her subordinates.  Now her power was gone.  And she was gagged and tied to a bed like a hostage.  She silently cursed those who had put her in this predicament.  David and Peter, obviously, but most of all Kirti.  Kirti, who encouraged her to take the risks and break the rules.  By the end of the afternoon she was almost hating her boss and hoping she was suffering just as much.

Finally the door opened again.  For a second she was relieved that her hours of imprisonment were at an end.  Then her terror came flooding back again.  But the figure who entered was not the one she had expected.  It was a small, slim Chinese girl in heavy bondage gear.  Tiny breasts peeping over a tight black leather corset, pussy exposed, fishnet tights, tall, black leather high-heeled boots.  Rhianna stared up in amazement at Mei.  The girl, normally so chaste and demure – at least not when being unwillingly fucked by her bosses – had been transformed into an S&M queen.  Mei ignored the stare and clumsily untied the ropes from the bed.  When they were finally free she helped her supervisor up.

“You’re to come downstairs,” she mumbled.  “They sent me to get you.”

Rhianna followed her awkwardly, for her arms and legs were still fastened together.  When not concentrating on avoiding facing over, her mind was racing.  Had Peter and David being fucking the sisters too?  Was that how they had found out about her and Kirti?  She wished she was not gagged so she could interrogate Mei.  It was too late, however.  And when she finally got to the back room of the house, all other thoughts fled from her mind.

Lao was also wearing the fishnets and high heeled boots combination.  Her plump belly was allowed to hang free but tight leather straps circled her breasts, pushing them upwards.  Peter and David were both there and greeted Rhianna with mock courtesy.  But the black woman was chiefly focussing on the object in the centre of the room.  It looked like a vaulting horse from a gym, diagonal legs supporting a broad cushioned seat at waist height.  A whipping stool, Rhianna thought instantly.  And a woman was lying on it.  Her wrists and ankles were each tied to one of the legs so that her long, slender limbs were fixed far apart.  Her groin and waist rested on the seat.  The upper half of her body tumbled down the horse while her pale brown buttocks stuck up in the air.  Rhianna looked at the upside-down face, its long black hair splaying across the ground.  It was Kirti.

“Rhianna!” Peter was calling.  “So good of you to join us.  We’re close to getting started.  Pop over there, will you?  Dave, do the honours please.”

The black woman shuffled to where he had indicated.  She noticed a line of leather cuffs lying on the floor.  They were tied to a strange winching device fixed to one wall.  David freed her arms and legs, then fixed two of the cuffs to her ankles.  He started to turn the handle of the winch.  Rhianna felt the cuffs rise, pulling at her legs.  She hastily dropped into a crouch to stop herself unbalancing.  The cuffs kept tugging until, with a sudden jump, pulled her legs off the floor.  Slowly, inexorably, her body was turned upside down.  For one moment she was balancing only on her hands.  Then she lost her hold of that too.  the cuffs moved upwards almost to the ceiling.  Rhianna was left suspended helplessly, her flapping arms half a foot from the ground, her ponytail dangling free.

“A miracle of engineering, this is,” David sneered as he bound her hands together again.  “Lets me lift even a fat heffer like you up without too much trouble.  All right, girls, get her undressed.

Mei and Lao obediently approached, each holding a pair of scissors.  As Mei snipped through Rhianna’s blouse, Lao stood on a chair and attacked her trousers.  Rhianna guessed Kirti had been undressed in the same fashion; she saw the remnants of a business suit lying on the floor.  Her tattered garments were soon sliced in half and pulled off her.  Then her knickers and bra were disposed of with twangs of elastic and her large breasts lolled free.  She hung there naked, a ridiculous and ugly figure watched with scorn by Peter and David.  A few tears of humiliation stole from her eyes and ran down her brow.  She had become a lesbian five years ago, vowing to never again be seen naked by another man.  Now here she was, strung up for their contemptuous examination.

“Christ, nigger,” David remarked.  “One word: diet.”

Mei and Lao were ordered to stand in separate corners of the room with their hands on their heads.  They were fitted with ball gags.  Watching them as she dangled, Rhianna wondered again about their status.  Were they willing acolytes or prisoners as well?  They obeyed the men’s instructions with a subdued, defeated air but they did everyone’s.  Rhianna’s attention, though, was mainly fixed on Kirti.  Her head was almost level with that of her boss.  She could clearly see the wide, terrified eyes and her open, panting mouth.  Kirti must have known what was about to happen to her.  Two canes were ostentatiously propped up against the whipping stool.  Rhianna no longer hated her boss but she could do nothing, say nothing to comfort her.  She had a thought which made her quiver with fear, sending her breasts swinging.  After Kirti, she would be next.

Kirti’s face suddenly contorted with agony.  Her eyes screwed up, her brows locked, deep furrows appeared on her forehead.  And her mouth opened wider to emit a piercing scream.  A split-second earlier there had been another crack of a solid object hitting skin, this one sharper than in the office.  As Rhianna studied Kirti’s face, Peter had picked up a cane and brought it down across her ass.  A few seconds later, David gave the Indian woman a taste of the other.  Then Peter laid his second stroke, almost exactly on the site of his first.  Rhianna helplessly watched the methodical, merciless chastisement of her boss.  The two men worked with perfect synchronicity.  They struck alternately, leaving no more than five seconds between each blow.  Peter was left handed, David right, so they could stand on either side of their target and swing with their full force.  In other circumstances it would have been an impressive display of team work.  But the willow was biting into the woman’s flesh, scoring a deep grove as it cut in.  When lifted again and the groove flattened out, a long red line rose in its place.  The weals were vivid enough to be visible even on skin already flushed red.  Rhianna watched as ten, then twenty, rose on the once-beige cheeks, gradually meeting and criss-crossing.  Kirti’s screams were almost deafening.  She was clearly unable to cope with the force or the speed of the strokes.  Her mouth was a wide, echoing chasm, spittle sometimes flying from it.  Snot was being blown from her nose, meeting with the tears squeezing from her tightly screwed eyes.  Her long hair brushed the ground as her head swung back and forth.  In the only other movements she was capable of, her muscles twitched violently and her fingers opened and clenched.  In the few breaks between her screams she babbled a nonsensical stream of words.  Rhianna could only watch in horror as the proud Indian woman was reduced to a mindless creature.

Finally the beating paused.  Rhianna’s dread only increased as the two men turned to her.  While Kirti started moaning in agony, Peter clicked his fingers at the two Chinese girls and handed them something.  When they approached, Rhianna saw the objects were steel clamps.  Small springs with cruel teeth, rings and ropes on the other side.  Mei and Lao reached up and each attached a clamp onto Rhianna’s nipples.  She gasped as two lances of pain ran from her breasts and through her body.  They quickly built to a point which became almost unbearable, before receding just a little.  Looking up through the tears blurring her eyes, she saw her chocolate buds being crushed by the savage grips.  She didn’t notice that the ropes had hooks attached to them, or that Mei and Lao were preparing to fix weights onto them.  But she soon felt the facts.  The bite of the clamps increased again and an ache started at the base of her breasts.

“No,” she whined.  “Please… please don’t… please.”  To no avail, of course.  Three more weights were added to each rope.  They ended up hanging down below Rhianna’s head. Meanwhile her large breasts were stretched to their very limit, almost coming down to her chin.  Her breaths came out in rapid pants as she tried coping with the excruciating sensation.  The clamps were digging in tighter than ever.  It felt as if the teeth had bitten right through her nipples and were meeting one another.  And the aching from her breasts had grown and was becoming intense.  She shook a little with the pain.  The weights swung and the pain grew a little more.  She blinked, trying to cope with the ordeal, trying not to move.  When she opened her eyes, she saw Peter and David laughing at the bizarre spectacle she had become.  Then they turned their attention back to Kirti.

The Indian woman’s ass was by now a mass of different shades of red.  So perhaps for variety, the men started to work on her thighs instead.  The canes bit viciously into the slender limbs.  Kirti had almost no fat there to protect her; it must have hurt as much as when her hyper-sensitive cheeks were being caned.  She certainly screamed as loudly.  Taking one thigh each, the men worked as methodically as before.  They beat their way down to the joints of Kirti’s knees, then moved back up to her ass.  Soon ten raised weals were decorating each of the pale brown thighs.  Peter again beckoned to the Chinese sisters.  The canes were passed to them and an order issued.  For a few moments they looked dumbfounded, holding the canes awkwardly.  Finally Mei swung hers.  It was a clumsy blow and only lightly bounced off Kirti’s cheeks.  The manageress felt it though – at that stage, a breath of air on her skin would have hurt her.  Lao swung and landed a stroke with a little more force.  By chance it landed across two existing weals and Kirti yelped out loud.  Mei struck again, then Lao, and each successive blow lost a little more hesitancy and gained a little more power.  Soon the girls were beating their boss with real malice.  They didn’t have the rhythm or the brute power of Peter or David.  But they were hurting Kirti.  And they were enjoying themselves.  Their faces were rapturous as they swung their canes, and had it not been for their gags they would probably have laughed out loud.

It was too much for Rhianna.  Despite the agony from her breasts, she never forgot that Kirti was experiencing far worst – and that she would be next.  Her terror made her lose the last shreds of her self-control.  She shot out stream of piss, which ran down her rotund belly and between her unnaturally stretched breasts.  To her shame, Peter and David spotted it.  They laughed again as the river ran down her chin and into her hair.

“I think that’s enough anticipation,” Peter said, still laughing.  He motioned for the Chinese girls to stop their punishment, which they did reluctantly.  Kirti, now emitting a low moan broken into by the occasional gasping sob, was untied from the whipping stool.  She didn’t move.  Peter had to lift her up and throw her off.  She dropped into a heap on the floor, crying loudly.  Meanwhile David was lowering Rhianna.  Her terror built every time the ground grew closer.  When she was untied, her will broke completely.  She fell onto the floor, determined not to be tied to the dreadful stool.

“No, please!” she screamed.  “Please, not that!  I’ll do anything-”

“Lack of balls from the fat girl,” Peter smiled at David.  They grabbed an arm each and, with a grunt of effort, hauled her up.  “Come on, nigger,” Peter continued as they dragged her towards the stool, heedless of her scrams.  “It won’t be so bad.  You’ve got enough padding down there.”

Rhianna was thrown over the whipping stool.  David held her thrashing limbs in place while Peter tied them tight.  When the black woman was secured and helpless, David put Kirti in the leg straps and winched her up.  Soon she too was hanging from the ceiling, forced to watch the punishment of a friend.  Rhianna subsided when she realised the futility of her struggle.  There was no escape.  Tears began rolling down her face again and she let out little whimpers of terror.  She was also panting, finding it difficult to breath in her position across the stool.  Soon, though, all such trivial considerations would be put out of her mind.

The first stroke seemed to come from nowhere.  Rhianna screamed at the top of her voice as it connected.  The soreness of the afternoon’s beating was instantly re-ignited, together with a line of more intense fire left by the cane.  A second quickly followed, then a third.  Each one sent a bolt of shock and agony coursing through her body.  Even after that had stilled, her ass felt like it was being burnt.  The fourth and fifth strokes landed.  As she watched Kirti being beaten Rhianna had imagined what it must feel like.  But it was worst than anything she could have dreamt of.  The line of the first stroke still throbbed unbearably; and more kept landing and multiplying.  Rhianna wailed, she hollered, she thrashed her head from side to side.  Her arms strained at the bonds as she sought an outlet for the pain.  But she could find none.  And the canes kept landing.  Eight, nine, ten… on they came, each stroke worst than the last, each joining the cluster of fire which was never dying out.  Again, at first she was counting the strokes, unconsciously logging each time the room echoed of the crack against her skin and a new bolt of agony surged through her.  After around twenty, though, even this simplest of feats was beyond her.  And by that time it didn’t matter.  The strokes all gradually merged into one.  The shock of the willow landing died away.  The agony become so great and so constant that she was barely aware whenever it was increased.  The fire became steady and all-consuming.  She forgot about everything else; being tied to the whipping stool, her friend hanging from the ceiling, even who was beating her and why.  None of these were important compared to the fire.  She was dimly aware of the agony increasing a little more when Peter and David turned their attention to her thighs.  And she registered the time when Mei and Lao were again invited to give her their less brutal ministrations.  Each, though, were only slight rises or falls of her suffering.  Even when the caning finally stopped, Rhianna barely noticed.  It made little difference at first.  And when she was untied from the stool, like Kirti she dropped straight to the floor beside it.

After a while she became aware of Peter’s harsh words.  He was addressing the two Chinese girls.  They were backed into one corner and suddenly looking less assured than they had when holding the canes.

“…not so innocent as you first appear,” Peter was declaring in a stern voice.  “I’ve realised you’re not so much the victims in all this.  In fact, I’ve found out you’re the willing co-conspirators of these women.  I mean in everything.  Their fraud as well as their pleasures.”

The girls were looking terrified now.  They tried to argue but the gags turned their words into incoherent grunts.  As Peter continued, Rhianna emerged far enough from her misery to feel some black humour.  Presumably the sisters had been lured here and persuaded to adopt their costumes by promises of advancement.  Maybe the chance for revenge against their old tormentors too.  Now they were discovering that the men had perverted plans for them as well.

“Rhianna, Kirti?” Peter said, turning round.  “Did these girls willingly co-operate in your fraud.”

The two women glanced at each other.  For just a second their old connection was restored.  They both remembered how Mei and Lao had beaten them; under orders, admittedly, but willingly enough.  And they shared a sadistic need not to be the only ones to suffer.  In voices hoarse from screaming, they agreed.

Mei and Lao tried to bolt at the same time but to no avail.  The men caught one each in their arms.  David dragged the writhing Mei to the winching machine, lowered the straps again and encased the girl’s ankles in two of them.  Rhianna was also pulled over and fastened in two more.  The handle was pulled once more.  Rhianna, Mei and Kirti were hung in a line from the ceiling.  The men strapped Lao to the whipping stool and it began again.  Rhianna watched with a mixture of relish and resentment at first.  She wanted the sisters to suffer as much as she had.  When the men had finished with Lao, though, only twenty weals at the most were covering her broad buttocks.  And she hadn’t had to endure the extra punishment that afternoon either.  Lao was weeping copiously as she was unstrapped – her gag had been removed for the caning – and Rhianna thought her rather weak.  But when Mei swapped places with her sister, the black woman’s feelings turned to pity.  There was no denying the agony which the duel caning was inflicting.  David and Peter were not restricting their strokes in force, merely in numbers.  The scene was still shockingly brutal.  Two grown men beating a helpless girl as hard as they could.  Without her sister’s padding on her slender cheeks, Mei’s suffering was even worst.  She squealed like a wounded animal each time the willow hit and she could barely stand up after she was untied.

She did not have to for long.  She too was hung back from the ceiling after her beating.  Flexing their muscles and rubbing their shoulders, the two men gazed at the miserable, upside-down faces.

“And excellent session,” Peter smiled.  “I think a few more like this and we’ll be fully warmed up.  Then your training can begin.”

Rhianna should have felt more horror on hearing his words.  But she was still too full of pain and hatred to be aware of much else.  Besides, she had almost expected it.  Peter and David had them under their power.  And they were brutal, inhuman sadists.  They weren’t just going to just beat them twice and then let them go.  The punishment was going to go on and on.  Hanging helplessly from their bonds, whimpering and sobbing, the four women wondered how they would find the strength to endure it.

Office Politics – Part Three

 

The next evening the line had been hung up again.  As it was for each of the four evenings after that.  During the day and at night the captives were locked away in various parts of the house; Kirti and Rhianna back in their tiny bedrooms, Mei and Lao in the cellar.  They were kept bound, gagged and naked throughout.  All they could do during the abominably long waits was shiver with fear and cold and try to recover their strength.  And desperately try to shut out the pain wracking through their bodies, and thoughts of the upcoming evenings.  Rhianna was fed a full cooked breakfast, a large, fattening dinner and a good supper.  She was surprised at this generosity, not knowing that the others were only being given bread and water.  The men went to work every day as normal.  They were confident that their captives were secure and certain that none would even try to escape anyway.  The assumptions were correct. As the days went by, their hold over the women was growing.  It was transcending their original blackmail and becoming stronger with each brutal session.

After the men had dined, they hung their prisoners up again.  Unlike the first night, not all were caned each time.  Only two every evening were selected to be tied back to the whipping stool.  Peter chose this unfortunate pair with a method no more sophisticated than a game of ‘eeny meeny miny mo.’  He knew this was childish but still enjoyed the slow build-up it allowed.  He enjoyed the terrified expression of each woman every time he pointed at them and positively savoured their horrified expression when they realised they were indeed ‘it.’  Mei and Rhianna were selected the first time.  Neither had recovered properly from the previous night.  Their cheeks were still horribly sore; they had spent the day trying not to lie on them because the slightest pressure brought more pain.  There was no word for the sensation when the cane landed again, causing the whole expanse of skin to ignite once more.  And certainly not for the feelings they received when the beating was nearing its end.  Peter and David gave them both twenty four more strokes.  They showed no mercy to the blotched, scarlet flesh, bringing their canes onto it as hard as if it were virgin flesh.  Rhianna was selected the next night too, when she was accompanied by Kirti, and the third when she was again partnered with Mei.  By the end of that session her broad ass was a great mass of scarlet tramlines.  There were virtually no gaps between the weals.  Each time a cane landed it fell over the marks of a dozen previous strokes.  She was so sunk into her agony that she could no longer even scream with a fresh stroke, simply making quiet grunts.  The burning had barely receded when she was hung up once more the next evening.  Fortunately she was passed over on that occasion in favour of Kirti and Lao.  But she, together with Lao, visited the stool once more the following day.

If the beaten ones felt resentment to those spared, they had no cause.  Nobody escaped.  When they were hung back up after the canings, all the captives had clamps and weights attached to their nipples.  It was an interesting experiment for the men.  Nobody’s breasts stretched as far down a Rhianna’s but the plump mounds of Lao came quite close.  Kirti’s were a very poor third while the tiny, underdeveloped tits of Mei barely moved.  But the sensations provoked were all the same, the intense bite of the clamps coupled with the aches as their breasts were dragged downwards.  The women whimpered and gasped as the weights rocked back and forth, the pain lancing from their nipples through the rest of their bodies.  Sometimes – especially Rhianna and Mei, whose endurance seemed less – they would plead with their tormentors for mercy.  Mei begged almost constantly, her “No, please, no,” as gentle and incessant as a babbling stream.

It was, of course, to no avail.  The men liked to play with the weights sometimes.  David would pull one and then the other a little further down, each tug eliciting a loud gasp from his victim.  Peter’s favourite game was to send the one at the end of the line swinging, knocking into its neighbour and pushing that into motion.  With each swing, the agony from the imprisoned nipple grew a little more intense.  After a little practice he was able to set the whole line into motion,  producing an evenly spaced series of moans amidst the sound of knocking weights.  And the men found a way to produce an even stretch from the quartet.  From the second night onwards, each woman also had a metal clamp fastened to her pussy lips.  The pain it produced as even worst than the nipple clamps.  The steel teeth dug viciously into the sensitive flaps, producing a fire which seemed to start deep within their bodies.  Then weights were fixed to the clamps.  They hung around the centre of the women’s elongated breasts, stretching their lips to their limits.  There the prisoners would dangle as the men played with them, weeping and moaning, terrified to move as the slightest shift would increase their agony.  It was a less overwhelming torture than the caning but in some ways it was worst.  The sense of being utterly trapped was greater.  And they were being attacked in the most intimate parts of their bodies.

And further ‘treats’ were waiting for the pair who were not caned.  When the clamps, after some considerable time, were removed, a bucket was brought from the garage.  The stench permeated the room as soon as it was brought in.  The bucket was filled with a disgusting mixture of faeces and urine, possibly not all human in origin.  The men had obviously been collecting it for some time, just as they had carefully planned all details of this depraved punishment.  The first night the bucket was placed directly under Lao’s head.  She winced and wrinkled her nose as the fumes wafted up to meet her.  David then began to winch the line of women down.  Lao started writhing and screaming as she realised what was happening.  Peter grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her firmly and guiding her into place.  Slowly, inexorably, she descended towards the bucket.  Her long black hair touched the surface, curling up at first as it failed to penetrate the thick broth.  Peter dropped into a crouch, still gripping the wriggling Chinese girl.  With an unpleasant slurp, her scalp pushed through the liquid.  Then her screwed-up eyes, then her nose.  Her wails were suddenly curtailed as her mouth went under to follow them.  Lao was left suspended up to her neck in the excrement.  It rolled through her nostrils and into her nose, increasing the already potent odour a hundredfold.  Tight as she shut them, the liquid managed to seep between her lids and burn her eyes.  She held her breath for as long as she could.  Eventually, though, the pressure of air forced her lips apart.  The excrement poured greedily into her mouth.  She coughed and retched, thrashing helplessly in Peter’s grip.  Panicking now, she swallowed more and more of the soup in her desperation for air.  Peter and David watched her plump body writhing, saw bubbles rise to the scummy surface of the bucket.  They laughed and continued to let Lao choke in her private hell.  Finally they exchanged professional nods and David turned the handle again.  Lao rose slowly, coughing frantically.  Her face was contorted with fear and disgust.  But the lines in the skin were hard to see, covered in a thick, slimy brown mask.  Her hair hung beneath her in a sodden lump, matted and pungent.

And there was more to come.  Peter moved the bucket away.  Still coughing, Lao was lowered down again.  She ended with her head and shoulders resting on the floor, the rest of her body still suspended upside down.  Peter prised her jaws open and shoved a funnel down her mouth.  While he held it in place, his friend lifted the barrel and upended it over the other end of the funnel.  The thick mixture crawled down the plastic tube and started oozing into Lao’s mouth.  She gave another muffled squeal and tried to turn away but was again held firmly.  More and more excrement slurped into her mouth; she had no choice but to start swallowing it.  Being immersed in the broth was terrible, of course.  The smell had been everywhere, and for a few awful seconds she thought she was going to choke.  But at least she had only swallowed a couple of mouthfuls.  Now she had to gulp it down without relief.  She had never tasted anything remotely as bad.  The first time she swallowed she thought she was going to be sick instantly.  But meeting the vomit rising in her throat was another wave of excrement.  If she stopped swallowing she would choke; so she desperately had to gulp it all down and carry on.  Eyes wide with horror, brows locked with disgust and throat muscles working feverishly, the little Chinese girl continued eating her vile supper.  The men watched the spectacle with delight.  They only moved the barrel away when they grew tired of the sight, not when they thought she had had enough.  She was left retching and panting, excrement smeared across her head, filling her mouth and belly.  The barrel was replenished every day.  Lao had to undergo the treatment once more but none of the others escaped it either.

A further treat was begun on the second day.  A small electricity generator was brought into the room.  The clamps on Rhianna’s nipples and clit were removed and electrodes fitted in their place.  Then the generator was switched on.  The result was so pleasing to the men that for the next three nights they attached electrodes to all their victims.  The women were given simultaneous bursts of electricity.  A great one at first, then a second when they were close to recovering.  None had felt anything like it before.  If the latter stages of a caning was searing pain without the impact, this was almost the reverse.  It felt as if every part of their body was being struck at once.  For a moment the shock would almost knock them out.  They were scarcely aware of anything for a long time afterwards, their minds being only slowly reassembled.  Full control of their bodies took an even longer time to recover and when eventually let down, they found they could barely stand.  Rhianna thought it was like having a rod strike her directly on her brain.  But to the men it was a delight to watch.  When the dial on the generator was turned, the four suspended bodies abruptly convulsed.  Mei’s might arc backwards, Kirti’s bend double until she was almost touching her toes or Rhianna’s arms could flail wildly through the air.  Though they flopped back a second later, like puppets with their strings cut, the bodies didn’t hang still.  They spasmed involuntarily as the after-effects of the current continued to short-circuit their mind.  Kirti’s hands made rapid little gestures in the air.  Lao’s breasts knocked together as her frame shuddered, her breath coming out in rapid little pants.  The cellulite on Rhianna’s thighs was sent quivering by the juddering of her legs.  The men stared in delight at the trembling, shaking line denied any control over their own bodies.  They would bend closer and study the wide eyes and the tics contorting the faces, at Rhianna’s thick lips opening and closing rapidly, at a twitch beating madly in Mei’s cheeks.  The men would wait for these after-effects to slowly subside.  Then they would re-attach any electrodes thrown off by the initial convulsions and turn the generator on again.

Afterwards, three of the four prisoners were sent back to their rooms.  But for the one not cane or dipped, the evening was still not over.  Only Rhianna escaped this final stage.  Peter knew they were being negligent here.  It should have been part of her ‘re-education.’  With a self-proclaimed lesbian like Rhianna, it was perhaps especially important.  But they found her fat body so repellent that they could not face it.  Instead her far more attractive Sapphic friend got the treatment three times, including her first night.  Her hands bound tightly behind her back, she was taken to Peter’s bedroom.  He lay on his bed and pulled out his cock – ramrod stiff, as it had been all evening.  Kirti was ordered to bend over him and take the dick in her mouth.  As she began to suck, pulled down his pants.  He gripped her hips and shoved into her from behind.

It was an appalling experience for Kirti.  She had always known that she was gay.  No man had even been allowed to even touch her.  She loathed them, sneered at them, thought herself totally superior to them.  Now she was trapped between the two worst specimens in the most humiliating position possible.  She had to suck and lick the huge rod which kept thrusting down her throat.  Meanwhile David was wrenching her tender ass with cruel hands and pumping her remorselessly.  His strokes were hard and savage.  Partly because he wanted to hurt Kirti even more, but he was also desperate for relief.  Each evening for him had been hours filled with the most erotic experience imaginable.  The Indian woman soon felt a damp mass shoot into her body.  A moment later her mouth also filled with cum.  She gagged at the taste of the sticky substance but Peter kept her head pulled close.  She had to keep swallowing until the stream had run dry.  At her other end David was also pumping every possible drop into her pussy.  Only when both men were totally sated was her ordeal over for that evening.

The third night the men swapped places, David receiving the fellatio while Peter screwed her.  The fifth, she was made to squat on the floor like a dog and swallow David’s cock.  Peter climbed on top of her and she braced herself for the stab of pain from her pussy.  The cock came, but into her ass hole.  Peter remorselessly drilled his way in, showing no consideration for the tightness of the passage.  Kirti gasped in agony until David roughly reminded her of her duties.  While she sucked him off obediently, Peter sodomised her crudely and sent a spurt of cum into another part of her body.

On other nights, first Lao and then Mei were taken by the men.  The ordeal for them wasn’t quite as bad mentally, with neither being lesbians.  But no mercy was shown towards their delicate bodies, their young holes.  Neither Chinese girl was technically a virgin before.  A succession of dildos stuck in by Rhianna and Kirti had taken that from them.  However, both still used to dream what it would be like doing the act with a man for the first time.  They still used to be romantics deep in their heart.  And neither imagined in their worst nightmares that it would be like this.  Being brutally used by men whose single thought was to hurt them.  And afterwards, locked sobbing in an attic to await another evening of pain and degradation.