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Ch.04: The First Dance (She dances for her superiors)
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I knocked politely at the door to the CEO's private office.
No answer.
The murmur of male voices in conversation within.
I was naked but for a skimpy pair of pink silk panties and matching pink Italian
leather glamour sandals with spiked heels. They had been left on my desk earlier
that day, boxed and wrapped. The attached note had said simply 'CEO's office, 2
pm'.
I knocked again, more firmly.
The height of the heels forced my bottom out as I straightened my legs. My
breasts had never felt so bare, so exposed. They jutted out neatly, the nipples
pert, shiny.
I gulped.
It was really happening. How surreal: I was just about to give my first
performance for the CEO - the man who had raped and humiliated me. I hadn't seen
him at all since then. How was I going to react to seeing him again? Was I
really going to present my naked breasts to him and entertain him with my
dancing?
I desperately wanted to be called in so that I could get on with the dance.
Imagine being caught standing there like that in the corridor: The senior PA
stripped to her panties, knocking dutifully at the CEO's door.
The rumble of conversation persisted beyond the door. Who else was in there? Why
didn't they let me in? Should I just go ahead and enter?
"Come." The CEO's authoritative voice finally called out.
I pushed the door open hesitantly and peeked into the lavishly furnished office.
Instantly I felt three pairs of eyes on my breasts: The CEO and two other men I
hadn't seen before. They looked rich in their shiny suits; probably guests from
a city bank or something. I felt their gaze move to my pink knickers, lingering
a while there. Then to my heels. One of the men smiled and nodded
appreciatively.
"Yes?" The CEO peered at me over his glasses.
I had been instructed to expect this. Apparently, the CEO liked to impress his
guests by pretending to be surprised at interruptions to his meetings.
"Hello sir," I responded as I had been told to. "I was wondering if you would
permit me to dance for you sir?"
The only other prior instruction I had been given me was that I should then
start to dance. Even as I closed the door behind me, I had started to sway my
hips. I stepped cautiously into the room, placed my hands on my hips, and
started to wriggle my body, just as I had seen the whores at 'The Scrava' do.
The CEO reclined back in his high-backed chair and lifted his feet onto the
desk. One of the guests leaned back against a wall. The other man remained
seated in a comfortable looking armchair across the office. They were positioned
such that as I turned and wriggled my body for them, no part of it was hidden
from their gaze.
I was on display. The CEO had spanked me into this. He had fucked me into this.
And there I was, gratefully dancing for him. I must have seemed so willing, so
eager to be wriggling my breasts for them, so grateful to have the opportunity
to prance around in those pink Italian heels and display myself to him...
After a few minutes they seemed to get used to me being there, since they
appeared to get back to business. They discussed loudly and proudly how
wonderful the South of France was at that time of year - a good time for
property apparently, and how they really must sell that old yacht and get a
newer model...
Meanwhile, I danced. I wriggled, paraded back and forth, turned, twisted,
pouted, ran my fingers through my hair, leaned forwards to show off the curves
of my bum.
The meeting dragged on and on. At least an hour by now. They discussed numbers
and percentages... Honestly, to this day I have no idea what it all meant. I
just kept going, doing what was required of me.
When I heard a knock on the door, I tried not to let it distract me. I turned
and kept wriggling my rear, vaguely aware of someone entering the room behind
me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the CEO's many bleached-blonde
secretaries place a pile of papers on his desk. She wore the usual micro-length
skirt and heels. I had seen her around - I think we had even greeted each other
once or twice. I had never been sure if I out-ranked her (I was the Senior PA to
the CTO, she was one of the many secretaries to the CEO). I knew now. She
clearly out-ranked me - It was I who was dancing topless in her presence,
wriggling my bottom for her.
She was so young though - not yet twenty! How could someone so young possibly be
allowed to see me dancing topless like that?
"Stay and take notes, Nicola," the CEO invited her.
She sat in a vacant chair, clicked her pen and busied herself scribbling on a
pad of paper.
I kept dancing. I brushed my fingers down the sides of my breasts, my hips, my
thighs, my bottom. I was too embarrassed to look at her, but I felt her eyes on
me. How could this girl - at least five years younger than me - be considered
senior to me!? It didn't make sense. She should be the one performing, shouldn't
she?
Nicola sat silently while the men talked. I dared a quick glance over at her
once or twice. She was staring right at me, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my
naked torso writhing for her entertainment.
"Elizabeth," the CEO said eventually, after what could only have been two hours
of continuous dancing. Why hadn't I thought of asking how long each session
would last? My legs ached terribly - those ridiculous heels were difficult
enough to walk in, let alone dance in.
"Yes sir," I answered promptly, not daring to stop dancing however much it hurt.
"I want you do dance for Nicola until we get back."
He stood up and his two guests followed him out of the room. They left Nicola
the bleached-blond secretary behind. They left me dancing for her.
I didn't want to continue - I felt utterly humiliated. But I had signed a deal.
I had accepted this. I had agreed to dance for my superiors - and evidently
Nicola was my superior, whether I liked it or not. I had to dance for her: It
was my job.
She put down her pencil and notepad and smiled at me strangely. She lent back in
her chair, put her feet up on the arms of the sofa next to her, crossed her
ankles, showing me most of her thighs.
She giggled. God - she was so young! And there I was, dancing topless for her in
a pair of skimpy pink panties.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers.
"Come on! Dance!" she demanded. "Put some enthusiasm into it!"
It is true that I had been dancing more lethargically. While that was partly due
to exhaustion, it was mostly due to the fact that I was having trouble
reconciling what was happening to me.
I wanted to refuse. But I didn't, couldn't.
I wanted my dignity back, but I suppose I was too afraid to stop - or at least
too afraid of the consequences of stopping. That would mean breaking the
agreement, wouldn't it? And if I broke the agreement... What would happen then?
I would have put myself through this humiliation for nothing... And in a way,
that would be even more humiliating. Humiliating yourself for material gain is
one thing, but humiliating yourself for nothing - that was just foolish, wasn't
it?
If I stopped now I would have been raped for nothing. I had even signed it off!
The humiliation would be tenfold. They would laugh about the girl who danced
topless for one of the CEO's secretaries - for nothing, who bent over and
allowed herself to be fucked from behind by the CEO in the lift - for nothing,
and who showed her appreciation by sucking her own arse-juice off the CEO's
thumb - for nothing.
I gritted my teeth and slowly increased the movement in my tired hips and legs.
"Turn around," Nicola said firmly. "I want to see your bum wriggling for me. And
come closer."
I obeyed each instruction, hiding my reluctance as best I could.
"More." she barked, "Move your butt more."
Again, I obeyed her request.
"Bend over more, and wriggle that bottom for me as fast as you can," she
ordered.
I had to endure it - let her have her fun. I was a dancer. I would dance for
her, but no more. I was sure of that.
I bent over as far I could without toppling over and wriggled my bottom
furiously for her.
"Good," she said. "You're starting to get the idea."
She had me shake my bum for her for what seemed an eternity. She was playing
with me. I was her plaything. Her doll. My eyes started to swell with water. I
wanted to stop wiggling my bottom for her, but the doubts persisted.
"Stop," she ordered finally.
I stopped gratefully and stood upright, facing away from her.
"That was nice," she congratulated me. "I love to see my girls wriggling their
arses for me. Now... let's give your feet a rest - you can kneel for me and
wriggle your hips from there." She pointed to the carpet at her feet.
I couldn't kneel for her, could I? That would be so... well, submissive,
wouldn't it? I was worth more than that, wasn't I?
I knelt at her feet and I looked at her ankles. God - She was so young. I
started to cry.
"Well?" she said expectantly.
I swallowed, and began to rock my shoulders for her, making my breasts rise and
fall for her entertainment.
"Put your hands on your hips," she commanded.
I obeyed. It was futile questioning her authority. I just wanted it all to be
over, to end.
I wriggled my bottom, hands on hips, my breasts protruding out towards her
sexily, submissively.
"Smile," she instructed.
No doubt she had seen my tears. I was a mess.
I smiled obediently. I had to force it - a horrible fake smile - which I held
through gritted teeth.
"You see - you're enjoying yourself," she said smugly. "You're enjoying kneeling
for me and displaying your breasts for me aren't you?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Aren't you?" she insisted.
I nodded, still forcing the smile.
"Don't slow down," she barked.
I sped up my swaying.
"Look," she said harshly, "I want you to say 'Yes miss' when I ask you a
question. Is that understood?"
That was going too far surely? I couldn't start calling her 'Miss' could I? She
was just an office junior! But if I refused, she would have me on my feet again
- and how long would that go on? I couldn't do that anymore: My feet were
hurting too much.
"Yes miss," I heard myself say.
It was too late anyway now. I was already kneeling at her feet, wriggling my
breasts and hips for her. What difference did calling her 'Miss' make?
"Let's try again," Nicola said, smiling horribly now. "You're enjoying kneeling
before me and doing as I tell you aren't you?"
"Yes miss," I replied shyly through the forced smile.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes miss" I repeated more firmly.
"Now I want you to thank me for letting you rest your legs," she barked.
"Thank you for letting me rest my legs, miss" I mumbled, still wriggling for
her, still smiling, still crying.
"No," she said sharply. "I want you to thank me for letting you kneel."
It was becoming absurd. She was really twisted.
"Thank you for letting me kneel," I said resignedly.
"Good," she said. "Good girl. Good little slut."
A slut? No-one had ever called me a slut before. I wasn't going to stand for
that - no way! I was no slut! That was intolerable.
So why didn't I do something? Why didn't I say something? Why was I still
wriggling my breasts for her?
"Don't slow down," she barked before I could get my head together. "In fact -
get up again, I'm tired of having your slutty little face so close to my knees."
Oh God. She wanted me back on my heels again. I couldn't. I would refuse. I had
to refuse. Why didn't I refuse?
I rose to my feet obediently and resumed dancing for her. She was tormenting me,
enjoying treating me like a slut.
"Knickers down." She barked suddenly.
I was stunned. I dithered, almost stopped dancing altogether.
"KNICKERS DOWN. NOW!" she shrieked.
I would dress as my superiors required. I had signed up to it. I pulled the
skimpy pink silk panties down to my knees, and then, turning to face her, I
wriggled my pussy for her pleasure.
"All the way down to your ankles," Nicola insisted, pointing at my knickers.
I leaned forwards and pushed them down to my ankles, somehow managing to keep
dancing as I did so.
"That's nice, slut." she said. "Wriggle that pussy for me. I want to see that
pussy wriggle."
I obeyed. I bent my head back, arching my back, jutting my breasts out even
further, the nipples shamefully erect. I shook my hips frenetically for her,
offering her my pussy.
"I want to see your arsehole now," she demanded.
Without hesitating, I turned away from her, panties still wrapped around my
ankles, and leaned forwards. I was acting without her explicit instruction -
degrading myself almost voluntarily.
"Spread those cheeks, whore", she growled.
She had called me a 'whore'! Sadly, it felt strangely appropriate. I was a
whore, wasn't I? I had agreed to take of my clothes and gyrate naked for my
superiors in return for money, status... That was the lot of a whore, wasn't it?
I spread my legs apart, prised open my bum-cheeks with my fingers and wriggled
my arsehole for her.
"More." She barked.
I pulled my cheeks further apart, displaying my anal passage to her.
"You're not wriggling fast enough, bitch" she said harshly.
I wriggled my arsehole furiously for her. I was worthless, bent over before her,
knickers around my ankles, spreading my buttocks open with my fingers. Time
seemed to get stuck, the humiliation was unending.
"Next time, slut," she said, "I don't expect to have to remind you how to dance
for me."
Next time? There would be a next time? My heart sank.
I was still wriggling my arsehole for her. When would she let me stop?
"In future," she went on, "when I clap my hands together, you will pull your
panties down, turn around, bend over, spread your legs, and wriggle your
arsehole for me, just as you are now. Understood slut?"
I squealed a small "Yes miss".
"And when I clap my hands together while you are in that position, you will pull
your panties up tightly around your crotch, curtsey for me, and then kneel at my
feet. Is that understood?"
I nodded, mumbled another small "yes miss".
"Let's try that now," she said, and clapped her hands together sharply.
I released my buttocks, reached down and scooped up my panties from my ankles. I
drew them up quickly to my knees, then up around my hips. I pulled them tightly
up the crack of my bum, just as she had instructed. How shamefully obedient I
was. The tears flooded down my cheeks as I turned towards her and curtsied
politely.
What a tragedy: I had just curtsied to one of the CEO's bleached-blonde
secretaries. We all used to laugh about them strutting about like tarts in their
micro-skirts and high heels.
I knelt at her feet (actually glad to take the weight off my ankles) and gazed
resignedly at the delicate straps of her heeled sandals.
"You've stopped wriggling," she said. "I didn't tell you to stop."
Immediately I resumed writhing for her.
"Hands on your hips, whore." She ordered.
I obeyed, numb.
"That is the position you must adopt. Don't forget it. And don't stop wriggling
next time. You are a dancer - so keep dancing. If you want to smile, you can."
I didn't dare refuse. I forced a smile, desperately trying to look happy about
wiggling my naked body for her while kneeling at her feet and gazing at her
ankles.
A few hours ago I had been preparing to dance topless for the CEO. The very
thought of that had been appalling enough. But there I was instead, panties
pulled up high over my hips, kneeling before one of his secretaries; alert to
the clap of her hands so that I could stand, pull my knickers down to my ankles,
bend over, spread my legs, open my arse and wriggle it for her.
Why did I keep obeying her? I was worth more than that, surely?
"Good," Nicola congratulated me. "Very good. You're a good girl Elizabeth."
Curiously I felt glad that I was, in fact, a good girl.
"I'm going to tell the CEO you refused to dance for me," she said suddenly.
What? What!? She couldn't do that - could she?! I had obeyed her every
instruction. I had danced well for her - hadn't I? Wasn't I still dancing well
for her?
"Unless..." she added slowly, "you sit that delicious arsehole of yours down on
my middle finger and show me what an obedient slut you are."
Oh my God! Sit on her middle finger! - That wasn't in the agreement, was it?
They had said no touching, hadn't they? I couldn't humiliate myself like that.
"I..." I stammered. "I'd rather, I mean, I'd prefer not to, please, miss"
"Well, it's up to you," she said coldly.
There was a deafening silence. I was still wriggling my arsehole for her. She
would tell the CEO I had refused to dance! Oh shit - that would mean... Well
that would mean the end of everything I had been struggling so hard to build up.
Oh God.
"I was asked to dance, miss", I sniveled. "Not to do all... that."
"Life's a bitch," she said sharply. "Sit on my finger and I'll tell the CEO you
danced wonderfully for me. I just want to see you wriggle your butt on my
finger, that's all."
I stopped swaying my breasts for her. In an instant I knew I was walking out
right there and then. That was it. The end. Finito. I had had enough.
I stood up, turned away from her.
I took a step forwards. I was out of there. I was gone.
So why did I took a step backwards? And why did I lower my bottom towards her
extended middle finger?
I felt her long finger nail wrap its way around my pulled-up panties. I felt my
arsehole resist as she toyed with its puckered entrance. And then she was inside
me. She slid her middle finger straight up my butt.
I stood there, knees bent, offering her my bum, quivering, in tears. I slid my
arse up and down her finger. I remembered the CEO in the lift, how I had slid up
and down and wriggled on his thumb. It was happening again. I was allowing my
arse to be raped. Where was my dignity? Where was my pride?
"That is delicious, slut" Nicola congratulated me. "You're going to make a
wonderful whore."
I was going to make a wonderful whore? What did she mean by that? I was Senior
PA to the CTO! I was no whore. But as I slid my arse up and down her finger I
had to admit, I was pretty close to being a whore. I wasn't exactly resisting
was I? Why didn't I resist?
"Dance," she ordered.
I danced on her finger. I wriggled and writhed while her finger probed my
passage.
"Delicious," she congratulated me. "Screw yourself on my finger."
I fucked my arse compliantly on her digit.
"Are you going to dance on my finger next time, slut?" she asked.
"Yes miss," I panted.
"You will beg me for my finger next time, won't you slut?"
"Yes miss," I answered, not really caring what I was agreeing to.
She pulled her finger from my arse. God. How shameful that I yearned for it to
be put back there. I had started to enjoy it, hadn't I?
"On your knees," she commanded.
I knelt at her feet obediently. My arsehole glowed, throbbed.
"Good girl," she said. "While you're down there, give my feet a quick massage."
I looked up at her quizzically.
"A massage! Take off my heels and give my feet a massage!" she demanded.
I undid the delicate straps of her high-heeled sandals and then, tenderly, I
started to rub her feet with my fingers, kneading them in my palms. She sighed
with pleasure.
"Use your breasts," she ordered.
I peered up at her questioningly again.
"Massage my feet with your breasts, you stupid slut!" she barked.
I leaned forwards until the tip of my one of my nipples was brushing against the
top of one of her feet. Is this what she wanted? She gasped and I saw that it
was. I pressed the breast into her foot, rubbed them together, making a swirling
motion with my chest, almost prostrate before her. When she lifted her ankle, I
caressed the sole of her foot with my nipples. She moaned with pleasure.
"That's good Elizabeth..." she purred. "The CEO will be so pleased when I report
back to him."
Good. That was all I wanted. It was almost over, wasn't it? Just had to keep
going. It would be over soon.
"Use your tongue," she commanded suddenly.
Oh God. She wanted me to lick her feet! That was what whores did, wasn't it? I
was no whore - I was Senior PA to the CTO - there was no way I was going to lick
her feet!
But I was massaging them with my bare breasts. Was there really any difference?
Hadn't I already sunk as low as I could go?
"I'm not a, you know - " My voice trembled, "I'm not a whore, miss."
She snorted.
"Not yet you're not," she snapped. "Some girls don't have the choice. You should
be grateful that you do."
What did she mean? She wanted me to choose to be a whore?
I knew what I had to do. The same choice again: Submit to her, or walk away with
nothing. Less than nothing. That wasn't a choice.
I stuck out my tongue and licked gently at her toes.
I traced my tongue along her painted toe-nails. I kissed each toe. I poked my
tongue into the gaps between her toes - exactly as many a whore had done for me
at 'The Scrava'. I tasted her feet. I had never given any thought to how feet
might taste before. Now I knew. And I knew my role. I was to clean them, suck
the toes clean, massage them with my tongue. Worship them.
I find it hard to comprehend how I submitted so completely to her. She poked my
face with her feet. I continued to lap eagerly at them. I had danced on her
finger, now I was sucking her toes clean.
She stood and had me lie supine under the soles of her feet, from where I
tongued them furiously. She trod in my face, twisted her foot into it, making me
her doormat.
"You're a dirty slut," she growled, rubbing a foot into my breasts. "Now get up
and dance for me again."
I stood and started to dance for her again, the taste of her feet still with me,
my arsehole still tingling from the finger-fucking she had given it.
"You're going to make a wonderful whore, Elizabeth," she said.
She paced around me while I danced, admiring me, encouraging me with little
snaps of her fingers.
"Knees," she barked suddenly.
I sank to my knees obediently.
"Suck on this," she ordered, waving her middle finger across my face.
Oh God. I was to taste my own arse-juices again?! No, please. Not that.
I sobbed and trembled as I took her finger into my mouth. I wrapped my tongue
around it and tasted myself on it. She pushed it towards my throat and I gagged
on it. She poked it in and out of my face, fucking my mouth with her finger.
I was still kneeling there sucking obediently on her middle finger when the CEO
and his two guests returned. They walked past me as I tasted myself on that
finger. I didn't dare stop.
"I take it Elizabeth has performed to an acceptable standard?" The CEO asked.
"Yes sir," Nicola said, finally pulling her finger out of my mouth. "She is a
lovely dancer."
"Good - well that will be all for today, girls" he said.
I stood nervously. I felt their eyes on me. They seemed to be waiting for
something.
Nicola nodded at me, coughed, half raised an eyebrow. They were waiting for me
to curtsey.
I curtsied first to the CEO.
"Thank you, sir" I said politely. He had spanked me into this. He wouldn't even
look at me while I curtsied for him. Bastard.
I turned to each of his two male guests and did the same.
Finally I turned to Nicola. She was smiling evilly.
"Thank you, miss" I said, and curtsied neatly before her.
"Dismissed," the CEO said.
I trotted to the door of the office, my pink knickers still pulled up tightly
around my crotch. At the door I spun around, remembering suddenly what I had
been instructed to do before ending a performance.
Nicola was looking at me, but the others seemed disinterested.
"Thank you for permitting me to dance for you sir," I said and curtsied to the
CEO.
He didn't even look up.
