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9.
J for her part was so desperately involved that she had no inkling of Emily's departure. Her entire being was focused only on pleasing. She had decided that complete surrender on her part was all that would ease and speed the hours ahead.
Mildred was completely enthralled with her moment in the sun. Playing to her audience, she used her grip on J's ears to wrestle the young woman's face viciously into her pussy. When at last she orgasmed, it owed itself as much to the thrill of being watched as to J's frantic tongue.
With a final grunt of satisfaction she wrenched J's shiny face from between her thighs and forced it up and back for all to admire. Satisfied with her performance, Mildred struggled up out of the huge chair and made the announcement she had heard often but never, until then, had the pleasure of voicing.
“If the Mistresses will again form the gauntlet…the slave, J… my slave… will thank you for your attentions on our way out.”
Once more the ladies of the bridge club aligned themselves along the red carpet and Mildred jerked sharply on J's lead to get her attention.
“As I walk you out, you will keep your head low and kiss each Mistress's foot in gratitude for your first lesson in humility. If you embarrass me you will regret it, bitch. Now…Heel!”
With that, J began crawling again. At each pair of feet she paused and lowered her lips. Her mouth paid homage to one foot after the other as she was led along back up the red plush under her knees. J kept her head down but from above the comments of unseen lips drifted down to her.
At a pair of highly arched black patents,
“Save something for us, Mildred.”
A set of highly glossed toes in heeled lame sandals.
“If I had drawn her she would be crawling along with a belly full of piss by now.”
A nylon clad foot that was slipped from its shoe and presented with its sour scent.
“Check out the freaky nipples on the slut. I have a sharp new set of clamps that I can't wait to try out.”
And then, finally, the floor ahead of J was empty. Her knees had begun to ache beyond all of her other pains and she was thankful for the short legs she followed during her struggle up the hard marble stairs. Upstairs, she was led into a private bedroom. During the hours that followed she was never urged to make love. Her face was repeatedly used more or less as a saddle. Something her Mistress rode for her pleasure. In the periods between her orgasms, Mistress Mildred aroused herself by slapping, pinching and twisting J's most tender parts. Often J had the distinct impression that she was being punished for being tall and attractive.
At the very end of the ordeal the Mistress Mildred decided that J had earned a cum of her own and had begun stroking her. It was impossible. Save for the sweat and slobber coating its exterior, J's pussy was as arid as the Sahara . In a fury Mildred had almost yanked out the hair on both J's head and mound before thrusting her out into the hall in frustrated disgust.
The slave V had been waiting and collected the sobbing heap she had become. J had been led downstairs and bathed. She was helped into her clothes. All of this was done in silence. The last thing J remembered was being handed into the limo. Knowing that she was at last out of danger must have shut down her memory. Her next awareness came with an awakening in her own bed.
Once her mind focused, J thanked God that it was a weekend. Every muscle cried at the least movement and her immediate thought was to quit. There was no way she could see herself surviving two years of this. She limped to the shower, swallowing several Ibuprophin on her way.
All of Saturday was spent easing herself back into rationality. Sunday was little better. She was so afraid of any contact from the woman she now thought of as Mistress Emily that she had unplugged her phone. There was nothing else for it. When she returned to the office she would tender her resignation and pack her bags. She would find a small town somewhere and begin again. A town where wealth would probably be measured by the number of cattle a person owned but fuck it…at least she would be safe.
On Monday morning J walked into her firm half expecting snide glances. The shame of her evening at the bridge club was so fresh that she felt she must appear branded. If anything though, to her surprise, the secretaries greeted her more warmly than she was accustomed to. Even so, it was a relief to reach her office and close the door behind her.
It was empty. Other than the furniture dimples in the carpet the room was almost bare. Almost… because a single, beribboned bottle sat on the floor where her desk had stood. Stooping she picked it up and recognized the label. Macallan. The exclusive scotch Geller had offered her earlier. She heard the door open behind her and turned.
“Congratulations, Miss. Jackson . Or perhaps I should call you Judy now and you call me Sid.”
“Mr. Geller, I…”
“Me first. I had a call Saturday from Mrs. Dawes-Smith. She advised me that you would be representing her interests henceforth and that she did not feel it suitable that her tax attorney of record be so junior here. Needless to say, I agreed wholeheartedly.”
“Mr. Geller…”
“I am going to be honest with you, Judy. I suggested a junior partnership. She said that if that was best I could do she would take you without us. I called a meeting of senior partners at the country club over the weekend. It was unanimous. This firm is now Geller, Gant, Perkins and… Jackson .”
“I'm speechless. I...well, I thank you. All of you.”
“This is all the thanks we need.” He replied, waving a sheet of paper.
“What is it?”
“A power of attorney, in your name, that grants this firm access to the financial records of ASSCO Inc. The major holding company of the Smith assets. I had your stuff moved last night to one of the corner suites. It's only temporary. I sent for a decorator. Have her do your office anyway you like. The sky's the limit. You did it, Judy. I don't know how but you really did it. You got her for us, baby!”
So there it all was, J thought. Just as Mistress Emily had said it would be.
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