Author: Yokohama Joe

Title: Trouble at the office party

Summary: A high-pressure financial services company must sometimes use extreme methods to ensure that staff members don’t break the rules

Keywords: MM/F nc tort snuff viol

Trouble at the office party

By Yokohama Joe, 2013

This is pornography but definitely not erotic. Be charitable because English is not my native language.

The tables had been pushed against two walls in one of the larger meeting rooms, and they’d been loaded up with snacks and a variety of soft and alcoholic drinks. On one of them a large cake sat in the middle, with the logo of the company emblazoned across it in colorful icing. About forty employees mixed and chatted amiably – these late afternoon office parties were laid on by the management once every few months, and all of the staff members who’d more recently joined considered them to be a testimony to the company’s enlightened and generous attempts to keep the staff happy and well satisfied in their jobs. The staff members who’d been with the company longer, however, though they agreed with that and thoroughly enjoyed the regular parties, nevertheless sometimes seemed ill at ease and a bit on edge.

Most of the staff were young professionals, probably about 60% male and 40% female, all quite bright and eager, and good at what they did. The firm was a financial services company in the islands that performed a range of investment and banking operations for what looked like a number of varied companies, but was really one big company under a lot of different names – actually, it was a sophisticated money laundering operation for an international criminal organization, placing investments and moving money through a variety of shell companies, and so. All of the staff knew that, but the company, for their benefit and for its own, took great care to shield them from usable evidence and to provide them with suitable deniability. Personally, they had no wish to know anything about the awful crimes that had produced the money they were investing – they preferred to know only that they were employing their exceptional skills and training in finance and making a pile of money in doing so. Nearly all of them planned to go back to the USA or in some cases a European country in four or five years with great experience, valuable references, and a very sizable nest egg to kickstart the rest of their careers with. All they had to do when they left was to sign a somewhat distressingly explicit oath of secrecy about their work with the firm, in order to protect its trading secrets.

Working in the company was in almost all ways like working in any other company of a similar size and kind – the management was supportive, the colleagues were friendly and mutually helpful, but it was subtly made clear to all of them, frequently, that things could get really rough, perhaps catastrophically so, for anyone who behaved in a way that was not consonant with the company’s best interest. In the day to day operations, everyone was aware of that but it did not interfere at all with either their work or their morale.

Amongst the mostly young staff, there were a few somewhat older managers of departments, a sprinkling of slightly stouter and greyer gentlemen a bit more conservatively dressed and a few women, perhaps in their late 30s or 40s, stylishly but, again, a bit more conservatively dressed, all mixing freely and easily with their colleagues and the more junior staff of their own departments. One of those was Ms Petrakis, an obviously sophisticated woman in her mid-40s, sexy but very professional, a bit reserved, even a bit stand-offish perhaps, but politely friendly – at the moment, she was listening to another middle manager as he explained the operations he was trying to get on top of, and she was nodding attentively.

A little later, three of the company’s security men joined the party and circulated through the group, exchanging greetings and pleasantries with everyone. The senior security man, Mr Donovan, approached Ms Petrakis and her companion – he smiled broadly and threw his arm across her shoulders, and gave her a strong sideways hug, as the man she had been talking with quickly faded back a bit. Donovan addressed the staff members and announced Ms Petrakis’ fifteen years service with the company, ostensibly the surprise reason for the party, and he added “and you’re still as beautiful as you were when you first come to join us here”. She smiled at the group, somewhat uncomfortably, it seemed, and then Mr Donovan paused, cleared his throat and let his warm smile fade away, and he announced in a very sad manner that the home office had known for some time that someone was skimming considerable sums of money off the top and he had now been requested to identify who that person was.

Ms Petrakis’ face went pale, and she stared straight ahead in terror; her hands were fidgeting compulsively in front of her. “Ladies and gentleman,” Mr Donovan continued, “ it’s unfortunately true that sometimes even our best friends may go astray and do something that really is unforgivable, and when that happens, well, we’ve got to do what we’ve got to do”.

He turned and punched Ms Petrakis hard in the abdomen but held her up with his arm gripping hard round her shoulders. A second security man stepped forward and punched her in the face, breaking her nose flat onto her face, with blood and snot spurting out, and then again, this time knocking out three of her front teeth. Then, as Donovan held her up, the man backed up, stepped forward and kicked her hard square in the cunt, then he grabbed her big tits through her ruffled white blouse as Donovan pulled her suit jacket off, then her blouse, then the second man cut off her bra and let it fall and started punching her big tits, over and over as they squashed flat into her rib cage, bounced out and about, and began to turn purple.

Alternatively holding her up for the other to work on her, they pulled off her skirt, yanked down her panties and pantyhose, and swung her around in a circle facing her colleagues, her trimmed cunt lips opening and closing a little as her flailing legs tried to keep up with the whirling momentum. They turned her round and kicked her hard up her ass crack, then turned her back and planted a heavy work shoe right up her cunt. They punched her hard in the kidneys, over and over, and she was pissing blood-streaked urine down her legs and onto the floor. Then they dropped her and she tried to get into a protective fetal position, but they began kicking her all over, wherever she was most vulnerable, as she writhed naked on the floor and tried to ward off their blows.

The two men, now joined by the third security officer, stepped back and let Ms Petrakis squirm naked on the floor in terrible pain. She hadn’t said a word, in protesting her innocence or pleading for mercy, nor had she really screamed very much, but she was droning a loud and almost demented, wordless monotone that was horrible to hear. She was clearly really badly damaged and must have known that it was not over.

They tried to hoist her back to her feet by her hair, but her legs were useless and she couldn’t get her feet under her, so one of them grabbed her under her armpits, dragged her up, and held her up by a massive arm crushed across her tits from behind. They started punching her again in the ribcage, in her vulva, and hard into her lower belly. She was convulsing, and then spewed out an explosive stream of puke from her mouth and nose – they let her fall to her knees and then collapse onto her smashed-up face in the pools of vomit, still jerking about and spasming, hysterically trying to suck in air between pulses of bile blasting out of her mouth. One of them then took two fast steps forward and kicked her hard in her bulging brown anus and she sprawled out flat into the puke, still retching violently.

They paused again, and then when Ms Petrakis had stopped vomiting and begun the horrible monotone cry again, they dragged her upright again, approached her with a cattle prod, shoved it up between her fleshy cunt lips and gave her a loud, snapping zap in her cunt hole. As the electricity shot up through her, she went down again in wild convulsions with her arms and legs jerking out and flailing all over. Donovan grabbed her hips and pulled her up onto all fours, then the second man zapped the cattle prod directly onto her bulging anal knot, and she began convulsing again. Blood-streaked piss flew all over as she writhed about, and then she shit out a little turd, and then another little turd , and then a small cascade of loose, brown, smelly shit that smeared down her cunt lips and legs and onto the floor under her.

A blast of blood exploded out of her mouth, along with the end of her tongue; snot and blood were running out of her flattened nose as well, which had been pushed over towards one side of her face. One of her eyes was purple now and swollen nearly shut. The partygoers had definitely lost the party mood by this time and were staring at the events with a mixture of horror, shock, and disgust. Obviously no one considered even for a second trying to intervene in any way. The third security man was seen pulling a surgical glove onto one hand and staring at Ms Petrakis’ struggles on the floor in front of him.

One of Mr Donovan’s assistants, as the other two struggled to hold her upright, began systematically pummelling her all over with a stout baton or nightstick, in the abdomen and lower back by the kidneys, on her tits and into her ribs in front and back, up into her crotch of course, but also all over her inner thighs and buttocks. When the man had virtually destroyed the woman with the baton, they dropped her onto the floor and caught their breath as she lay face down with arms and legs outstretched and keened her loud, demented monotone of grief and terror.

Then they dragged her up again and ran her straight at the main table, and they shoved her face deep down into the big cake with the company’s logo on it. She was soon suffocating, banging her arms on table; they pulled her up, as she hysterically tried to blow out her airways, then shoved her facedown in the cake again. The man with the glove on shoved his thumb hard up her anus, and then rammed two fingers up her cunt hole; he gripped them together hard and began twisting the perineum between her asshole and her vagina, bouncing her up and down by this horrible perineal grip as her feet scrabbled on the floor and she suffocated in the cake. He continued gripping, scraping rectal and vaginal walls, as blood began leaking out both her holes onto the glove, and then he yanked demonically hard and tore the bridge of tissue and muscle out of her crotch.

She was convulsing wildly now, and they pulled her head up out of the cake, threw her down on the floor on her back, and kicked her limbs into a spread-eagle. They continued kicking her everywhere except in her head, and they zapped her all over with the cattle prod over and over as she jerked and writhed with her big tits flopping wildly around on her damaged chest.

Her eyes showed her terror and despair, but the monotone keening had stopped and she made no sound except an insane mewing and babbling. Her eyes began to become glassy and completely unfocused, and she had stopped convulsing. Finally she lay inert on floor, face up, legs wide open and her cunt swollen and bloody, with blood saturating her pubic bush. Donovan shoved the cattle prod far up her ruined cunt hole and zapped it, but this time there was no reaction; they rolled her over and rammed the prod into what had been her asshole, and again there was no reaction.

Donovan stood on her arm then and ground her fingers under his boot heel until most of them were broken and bent off at impossible angles. They rolled her over facedown and Mr Donovan stood up on her bloody ass cheeks and walked up her back heavily, turned around at her shoulders and walked back to her buttocks. She made no reaction. They stuck the cattle prod into her ass crack again and gave her a maximum jolt that caused her whole body to spasm wildly right off the floor, but there was no sign of life in her. Then the security men turned her back over, grabbed her under her armpits and began dragging her out of the room, trailing a smear of blood across the floor behind them. Her big tits were purple and massively misshapen, and hanging off the sides of her chest, and her belly was also purple and swollen hideously. Her genitals were covered with blood, with the torn flesh from the middle of her crotch hanging out and still dripping blood freely, and her pubic hair was matted with it. Mr Donovan strode ahead and opened the door for the men and their former colleague, and they all passed out into the corridor outside.

When the little funeral cortège left the room, everyone stood still, pretty much in shock, glancing around at one another uncomfortably, as three maids came in with mops and rolling buckets and quickly cleaned up the piss, blood, and vomit from the floor and the tracks and smears leading out the door as the men had dragged her off. They cleared away the ruined anniversary cake and laid a new tablecloth over that table, then pushed their equipment back out of the room without a word.

Mr Donovan hurried back into the room, in a clean shirt, and spread his arms wide as if to embrace everyone. “I’m sorry about that, my colleagues and friends,” he said, “that was very regrettable. I really hope that we never have to do something like that again. I really mean that!”

He smiled sadly from one to another of them and shook his head as if to put the unpleasantness behind them, and then he invited everyone to continue the party and relax as much as possible, and be ready for a full day of productive work the next day.

People began to murmur together in their small groups, many still obviously unnerved but everyone determined to do their best to carry on as well as they could. There were no loud and cheerful laughs, but conversation was slowly regaining some momentum, and many of the more experienced hands were actually beginning to go back to discussing other subjects than what they had all just witnessed.

One smartly dressed young woman, who’d gone quite pale, said somewhat furtively to the man she was standing with that she found the whole episode very cruel and unfair, such extreme punishment without even a fair trail and evidence. The gentleman replied that frankly Ms Petrakis’ activities had become an open secret amongst the senior staff for several months past, and that in fact some of them had been wondering when the head office was finally going to step in and put a stop to it. And of course, he said, they would have felt that they had to do it in a way that would be a very strong deterrent to the entire staff.

She thought about that, but still shook her head slowly, and then she said that she doubted the punishment would have been as vulgar and violent and sexual if the culprit had been a man instead of a woman. Surely, she said, they would never have treated a senior male in the same way.

They would indeed, her colleague replied. In fact, he said, they did so only about eighteen months ago – a high-ranking officer of the company, something like number three or four in this branch of the operation. At one of their regular staff gatherings, Mr Donovan and his two then-assistants, not the present men, had unmasked him publicly, stripped him naked, and beat him horribly all over until he was not far from dead. Then they broke all of his fingers individually, and after that they had held him down and hacked off his penis and testicles and stuffed them into his mouth as he lay writhing on his back on the floor and screaming hysterically. They proceeded to duct tape his mouth shut over his bulging cheeks as his eyes rolled frantically and snot blew out of his nose as he tried to clear it in order to breathe. And finally they punched him in the nose several times and broke it all over his face.

As the security men stood up and stepped away from him, he said, the man had continued trying to blow his nose clear, but as it was flowing with blood and snot it was impossible. He had begun to suffocate and his hips bounced up and down on the floor, pulses of arterial blood spurting out from the large hole in his crotch and splashing across the floor. His arms were free and he was trying maniacally to tear the duct tape off his mouth, but his broken fingers could only slap onto the tape in vain. And that was how the man had died, he said, staring up at them from his smashed-up face and lying in a spreading pool of blood.

Things went pretty much back to normal in the office over the coming days, as everyone, both new and more experienced staff members, absorbed the lesson and determined never to try to cheat the bosses themselves. Though the incident had been shocking to all of them, at the same time it did not really touch them personally because they knew that they themselves were not guilty of the same disloyalty and therefore such a thing would never happen to them.

Ms Petrakis’ cubicle was cleared out and stood empty for a while, and many of the staff members felt a little chilled as they walked by it. Two weeks later, however, a new man arrived to take over her role and moved into her cubicle, and the management laid on another party in the same room to welcome him to the team.