Her Nemesis Master (Dark BDSM Erotica) (2 page)

Steeling herself, determined not to be intimidated by this
boorish brute, Emily slowly turned round with an expression of
disdain, hoping that the look she gave him would discourage him
from saying anything else. It usually worked for her – Emily had a
reputation for being able to turn men to stone with her Medusa
glare and a haughty tilt of her pretty chin.

But the man wasn’t petrified. He remained a tower of living
flesh that wasn’t in the slightest intimidated. And to make matters
worse, he even had the gall to blow Emily a kiss!

As you might imagine, Emily was fuming by this point, and with
anger came the courage to look the man over properly for the first
time. He stood around six foot tall, six one at a push – just a
couple of inches more than Emily in her heels. He had a solid
looking build, hunky some might say, pretty tasty if you liked a
lot of beef on a man, which Emily had never subscribed to in the
past. His face was quite threatening with jet black hair and
equally dark eyes, and black designer stubble that added to his
ruggedness. Emily had to admit that he had a certain appeal, or at
least he would appeal to women who liked a bit of rough. But he
certainly wasn’t Emily’s type – or at least that’s what she’d have
told you on the day of that first encounter - Mrs. Johnson
professing to prefer more sophisticated sorts, so normally she
wouldn’t look twice at such an uncouth man. Yet she looked at him
now, and she looked at him warily. There was such arrogance to his
countenance and fire in his dark eyes – a self confidence that
defied belief. He absorbed Emily’s glare and smirked at her again
then continued with his foul mouthed diatribe as he in return
looked Emily up and down.

“Oh yeah... you’ve got a lovely pair of tits as well! And a
real pretty face under that dyed blonde hair. The coral shade of
lipstick really suits you. It would suit you even better if you
were to get those tits out as I bet it matches the colour of your
nipples...”

Emily gasped. How could he possibly know her reason for the
shade? That was a closely guarded secret – a little bit of
naughtiness in her prim and proper life that only her closest
confidents had been told about!

“Really!” exclaimed the man - delighted at her transparency.
He stared at the breasts where the nipples were hidden then back to
the face with lips the same shade, fully on view and partially
opened in complete and utter shock. “You saucy little minx!” he
added. “And I bet you enjoy wrapping those coral painted lips
around a fat cock. You look like the sort who gives really good
head. I’ll definitely get you to suck my cock before I stuff it up
your ass.”

Emily was mortified and totally stunned. It didn’t seem
possible this was happening to her. She half expected the man to
laugh and say it was all a joke – a crude piece of banter that got
way out of hand. She could have handled the situation if that had
been the case. She would have slapped him on the face and that
would have been that. But the man didn’t laugh! He was actually
serious about what he said! The whole thing was scarily
surreal.

Affronted, Emily turned away and glanced again at the display
above the door. There was a sigh of relief - they were approaching
the 4th floor and almost at the lobby. To calm herself before
arrival, Emily rested her hand on the bare skin beneath her pearls
and felt the clamminess of her perspiring skin. A vein in her neck
was pulsing, ticking out the beat of her galloping heart. She kept
looking at the counter, praying for the numbers to fall to zero.
Poor Emily didn’t know what else to do. Then suddenly a thought
struck her.

As four moved to three on the digital display, Emily wondered
if this was some sort of set up – an office prank at her expense.
Perhaps that evil cow, Tessa Clifford, was testing Emily out,
trying to get some dirt to use against her.
Tessa was head of Human Resources, and Emily’s sole rival in
the all female battle to be the company’s queen bitch. They hated
each other with a passion, Tessa having vigorously opposed Emily’s
appointment three years ago when an influential family friend had
secured Mrs. Johnson an interview when the post of Donald Harper’s
P.A. became vacant. Emily had interpreted this as pure jealousy of
course – twenty pounds over-weight and fast approaching forty, it
was obvious that Tessa didn’t want to see a younger, more
attractive woman strutting around the top floor. The fact that
there had been better qualified applicants for the post was
irrelevant in Emily’s view - a smokescreen that Tessa threw up to
hide her ulterior motive. But Donald insisted, and Emily got the
job – social networking carrying sufficient weight to secure the
appointment – the ‘Old School Tie’ coming into play, even in this
day and age. War with Tessa had been declared from the very first
day: a private war that was professional and backstabbing,
underhand, and at times downright ruthless.

But would the evil witch organise something like this?
Emily couldn’t imagine that Tessa would dare. But
just to be safe, she turned to the man again and quietly stated
that she wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer, and would
he please refrain from speaking to her in such a foul and vulgar
way.

The man laughed in return, but not in jest. It was a laugh
that sent a shiver through Emily’s bones.

“Oh you’re interested,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I know
your type, Blondie - a real slut for cock. I bet you service the
boss and most of those other big shots up on the top floor. Part of
the job description for a personal assistant, isn’t it – giving
good head to relieve corporate stress. Good head, good cunt and
good ass as well - perhaps all three at once. Why else did they
hire a dumb blonde like you? But you should help out the ordinary
guys as well. And by God, you’ll help out me! Don’t worry; I’ll
have you begging for it in no time. In fact, why don’t we do it
now?”

With this, the man leaned forwards and punched the ‘STOP’
button on the wall. The elevator came to a juddering halt between
the 1st and 2nd floors.

Panic set in anew. Emily was now terrified. She wondered if
the man was actually serious and planned to assault her here in the
elevator. Emily dived into her bag and took out her mobile phone.
She held it out like a knife to fend him off.

“What are you doing?” Emily asked - her voice kept low as if
afraid to yell out and let the world know of her trouble. “I’m not
interested in having anything to do with you! I suggest you stop
this disgusting talk and start the elevator again. I’ll call
Security... I will! They’ll be waiting at the bottom, so don’t try
anything funny.”

The man shook his head and laughed at Emily’s threats. Then he
told her of his plan.

“I’m not going to fuck you in here, you stupid bitch. I was
only joking about that. I want more from you than a quick knee
trembler against the elevator wall. There’s a men’s changing room
down in the basement - really basic with just a shower and a
toilet. Not many people know that it’s there. Most people use the
posh facilities on the ground floor. A few weirdo joggers use it at
lunchtime, but other than that it’s never occupied. Except by me of
course... I’ve screwed lots of women in there. Screwed them and
buggered them which I really enjoy – I absolutely love fucking a
woman up the ass. But I’ve never had anyone with a rump quite like
yours. So come on, Blondie! Drop all the stuck up, butter wouldn’t
melt crap, and take the elevator down to the basement with me. You
can suck my cock and then I’ll bugger you really hard – take you
from behind like a dog, so you’ll know you’re now my bitch. Let’s
do it! You know you want to.”

The man’s finger hovered over the ‘BASEMENT’ button. He looked
at Emily quizzically. Emily shook her head and quickly reached out
to punch the ‘START’ button, again telling the man that she wasn’t
interested. Emily silently prayed that he would leave it be – that
she would arrive at the lobby safe and sound.

She did.

There was no further attempt to halt the elevator or cajole
Emily into going to the basement. When they reached the lobby only
a few seconds later, the man laughed quietly and departed without
further incident.

Emily watched him leave, striding towards the entrance with
all the macho confidence of a street fighter who’d just left an
opponent battered on the ground. Feeling like such an opponent,
Emily stood by the elevator unable to move her legs. She waited
until he’d left the building – the man making his exit whilst
whistling a jaunty tune, seemingly indifferent to the terror in his
wake. Noticing her distress, the security guard in the lobby asked
if there was a problem. Emily blurted out some nonsense about
elevators making her giddy – and it was such a long way down from
the twentieth floor – although not quite as long as it could have
been. Refusing the guard’s offer to fetch her some water, Emily
waited in the lobby for a couple of minutes before she left the
building and took the underground home.

Chapter
2

The half hour journey home was a nightmare for Emily. She
tried to read a novel, but she couldn’t concentrate. She was far
too disturbed by the events in the elevator - by what the man had
said, and by how she had reacted. Emily couldn’t fathom why she
hadn’t reported the incident straight away. She could have yelled
out, she could have slapped the uncouth oaf, she could have told
the security guard to call the police once she was safely out of
the elevator. But she had done none of these things. Her normal
assertive persona had been washed away to be replaced by a weak
ineffectual woman, powerless in the face of depraved vulgarity so
assuredly presented. Emily wondered why she’d acted like that. Was
it fear? And if so, fear of what? The man himself had made no
physical threat, just crude suggestions that were obscenely
unnatural... Taking it up the ass indeed! As if Emily Johnson would
ever do that!

Once home, it crossed her mind to tell Les what had happened,
but she knew he would have fretted and probably nagged her about
reporting it, so Emily decided it would be better to leave it be.
She tried to blank it all out, following the normal pattern of her
comfortable life.

And on the face of it she succeeded, enjoying a good dinner
and a few glasses of Chablis, relaxing afterwards with Les rubbing
her feet – it was business as usual for Mrs. Johnson. But that
night her sub-conscience took a different track. In her sleep Emily
found herself in some ill-defined enclosed space, trapped by a dark
and sultry man, pinned to the wall by his bulk. He was attacking
her from behind and Emily was pitifully resisting. She was telling
him no, but she wasn’t fighting him off with any real conviction.
In this disturbing dream the man tore off Emily’s clothes. He pawed
roughly at her body, pinching her nipples and violating her sex,
obscenely fingering her gushing pussy. He prised her legs apart –
in her sleep she watched it happen – she saw a huge cock slide up
and down between her buttocks, riding her crack before settling
over the pucker. Not only did she see, but in her dream she
actually felt it, as that scarily large cock was rammed all the way
in, bludgeoning past her aching anal ring and plundering into her
virginal chute. She was screaming her head off, which must have
been the pain – but in this weird bizarre dream there was a
confusing refrain – ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ being the catchphrase at play.
The exhortation continued as the man buggered her wildly, Emily
screaming out ‘Yes!’ as he ploughed her guts with his rampant
erection – punching it into her time after time. Emily howled like
a whore, which was far from normal – a few faked moans was as much
as she usually gave – but then this wasn’t real, it was only her
sub-conscious. As the man pounded into her, he squashed Emily hard
against the wall, pulling her hair back so he could gloat in her
face, revelling in his conquest and Emily’s sluttish behaviour. The
man fucked her till he came and squirted out his seed, firing the
mess deep in Emily’s bowels. Then he roughly pulled out and backed
away into a shadow as Emily collapsed in a heap on the floor, spunk
dribbling out of her gaping asshole.

Emily woke up the following morning to find a wet spot in the
bed, but it wasn’t the semen of the man in her dreams – it was her
own vaginal juices that were to blame for the stain. This was very
odd, a copious emission from her normally dry pussy. And even rarer
was the fact that Emily was hungry for some sex... and first thing
in the morning! How depraved was that!

She roused her husband and demanded that he fuck her. Les was
totally stunned by the unusual request and the depths of Emily’s
passion: sex in the morning before a shower and brushing their
teeth – that was something Emily had never allowed. Their sex had
always been clean and sanitised, not raw and dirty like
this.

Raw and dirty! That says a lot about the hard put-upon Mr.
Johnson if he thinks dirty sex means not showering first. But then
he came from the Welsh Valleys and had led a sheltered life, so
perhaps it’s understandable.

Whatever! He still made the most if it. Les did his happy duty
and slipped his wife a morning glory – it was modest in size, just
like his imagination when it came to fornication. He slipped his
little prick into her, moaning with pleasure, the entry helped
along by an unusual moistness to his wife’s pussy that added to the
thrill. Bang! Bang! Bang! And then the man was done. A few minutes
of missionary pounding and he was squirting out his load with his
face smothered in the pillow, muffling his grunts in consideration
of the neighbours.