"… and that's it, folks, for the seven p.m. news. Goodnight." She smiled sweetly and waited for the red light to fade. When it did, Cheryl sighed. It had been one hell of a newscast. She'd given her side of it perfectly. She always did.
But Roxanne had fucked up the weather – the Goddamn, stinking simple weather!
She'd misread the numbers, gotten tongue-tied, even given the same stuff over a couple times. It had been a disaster. But what the hell? Cheryl was going to make sure that the girl didn't last very much longer.
As soon as she could see Ed Morgan…
She stood and decided she might as well strike while the iron was hot. The Boss Man was supposedly in his inner sanctum. She remembered then that she'd never even set eyes on the man. He could have been standing and watching the disaster with the weather the entire time. He might already know what she was going to tell him.
So much the better.
She got up and walked briskly down the corridor to the back door, went out and down the path to the isolated building where he had his private office. She never figured out why he insisted on such an isolated place for an office.
Cheryl would find out. Soon.
She knocked on the heavy door. A speaker beside the door blared, "Who is it?"
"It's Cheryl. You know, the anchorman on the news. I've got a couple things I'd like to talk to you about, Mr. Morgan. It's about the crew on the news."
The electric lock buzzed open and let her in. She closed the door behind her and gasped at the opulence of the office. It was done in a decor that was more suited to a harem. Everything was done in plush velvets and mirrors and brass and…
"Come into my office, Cheryl." The voice seemed to come from out of thin air.
She walked toward another door that mysteriously opened in front of her. She guessed he must be some sort of a privacy nut. He didn't even have a secretary.
The carpeting under her feet didn't allow a single creak of her shoes to echo in the room. In fact, that was something downright spooky. There was no sound at all in the perfectly soundproofed room.
Entering the office didn't give her a better impression of the owner. He was dressed entirely in black. Silk or satin from the look of it, she thought. He was seated behind a desk made out of some black wood – or perhaps stained black. He had only one telephone on the desk. No papers, no indication he ever did any work.
Yet, there was something absolutely chilling about the man. He looked perfectly normal – except…
Cheryl couldn't put her finger on it.
She started explaining her position: "… so I don't think the news is going to be able to do very well in the ratings as long as Roxanne is giving the weather. She's a complete bitch. You can look at the tapes of tonight's show and see for yourself."
"I've seen them." His voice was even, well modulated – and as cold as an iceberg.
"Then you agree that she'd got to go?"
He merely nodded.
"I, uh, don't know quite how to phrase this…" Cheryl was ready for her big pitch. If she could convince this Ed Morgan that the station manager wasn't doing his job, maybe she could wrangle the promotion and get some real power.
She was sure she could talk even this human iceberg into it. She hadn't worn that ultra-short skirt for nothing. She made a big production of crossing her legs, making sure he could see all way up to her snatch. For some reason, he didn't move a muscle. Not so much a facial muscle twitched at the sight which should have turned him into a raving sex fiend.
"I was thinking Murray might do better in some, uh, other job better suited to his temperament. I just don't believe he's capable of carrying on as station manager."
"And you want the job." He didn't ask, he stated. "Yes."
"There has been a replacement of that man in the back of my mind for some time. A variety of things, not just the reasons you cited. But I need someone in that position who will… cooperate with me. Indulge my whims. Are you that person?"
Cheryl smiled. It was the same old routine. Just like with Roger and Dave and Murray and all the others. Put out and get the job. "Sure. I think I can indulge you – if I'm guaranteed the job."
Morgan picked up the phone and punched one button on the base. "Murray, this is Ed. I'm transferring you to the station up north. Yeah, the new one. I need someone with experience to get it to number one in the ratings. Leave tomorrow and get it going for me. Yes, of course. No, that's too much. All right. Agreed."
He hung up the phone and turned back to Cheryl, saying, "The job of station manager here is open. Shall we… indulging my whims?"
She started unbuttoning her blouse. She smiled innocently as she did so.
He held up his hand. "Not here. In my private room. In the back."
On some silent command, the door opened. Cheryl walked into the room, making sure her ass was properly twitching to give the man the proper amount of arousal. For this job, she'd go through hell. And all she was being asked for was…
To go through hell.
The lights came on in the room. She could barely believe her eyes. The place looked more like a torture chamber than a bedroom. All sorts of odd gadgets hung on the walls. Whips and chains and devices so ghastly her mind refused to comprehend their use.
"But…"
Strong arms scooped her up and carried her to the middle of the room. Two quick moves and she was chained, one arm hanging high ever her head. Another series of quick moves and her other arm was chained to a pillar five feet away. She was hung up by her arms, her feet barely able to stay on the ground.
Her legs were beginning to strain, the muscles to knot, and she had only been hung up for a few seconds. And the agony lancing down her arms and across her shoulders was almost unbearable.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
Morgan didn't say a word. He crossed the room and picked up a wicked-looking knife with a slightly curved blade. He approached her, reveling in the frightened look on her innocent, young features.
"No! NO! You can't…"
He began cutting her clothes off. The knife was very sharp. It sliced through her clothing so easily there was hardly the sound of a thread tearing. He never once touched her skin. She emerged whole of body and badly shaken mentally.
What was he going to do to her?
"Look, forget the job. I… I'll find something else!"
His hands were slowly working over her body. She recoiled but couldn't move far. Yet, his hands were gentle. He didn't grip and torture her. He was simply examining her body the way a USDA inspector might look at a side of beef hung in a freezer.
"Nice," he commented. That was all.
He went behind her and picked up something that clicked hard and heavy.
She screamed in pain when a flat board smacked into her ass. It was a paddle designed strictly for spanking. It had a broad, flat surface with holes drilled in it. Air resistance wasn't going to slow down this paddle.
And the holes caused her flesh to flow slightly into them. That left a red splotchy pattern on her rear end. Soon, the pain subsided and she found herself actually enjoying the scene. It was kinky. She couldn't explain why it was turning her on so. But it was.
She cried out, "Yes, do it more! Go on and spank my ass!"
"Shut up," was all he said.
He continued applying the hole-filled board to her rear end. When the flesh was a rosy red, he stopped. Placing his hand on her ass, he seemed to be checking the temperature. Then he started spanking her with the flat of his hand.
The sharp ringing noise of his hand colliding with her tortured ass flesh filled the room – that and her pitiful cries. The pain had heightened her senses. She found herself totally alive now. But when was he going to get down and really fuck her?
Her arms were being pulled out of their sockets.
The pain across her shoulders was becoming unbearable. And her legs felt as if someone were sticking pins in them. They ached, and caused her more misery than she would have ever imagined possible simply by being forced to stand on her tiptoes.
She heard some sort of a pump running. She wondered what he was doing now. She tried to look over her shoulder and suddenly found her head brutally pulled back by the hair. He gripped her hair and said, his voice low and menacing, "Don't get too nosy about what I'm going to do to your sweet little ass."
He shoved a small rubber ball into her mouth before she could say a word. With two quick turns, he had wound enough adhesive tape over her mouth to prevent her from spitting the ball out.
She felt her jaw muscles crack with the pain of being pulled so far apart. She knew that what was coming wasn't going to be pleasant. Not at all. She would just have to put up with it. She wanted the job as station manager. He had promised it to her if she would let him do whatever he wanted to do to her.
She could cope.
Besides, she was feeling sort of sexy in spite of all the horrible things he was doing to her. He was obviously a man she couldn't intimidate or manipulate with sex. He was a dominant sort. He had to be to climb all the way up to owner of the station. She felt the same inner power seething into her guts that she had when she'd fucked Lane Slayton. He had political power. The power Ed Morgan wielded was that of money, money and the confidence it brings.
She felt his hands working all over her spanked ass. When he spread her ass cheeks, she moaned. The sound was absorbed by the rubber ball. A cold tube pressed into her asshole. She knew it wasn't his cock. That would have been warm, pulsing.
She would have screamed as the glass tube entered her and went all the way up her rectum if it hadn't been for the rubber ball in her mouth. She could only moan.
"I'm going to give you a little enema, chickie. Turpentine and some other stuff. Hot. And I'll beat you to a bloody pulp if you don't hold it all inside when I yank out the tube!"
She almost passed out from the agony of the hot enema burning into her bowels. She felt weak. Collapsing against the chains holding her arms, however, caused too much pain for her to bear. She had to take the entire enema, no matter how weak it made her feel.
She couldn't even cry out. The ball clamped so firmly in her mouth made sure she was a silent prisoner. Morgan could do anything he wanted to her and no one would ever hear. They couldn't. She wasn't able to give voice to her agony.
The fiery liquid gushed into her bowels and totally filled her up. She felt like vomiting. She knew that if she puked, she would strangle to death. She valiantly held it down. As her innards filled with the burning, searing fluid, she started to cry.
This was so degrading, so humiliating, she couldn't believe she was being subjected to something this brutal. He was almost sadistic in the way he administered the enema to her. It could have been sexy; it was torture.
She gasped when the tube was yanked out. He reminded her, "Keep all that in your guts! Or you'll get a taste of this!" A whip descended and lightly flicked across her taut shoulders. The pain rocketing into her body was so intense she almost fainted.
He came around in front of her and started stroking her belly. "Hmm, a nice job. I think I want to fuck you now."
He pulled open his trousers and revealed a raging hard-on. He stepped close and rammed his cock straight up into her cunt. The sudden impact of his cock into her pussy caused her to lose control of her bowels. The turpentine and other vile fluids came gushing out of her asshole.
He slapped her across the face. "Slut! Bitch! Filthy cunt! I told you to hold that in!"
She couldn't protest. The rubber ball, even though she had almost bitten it in two, still kept her from speaking. She would have to take what he dished out. Maybe not like it, but she had to take it.
He got a pan and put it under her. "Go on, let it all out." He stood watching the flood for a few minutes, then, satisfied all was out of her, he started a firehose. He hosed her down. The impact of the water on her spanked ass caused her to fly up into the air. The pain of the water was intense. He had turned the hose on full blast. She couldn't do anything but swing back and forth in the full blast of the water due to the chains cruelly binding her wrists.
She was almost unconscious when she collapsed to the floor. He had let her down. But it wasn't to remain that way for long. He quickly refastened the chains behind her back. Forcing her down to her knees, he told her, "I'm going to fuck you like the bitch you are!"
She felt his turgid cock enter her from behind. She was weak, drained. Yet she felt a thrill go through her body when his cock started driving back and forth in her pussy. Much to her surprise, she was already wet and willing.
All she had gone through had turned her on! She had needed to be used, abused! He was such a forceful man, not like the namby-pamby men she had found before. He couldn't be pushed around. She couldn't use sex as a weapon against him.
He knew what he wanted – and took it.
She was sobbing through the gag as she felt his fuck stick driving hard in and out of her cunt. She was being warmed again, this time by his prick. The friction on her tightly contracted match set off an orgasm.
She knew he was still buried full length in her when her cunt walls collapsed around his dick like the walls of a mineshaft caving in. His pulsating prong was vibrant, alive. It pushed her even higher in her enjoyment of her orgasm.
As she came down, he was still fucking her hot and heavy. His hands brutally smashed her ass into a pulp. The spanked flesh was rosy red. He used his hand-hold to pull himself forcefully into her body. His groin rubbed and pound into her ass. The hair of his bush felt like steel wool. She was sobbing, whether from pain or pleasure she couldn't honestly say.
All she knew for sure was that he was giving her what she wanted. She would have begged him for his cock if he hadn't started fucking her. He wasn't any virtuoso. He didn't have to be. He had prepared her well for this.
He knew women.
He knew what turned them on. And he had sized up Cheryl the instant she had walked into the room. He could humiliate her and make her love every second of it.
Continuing he reamed her out. She came again. Suddenly, her cunt was empty. His cock was no longer inside her. She managed to look back over her shoulder and saw him holding his cock in his hand.
"Your cunt no longer interests me." He kept jacking himself off until he spurted a white arc of jizz into the air. It splattered into the girl's face. He continued ejaculating until he was drained. His balls empty, he had pumped all his cum over her face.
"Lick it off," he ordered.
"Waaa-gahh!" She tried to tell him that the rubber ball wouldn't let her.
"Oh, very well, whore." He ripped the adhesive tape off. She spat out the rubber ball and screamed.
"Shut up!" he snarled. He slapped her several times. She fell over onto her back, pinning her arms painfully under her body. She couldn't move for a second. Then, using his short riding crop, he spurred her to action. He began whipping her across the tits. Each lash left an ugly red mark.
His aim was good. Each one hit her directly across her aroused nipples. He continued until her tongue snaked out and started working on the cum splattered all over her face.
"That's better."
He watched in silence as she worked to get the gooey white spunk off her face.
"Faster, do it faster!"
She tried. Her jaw muscles ached terribly. She was still trying to get back the full use of her tongue after it had been cruelly smashed under the rubber ball in her mouth. She was doing the best she could under the circumstances.
He urged her on with his riding crop.
She finally blurted, "Stop it! Damn you, stop! I can't take any more of this!"
"So, all right, I'll clean off your face for you." Cheryl almost smiled. She thought it would be sort of neat having the man lick it off her face, getting it out of her hair where she couldn't possibly reach with her own tongue.
Then she looked up and saw what was going to happen. She shrieked out, "No, please… aieee!" He began pissing on her face. She struggled. She tried to roll away. Wherever she turned, his golden shower cascaded down on her. In a few minutes, he was drained.
"Maybe you'll do what you're told now."
"Please, please," she sobbed over and over. She was a smelly mess. Her guts ached horribly from the turpentine enema that had seared her delicate inner membranes. She was humiliated, degraded, made to feel less than human.
He was using her.
Just like she had used all the other men to get to this point.
And the hell of it was, she enjoyed it!
She needed to be abused, to be humiliated. The pain heightened her senses all the way to where she could enjoy the pleasure. It gave her a good contrast of how good the pleasure actually was in comparison.
Most of all, she needed a man who was a man. Not the sniveling turds who could be wrapped around her little finger. Morgan wasn't like that. She knew she would never be able to wrap him around her little finger – not now, not ever.
And she loved him for it.
When the firehose spray hit her again, it sent her rolling across the cold gray concrete floor. He held her pinned in the corner for five minutes, although it seemed like an eternity to the girl. The force of the water bruised her, beat her against the stone walls. Her ass was further scraped on the rough floor.
And she loved it.
"I think that will do. Now to make sure you don't leave here unsatisfied," he said, going to a cabinet.
He pulled out the longest vibrator Cheryl had ever seen. She wondered if he intended using that on her – all the way up into her delicate, sensitive snatch.
He did.
She screamed when he rammed it in. He didn't try for finesse. He just crammed it straight up her twat. Once there, he flicked on the switch in the base of the plastic dildo. The gentle buzzing quieted her, made her feel sexy again.
She sighed and relaxed even more.
When the riding crop smacked across her tits one more time, she came.
With the buzzing contrivance in her, she seemed to be filled with a million little butterflies all gently stroking their soft wings against her pussy walls. It was pleasant, it was stimulating. She loved it.
Then he landed another blow with his riding crop. The wicked little whip left only a tiny red splotch. But the major effect was the pain it sent arcing into her body. He was a master with accomplishing the most with only a little effort.
He kept up the steady, light beating until she was convulsed with one orgasm after another.
"You like this, huh?" he asked in his flat voice.
"Yes, damn you, yesss!"
"Don't swear."
He let her have the whip across her well spanked butt. The pain sailing into her body sent every nerve on edge. She was completely aroused now. Her being was one giant, raw, pulsing nerve ending. The lightest touch was all it took to set off another orgasm in her ravaged body.
The vibrator churned mindlessly inside her cunt. She worked the plastic rod even further up into her juicy quim. It felt so snug, so secure, so nice there. It made her know she was totally alive for the first time in her life.
She needed this kind of rough stuff. She needed it like a man dying of thirst needs water.
She had never known it before. It had been a hidden urge locked up behind her contempt for all men. But when Morgan showed her that a man could make her do whatever he wanted, she found her true self. She needed to be used by this man in whatever fashion his mind could conjure up. It was necessary for her.
"I'm tired of you." He turned and left her on the floor with the vibrator chugging merrily away in her cunt.
She didn't know how long she lay there, her arms chained behind her back, her ass burning from the spanking, her insides aching from the enema. It was long enough for the batteries to run down in the vibrator. She thought it must have been at least two hours.
Then he came back.
"Please, I need more! Do it all to me again! Please!"
He looked bored. "Never mind that. Come into my office." He turned and went back through the door into his plush office.
She struggled to her feet. She was a bit unsteady. But she managed to follow Morgan. She wanted more from him. She needed his abuse to show her that she couldn't use a man like a paper towel, then discard him.
"Sit down," he said, indicating a straight-backed wooden chair.
She screamed when she sat down. The seat of the chair was filled with thousands of sharp little needles.
"Shut up and sit!" he barked.
She sat.
The prickles going into her tortured ass reminded her of his complete dominance over her. She would do anything she could to please him. The brief sensation of his cock fucking her was worth all the humiliation he dished out. She would do anything to get more of it.
"Here's a one-year contract. I provide food and board. Nothing else for the entire period. And, if you successfully finish the year, you collect ten percent of the station's gross. Not net, gross. It's doing well. And if you push up the revenue with better ratings, you stand to make a couple hundred thousand. But only at the end of a year."
"B-but what if you fire me?"
"You get nothing."
"B-but…"
"You'll just have to make sure you continue to please me. Your continued employment will be predicted on all sorts of duties. Your air time, of course, plus the station manager's usual job. And, uh, whenever I require your presence here, I'll buzz."
"I… I have to sign the contract before I get the job?"
"Of course."
Cheryl furiously thought about what she should do. It would be pure hell going through an entire year, not getting one cent. But the carrot dangled at the end of the stick – at the end of the year – was enticing. A quarter of a million dollars, maybe more!
And all she had to do was sign – and let herself be used in whatever fashion this man chose. For a year. Three hundred and sixty-five days.
She decided. The pain in her ass decided her. The way her insides ached from the corrosive enema decided her. The whip marks, the spanked ass, the bruises from her chains, all decided her.
This was a man she could worship. "Where do I sign?"
He had to unlock her chains for her to sign the contract, then he used her again. All night long.
And she loved him for it.