Slave Wife Read Online Free PDF

eagerness.
    She sat, her dark skirt pulled primly over her tightly coupled knees and a large binder covering her lap. “Could you please give me some help with the Adams arm? The interfaces seem to be off by several millimetres.”
    He smiled meaningfully, directly into her eyes, challenging her to tell him the truth. When she dropped her eyes after too long a silence, he stood and came around his desk. He positioned himself so close behind her that her clipped brown hair brushed his starched white shirt front and her extraordinary flush of heat radiated across his abdomen.
    “Yes, I’ll help you,” he said, forcing her head back to his chest with one thick hand pressed flat against her throat. He looked down into her face, experiencing a pleasurable frisson at his control. Her closed eyelids, he noticed, were completely devoid of the makeup that would probably have transformed her drab plainness. Not even lipstick. With some makeup she could be quite attractive – he smiled complacently – even slutty. Well, he’d definitely fix that.
    With the other hand, he reached inside her white lab coat underneath her traditional white silk Brooks Brother blouse and pulled one of her breasts into his sight. She moaned as he rolled her pretty pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger and his cock surged against his trousers. It was her submission to him he found arousing, he realized, not her body, despite its hapless virginity.
    Inadvertently, her knees spread slightly and he caught the motion. He released her breast and throat, lifted the binder from her lap and placed it on his desktop. His voice was dispassionate. “That’s right. Show me.”
    The woman blushed an unattractive mottled pink but she pulled her skirt to her hips and spread her legs. She was wearing only a lacy black garter belt and stockings – no panties. She peered at him from under long lashes, searching hungrily for a sign of his approval.
    Instead he reached into his pants pocket and extracted two small coils of white rope. Her breathing laboured in his ear as he stooped and tied each ankle cruelly tight to a metal chair leg. Her eyes skittered anxiously toward the door. Of course he understood her thought. “What if someone comes in?” But that was part of it, wasn’t it?
    He returned to his seat. Before he focused on the binder’s contents he gave her what he knew she wanted. For a moment he watched her fingers make their way to her exposed vagina, shiny with moisture in the industrial lighting, and begin to manipulate her clitoris. For only a moment. Not too much, he thought coldly. Like the others, she had to be trained. Though his eyes fixed on the diagrams open before him, he briefly considered what her next tasks would entail.
    Then he plunged into the arm’s mechanics in actuality. Some time later – he’d been absorbed and wasn’t sure how long – he heard her restrained convulsive cries. He glanced up, his tone holding the barest trace of reward. “Good little whore. Now do it again.”
     
    It was only a short hop from Minneapolis to St. Louis , and almost effortless in his brand new, custom-fitted Gulfstream. He sat back against the contoured leather seat, lifted a porcelain coffee cup to his blissfully curled lips and examined, once again, the delicious reports on his lap.
    Michael found his new little jewel of a corporate acquisition as enticing, at least, as his recently acquired fiancée. The company contained such remarkable talent! And even without his guidance, already had such promising contracts! He could have cum when he was told of the Top Secret
CIA
/FBI interagency project, cum as surely as he had when he assfucked Emeline the night before.
    The image of her bent over the open toilet broke across the printed pages. He saw his own thick fingers dig into the delicate shoulders – hard enough to mark but, of course, she didn’t complain – and force her head down above, not quite into, the urine-filled bowl. His