Learning the trade 1

When Zoë graduated in English, jobs were not plentiful. She had only got a 2:2, which didn’t help matters. She had set her heart on a career in publishing. Women tended to do better in that world and she loved books. She attended tens of interviews with no luck. She was in debt. She went to an agency that sent her temping for a while as a typist. One day, when she called in for work, the woman at the agency asked if she would consider a permanent position. It was as secretary to the MD of a publishing firm. Zoë jumped at the chance – perhaps she could work her way up.

On the Monday that she started the job, the first thing she noticed was how quiet everyone in the office was. They all seemed intent on their work. She dismissed the thought; perhaps the work was just plain interesting. Her new boss was a woman. She was the boss from Hell; everything had to be perfect and she constantly shouted at everyone. Nevertheless, Zoë was finally in publishing – even if she was just typing letters and invoices. Later in the week she tried to engage the girl next to her in conversation, asking if she had watched the news last night – whom did she think should be called to account for that train crash? The girl looked worried and shushed her: ‘Please! Mrs Prentice will hear if we talk’. Zoë shrugged. So what? But she was puzzled.

It didn’t take Zoë long to work out what sort of material the house specialized in. Part of her job was reading sample chapters sent in by prospective authors. It was all porn. Most of it was written by semi-illiterates and full of clichés, misogyny, racial and sexual stereotypes and so on. Complete garbage. She sent out rejection letters at least three times a week. Occasionally, a manuscript arrived that was readable and she forwarded it to her editors to handle. These better stories were quite arousing though. One was good enough that she copied it and took it home. She masturbated several times while reading it that night. Unfortunately, the ending wasn’t very convincing.

Zoë also discovered that the sister company, which was located on the second and third floors of the same building, produced dirty magazines. Her boss sent her up there one day with a message and some documents for signature. The current issues were lying on the coffee table in reception while she waited for a reply from the chief editor. She browsed though the magazines as she waited. Most were the usual stuff, showing pictures of available-looking women in the nude. However, some of the stories were quite horny. The magazine company’s editor gave her his reply in person. He was a tall, good-looking man in his forties with greying hair. ‘I see you’ve been reading some of our output, Miss Harris,’ he said, as he handed her the papers that she had been waiting for. She blushed and took the sheaf of documents.

‘Just passing the time,’ she said, and left hurriedly.

Zoë’s boyfriend was a geologist that she’d met at college: a postgrad then. He now worked for an oil company. Men were always propositioning her, and Clive gave her the excuse to turn them down. He was safe and reliable. He was often away though, working. She hadn’t seen him for weeks and increasingly felt the need of him in her.

The next time Zoë was sent up to the magazine department on the second floor, she was kept waiting again. She didn’t want to be caught reading the salacious material again – especially by that hunky editor. She slipped two mags into her folder intending to read them at home. The editor emerged from his office and gave her the documents she had been waiting for. She slid these into the folder without opening it. As she left, he said: ‘Miss Harris, would to do me the courtesy of having dinner with me?’

She was stunned by the proposal. It probably wasn’t a good idea to go out with people at work, but this guy was attractive. He was confident and assured. She fancied him, she thought, and imagined him wining and dining her in a romantic restaurant.

‘I’m free on Friday,’ she said.

‘Very well, I’ll pick you up at your flat at 7:30.’

How did he know her address? She supposed it must be on her personnel file.

‘OK then. I’m sorry I don’t know your name . . .’

‘It’s Charles. May I call you Zoë?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Zoë hurried back to her desk and routine.

Charles picked her up as promised and taxied her to a lovely French restaurant in Soho. He was charming and interesting all through the meal. He offered to see her safely home and they took another cab. Of course, she invited him in for coffee in return for his civility.

He followed her to the kitchen and as she was pouring the water into the caffetiere put his arms round her from behind. She turned and they kissed. His lips were soft and he kissed her more gently than she had ever been kissed before. She pressed herself against him and felt a body more muscular than she had expected. She melted into his embrace. His hands moved down her back to her bottom as they kissed. One of them came round and pressed her pubis through her skirt. She pressed her hips forward and he started rubbing her through the material. Before she had a chance to think what was happening, he had his hand under her short skirt and was feeling her through her knickers and then inside them. She was wet with desire.

Charles unzipped her dress and started to kiss her shoulders. He unhooked her bra as his lips moved down to her breasts and nipples. He knelt and pulled the dress down as his lips moved to her tummy. Then she felt him pulling at the waistband of her knickers. She hadn’t wanted this and was about to protest when his tongue found her clitoris. ‘Aaaah,’ she moaned. None of her boyfriends had ever done that. It was . . . ‘Aaaah!’

Charles led her to her bedroom, kissing her and rubbing her sex, as she purred with delight. He was inside her in seconds but, unlike Clive’s furious humping, he fucked her slowly and rubbed her with his hand all the time. She felt her contractions begin and came explosively. She was aware of his squirting into her as the contractions subsided. He stayed inside her, hard still. This was a new experience too; Clive always rolled off as soon as he was done. She whispered: ‘That’s never happened to me before’. It was her first orgasm during sex. Charles started pumping into her again. She came again, screaming ‘Oh, Darling!’

In the morning, Charles made love to her again and she brought him tea as he dressed.

‘I see you’ve been stealing from work, Zoë.’ He was holding the magazines that she’d taken home. She had forgotten that she’d left them on the floor next to the bed.

‘Oh those; I just borrowed them. I was curious about the sort of thing you publish, that’s all,’ she stammered.

‘I don’t believe you. You stole them. That’s a criminal offence you know.’

Zoë was stunned. Was he seriously thinking of having her prosecuted for such a minor misdemeanour? But he could easily get her sacked even if she wasn’t arrested. She stood in front of him holding the steaming mugs.

‘You have been a bad girl, Zoë. You stole these magazines. Then you came here and masturbated as you read them. Didn’t you?’

His voice was angry and loud. She was shamed to think that he had guessed that she had indeed fingered herself whilst reading the stories of sex, bondage and punishment. She didn’t know what to say or do.

‘I think I’ll call the police now. Where’s your phone?’ he snapped.

‘It’s in the living room,’ she replied automatically; and then ‘Please don’t call them, please, I’ll do anything’.

‘Anything?’ he said, emphasizing each syllable. ‘Zoë, you’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you? What should I do with you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I am prepared to consider overlooking your crime this time, provided that you promise to never repeat it and accept your punishment. Is that agreed?’

‘Punishment?’

‘Yes, punishment! You deserve a thorough spanking, girl.’

She took in the deal that was on offer. Either lose her job and get arrested or get her bottom smacked. She thought of the stories she had read recently and decided that she wanted to experience it anyway. It would soon be over. And being spanked by this man, who had so recently brought her to the heights of ecstasy, well it wouldn’t be so bad. ‘If I let you spank me, will you let me off?’

‘Take that dressing gown off and get over my knee,’ was all he said. Zoë put the cups on her dressing table and dropped the robe from her shoulders. She laid herself across the man’s lap, feeling very stupid. Her blond hair fell around her head. Charles pushed both her arms up her back and held them there tightly

After what seemed like an age lying in this humiliating position, Charles shifted his position slightly and Zoë felt his first slap.

‘Ouch!’

‘Keep quiet,’ he shouted and slapped her again, harder.

She tried not to cry out and bit her lip. He carried on spanking her until she thought she couldn’t take any more. She started pleading: ‘Please stop. Please! Stop it please; it hurts so much. Please!’

Eventually he stopped. Then he put his fingers into her sex roughly. She was wet, even though she had washed and dried herself after their morning lovemaking. He pushed her off his knees, onto the floor.

‘Thank me,’ he commanded.

She said ‘Thank you, Sir’.

Sir? Why had she said that? She felt dominated by his man, just like in the story. At least her ordeal was over.

‘I must now punish you for making all that noise during your well-deserved spanking, girl,’ the implacable man stated. ‘Bring me that hairbrush.’

He was pointing at the dresser.

Zoë got to her feet in a daze. Her bum burned. To be spanked with a hairbrush: that would hurt even more. She thought of escape but quickly considered the alternative of losing her job. She brought him her brush and went over his knees again.

When his first blow fell, Zoë felt pain like nothing she had experienced before. She tried to roll away but he forced her arms further up her back and pinned her. She screamed with pain as the beating continued. He stopped and fingered her again gently. Her circled her clit with his finger until she almost came. But he stopped. ‘Please!’ she said.

‘Please what, you horny slag?’ he asked.

‘Please touch me, Sir.’

Sir again? What was she saying?

He touched her again and brought her close to the brink before stopping.

‘Please, Sir, fuck me. I want you in me so badly,’ she begged.

‘Ask for six more hard swipes with my hairbrush,’ he said.

‘Please let me come, Sir.’

‘Ask for your beating, slag.’

She was desperate to come. He wouldn’t let her, unless she took the extra blows. He felt her clit and stopped again. She broke.

‘Please give me six hard swipes, Sir,’ she said servilely.

He did.

She came at the fourth stroke and started to cry.

Once again, he pushed her to the floor where she lay sobbing. He started to lecture her. ‘Zoë, you have been a wicked girl but you have been punished. Nevertheless, you came without my permission then, and I will have to punish you for that when your red little bottom has cooled down.’

Oh no, not more. She would escape. Fuck the job.

‘Let me explain your new circumstances to you, Zoë. If you want to keep your job and freedom, you will submit to me. I shall punish you whenever you are naughty and you will always call me Master from now on. Understood?’

She was silent.

‘Understood?’ he said, picking up the hairbrush from the bed and grabbing her by the hair painfully.

‘Yes,’ she croaked.

‘Yes what?’ he shouted at her.

‘Er – yes, Master.’ How low could she go? How servile could this man make her?

‘Have you got a boyfriend, Zoë?’ her new Master asked.

‘Yes. He’s away this week.’

‘Get rid of him. You belong to me now. Tomorrow you will get spare keys to your flat made. Bring them to me on Monday morning. Now I must go. Thank me for your punishment.’

‘Thank you, Master’ she said servilely as he left her kneeling there on the bedroom floor. She heard the front door slam, and burst into tears.

On Monday, she sent the keys to Charles in the internal mail. She couldn’t face him. To do this she had to ask one of her colleagues for his surname.

‘It’s Prentice,’ said the timid man opposite her. Tim was a junior editor who hardly ever spoke.

‘Prentice? Is he–’

‘Yes, he’s Mrs Prentice’s husband,’ said Tim, looking round and quickly returning to his work.

On Thursday, Zoë was awakened in the middle of the night. There was someone in her flat. Burglars! She was trying to decide in just which way to panic, when two figures came into the bedroom and grabbed her. It was dark and she couldn’t see them. One held her arms behind her back and his hand over her mouth while the other tore her nightdress off. They were going to rape her; she knew it. She struggled against the man’s strong grip. The other man tied her ankles together with what felt like rope. Then, the other one pushed something soft and dry into her mouth so that she couldn’t speak. He tied a gag round her head to stop her spitting it out. She was rolled over and the men tied her hands behind her back and blindfolded her with a cloth.

She was trembling with fear as she heard the light switch click. What would they do to her before they murdered her?

The pain took her completely by surprise. Her bum stung like mad as she lay face down on the bed. More hard blows and pain. She lost count and wept with the agony of it. When it stopped, she felt her ankles being untied. A hand felt her sex. She was wet. At least the rape wouldn’t hurt so much if she was moist, she mused, resigning herself to the worst. The hand continued to explore her and she felt aroused, despite herself. The groping stopped just before she felt her climax coming. Hands took away the blindfold.

Charles was standing next to her bed holding a leather strap in his left hand. The other man stood behind him. He was quite young and muscular in jeans and a tight, black, cap-sleeved tee shirt.

Charles spoke. ‘Gregor here got quite horny watching me whip you, Zoë. I think I’d like to repay him for his help tonight. Would you like him to fuck you? No, don’t try to speak, with your own dirty knickers in your mouth. Even if you don’t want him, your Master commands it. Open your legs for Gregor’s tool now, like the horny little nympho that you are.’

Gregor was taking his jeans off. Zoë lay there helpless to move or protest. When she tried to get off the bed Charles just pushed her chest till she fell back with her legs hanging over the side. Gregor took his briefs off and laid on top of her, forcing her legs apart. Without preliminaries, he forced his prick inside her. It felt huge – much bigger than Master’s. He pumped in and out for a while then pulled out. He knelt over her and rubbed his weapon with his hand until he ejaculated. His sperm went all over her face and neck.

Gregor dressed and left without a word. Zoë felt soiled and desperately wanted a shower. Master sat by her on the bed and untied her gag.

‘Beg your master to let his slave come,’ he said, fingering her clit gently. Soon he had aroused her sufficiently that she begged. ‘Please make me come, Master’.

He brought her off immediately and kissed her mouth, still wet with the other man’s sperm. He left the room and returned with a glass of water, which he sipped from before putting it down and untying Zoë’s hands. She rubbed her wrists sitting up in her bed as Master turned the light off and left.

Master visited her alone after that. He seldom gave her any warning. He usually arrived in the evening. Zoë would make a meal for him and then he would spank her across his knee before taking her to bed. He always made her come as he fucked her lovingly. She grew to want him to visit her more often. She longed for his hands on her. Sometimes he caned or strapped her. She had to leave the cane and taws in full view on the coffee table. If they were not there when he let himself in, he strapped her mercilessly. She stopped inviting friends to her flat. When Clive phoned her after his return from abroad she refused to see him. He cried down the phone but she was resolute. She loved her Master now and, anyway, if Master caught Clive at the flat he would probably beat him too – never mind the damage he would do to Zoë’s bottom. Perhaps Master would make Clive watch while he spanked or caned her till she came. No, it was better to ditch Clive. It was her master’s orders too.

One Friday evening, Zoë was on her knees, naked, sucking her Master’s cock as he sat on a chair when she heard a key turn in the front door. She stopped and looked up. Mrs Prentice was standing in the living room doorway looking very angry indeed. ‘What this? You vile, scheming, adulterous little bitch! How dare you.’

She crossed the room and picked up Zoë by the hair. Master said nothing but put himself away, zipped up his trousers and pushed the belt that he had used on her earlier through the belt loops as he stood there. Mrs Prentice let go of Zoë’s hair and slapped her hard round the face twice.

‘Come with me, Charles,’ she said and they both walked out. The front door slammed. Zoë cried; she had lost her master. She would lose her job now too.

She went to work on Monday feeling dismal. Mrs Prentice called her into her office.

‘Miss Harris,’ she began, ‘you have been having an affair with a married man, and not just any married man: my husband. I have questioned him about the matter and he tells me that you are also a little thief. You stole from your own employer Zoë. What have you got to say for yourself?’

Zoë recited her prepared speech. ‘I’m very very sorry, Mrs Prentice. I didn’t know he was marr . . . your husband until after I started seeing him, and then it was too late. He said he would report me to police if I stopped seeing him. I promise I’ll never see him again.’

Mrs Prentice interrupted her.

‘Charles also tells me that you’re a dirty little whore who likes to be caned and fucked by strangers while he watches.’

Zoë felt herself redden.

‘Is that true?’ the older woman barked. Zoë nodded and felt her chin begin to quiver.

‘Do you like working here, Zoë?’ she said more softly.

‘Yes, Mrs Prentice.’

‘Would you like to keep your job, despite your theft and adultery?’

‘Yes, Mrs Prentice.’

‘Very well, Zoë, you can continue to work for me on one condition.’

Zoë looked up surprised.

‘From now on you will call me Mistress. And you will accept my punishment for your crimes. Will you consent to that, or shall I just give you your cards now and call the police. I’m sure they’d be interested in all the stolen property that they will find in your flat when they get there.’

Charles had a key. They could have put anything there. Zoë wilted, feeling quite exhausted and helpless. What could she do? The very idea of be caned by this woman horrified her. If only she could ask Master.

‘Speak up, slut,’ her boss commanded, ‘I haven’t got all day’.

Zoë reasoned that she had no choice.

‘All right, I accept my punishment.’

‘You accept your punishment what, Bitch?’

‘I accept my punishment, Mistress,’ bleated Zoë.

‘Be in my husband’s studio in 15 minutes,’ the woman commanded and opened her office door.

Zoë went back to her desk and then went to the Ladies to cry.

She went upstairs to the studio and went inside. Mrs Prentice was talking to one of the magazine’s photographers that Zoë knew by sight. They both turned as she entered.

‘Strip naked, slut. Now!’ commanded the woman.

Zoë glanced at the photographer, hoping he would leave. He had a very obvious erection under his trousers and was watching her intently. She swallowed her pride and pulled off her dress. She folded it and put it on the table next to the door. She undid her bra as she stepped out of her shoes. She wriggled out of her tights and thong and put them with the bra on top of her dress. She stood with her head hung, feeling ashamed to be thus exposed. The man started taking photographs of her. Oh no! Would they use them in the magazines? What if someone she knew recognized her? What if her Father. . . Did he read such things?

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Disclaimer: All posted stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.