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Jessica Yamada could not think of a single reason why her boss’s boss’s boss might want to see her. Ever since being summoned to the top floor of the PRT headquarters, her nerves had been twisting up into one big knot in the pit of her stomach. Now she sipped her iced mocha and kept trying to work out a reason.
Maybe she wants to give me a raise?
She patted herself on the back for telling such a funny joke.
Maybe she’s going to fire me?
As if. She tried to stay humble, but she was pretty sure that she’d become a structural component of her department (against her will) and it would collapse under its own weight without her there. Which wasn’t a good thing—she should’ve been in her hotel room already but had stupidly offered to stay late to help run a seminar that wouldn’t even start for another few hours.
Maybe she’s noticed how hard I’ve been working lately? Maybe she wants to thank me personally?
Each idea was worse than the last. She took a deep breath in, sighed out, and knocked on the door right next to the polished plaque which read ‘Chief Director.’ After hearing the words “Come in,” from the room beyond she twisted the doorknob and pressed inwards. When at last she entered Director Costa-Brown’s office, Jessica was blinded by the sun.
When her eyes had adjusted, she saw the Director standing amidst a field of monuments. The first thing she noticed was her hair: she kept it up in all her official portraits, but now wind-tousled brunette hair tumbled down past her shoulders. The winter sunset painted it gold, and put Jessica in mind of a lion’s mane. One window of the corner office was ajar, and she leaned against the glass looking out over the Mall. To her left, a painting of a pale sunset washed over the Washington Monument. To her right, and across the river, Jessica could see the great bulk of the Pentagon through the trees. In the center, the Director, looking at home here and just as stone-faced and indomitable as the rest.
That is, until she turned towards Jessica and smiled. She had a nice smile, Jessica felt, which surprised her. She tried to focus on that instead of the woman’s very obvious physique. It didn’t work. As she took her red felt overcoat off with a flourish and hung it by its empty shoulders around her desk chair, Jessica could see her tightly-fitting dress shirt and well-tailored slacks and everything they just barely contained. Washboard abs, biceps half the size of Jessica’s head and thighs that were even larger… good lord.
Then, with a desperate effort, Jessica managed to rein in her wandering eyes and stare the Director in the face. She must’ve been going fucking insane, because she’d hallucinated that the woman had winked at her. Now, feeling if possible even more awkward, Jessica searched for something to do with her idle hands.
“Can I leave this here, ma’am?” she asked, gesturing with her mostly-empty plastic cup of coffee at the Director’s desk.
“Calling me ma’am already? Good start,” her boss’s boss’s boss chuckled, laughing at a joke that Jessica hadn’t managed to parse. She was too busy not looking into Director Costa-Brown’s cleavage, which took titanic effort because it also looked quite nice and also in that shirt there was an awful lot of it.
“That’s right, uh, ma’am,” Jessica said, putting her things down now that she had permission and almost knocking over a desk lamp in the process. Suddenly desperate to break eye contact, she looked around the room for anything else to focus on and was taken aback by the realization that there was another woman in the room. This one was seated already, her face obscured behind a soft-looking grey fedora, and the only detail she could make out of her appearance was gorgeous wavy raven hair that fell just past her shoulders. Otherwise she had about as much presence as the drywall behind her. Jessica looking at her wasn’t enough to bother her from the newspaper she was reading, though she did acknowledge Jessica by tipping her hat to her.
More and more questions rose every passing second, so she tried to get an answer for the biggest one. She took a deep breath, exhaled, repeated. When Jessica felt she’d centered herself she asked, “Madam Director, is there anything I can help you with?”
“On the contrary, I thought that we could help you, Jessica. May I call you Jessica?” the Director asked in affable tones as she leaned forward over the back of her chair. She never broke eye contact as she fiddled with black leather shoulder pads that took the place of epaulets in the coat she’d slung over her chair.
Jessica had a pretty clear view down her bra directly to her navel at this point, so she didn’t have full presence of mind as she answered, “You can call me whatever you like, ma’am.”
One eyebrow rose.
“Oh? I’ll take you up on that. To answer your question…” the Director said, her smile widening as she ceased fiddling with her coat and gripped the back of her chair tightly, “I singled you out as the neediest slut in the building, and the two of us are going to help you out with that.”
Jessica’s inner monologue was replaced with roaring static. She could barely hear herself over the noise of blood in her ears as she stammered out a quiet “I—I beg your pardon?”
“It’s not time to beg yet,” the Director said, “but I like your spirit! And, yes, slut, you heard me right. That’s your name now, by the way, for the next… Forta, dear, how long do I have you for?”
Jess whipped her head around to look at the other woman for her response or maybe for salvation. Instead, ‘Forta’ answered without looking down at the watch that was tucked inside the sleeve of her gray Italian suit. “One hour, twenty eight minutes, twelve seconds.”
“...hour and a half, give or take,” the Director finished. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…?”
Jessica was still too stunned to respond, but that hadn’t been directed at her. Instead, Forta folded up her newspaper over the arm of her chair, stood, and pulled her black leather belt free from her pants in one smooth flourish. Before Jessica could react, the woman had the belt around her neck, cinched it up tight, and buckled it closed.
“Listen—I may have gotten laid plenty in college—and in grad school—but I’m not this easy,” Jessica protested.
“You don’t understand,” Forta murmured in her ear. Her eyes were plain and dispassionate, more like beads of grey crystal set into a mask than a window to any soul Jessica could recognize. She continued, “‘Easy’ and ‘difficult’ didn’t enter into the equation. We need you, so we’re taking you.”
“Simple as th—ghk~!”
“Yes. It’s as simple as that,” Forta said as she did something talented and deft with her fingers that made Jessica very hopeful, resulting in a tighter cinch of the collar around Jessica’s neck. Then she hauled Jessica a foot or two over soft generic office carpet towards where the Director leaned against her desk.
As she walked the woman took her blazer off and tossed it away with one hand, where it landed improbably neatly on a coat hook on the back of the Director’s door. Then she undid her suspenders (who the fuck wore suspenders anymore) and removed a holstered derringer from the thigh holster Jessica hadn’t known she had (let me deepthroat that barrel, mommy) and reached into her bag. Jessica knew what she was looking at before it was halfway clear of the purse. She knew how to use a strap-on better than she knew most of her colleagues and would recognize one anywhere, even before she’d seen it in its entirety.
Once she finally saw what would be going inside her—a long stainless steel dildo, ribbed and gently curved—all the tension that had built within her since she’d been summoned to this office released at once. This was happening. She’d been frustrated and bored all day and, at a minimum, this would give her something to do.
“Okay,” she said, feeling the comforting constriction of her collar around her throat and the cool metal buckle against the back of her neck. “Okay, let’s do this.”
The Director stepped out from behind her desk until she loomed over Jessica. Then she cupped her chin gently with her thumb and forefinger and whispered “Good girl,” and Jessica went weak. She sagged forward against the Director’s thigh, trusting her support entirely to the strength of the woman in front of her and to the other’s steady hand on her leash. Neither disappointed. The leash tightened until she choked but it supported her weight, and the Director grabbed her beneath the jaw with one powerful hand, and hauled her back up to her feet. Costa-Brown repositioned herself, knocking probably-sensitive documents from her bureau to the floor, ignoring the distinctive clatter of the now-watery coffee hitting the floor and probably splattering over something that actually mattered. It didn’t interrupt her from lounging across the desktop, legs askew. Her guidance brought Jessica to a familiar position, between a woman’s legs, bent over a desk, her elbows pressing down against hardwood.
Then there was only the comforting sensations of soft skin and losing control. The Director was nipping under her jawline, that was the first thing she noticed, as blood rushed to her face and pooled around spreading bruises. Heat bloomed outwards from every point of contact between her and the women taking her. She sagged against the Director, giving herself up to her ministrations, at the same time that Costa-Brown’s hands slipped under her shirt, running all along her stomach and up her sides to her breasts. Like lightning her bra slipped up her chest, awkwardly riding up under her shirt collar, and both her nipples were in the Director’s iron grip. Jessica moaned in pain and pleasure as the woman twisted, sending sparks of desire radiating from her chest down her stomach to her core.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, ma’am.”
Somehow her pants had hit the floor. Jessica was in such a state that she hadn’t noticed exactly when it had happened or who had done it. Now Forta was behind her with her hands on Jessica’s waist, fingers wrapped around to grab her around the top of each thigh, thumbs pressing down gently but insistently on her lower back. The cool leather of her leash pressed between the palm of the woman’s right hand and the skin just above Jessica’s ass, still somehow pulling it taut. Jessica yielded to the pressure, arched her back, and let herself be molded like putty.
So when the Director pulled her forwards with a jolt she followed without complaint. Jessica collapsed chest-first into the woman’s hands, her breasts squishing up against her fingers. She wanted, needed the woman’s support, and the Director provided. Something hard pressed up against her pussy from below, and another lightning bolt shot through her at the touch. If it were the strap already she’d have been ready for it, but instead it was one of the Director’s knees pressing up against her through her panties. Jessica whined, long and low. It had been a long time since anyone had treated her like this. Maybe she had been needy.
Maybe in response to the noise, the Director let go of one of Jessica’s breasts—prompting another desperate whine from her—and tilted her chin up once more. Desperate for more contact to keep herself going, Jessica began to roll her hips, grinding up against the Director as she looked up at her face. She took in her sharp cheekbones and jawline, her aquiline nose, the lines of care around her mouth. She was gorgeous, and she had Jessica in the palm of her hand. Now the Director traced along Jess’s jawline with soft brushes of her fingers and highlighted each new burning bruise her teeth had left, above and below the collar.
“I’ve really fucked you up,” the Director mused.
“Yes ma’am,” Jessica breathed.
“You’ll have to wear a scarf in public for the next week, and at work, to maintain our organization’s good image.”
“Yes ma’am,” she repeated. She was trying to focus on what her mistress was telling her and couldn’t; instead her entire being was focused on the shocking cold of the steel that had just pressed up against her ass. Forta’s hands around her waist were so warm but the strap, now pressed between her asscheeks, was so very cold. Jessica froze in place, waiting for what would come next. Her free hand grabbed Jess by the hair, lifted her head higher, and effortlessly reeled her in until Jess’s cheek rested against the soft warm fabric of the woman’s shirt.
She held Jessica’s gaze for long painful seconds. Jessica shivered, she whimpered, but she didn’t look away.
“What do you want, you pathetic little slut?” The Director asked, after a few long moments of stillness and silence.
Jessica grit her teeth. “I want you both… to quit talking a big game… and fuck me already.”
The Director chuckled and tossed Jess’s head back, releasing her grip on her hair, and the pain of release was so great that she felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” she murmured, and carefully began to unzip her slacks. She slowly stripped, pulling her pants down her thigh inch by inch, and Jessica would’ve gasped if she’d had the air to spare. The Director had abs like she’d only ever seen before on Michelangelo’s David and skull-crushing thighs to match. In fact, if she didn’t get her head squished between those monsters Jessica would consider this entire venture a waste of her time. A bit unlike the statue, though, beneath her panties was a small well-manicured bush and a perfectly ordinary but very pretty pussy. A bang interrupted her from salivating over it further. The Director’s pants and underwear had hit the floor and Jessica could’ve sworn it was the source of the noise, like she’d dropped gold bullion on the carpet rather than her panties.
Then the Director reined her back in by the hair, chin-to-crotch, and Jessica forgot all about anything else except the women in front and behind her. The cold steel of the strap screamed out for attention. She couldn’t ignore the cold bite of it against her ass and thigh. She could ignore it even less when Forta slid two fingers beneath her panties to spread her open, and felt wetness drip down onto the woman’s fingertips.
“Fuck her senseless, dear,” the Director said, and the two of them closed in around her.
Jessica had relaxed as much as she could and still wasn’t prepared. Forta took her time. The dildo entered her like a shard of ice, inch by torturous inch. Once the shock of the cold had passed, Jessica’s hips bucked up as she sought out the pain and pleasure she’d been promised. The other women didn’t give her the satisfaction—the Director’s hands were still wound up around cords of her hair, and Forta never let go of her leash. She remained almost locked in place as she begged with senseless wordless whines for more.
Instead the Director reeled her in at last and granted Jessica’s wish. She caught her breath while she could as both of Costa-Brown’s legs lifted skyward and crossed behind her back. As Jessica relaxed, let her tongue loll out and finally tasted one of the most powerful people in America, her two powerful thighs closed tight around each side of Jessica’s head. She was trapped, brought to heel—hung and guillotined at once—and she couldn’t have been happier. She was safe now. All the frustrations of the day would be pounded out of her by tongue and teeth, corded muscle and steel.
Forta’s fingers played across Jessica’s clit like a guitarist strumming a chord, and a pure note of need escaped from her mouth. She let out a muffled mewl, faltered for a moment, then parted the Director’s slit with a single stroke of her tongue. Jessica felt her gasp and tremble and almost had enough time to feel a surge of triumph before the Director reasserted control, giving a sharp tug on Jessica’s hair and clawing her way from the small of Jessica’s back up her shoulders and neck to her collar with short sharp nails. Then the Director’s fingers slipped beneath the leather strip around her neck, battling with Jessica for space there, tightening the collar further still, and put Jessica’s mouth to use.
Even though the cool metal cock inside her was beginning to warm from her own body heat, Forta tormented her still. She knew exactly what Jessica needed—how deep, how fast, how hard—and just barely stopped short of giving it to her. From anyone else she’d suspect negligence and get bored, but something about this strange woman and her cold eyes convinced Jessica that wasn’t the case. She was being teased, and she loved being teased, even as it drove her to the brink of madness.
Just as she was starting to get used to this treatment, thinking she knew what to expect, Forta rocked her world again. She grabbed Jessica by her bruised tits and the fraction of a moment where she knew what was about to happen still wasn’t enough to prepare her for this. Forta shoved herself all the way inside, tip to base, and Jessica wasn’t anything anymore. She tried to pull herself away, towards the salt on her lips and tongue, towards the light, as if the Director could possibly save her, but it was no good. Forta’s hands still firmly held her leash, and her entire being was reduced to the vastness of the woman inside her. She had a dim awareness of her own senseless moans, of the Director’s legs trembling around her head as Jessica ate her out like her life depended on it.
Then Forta began a slow, practiced roll of her hips and things stopped being clear after that. Jessica’s obedient lips and tongue served the Director like the good girl she was; she didn’t need to be conscious for that. Forta used her as her plaything, her slut, and Jessica would’ve thanked her for it if her mouth wasn’t being put to better use. It occurred to her, once her thinking mind had fully detached itself from her feeling body, how different her two partners were. While the Director would moan and pant and tremble beneath Jessica’s practiced tongue, the other woman seemed as excitable as a corpse. Jessica had never been fucked as perfectly or ruthlessly but this mysterious woman didn’t seem to care. She wasn’t even breathing heavily. This was just another day at the office for her. Then Forta slapped Jessica across the ass again mid-stroke and her brain stopped working and all she could do was clench tight around the steel strap inside her as she gave it the ride of her life.
Jessica had been pushed far beyond her breaking point, but no one had given her permission to break, so she’d done everything she could to hold herself together. She could only ever try her best. Eventually it wasn’t good enough. Forta did something brilliant with her strap then and hit a spot no one had ever hit before just as the Director’s legs slipped down her neck and tightened again and Jessica couldn’t see anything but pink and stars. The last thing she experienced was release as waves of pleasure rippled across her body and her mind turned to goo.
She blacked out. She must have, because the next thing she knew she wasn’t quite where she’d left herself. Jessica’s cheek rested against the Director’s slick muscular thigh. Troublingly, her collar was gone. Had they taken it off just because she’d lost consciousness? Weak. She tried to say something about it and couldn’t quite find the words, or her breath.
Jessica took a moment to compose herself—as much as one could compose oneself under the circumstances—and then asked in a small shaky voice, “Did I do a good job?”
The Director caressed her through her hair, around her ears. Jessica leaned into her touch.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I’m very proud of you.”
The warmth that flooded through Jessica’s body then would keep her warm for the rest of this long, miserable winter.
The Director caressed the side of her head, sending cool shivers running once more down Jessica’s spine. “Don’t worry, we’re not done with you yet.”
Jessica closed her eyes and smiled. “That’s what I thought you’d say. After all, you still have an hour and nine minutes left.”