Wife blackmailed at business conference - part three
dodge
Part Three
It is two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. The conference is in
full swing. Maggie Seaver should be attending a session. She
wonders if her co-workers will notice her absence. There are
many small meetings in parallel. Surely no one will check them
all, she thinks.
She sits in her hotel room as instructed by Dr. Eric Carlson the
evening prior. She reflects on the prior evening's activities
and her present predicament. Strangely, she is calm. She resigns
herself to doing as she is told. A twinge of excitement mixes
with her misgivings. In the end, she has little choice anyway.
She surely can't return home without some assurance that her
secret will not be revealed.
She sits on the edge of the bed. She is fully dressed. Her ass
cheeks still burn slightly from the paddling they received the
night before. She had noticed that they were still a flushed
pink color when she looked at herself naked in the mirror after
finishing her shower.
The ring of the telephone jars her from her thought. She lifts
the receiver of the phone on the bedside table. "Hello, Maggie
Seaver," she says as if she were in her office.
"Hello, Margaret," says a voice she recognizes to be that of
Eric Carlson. "Have you forgotten your name already?"
"No, no," Maggie replies. "This is Margaret. I am here as you
instructed."
He asks her what she is wearing. "Tell me everything," he
demands.
"I am wearing a two piece linen dress. It's dark beige."
"Everything!" he demands.
"Under the dress I have on panties and a bra. I put on a garter
belt and stockings as you asked. They are new. I bought them
this morning. Oh, and I have on a slip....and shoes. High heels.
They are dark brown and have a sort of pattern on them."
"Very well, Margaret," he says, "now listen carefully."
Maggie listens intently. When he finishes she hangs up the
phone, quickly checks her make-up one last time and exits her
room. The lobby is crowded when she exits the elevator. Glancing
around quickly, she is thankful that she does not see anyone
whom she knows.
She walks to the reception area. "I would like to leave my key
until I return," she says, offering her key to the desk
attendant.
"Certainly, madam."
"Er, messages. I am expecting a message"
The desk clerk opens a drawer. "The name?"
"Mrs. Seaver. Maggie Seaver"
Shuffling through the envelopes in the drawer he produces one.
"Margaret Seaver?" he inquires.
"Yes," she says resolutely, "Margaret Seaver. My name is
Margaret Seaver."
Maggie takes the envelope and walks to the end of the counter.
The envelope bulges. There is something inside. She turns her
back to the lobby and shields her actions as she opens the
envelope. A key falls out and clatters noisily on the marble
counter. Nervously, she picks it up. There is a note. "Margaret,
go to room eleven twenty two," it says. "Stand and wait."
Not wanting to be seen, Maggie quickly moves to the elevator and
presses the button for floor eleven. It is a floor like all the
others. The room is near the end of the corridor, away from the
elevator. Her own room is on a different floor on the other side
of the building. She knocks lightly. Nothing.
"Silly woman," she tells herself, "you have the key."
The room, too, is like the others. She remembers the note.
"Stand and wait," it says.
Maggie sets her purse on the table. She paces in a small circle.
Her high heels are new. They are tight on her feet. She does not
sit. She looks out the window to a row of windows on the
building opposite. An office building she assumes. Several
minutes pass. She feels her stomach churn.
Rrring! The telephone jolts her into action.
"Hello," she says cautiously. A second passes. "This is
Mag...Margaret Seaver," she says.
"Very good, Margaret," Eric replies. "Now listen carefully and
do exactly as I say."
"Yes, yes, I'm listening. I'll do as you say."
"Go to the closet and get a hanger. Pick up the phone again when
you have it."
Maggie walks to the closet and opens it. Inside it is empty
except for a few hangers. There are hangers of several styles.
Instinctively she takes one that has a built in skirt hanger on
it. She retrieves the phone.
"I have the hanger."
"Take off your dress. Put it on the hanger."
Maggie sets down the telephone receiver once again. Slowly she
unbuttons the top to her two piece dress. The buttons are down
the front. She slips it off. Her shoulders are bare except for
the straps of her bra and low cut slip. She undoes the side
clasp of the skirt and lowers the zipper. She lowers the
garment. It slides easily down her silk covered hips and nylon
encased legs. She stands on one leg and steps out of the skirt.
She teeters slightly on her high heel. She repeats the action
with the other leg and is free of the skirt.
Maggie is now dressed in a low cut slip, undergarments, gartered
nylon stockings and high heeled pumps. She clips the skirt to
the hanger. Next she adds the jacket top.
She retrieves the receiver. "I have done what you asked," she
says.
"Done what, Margaret? What have you done?"
"I have taken off my dress and put in on the hanger," she says
in a soft voice.
"Is it fastened securely?" he asks. Maggie quickly buttons the
top over the hanger as she speaks.
"Yes, yes it's fastened securely," she lies, hoping her voice
will not betray her.
"Very good, Margaret. Now, on the collar. Make a small smudge of
lipstick and make-up on the collar. Rub the collar on your lips
and face."
Maggie does not speak. She lifts the dress to her face. She
turns her head and wipes lightly across the collar with her
lips. She does the same with an area of her cheek. The smudge is
clear. The red pink of her lipstick and a small area of make-
up.
"I have done what you asked," she says. "I've made a smudge on
the collar of my dress."
"It will need to be dry cleaned," he says. "I have called a
valet. He will be at the door shortly. Give him the dress. Tell
him that you want express service. Show him the stain. Tell him
you want the dress dry cleaned carefully. It's new. Ask him when
it will be returned."
Maggie's head spins. "Leave the phone off the hook," he adds.
Knock! Knock!
Maggie grabs the hangered garment. She goes to the door and
opens it slightly. A uniformed young man stands smiling. "Valet
service," he says.
"Um, yes." Maggie clasps the dress to her chest. She pokes her
head around the door.
"I have, that is, my dress, er this dress needs to be dry
cleaned. I have gotten make-up on it."
Opening the door slightly wider she hands the dress through
with her bare arm. "It's on the collar."
She struggles to show him. The door opens further. She is half
revealed in her short slip, nylons and high heels.
The valet lets his eyes roam greedily over the lingerie clad
woman. "Where, where is the stain?" he says, in no hurry to
leave.
"Here, here on the collar."
"Oh, oh okay I see." He turns to leave.
"Wait! Tell them to be careful. It's a new dress. When will it
be returned?" The words come tumbling out. "I want express
service."
"Four hours," he says. "Express service is four hours."
With that he takes one more look at the expanse of nylon
covered leg which protrudes from behind the open door and turns
to leave.
"Have a good day, ma’am," he says with a slight snicker.
"You've made mine," he says half under his breath.
Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Maggie picks up the telephone
receiver. Before she can speak, Eric's voice cuts her off. "I
have some instructions for you. You will follow them exactly as
I direct you..."
Maggie listens. Horrified she pleads. The voice on the phone
is unmoved. Do it! Do it now. Your outfit is in the closet.
Mr. Stephens is waiting for you."
Maggie gasps. Mr. Stephens...her boss. "Please, no," she
begs. The voice remains firm. "Don't delay if you know what
is good for you...Mrs. Seaver!
Maggie sets the receiver down and retrieves a large box from the
closet. Resigning herself, she kicks off her high heels and
strips off her lingerie and stockings and begins changing into
the outfit in the box.
Maggie leans forward and lifts first one leg and then the other
to roll on dark charo-brown nylon stockings which end high on
her thighs. She hooks them to a garter belt and fastens that
too. Then she rises and fits herself with a black bra which
barely covers her nipples. A pair of black high heeled shoes
sits in front of her and she steps into first one and then the
other of them. Finally, she wraps herself in a large dressing
gown, black silk, which, curiously, has no arms. She ties the
black belt at her waist.
Maggie walks quickly down the carpeted hall of the hotel to the
appointed room number. She holds her wrists behind her as she
walks. At the end of the hall is a door. She knocks lightly and
the door opens and she passes through. The room is large and
dim. Maggie can see an array of objects, chairs, tables and
couches.
"Walk to the center of the room and face me," Mr. Stephens voice
says.
She turns her head. He is sitting in a leather arm chair.
Maggie sees the glow of his cigarette. She walks farther into
the room and stops a few feet in front of him. Behind her, the
door shuts with a heavy click.
For a long moment nothing is said. Mr. Stephens scrutinizes her
closely. "Take off the robe," he says.
"Please, don't make me do this..."
"There's a price for playing around. You will do as I say.
Take of the robe!"
The robe slips off easily and Maggie sets it on a nearby
chair. She is humiliated to be standing dressed only in her
lingerie, hosiery and high heels in front of her boss. She
endures his continued gaze. Mr. Stephens examines her with frank
interest, his eyes roaming from her breasts, up and down her
nylon encased legs to her crotch. Maggie presses her thighs
together and feels moisture. Her nipples harden inside the bra.
"You are here for my pleasure," he says suddenly, without
preamble. "You are here at my request, but at your own consent.
Your silence implies consent."
He pauses, Maggie watches the smoke from his cigarette. "You
may leave at any time," Mr. Stephens continues, "simply by
asking to leave. If you ask to leave you will be given your
clothing and allowed to go. You have been appraised of the
subsequent consequences of such an action. Do you understand?"
Maggie nods.
"Answer aloud," Mr. Stephens says.
"I understand," says Maggie. Her voice is flat, expressionless.
"At the end of this session, you will have the opportunity to
ask questions. Until then, you are not to speak unless directly
asked a question, or, naturally, unless you have decided to
leave. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Maggie says.
Mr. Stephens puts our his cigarette and rises slowly. He is
wearing a black silk robe. He walks towards her and stops less
than a foot away. In her high heels Maggie is nearly his height
and their faces are very close. Involuntarily, she begins to
tremble. Mr. Stephens watches her carefully.
Suddenly, she feels his hands at the sides of her breasts. He
pulls roughly at her bra, yanking it down until it rests over
her garter belt. Her nipples are hard and throbbing. With his
thumb and forefinger, he pinches the right one and twists, like
a switch. Maggie's eyes widen but she says nothing. He twists
the other one with his left hand, then both together, slowly,
back and forth. Maggie moans, her eyes on his face.
"Shut up," Mr. Stephens says, simply.
His hands grab at her breasts, caressing them roughly. His
thumbs meet between them. Abruptly, he bends down and takes a
nipple in his mouth. Maggie feels his lips, his tongue, then the
crush of his teeth around it. His hand on the other breast is
still. She is breathing quickly. His teeth gnaw at her nipple,
then his lips cover it and he sucks, loudly, making sounds, then
he torments her again with his teeth. Her cunt aches and seeps.
He straightens up and puts his hands on her shoulders. His lips
are red and glistening. He presses her down.
"Kneel," Mr. Stephens says. There is no room for doubt in the
word. His face is calm.
She is awkward on her heels but the hands on her shoulders
steady her. She kneels at his feet, her nylon covered knees
slipping slightly on the carpet. His hands calmly undo the belt
of his robe, parting it. He is naked underneath. His cock is
bloated and stiff. It tilts against one thigh, throbbing
slightly. His fingers lock behind her head and he presses into
her face, rubbing himself over her nose and mouth. She catches
the scent of him. A drop of salt is dragged over her lips. She
keeps her mouth closed tightly and tries to pull away, but he
holds her head firm. His own hand reaches for his cock and lifts
it, its head at her lips. He brushes it back and forth.
"Open your mouth," he says.
Maggie's lips part but her jaw remains locked. He waits a
moment, then slips a thumb into the corner of her mouth, behind
her teeth, then pries her open like a horse forced to accept a
bridle.
"Don't disobey," he says softly. And then, "You will have to
be punished."
One hand twists her hair. The other guides his cock into
Maggie's mouth. His pubic hair bristles in her nostrils. His
hips circle and begin to thrust. His cock fills her cheeks and
flattens her tongue. She gasps through her nose. He finds the
back of her throat and hits it over and over.
"Suck me," he hisses, and she does, gulping at him, sliding
from foot to tip. He seems to thicken between her lips. He rocks
into her. She hears his low wail and swallows that too. He
starts to come, a warm leak then a punch against the ridged roof
of her mouth. He thrusts deep and hard. She is aware of his
knees, pressing her shoulders between them, the yanks in her
hair, the thick salt coursing down he throat. Suddenly he pulls
back. She knows he hasn't finished. Standing over her, he yanks
at her hair until her head tilts back, then shoots semen over
her face, hot and sticky and white.
When Maggie opens her eyes, Mr. Stephens has not moved. His cock
is limp in his hand, and flushed red. He is watching her face
which stings with drying semen. "Lick me clean," he says.
She hesitates momentarily and then complies, using her tongue
and lips to work on his cock until it is wet only with her
saliva.
"Get up," he says finally. She climbs unsteadily to her feet.
Mr. Stephens turns and walks briskly across the room and out the
door, tying his silk robe as he goes. Maggie stands motionless,
unsure of what to do. After a minute he returns, carrying a two
sets of leather cuffs.
"When you learn to obey, it will not be necessary to place you
in restrictive constraints. "Turn around."
Maggie turns on her high heels so that her back is to him. Mr.
Stephens grabs her arms and forces them behind her back. Here he
cuffs her wrists together with a set of wrist cuffs. He then
kneels behind her, caressing her stocking covered legs as he
does.
She is fully surprised when her nylon covered ankles are
fastened to each other with a set of cuffs joined by a short
cord. Grasping the wrist cuffs, but still leaving her wrists
bound together, he helps Maggie turn around. The ankle cuffs
effectively prevent all but the smallest of steps.
"What next?" she thinks. "Please release me!" she pleads to
him.
He responds by gently, but forcefully making Maggie Seaver kneel
on her stocking covered knees. Quickly he joins her wrist and
ankle cuffs by a separate strap. She is now bound on her knees
and clad only in garter belt, stockings and high heels. From
somewhere he produces a leather collar. This he attaches around
her neck in a secure manner. Quickly a leather leash is attached
to the collar.
He produces a camera from somewhere and snaps several
photographs of Maggie in this position. He stands in front of
her kneeling like a bound postulant clad only in her gartered
hosiery and heels. As he speaks, she lowers her face to avoid
his intense gaze.
Suddenly, she looks up, horrified at what she knows that he
expects of her.
Sensing Maggie's state of uncertainty, he tells her in a calm
voice, "Before you say anything, remember that I have the
photographs. I'm sure that you wouldn’t want them shown around
indiscriminately! Would you? "
With that, he gives a slight tug on the leash attached to her
leather collar. "Follow me!" he says.
In a daze, she crawls after him. Bound securely and dressed only
in garter belt, nylon stockings and high heels he leads Maggie
Seaver around the room like a bitch on the leash of its master.
He leads her like a tethered animal into the sitting room where
he seats himself on small couch. Maggie is positioned on her
stocking covered knees directly in front of him.
He pulls the leash to draw her head near to him. Knowing that
she has no choice, Maggie Seaver leans forward and tentatively
moves ahead on her stocking covered knees. Her head bobs up and
down as she moves and struggles to retain her balance. Maggie's
neck is held tight by the leash and she has little choice but to
obey.
Mr. Stephens moves to a table and the end of the room and,
opening a drawer, produces a piece of black fabric. He returns
to Maggie and ties it around her head and firmly over her eyes.
Through it, she can only faintly still see light.
"Please," she says, but her voice trails off without
completing the thought.
A low footstool is moved to the side of the bound and kneeling
Maggie Seaver. Mr. Stephens seats himself beside her. His
fingers begin to roam up and down the inside of her thighs.
Slowly, lingering as if to invite Maggie to react. She feels the
warmth of his breath, and knows that he is close, inspecting
her. Up and down his fingers travel, moving every fold of skin
to search behind it. Her pubic hair is pulled gently, then
harder. The heat is intense. Finally, a finger pauses at the
opening of her cunt and circles wetly at the rim. She feels
open, slicked with need, focused on the length of it. It enters
slowly, joint by joint, sinking in and then moving in a stroking
motion.
She resists the urge to grab it with her own muscles. The finger
withdraws and two fingers take its place and continue stroking.
When they slip out, she feels his two hands snaking round her
thighs to the front, then carefully separating the lips of her
cunt, holding them apart. Maggie strains against her straps but
she can barely move. She knows that he is testing her, waiting
to see how much she can take. Once again the fingers penetrate
her and begin their stroking motion. Slowly, Maggie feels the
urgency in her build.
Involuntarily, her pelvis rotates searching the source of the
pleasure. Then, gently, the fingers ease out of her and are
taken away. Maggie's nostrils flare as she waits their return.
In a minute those fingers are at her ankles, unbuckling the
straps. Hands brush her nylon covered calves and thighs. Then
her breasts.
"Spread your knees," Mr. Stephens says.
Slowly, Maggie brings her knees apart, sliding their nylon
surfaces on the carpet. The joints ache.
"Crawl forward on your knees," he instructs.
Maggie crawls across the room. He directs her with the leash.
"Feel with your knees," he says.
Maggie does. There is a cushion, covered with fabric, on the
floor in front of her.
"Bend over the cushion," he says.
The cushion is high. She is awkward with her hands strapped
behind her. She is afraid of falling forward. Slowly she eases
forward and allows her weight to transfer from her knees to her
torso which rests, almost balancing, on the cushion.
She is in a position like praying, her head down, her ass
raised, her legs bent beneath her and spread. His hands settle
on her ass, moving the flesh, squeezing it, testing its
firmness, then gliding down the backs of her stocking covered
thighs. The motion is both teasing and upsetting.
Stepping behind Maggie, Mr. Stephens kneels between her open
knees. His fingers still move inside her moist cunt. The fingers
slip from her cunt. His hand moves to her anus and, gently,
begins to touch it, pulling it, separating it. Maggie hears the
suck of a tube being squeezed. Something cool and gelatinous is
deposited in the crack of her ass.
"No, please no," she sniffles. "Not in my butt."
"Try to relax," he says without heeding her plea. Slowly, he
begins to rub, first the tops of her thighs where they meet the
buttocks, then the globes of muscle, taught with nervous
anticipation of what is to come, and finally, the hole itself. A
thumb circles it, working the lubricant in. She hears the
squeeze of the tube again, this time directly against her anus.
There is a rustle of silk, his robe undone and pulled apart,
then the cool penetration of his thumb, boring through the
sphincter muscle and into her rectum, slipping its length into
her. Maggie cries out and tries to struggle.
Cuffed as she is and kneeling on the cushion, she is forced to
endure. The thumb twists and tests and then withdraws. Maggie
exhales, momentarily relieved.
Mr. Stephens repositions himself behind her. One hand grabs her
around the front of her pelvis. The other aims his cock at her
well lubricated ass. There is a moment of resistance and then
his cock pops through the opening of her sphincter muscle and he
begins to rock to and fro, penetrating deeper with each thrust.
Maggie screams a low cry. Her throat seems full. She gurgles and
grunts unintelligibly.
His cock fully anchored in Maggie's ass, Mr. Stephens grasps her
by the hips and rocks in and out, enjoying the tight sensation
of Maggie Seaver's anus as it massages his rampant cock. She
hears him exhale, then hold his breath as, with a final rhythm
of quick pounding he empties himself deep inside her. Maggie can
feel the heat inside her as he relaxes, slumping on her back and
breathing heavily.
Mr. Stephens pulls back and drops out of her. Immediately he
kneels and unfastens he cuffs which hold her wrists. He removes
her blindfold.
"Turn over," her says.
Maggie turns on her back, resting on the cushion. Leaving her
as she is, he retrieves a short black slip dress which is of a
length that ends a mid-thigh and will barely cover the tops of
her nylon stocking. This done, he releases her and allows Maggie
to regain her lingerie and dress herself in the outfit. The slip
dress is very revealing in style which heightens its
embarrassing effect.
"Meet me in the lounge at 9 pm," he tells her. "Wear the
dress."
Nodding in reply Maggie Seaver wonders what is in store for her
next as she makes her way to the door.
End of Part Three
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PrfsrSissyPanty
Martin Mueller
soon....thanks very much.
Martin
Titmouse
Mueller) wrote:
>Oh go on.....you can't just stop there....needs to be continued
>soon....thanks very much.
>Martin
>On Thu, 02 Mar 2000 17:20:22 -0800, dodge
><pinestar...@excite.com.invalid> wrote:
>
>>Maggie Seaver - Blackmailed Wife at Business Conference
>>
>> Part Three
-- Huge SNIP --
Martin,
May I respectfully mention that it is considered bad form to quote the
whole story or message only to add a line or two. It takes up a lot
of bandwidth and is very frustrating to anyone who downloads the whole
thing (especially if they already have the story). Please don't.
Thanks.
Titmouse
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jcr_...@my-deja.com
dodge <pinestar...@excite.com.invalid> wrote:
> Maggie Seaver - Blackmailed Wife at Business Conference
>
> Part Three
>
happened to this lady when she went home. I liked what you'd done, so
far, and would like for you to continue. Hope this isn't the END!
JCR_INDY
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