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Climbing The Corporate Ladder Ch. 02

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Beth Atkins ran her hands over the leather of her new desk chair as she swiveled it. No longer was she in a cubicle but now in a private office with translucent walls that went from floor to ceiling. This was the office that her former boss Carl Snodgrass had occupied until he had degraded and ravished one too many underlings. Namely, herself.

This time Personnel had had the hard evidence to get rid of the filthy man who had been under the protection of his ex-wife who was a junior executive in the high tech company. Beth had seen Grace Johnson’s eyes light up as she heard the recording that Beth had made as Snodgrass had degraded and ravished her in the most humiliating manner there in his home. And for that Beth had been awarded his job of supervising a dozen data processors.

Sex does indeed sell, she thought as she luxuriated in her new private surrounding. She could do this. Who knows, with any luck it wouldn’t be too long before she had a window office and a secretary!

Yes by damn she could fuck her way up the next rung of the corporate ladder for she would be willing to bow to the depraved ones while others wouldn’t.

She went snooping on her computer to see what her own underlings were doing for she could watch their own screens at any time without their even knowing. Suddenly it dawned on her that she now had the power to do just what old Snodgrass had done. There were three or four young men who she had found attractive but who had never even noticed her existence. Now with their personal files at her disposal she could check their current marital status and perhaps chose one to be her own sex-toy.

Rank did have it privileges.

Then she realized that she was getting distracted. Having an underling sex-toy would be nice but climbing the next rung of the corporate ladder had to remain her primary focus. But who would the next target be? It might even be a woman!

Beth had plenty of work to do that first couple of weeks in her new job getting up to speed. As she did so she realized that old Snodgrass’s work had been even poorer than most in the group had perceived. Her superior work in itself could impress her new boss but that surely would take time. And she was in a hurry.

During his first week Beth held a private interview with each of her new dozen underlings. She had expected a couple or so to show fake personal interest in her but was surprised to find a young recent graduate of well above average looks to stand out. He actually looked sincere, even though she was of rather ordinary looks herself and some five years his senior.

Over dinner at a local Italian restaurant they got acquainted. Frank was twenty-three, quiet and shy which was to be expected for a tech nerd, but good looking with a sincere, winning smile. Several times Beth had had him to repeat what he had said for he spoke so quietly. When he invited her over to his bachelor’s pad she had him come to her own apartment instead.

What a wonderful bedding it was. His young body was so graceful as he made loving love. Kisses on the neck? Certainly, madam. Kisses on her clic? Bien sur, madam. Prolonged, slow screwing? Say no more.

He didn’t leave until one o’clock.

Months passed. Her happily married boss was most pleased with her work which was clearly superior to her predecessor’s. Young Frank and she had dinner dates and screwing every couple of weeks. But soon she tired of him, his youth and meekness.

Her break came when the section lesbian appeared on the scene. Not being gay Beth decided finally to give it a try.

The new experience proved unsatisfactory. It was a novel and rather nice experience having her pussy ate by a female but when it came time to reciprocate, she couldn’t. No problem. The young lady understood. They would be friends. And as such Beth let her in on how she had gotten Snodgrass’s job and how rough and humiliating it had been.

“You are naive, Beth. This tech company is filled with weirdoes. You aren’t the first to get ahead with your arse.”

“I’m sure you are right but I need the right weirdo. The right one for me.”

“Fu Fong.”

“The Fu Fong in systems analysis; the Assistant Manager?”

“How many Fu Fongs you think there are in the company?”

“But my experience in that field is rather limited.”

“It’s managing, Beth. Aren’t you managing already?”

“Well I suppose.”

“The question is whether you could manage to put up with him and his fetish.”

“What is his fetish?”

“Bondage. Weird oriental bondage.”

“You mean like being suspended, nude and such?”

“Perhaps, but he is more polished than that. In fact I hear that you don’t even undress on his first session. But don’t expect it to be any cakewalk. He’s are real weird one. Loves watching women squirm under stress.”

The next day Beth copied Mr. Fong in on a tech memo with a note that she thought might find it of interest.

She also attached a photo of her somewhat homely but young self.

– – – – – – – – – – –

“I appreciate your copying me in on your memo, Miss Atkins. I didn’t even know you knew me.”

“I bonus veren siteler only recently learned of you, Mr. Fong. I’ve never really know a man of oriental decent.”

“And you find that intriguing, Miss Atkins. Perhaps exotic.”

“Perhaps erotic.”

“Ah; so you have heard the rumors.”

“Of course.”

“And perhaps you are searching for a new adventure. An oriental adventure, so to speak.”

“Yes, but I also wish to succeed in the company.”

“I understand.”

Beth smiled as she looked at the man in his silk suit with its coat button under strain. Apparently he had recently put on weight. Then perhaps it was his posture as he sat there in front of her desk looking about at her office which was quite ordinary in comparison to his own.

“I thought than our section on the Qm4 project would be of . . .”

“Oh please, Miss Atkins. Wouldn’t you rather discuss just what a date with Fu Fong would entail?”

“I’ve heard.”

“And yet you still would like to dine with me?”

“I wouldn’t have copied you in otherwise, would I?”

“I’ve written my home address is on the reverse side of my business card. Shall we say, seven?”

“Oh; and please wear a pants suit. Black, if you have one. And don’t worry. My introductory dates into the wonderful world of bondage keep their clothes on. I like to take it step by step as we get acquainted.”

– – – – – – – – – –

Beth looked at the doorbell and hesitated. The house looked quite ordinary from the outside, but inside did it harbor a dungeon? Come on girl; get a grip on. This man has worked in the company for years. He’s no criminal but just one more with a fetish. Having a sexual fetish is rather common.

“Ah Miss Atkins, I like your pants suit. Do come in.”

Beth looked at the man wearing a dinner jacket and green bowtie. There was no rope in his hand.

As she followed him in he came straight to the point.

“May I ask if you’ve engaged in bondage before?”

“This is my first experience, Mr. Fong.”

“Well don’t you worry. Any time you wish to call it quits just say so. And should you be unable to speak because of being gagged, merely rotate your head or your eyes in a circle.”

Gagged, she thought. Why of course gags. That was a traditional part of bondage.

Into a living room they went and over to a bar.

“Shall we have a glass of wine?”

“That would be nice,” she replied as she scanned the room. There were no obvious torture devices or the like in view, but the room was exceptionally sparse.

“Red or white?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

“I find that white seems to be the choice of the fairer sex. I have a lovely Chablis here. Real Chablis; not the petite.”

“Fine.”

She watched as he placed the bottle in a wall-mounted grip and pulled out the cork with a strong-arm grip on a lever. Mentally she pictured that same strong arm applying some sort of grip on some body part of her own within the coming hour.

He poured two crystal wine glasses but when she went to lift hers he stopped her.

“Your glass my dear goes in this.”

With that he pulled out a small, self-standing wooden cradle and inserted her glass. Then he rocked it very slightly back and forth before lifting it and bringing the glass to her lips.

“With your hands being unavailable you will sip your wine hands free. Cheers.”

Seeing him lift his glass Beth looked down at hers. She lifted the cradle with two hands and put her lips to the rim of her wine glass. Seeing Fong take a sip of his own she tilted her glass with her lips until she felt the cool wine flood her upper lip which was inside the bowl.

“Slide your tongue inside the bowl and then open your mouth slightly. It just takes a little practice.”

She did so and found that she could indeed take a sip without sloshing wine over her face and onto the floor.

“I’m not sure I understand. What’s the point, Mr. Fong?”

“Bondage, of course. Surely you wouldn’t expect to have use of your hands.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Shall we start,” he asked as he took the wine glass cradle from her.

“Alright,” she replied as she dabbed wine from her lips with the back of one hand.

“Since this is your inauguration I suggest we start with a simple hogtie.”

That said he escorted her over to a tufted, leather bench. “Please put your hands behind your back.”

As soon as that was done she felt leather cuffs applied to her wrists holding them firmly together.

Next leather cuffs were applied to her arms just above her elbows. Slowly she felt them being drawn towards each other. As that was being done she felt her breasts jutting out more and more. How much further would he tighten?

Slowly she felt her elbows being drawn together. The closer they came together the stiffer the resistance. Had she been older or heavier they probably would not have been able to be drawn together, but in her case she was limber enough to have them drawn tightly together.

“There now. How is that, Miss Atkins?”

“Ugh . . . ugh . . . bedava bahis fine.”

“Good. Now if you would lie down on the bench.”

With that done he cuffed her ankles together. Then he ran a strap between her ankle cuffs and her wrist cuff and drew them towards one another.

Beth’s breathing fastened as she felt her back start to arch backwards. For the first time she was frightened.

Fong watched her face intensely as he tightened and caused her back to arch backwards further. When her grimace turned into a gasp he backed off some until her expression was one of discomfort and not pain. He well knew what he was doing.

“There now, you can relax.”

“Relax?”

He chuckled. “As best you can.”

Beth wiggled about as she tried to adjust. In the meantime Fong sat a stand in front of her head and placed her cradle of wine on it. Then he slid over an articulated leather recliner chair and sat down with his glass of wine. With a single push the chair reclined enough to bring his feet up into a position of comfort.

“To your good bondage, Miss Atkins,” he said as he lifted his wine glass. “Do join me.”

Beth looked at the man all comfortable in his recliner with his Chablis and a smile on his face. For him this was the good life.

Carefully she put her lips to her own glass and tilted it enough to feel the cool white wine touch them. Slowly she slid her tongue over the bowl lip and opened her mouth enough for a trickle of wine to enter. Then she gulped, seeking relief.

“Miss Atkins, please. Fine wine should be sipped and savored; not gulped.”

“Yes; sorry.”

“I’m interested in having your opinion. Be honest; how do you like this Chablis?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . .”

Slosh. Having tilted it too far with her lips, some sloshed onto her cheeks.

She looked up to see him giving her a stern look of disapproval.

“Sorry.”

“Well?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . wet.”

“WET!”

“Sorry,” she replied as she felt some drip down off her chin.

“I mean.”

“Don’t be crude. This is an exceptional good Chablis.”

“I’m sure it . . . oh – oh – oh . . . is. It’s just this . . . position, you know.”

“Yes, being hogtied does tend to become a distraction over time. Especially if hogtied overnight.”

“Overnight? How could anyone . . .”

“As punishment, you know. But you aren’t here for punishment but simply for good bondage companionship and my pleasure.”

“Good God. I couldn’t imagine.”

“One adapts.”

Fong pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. “Would you care for one, Miss Atkins?”

“I would, but I no longer smoke.”

“Good for you,” he said as he positioned his chair upright and sat on its edge right in front of her face. Then he blew a series of smoke rings which encircled her the wine cradle and her head.

“I think we need to make a small adjustment now that you’ve settled in.”

He stood and tighten the strap that tied her ankle cuffs to her wrist cuffs causing her back to arch further backwards in a bow. He moved her wine bowl back and took hold of her hair and began to rock her back and forth like she were a rocking horse.

“Tell me about yourself. How were you brought up?”

With her back now bowed backwards and her being rocked on her belly, she could hardly think. But through a grimacing face she managed to speak.

“I . . . I . . . I . . . was born at an early age.”

“Ah; a sense of humor. I like that. Much better than begging or pleading or sobbing or the like. Yes, much better.”

On and on he rocked her as she struggled to speak of her rather ordinary upbringing until he grew tired of hearing such crap.

Without ungrasping her hair he took her wine bowl out of its cradle and held it to her lips and poured what was left into her mouth.

“Excuse me while I go and fetch our salads.”

Leaving her still hogtied there on the bench he left the room only to return promptly with two plates of greens.

Her eyes followed him as he went to a dining room table which was covered with a nice table cloth and with a small fresh flower arrangement at its center. She now saw what appeared to be fine old silverware at place settings at each end of the table. Relief at last, she thought.

Sure enough he then returned to her and in an instant had her free of all restraints.

“Hungry,” he asked as she rubbed her wrists.

“Oh yes.”

“Good!”

He took her by the arm and walked her slowly to her spot at one end of the table while gently patting her forearm. The dining room chairs at each end looked of so inviting. How wonderful it was going to be to sit and relax.

Once there he pulled it away from the table like a gentleman and beckoned her to sit which she did.

“Comfortable, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” she answered as she looked at the fabulous salad.

“Yes, I too find it most comfortable. Unfortunately that is my chair. Yours is at the other end, Miss Atkins.”

Now again he took her by the arm and escorted her to the other end. The chair, or what passed for a chair, deneme bonus bore no resemblance to his at the opposite end. It was a short sawhorse with an upright wedge. When she looked back at him in disbelief he made a gracious gesture for her to have a seat.

Slowly Beth straddled the horrid device and lowered herself down. The wedge made its way into her crotch. Instinctively she lifted up away from it by her legs.

“No, my dear. It would be most impolite for you not to sit while at the table.”

She spread her legs a bit and slowly lowered herself again until a significant portion of her weight was on the wedge. She could find momentary relief by pushing up a tad with her legs but the strain was too much for her to hold that position for any time.

Satisfied with her predicament Fong went to his comfortable chair and sat.

“Bon appetite.”

Beth gave a tortured smile and took up her fork. While the salad appeared scrumptious, all she could think of was that wedge pressing into her crotch and rubbing her pussy covered by her pants suit. That, and the strain on her thighs while she would try to lift off to seek relief. A high squat was quite stressful.

As Fong enjoyed his salad he also enjoyed Beth’s predicament while she ate hers. At no time could she relax. She either had to sit on that wedge or make a stressful high squat.

Over and over he watched her suffer the force of the wedge against her crotch with intermittent periods of seeking relief by lifting up only then to feel the strain on her thighs being too much to sustain.

Just as he had earlier enjoyed seeing her struggle to consume her wine he now watched as she ate her salad with recurring grimaces and twists of her head as she rose and sat and rose and sat.

“Don’t you love the arugula?”

“Yes . . . ooou . . . . so . . . so fresh.”

“And the radishes. I like to slice them very thin.”

“Yes . . . thin . . . augh . . . thin . . . oou.”

“Yes, I take pride in my salads.”

Finally he took their salads away. She heard the oven door open and close several times before he returned.

“We need to make an adjustment for the entre.”

Thank God he’s going to ease off, she thought.

Wrong.

Back on came the ankle cuffs. Next he gathered some of her hair and cuffed it. Then he brought her ankles up until they touched her thighs. Finally he belted the ankle cuffs to the hair cuff. With no legs now on the floor her entire weight was now placed on the wedge at her crotch. No longer could she seek momentarily relief by lifting up into a squat position.

“How is that?”

Save for her weight being supported by her crotch atop the wedge and her legs doubled up, all else was normal. Indeed, were others to be seated at the table they would see her fully clothed with her arms and hands free as if all was normal. Of course they would note her good posture as the belt was buckled tight enough to her hair as to keep her head well up. She could look down at her plate but at the cost of her hair and head being further strained.

“Oh no. It’s fine.”

“Good. Then we can proceed.”

By proceeding Beth assumed he meant with the meal. But no. Now he suspended two five pound weight with straps behind her knees which added yet more pressure by the wedge to her crotch.

“I find that the weights add stability. We wouldn’t want you fall off your seat during diner, would we?”

As Fong left to fetch the entries Beth was brave enough to ask: “Can I help?”

Fong did something he rarely did. He laughed out loud.

To Beth’s surprise Fong presented a plate of oriental chicken and vegetables which both looked and smelled scrumptious. He filled her wine glass with a Tavel rose. Then he served himself, took his seat and bowed his head. Beth bowed her expecting him to say grace.

“Lord we pray that Miss Beth Atkins may nourish this meal even as she feels her weight supported entirely by her delicate, feminine pussy. We beseech you that she will dismiss the feel of the wedge upon which she rests as it presses against her clitoris and vagina. That she will learn to ignore the unrelenting distress that the additional ten pounds of weight adds to her distress as she twists and turns seeking relief where no relief is to be found. And we humbly prey that she may be able to consume her entire meal free of indigestion and vomiting. Amen.”

“Amen,” she replied as his words reinforced the horrid feeling that she was indeed being subjected to.

“To your glorious distress, Miss Atkins,” he said as he lifted his ruby colored glass of Tavel.

“Ugh . . . ugh . . . thank you Mister Fong. The meal looks delightful. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Yes, I marry my two passions: Cooking and bondage. I believe I am rather unique in that respect.”

“I’m sure you are. Can you explain this most odd desire of yours?”

“I have indeed thought about it. I believe it to be the delight I take in seeing the mixture of pain and pleasure. It’s a sort of sadism, I suppose. Sadists by definition enjoy inflicting pain, of course. And where they can enjoy the pleasure of sex at the same time they do . . . . . . . . MISS Atkins; you have your elbows on the table. You are trying to find relief there, I see. Well that is forbidden. It also is most impolite to put one’s elbows on the table. Have you no table manners?”

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