Her Nemesis Master (Dark BDSM Erotica) Read Online Free

drawing out spunk from inside
her cunt and forcing it into her mouth. She thought she might be
sick – it tasted so foul, yet she greedily swallowed it down –
falling to her knees in an orgasmic heap with a finger stuck up her
lily white ass.
    Then Emily Johnson let out a sob. She coughed and spluttered.
She banged her fist hard against the wall.
    “Are you all right, darling?” shouted Les from the
bedroom.
    “Yes... Yes, I’m fine,” she replied. But of course that was a
lie.
    She remained in the shower for another ten minutes, washing
her body –focusing on the finger that she’d debased herself with –
rubbing it manically like Lady Macbeth trying to get rid of an
imaginary spot. She emerged with pink skin, flushed from a
scouring. But like Lady Macbeth whose hands were tainted, Mrs.
Johnson didn’t feel clean.

Chapter 3
    Emily knew that she should have reported the incident as soon
as she returned to the office. Sexual harassment of any sort was
totally unacceptable, especially in the company she worked for. And
she was the P.A. to the C.E.O. – not a woman to be messed with. It
really was intolerable that she had been subjected to such
abuse.
    So why didn’t she?
    Well, for one thing - Emily knew that if she were to raise the
matter, it would end up in the hands of her arch-enemy, Tessa
Clifford, who would insist on dealing with it personally. It would
be galling beyond belief, having to recount what had happened to
that two-faced scheming bitch. Emily winced at the notion – Tessa
would naturally act shocked, but would be inwardly gloating. She
would goad Emily into revealing more and more details of her
humiliation, forcing her to repeat the exact words the man had
used. And of course Tessa would imply, ever so subtly, that Emily
had deserved it, acting like a tart, doing up her face in the
elevator. She would ask about the skirt – how short, how tight; was
it perhaps a little provocative – what was she wearing underneath!
Tessa would ask all sorts of questions – did Emily subconsciously
wiggle her bottom; did she jut it out in invitation, brazenly
flaunting her goods. Tessa would suggest that perhaps Emily gave it
a little rub, a slight moan as she caressed her own buttocks. Tessa
would paint a picture of Emily acting like a slut then display it
for the whole office to see, through the careful leaking of
disinformation, and brazen back-stabbing bitchiness.
    No. It would be too shaming to bear. And Emily wouldn’t give
that evil witch the ammunition to undermine her in the eyes of
Donald Harper. So she decided to keep quiet, using this as her
reasoning, conveniently ignoring any alternative motivation, for
what other could there be.
    Was this another mistake? Or was this another deliberate step
on the path to debasement, consciously or sub-consciously taken?
How would Emily have acted if the man concerned had been old, ugly
and fat, instead of a rugged young hunk oozing testosterone by the
gallon and smelling deliciously of natural musk? Would she still
have kept quiet or would she have blurted it all out and had the
man hounded from the company?
    Who can say except Mrs. Johnson – and her lips on the matter
were as tight as her ass!
    It was on the Tuesday of the following week when Emily was
called on to work late again - and again she left when the office
was nearly empty. This was not unusual. She had a demanding job and
late hours were expected. Emily never complained for she never had
an issue with the situation in the past. But on this occasion she
found cause to feel anxious as she waited for the elevator –
smartly dressed as always in designer clothes which included a
tight fitting skirt that hugged her ass and showed plenty of leg –
Emily refusing to be intimidated and tone down her look, because
that would be an admission of guilt. And sure enough, her fears
were justified when the doors to the elevator opened. It was empty,
save for the same well built man, with the same assured