Literotic asexstories – Thursday Evening, Parking Ramp by jzbarraketh,jzbarraketh
The phone rings, your name popping up on the screen and I hit the call button.
“It’s been a long week” you say, clearly tired but with a hint of breathless anticipation in your voice. “I work late Thursday evening, but I have Friday and Monday off, if you… could you…? I…” You trail off, seeming nervous to ask outright.
“Yes? You have to say it.”
Your voice lowers, as though afraid someone might overhear even with your office door closed, the noise and bustle of your team muffled in the background. Your words pour out in a rush of whispered, pleading tones, “Please sir, can you.. can you just take charge? Just for a little while? Please sir, I just don’t want…”
“Yes? Speak up. Tell me what you want.”
A deep, steadying breath. “Please sir, I just don’t want to have to think this weekend. Will you take charge of me? Please?”
“What’s your name this weekend?”
No hesitation now, a hard edge to your voice. “Patrice.” Patrice, one of your most hated rivals in the office.
“And has Patrice been well behaved this week?”
Much more firmly now, clipped, almost spiteful. “No sir. No, she has not been very well behaved at all.”
“I see.” Silence, in which I can hear you breathing a little hard.
“Sir? Please sir?” A pleading note enters your voice. “Please sir, I think I just really need this.”
“Of course, Patrice – you’ve asked very nicely and I can help make sure you get what you deserve.”
“Thank you sir. I think…”
I interrupt. “Patrice, I’ll pick you up at the top level of the parking garage at your workplace on Thursday evening at 8:07.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir. Should I..”
I hang up.
Thursday at 8:11 you are walking quickly from the elevators, looking about worriedly until you spot the car. You’re dressed conservatively, suit jacket and skirt and designer purse, and I can imagine the rapid clicking of your heels on the concrete as you approach. All business, formidable and no doubt daunting in your element. I don’t get out of the car, watching impassively as you open the door and maneuver yourself into the passenger seat, then turn to smile at me.
“I hope you weren’t…”
The slap across your cheek is quick, but not hard, surprising you more than hurting, and you gasp, eyes widening in realization. We’re starting now.
“Patrice, I don’t know what my lovely has told you about me, but you are late and that will not be tolerated. By stepping into my car, you are now playing by my rules. You can step out now if you’ve changed your mind.”
You shake your head, stuttering a quiet “No” then, when I raise my hand again, quickly amending it with a louder “Sir. No sir. I’ll stay. I am sorry for being late, sir.”
“How many minutes late?”
A quick glance at the dash. “Nine minutes, sir.”
I lean over and very deliberatly grasp your throat and jaw with one hand, watching your pupils dilate. “Count them out,” I rasp. I alternate slaps across both sides of your face, and this time I make sure they do sting, your face reddening and tears leaking from those beautiful eyes as you cry out, counting each of the nine slaps. When I let go, you wipe at your eyes and your running nose, gasping and sobbing quietly.
I hand you a handkerchief and let you settle for a moment before speaking again. “This weekend, Patrice, you are going to tell me every rotten, horrible, double-crossing thing you made my lovely endure this week. While you do that I will beat and sexually abuse your body and mind in ways that will shock and horrify you when you think about them forever after these next few days. IF I am convinced that you have sufficiently paid for your behavior and are sincerely remorseful for crossing my lovely, I’ll turn you loose Tuesday morning. The slate will be wiped clean. Do you understand?”
Your breath, which had been evening out, is rapid again as you hear the plans for the weekend, almost to the point of hyperventilating. Your pupils are still very wide, and your hands are unconsciously tugging at your skirt as you shift in your seat. “Yes sir,” you breathe. “I have an overnight bag in my car. I can get…”
“You won’t need a bag.” I reach over to still your hands, taking the handkerchief back. “Take off all your jewelry – including that expensive-looking watch – and put them in your purse. Earrings too.”
“Yes sir,” you whisper, clearly nervous as you follow my instructions. When you’re done I take the purse and carelessly dump it into the back seat.
“Give me your shoes.” We’ll have a use for those later. The expensive designer shoes get tossed into the back seat as well.
You’re keeping your eyes downcast now, red-faced, with tear-stained cheeks, hands clasped tightly together.
“Take off your panties.”
Silently you shift and shimmy in the seat, pulling your skirt up and pulling your black lace panties down your thighs, shapely calves, then around your ankles and off. You wordlessly offer them to me, the scent of your arousal filling the car.
I shake my head. “Toss them out the window.” I turn and start the car as you roll the window down, reversing out of the parking space, then putting the car in park, so that you’re dropping the panties in the middle of the parking ramp aisle.
“Here’s what’s going to happen next, Patrice.” You look at me quizzically as I hold out a simple black leather collar with a silver buckle and a small silver medallion hanging from the ring. A quick glance at the inscription on the disc shows you that one side says “please hurt me”, while the other has a “if lost, fuck me, then call” with my number on it.
“In a moment, Patrice, I’m going to start driving. You have eight levels to put the collar on, strip naked, throw the rest of your clothes out the window, and have my cock in your mouth before we exit the parking ramp.Fail to meet THIS deadline and I’ll kick you out of the car on the street, however you’re dressed, and this is over. Do you understand?”
Eyes wide, hands trembling as you carefully take the collar from me, you whisper “Yes sir.”
I put the car in drive and hit the accelerator.
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