This is the first in a series of stories that will see a beautiful, talented young woman, Jennifer, turned from a brilliant Wall Street executive into a helpless toy at the mercy of her wealthy, powerful and psychopathic boss. I anticipate that the stories will explore many dark themes, including blackmail, rape, humiliation, sadism, degradation, torture, abuse, submission, betrayal, drugs, prostitution, violence, toilet, bestiality, human trafficking and more. In the opening chapter, the stage is set.
Jennifer is framed for crimes that she did not commit, then forced to make a Hobson's choice between prison and an uncertain future of helpless servitude. The hell that is to become Jennifer's life will unfold as it will. Perhaps some will have suggestions for what awaits Jennifer. If so, I look forward to hearing them, as well as other feedback. I have a taste for the extreme, and there are very few themes that I am unwilling to explore.
The psychology of degradation fascinates me as much as the act itself, a fact that will be reflected in my writing. "Crime is the soul of lust. What would pleasure be if it were not accompanied by crime? It is not the object of debauchery that excites us, rather the idea of evil." -- Marquis de Sade __________________________________ The accounts executive standing in front of John couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall.
Her fashionable but modest business suit did nothing to cover her slim waist, full hips, and C-cup breasts. She gave the immediate impression of a girl who belonged on the beach at the kind of exclusive Caribbean resort where the wealthy, young and beautiful play. Eyes as green as jade and full red lips added a touch of the exotic to her soft face. Understated makeup and jewelry enhanced rather than covered over that natural look.
A stylish bun at the back of her head held long, naturally wavy blonde hair that when let down would cascade to the middle of her back. Her muscles were toned from years of regular exercise and yoga. At 26 years old, she had lost none of the blush of her youth. John Jameson couldn't look at a woman like Jennifer without seeing her in his mind's eye, cowering in the presence of his powerful 6'2" frame. She was a woman he could casually pick up by the throat and throw across the room with one hand.
She was a woman who would be helpless when it came time to destroy her cunt, throat and doubtlessly virgin asshole with his cock. He could almost hear her screaming… Almost feel her choking on his cock as she gagged on the flow of his hot piss and her own bile deep in her throat… But now was not the time for those thoughts; not yet!
He pulled his focus back into the moment. First he had to spring the trap. Jennifer Conroy was in no state to appreciate the magnificent view from the 35th floor corner office looking out on New York City's financial district.
In the last few minutes, Jennifer's carefully constructed world had shattered. She stood in the middle of the room in shock, her perfect face frozen in a rictus of terror and disbelief. On paper, Jennifer had the makings of a top-flight executive on the rise. With her first-in-class MBA from a prestigious East Coast business school and stellar recommendations from a series of internships, she had her pick of jobs.
It had taken a salary package usually reserved for seasoned traders to attract her to Jameson Financial. But it was not Jennifer's professional resume that had captured John's attention. He was a man used to taking what he wanted. When he first saw her during her interview, he knew that it was a question of when and not if he would destroy her. His thought had been to let her take a position elsewhere, then after a few months drug her and rape her against an alley wall and leave her for whoever else might find her and decide to sample her charms.
That was before he read the results of her psychological profile. His firm used a more in-depth assessment than most firms on Wall Street, designed to provide John with a very complete appraisal of a potential employee's mental and emotional makeup. It was nice to know before hiring a secretary or administrative assistant just how compliant she would be. Of course, John also made it a point to pair executives and traders with assistants who were a good match to their particular tastes.
Feeding aggressive men sexual meat that they could not resist was a powerful management tool, especially when combined with the hidden cameras installed throughout the private spaces in the building.
Nothing assured the loyalty of a good, upstanding Christian family man quite like possession of a video of him getting coked up and then choking out his slutty secretary as he gave it to her up the ass in a men's room stall! John smiled to himself at that thought, but to be honest he seldom had to go to such lengths. The perks alone were enough to attract and retain the sorts of ruthless traders who gave his firm its reputation.
High performers knew that if they needed to work out their frustrations on some tasty little number who would keep her mouth shut afterwards, there were plenty of willing partners.
It wasn't completely accurate to say that every skirt in the building was a good time party girl who would spread for anything with a cock, but it wasn't completely inaccurate either. Even so, a girl like Jennifer was a rare find. So beautiful. So intelligent.
Yet also delicate and vulnerable underneath her professional competence. He doubted that Jennifer herself had any idea of just how sexually submissive and dependent she could become… John was pulled from his reverie by a sudden outburst.
"This is impossible!!! I checked those portfolios myself! There was nothing out of order.
Nothing! I don't care what the damned computer says! I don't care if these are all my clients! I did NOT make those transactions! And I certainly didn't open a bunch of offshore accounts!
I know, I know… It says it was me, my computer, my passwords, my encryption keys… I KNOW! I don't know how they did it, but somebody is trying to set me up! Please. You have to believe me, Mr. Jameson! You have to! I beg you!" Jennifer was looking at a folder of printouts. The evidence of embezzlement on a massive scale was clear to her trained eye. Well over two million dollars had disappeared from a dozen different client portfolios, as though the money had been lost in poorly performing investments.
That money had then been carefully laundered through a series of trades on dark exchanges, and finally wound up in numbered offshore accounts.
The transactions had been well hidden, but the evidence that Mr. Jameson had pieced together was compelling. Hell. It was more than compelling. It was irrefutable! Except these were HER accounts, and she knew that she had done nothing wrong!
She knew that she was innocent. But looking at the evidence, she also knew that no one else would ever believe her. John looked at the girl and smiled to himself. He had built a backdoor into the firm's computer system years ago that gave him access to a wealth of supposedly protected information including the private encryption keys of all of his employees.
That access allowed him to assume an employee's secure, "unforgeable" identity anywhere on worldwide financial networks, while spoofing all packet logs so that they pointed back to the employee's own phone or computer.
He was meticulously careful, of course. Nothing unusual was ever written to a permanent storage device, even temporarily.
The software that he used existed only on a small thumb drive. When he tampered with accounts there was literally no digital signature of what had happened. Down to the last byte, there was no difference between a transaction that John carried out in an employee's name and a transaction that employee had carried out themselves while sitting at their own desk. John had quite enjoyed the technical challenge of using his young, nubile protégé's identity to steal two million dollars from his own firm.
It was a game of wits, because if she had spotted what was happening and blown the whistle before he finished, it could have gone very badly for him. Jennifer was smart enough that she might well have caught on had she been paying closer attention. In his mind, the fact that he had taken those risks meant that he had earned the rewards.
He had no remorse. It was her own fault she was caught in this trap. When it came time to ensnare Jennifer, John used the same basic approach that he had used a decade earlier to embezzle $30 million from Lehman. Back then he had been a young, very savvy day trader with a genius for computers. He took the money he had stolen and used it to open a startup that specialized in shorting mortgage-backed bonds.
When the crisis of 2007 hit it left him with over $300 million and control of over $5 billion in other people's money, even as the rest of the financial system crumbled. As other firms failed, he was quick to step into the void, buying temporarily undervalued investments for pennies on the dollar. He was also quick to see the potential profits to be made in high speed trading, and put almost all of his liquid resources into electronically front-running trades.
John was a sociopath, but a very, very smart sociopath. Today that stolen $30 million had grown to personal wealth of well over $20 billion. It felt good to get his hands dirty again, but this time he was intentionally just a little bit sloppy. He left just enough of a trace to then "accidentally" stumble onto evidence of "Jennifer's" crime. John enjoyed thinking about that history as Jennifer whimpered and cried in front of him.
He could almost taste her flesh. John, himself was in his early 40's, and had the kind of good looks that would attract women even if he weren't one of the richest men in the world. He was certain that had he chosen to do so he could have easily seduced this woman. But such a prize was infinitely sweeter when taken against its will, and nothing of his intentions spoke of romance.
Such were his thoughts, but as he look at Jennifer the expression on his face gave nothing away. When he spoke his words were as harsh as his stoney cold glare.
"I don't fucking care about your denials!
What a worthless, ungrateful little cunt! You are fucking guilty and we both know it, so drop the bullshit denials. There's not a jury in the world that wouldn't convict! Embezzlement, fraud, insider trading, money laundering, tax evasion… Jesus, are there any laws that you ~didn't~ break!?! Every prosecutor in the state will want to be the one who finally puts a Wall Street executive away for a few decades, especially a sweet little photogenic piece of ass like you.
Your face will be on the front page of every newspaper on the planet. And that's before the SEC has a go at you! But I wouldn't worry. I'm sure that the dykes in the pen will look after you. I hear that they have a real taste for rich white meat." The crass sexual remarks on top of the obvious threat tore through Jennifer.
Tears of desperation and barely contained anger rolled down her cheeks as she looked at the man who only minutes ago she had seen as her mentor and gateway to the good life.
"But Mr. Jameson! You must know I wouldn't… How could I have…? Why would I…? Please! You must know that I didn't do this!!! Give me a week. You know I'm a great forensic accountant. I'm sure that I can uncover what happened and find who's really responsible. Just a week to clear myself. PLEASE!!!" John's look remained stern, but he allowed himself to show amusement and feigned incredulity as well. "What kind of an idiot do you think that I am, Jennifer? Do you really imagine that I'm going to let you back into those accounts so that you can cover your tracks?
Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch!
If I had known you are that stupid I never would have hired you in the first place." John's throbbing cock was straining painfully at his pants as he watched the girl cower in fear. He could feel the beast within him, caged but dangerous, and never completely under control. He wanted to hurt her. To use her right here. To come out of his chair, take off his belt, and beat her tits and cunt bloody while he used her! But not yet. Patience. There would be time. The degradation and humiliation unfolding before him were so beautiful.
For the moment they were enough. He continued, watching her shrink from each word. "And here I thought you were smart, but I should have known better.
Girls like you are a fucking dime a dozen. Stupid little sluts who think they can get by in a man's world by batting their eyes and wiggling their asses.
Let me guess. You got all those high marks and recommendations like worthless little bimbos always do, with your legs spread. Is that it? Did you whore your way through school? Suck the shit from your own ass off the cock of every boss you ever had? You must be some fuck!
And then you thought you'd come here and steal from me??? Is that how it is, Jennifer?" John finally gave into desire in a small way. He rose from his chair and stood over her, menacing. He spit on her face. Then when she used her hand to wipe it away he spit on her again. "I'm going to enjoy watching them lead you away in handcuffs, and you can be certain that my lawyers are going to give the prosecution all the help that they can!" Nothing of what her boss had said was true.
Jennifer was every bit as brilliant and hard working as her pedigree would suggest, which meant that she was smart enough to understand her situation. No one would ever believe her, or raise a finger to try to prove her innocence.
And with a case like this no prosecutor would ever offer a plea deal. She was going to trial and she was going to be convicted of every count. And when it came time for sentencing, she was certain that Mr. Jameson would make sure that she had a judge who hated women as much as he like to see defendants suffer. She was going to prison for a very, very long time. She was lost in her own head, talking to herself when she breathed, "Oh my god, what can I do?" John had been waiting for that question and did not let it pass.
"What did you say Jennifer?" She looked up at him, swallowed, and spoke more directly. "What can I do?" Jennifer understood where that question might lead. She had never thought of John as a man who would take advantage of a woman in that way. Now he was treating her like she was nothing but a thief and a whore.
She was used to the idea that men wanted their way with her. She would probably have to agree to suck his cock, or maybe even fuck him to buy the leeway she needed to establish her innocence. But when John next spoke it was not to mention sex. "What can you do? I would love to see you in prison, Jennifer.
And I will send you there in an instant if I need to. But I am not anxious for the publicity such a trial would bring. 'Jameson Financial taken in by a conniving little whore.' I can see the headlines now!
Reputation matters in this world, and that would cost me far more than you stole." "All of the missing money is still in your offshore accounts," John continued, giving the appearance that he was thinking things through for the first time. "It doesn't look like you've had a chance to spend anything. I can have the funds back where they belong by the end of the day. If I inform the affected clients of an accounting error that has been remedied, that should cover my ass with the auditors.
OK… That could work… minimize the damage that you've done…" "That leaves us with just one question." John looked at the young woman.
"What to do with you?" Jennifer was following his words carefully. Mr. Jameson seemed to be saying that she had options other than prison, but Jennifer knew that she was on very thin ice. She didn't want to do anything to anger him further, so she kept her eyes on the ground and answered the question quietly. "I don't know, sir." John looked at her, appreciating how quickly she had fallen into a carefully submissive pose. "I can't just fire you. You'd just go and fuck somebody else over, and you know too much about my business.
But I can't let you anywhere near accounts either. That only leaves jobs with no real responsibility. And to be honest, you pissed me off and you are going to pay one way or another." He had known where this was going, but enjoyed putting on a show of considering possibilities. He returned to his chair, leaned back and put his feet up on the desk. "Hmmmm… Turn around, Jennifer. Let me get a look at you." She did so slowly, feeling shame and embarrassment as John stared at her like a butcher might stare at a carcass hanging in a meat locker.
"Now spread your legs and bend over at the waist. I've seen you in the yoga room. Bend all the way!" Jennifer complied. Her dress prevented her from going as far as her lithe body would have allowed, but even so her head rested on the floor between her feet. She was aware of John walking around her, and occasionally felt a hand on her back, her thigh, and her ass. Then he stopped and began to talk to her as she remained in the awkward position.
"Dress you right and you'd make nice eye candy for clients to enjoy when they come through the door. Having you act like a Barbie and flirt with former associates and clients should be humiliating enough to make you regret what you've done.
I think I might enjoy seeing you every morning doing all that you can to look fuckable. Who knows? Maybe after a year or two as a receptionist I'd trust you enough to let you use the copy machine again." Then he looked at her very directly.
"Minimum wage. No benefits. No vacation.
Sick days come out of your pay." Jennifer's contrition shattered in an instant. She had been hired for $300,000 a year with a guaranteed seven-figure bonus and stock options! The payments on her SoHo apartment alone were $12,000 a month. Forgetting her situation, she raised up and looked up at John with fire in her eyes. "Minimum wage??? No benefits??? Eye candy??? Are you fucking insane??? Listen. Any firm on Wall Street would hire me in an instant! Fuck this!" Jennifer had taken a step toward the door when John stopped her with a calm, even voice.
"Correction. Any firm on Wall Street ~would~ have hired you before today. Hiring a girl who is about to be convicted of embezzling two million dollars, on the other hand. that seems unlikely." Jennifer had latched on to the idea that she would not be prosecuted, and was hit hard by the reminder of her real situation. She spun back toward John, her eyes again instantly filled with tears and her voice desperate.
"You wouldn't! I mean, like you said, the money is all there. It can all go back into the accounts it came from. I didn't take anything! I swear! I don't know who is trying to frame me, but please! I can't live on minimum wage. You know that. You can't do that to me! You can't!" John's cock was a piece of steel in his pants as he returned to his desk, watching the beautiful woman crumble in front of him. He smirked when Jennifer caught sight of its length throbbing against the inner thigh of his tailored Armani pants, and then turned her head away quickly.
He let a hint of sadism show through in his tone as he taunted Jennifer. "See something you like, cunt? Jesus, you can't keep your mind off of cock for even a few minutes, can you? Do you really expect me to think that you are too good to be a receptionist?" He laughed. "Perhaps you need a little time to think about your options. There are a lot of girls out there who would kill to have a job flashing their tits from behind a reception desk instead of sucking junkies' cocks in a filthy men's room somewhere.
But I can see how you might prefer prison." Now Jennifer could do nothing but whimper and shake her head. "Please, Mr. Jameson, please. Anything but that. Please." John was feeling his own urges starting to get out of hand. Maybe he would have to find relief from a whore tonight.
He knew a few pimps who would hook him up with fresh girls. He liked the young ones with doe eyes who still cried themselves to sleep at night, ashamed of what they had become.
For the right kind of money those pimps would even look the other way when a girl came back so beaten up that she couldn't work for a month. But he kept is attention focused on the moment. It was time to spring the trap fully. "Not that? You don't want to go to prison? I'll think about it. One thing, though. Before I even consider showing you any mercy, I need to know that you understand and accept responsibility for what you did.
You need you to come clean." Jennifer started to plead her innocence again, but John stopped her before she could get out the first three words. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" No one had ever spoken to her like that, but the effect of the words was instantaneous. She didn't even think before again lowering her eyes and automatically breathing, "Yes sir." John continued.
"Take the evening and think it over. At 9:00 tomorrow morning you will hand me a written confession detailing exactly what you did.
I want all of the specifics and no excuses. There will be no attempt to protest your innocence. You are guilty and we both know it. I want a confession from you that proves to me that you understand and accept the consequences of your crimes." John could see the panic on her face, and knew where it came from.
There was no way that she could fulfill that demand, because she didn't have a clue about what she had supposedly done! He let her sweat for a moment, then nodded to the files in her hand.
"Take those with you. I want to be sure that you include all of the details of your crimes. The files will remind you of just what I know. I would hate for you to leave anything out. Understood?" With eyes still lowered, she breathed, "Yes sir." "One more thing.
When you write I also want you to beg for leniency. I want you to tell me that you do not deserve it, but beg me to give you a chance anyway. I want you to tell me how worthless you are. Tell me that you are a whore and a thief.
Tell me all about how you used your cunt and ass and mouth to get ahead. Convince me that you know what a disgusting waste of human flesh you are!" "Do that and maybe, MAYBE, the receptionist's job is yours. But if you are not here at 9:00, or if I am unsatisfied with what you have to say, at 9:01 I will be on the phone with the authorities. Do we understand each other?" Jennifer again nodded, feeling her legs and arms shaking.
She was struggling not to throw up right there in the office. But John did not see her. He had already turned back to the work on his desk, as though the woman had simply ceased to exist. On cue a security guard stepped into the office and politely but firmly took Jennifer by the arm and escorted her out of the building.