Minerva

Minerva suddenly had a headache. This was an area of human behaviour that never ceased to upset her. "What does he do?"

"He works in marketing, Mistress."

"Which is no excuse for not living in reality!" Minerva snapped, stamping a foot on the podium and pulling herself upright in the chair, feet firmly planted and whip irritably lashing her leather-sheathed thigh. "Show the scoundrel in." At times, Charles' delicately baroque language was infectious.

Again, the complicated hand gesture. Again, the opening of the doors. This time, the man to be disciplined walked in alone. Any attempt by one of Minerva's employees to escape punishment would, to put it bluntly, be held against them.

Understandably, the immaculately dressed man who walked through the doors was not looking at all happy to be there. He walked in exactly as far as he was expected to and stopped, not looking anywhere except Minerva's mouth, too worried to meet her eyes and refusing to have anything to do, under the circumstances, with any part of his mistress that was recognisably, overtly, female. He did not, however, miss the significance of the restlessly drumming whip. He was trying not to look at that, too.

"Well?" Minerva snapped, angrily. "Have you anything to offer in your defence?"

That very question had been occupying his mind since the guards tapped him on the shoulder that morning. It is a small tribute to his common sense that he had immediately discarded anything along the lines of "She flirted with me first." He had only the vaguest suspicion of Minerva's response - that everyone has responsibility for their actions - but had a much stronger sense of certainty that it would be a mistake to try it. The rest of the morning had been spent desperately considering and then discarding a whole gamut of possibilities before correctly settling on the only answer that would do him any good at all.

"No, Mistress," he replied miserably, struggling to make his voice loud enough to hear clearly.

Minerva was slightly disappointed. She had been looking forward to a good harangue. But nevertheless, contrition (or whatever it was in his case) deserved some reward. So she limited punishment to actual punishment.

"In future," she told him icily, eyes boring into his forehead, "You will keep yourself under your own control and respect others, including their relationships, is that clear?"

He swallowed, knowing the forms he had to follow. "Yes, Mistress," he said, loudly enough for everybody in the chamber to hear. "In future I will keep myself under my own control and respect others, including their relationships."

"Good," she continued, just as icy. "But not good enough. I expect all my employees to know such basic matters of humanity already. The fact that you do not calls into question your own suitability to live in human society. In future you will be judged solely on your actions, not upon your right to be regarded favourably. You will be on half pay for a month, and wear a chastity belt for a week. Undress."

That he had not been expecting. But terror made the protests die in his throat. Swallowing convulsively, he knelt down to untie his shoes. After a heartbeat's consideration, Minerva motioned a female lackey forward. Eagerly, the girl jumped to obey.

It may surprise some to learn that a chastity belt for men is possible. Others will already be familiar with its usage. The example which the vibrantly sexual girl strapped around the miscreant's naked waist was simple but sturdy. A nylon G-string arrangement held a sturdy piece of plastic, a simple cage chosen to be only slightly larger than his flaccid penis and with a large enough hole for mess-free urination. The now thoroughly repentant fornicator, suffering further agonies from the cool, caressing touches of the girl busy at his groin, knew only too well that any attempt to grow erect while wearing it would become quite painful. He also knew the tell-tale bulge that it would form in his trousers. It was an even bet that he would either learn to change his behaviour, and quickly, or seek alternative employment.

When he was fully dressed, Minerva dismissed him peremptorily. "And dress a little smartly in future!" Minerva snapped after him, "I will not have my employees looking in such a mess!"

The departing man felt the words in the pit of his stomach. It had taken him year to improve his standing, only to see it disappear in one earnest week and one energetic lunch hour. It might take him just as long to regain it.

When the doors had shut, Minerva shook her head slowly. There were times, this being one of them, when the essentially fucked-up nature of the human race made her more depressed than anything that any of her attempts to do anything about it could deal with.

"So what's the problem with the lady?" She asked, wearily, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with the gloved fingers of her right hand. Suddenly she stopped that, opened her eyes again, and swiveled them to stare at Charles. He had mastered expressions that made the most expressive silences Minerva had ever heard.

He was, as she had hoped for one moment but not allowed herself to believe, grinning again.

"The lady, Mistress, has been caught, following a two-day investigation by our internal audit committee, in the middle of an efficient but not particularly clever fraud attempt. Had it succeeded, she may have made a profit of up to $50,000 with the help of an external accomplice whom we are currently engaged in extracting retribution from. You will be kept informed of progress in that area.

"The lady's file, Mistress." Charles handed a slim folio to Minerva, who read it avidly, an eager sense of anticipation making her tingle deliciously.

Now here was something she could really could get her teeth into, potentially literally. Her attitude towards such matters was also the same: Fuck with her company and you fuck with her. So she'll fuck with you. Potentially, literally.

She felt like making it literal this time. The most recent photo in the folio showed a stunningly attractive blond, not Minerva's favourite hair colour but secondary to facial and other features, with well-toned shoulders and arms revealed by her off-the-shoulder Gucci dress which, wrapping her belly and hips snugly, showed an even more enticing body. Just in case anybody was in any doubt, the dress was split up to her waist on the left and she had been carefully posed to make the most of it.

Minerva stared at the exposed leg and felt herself drooling. This really was going to be fun. Particularly with the stamp on page one: "Unattached." So. This girl had no partner and no dependants. Minerva tossed the folio back to Charles, with a delicious warmth radiating up from her leather-covered cunt to her already tingling nipples.

"Bring the bitch in," she said, a gloating tone in her voice that made everyone in the room grin in anticipation, even the professionally unflappable guard at the door.

The guard followed practice, though, and waited for Charles' complicated hand signal before opening the door and making his own signal outside. Charles had been known to try and trip him up by signing "Hello, nice day, isn't it?" instead of "Bring in the second woman for punishment." It was Minerva's maxim: If you do your job properly, nobody can fuck you up except yourself.

The woman brought in had not been well treated by her guards, or by her old colleagues. Minerva selected her employees rigorously and well, choosing not only those who fit in to her very special work environments but also those who agreed with her on certain vital points, one of them being codes of good behaviour. Doing wrong by a colleague was a matter for the people involved, but doing wrong by the entire company, threatening it in any way or attempting to betray any part of it, was dealt with swiftly and harshly.

She had been stripped naked and bound with the most exquisite use of Japanese rope bondage, thick black silken ropes wrapping her pale skin not so tight to make it even paler, but tight enough to make her uncomfortable. Her breasts were encircled at the base by lengths of rope that blew them up into faintly purple balloons, her neck and back were upright and her arms tied together from elbow to wrist behind her back. Her legs were left unencumbered so that she could walk, but a length of rope ran between her legs, kept snug by a girdle of rope about her waist, placed carefully but not callously and not quite snugly between her ass cheeks and between her pussy lips, where the silk rubbed distractingly with every step she was forced to take.

She had been crying and the makeup she had been wearing when they came for her had not been removed, so it ran in ugly ribbons of mascara and foundation down her face and neck. Her nipples were erect from fear and advantage had been taken of that to place elastic bands at their base, not cutting off circulation but blowing them out even larger.

Minerva, however, was always in favor of mental humiliation before physical pain. It tended to be so much more effective as an instructional tool. Let her professional dominators and dominatrices wrap and play with and taunt and present her transgressors as best they may, she would break their minds without doing anything more to their bodies, unless it would amuse her to do so. It frequently did, but it was never necessary. Satisfying, sometimes, but never actually necessary.

Minerva sprawled in her throne with her hips thrust forwards, challengingly, as the accountant was hauled to a halt a metre before the throne and thrust roughly to her knees. The floor was carpeted - there was no reason to be needlessly cruel - but it still bought a gasp of pain in anticipation. Clearly, this woman hadn't needed to be disciplined before. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary again.

Well, that or she could be turned into a harem girl. Maybe there was more potential here than Minerva had first realised ...

The Mistress stared at the woman stony-faced, and made a show of asking for her folio from Charles, who whisked it off the bottom of his armful of papers and presented it as though he hadn't already done so.

"Well," Minerva said, coldly, as she flicked open the folio with one practised leather-sheathed finger. "So ... Kim. Such a childish name for a woman. Kim. You appear to have aimed beyond your miserable talents, Kim. You and your accomplice. It should have occurred to you that if you hadn't yet risen higher than your lowly position in accounts, in all of ... three years, that you probably weren't up to this sort of complicated job. And it was complicated, wasn't it, Kim? I bet it had you sweating, trying to work out all the details.

"Whatever am I going to do with you? You're clearly not much use to me in any position of trust and you're clearly not all that good at accounting, either. We're going to have to find something for you to do, aren't we?

"Perhaps something in one of the services, don't you think? You appear to have had three boyfriends in the time you've been with us, along with seven one-night stands, four of them while you were technically dating one of those boyfriends and, I see from the dates, your second and third boyfriends even overlapped. You've also made use of our harem men four times, three of them while dating, which breaks the rules. I believe you were informed of this, which is why you haven't been in the harem in a year and a half. We might fix that. It would, after all, be a shame to waste a body like yours, wouldn't it?"

The emotions running through Kim's mind would be hard to catalogue and it would take a long time to do so. Chief among them were shock and surprise that they appeared to know so much after her private life, with an ever-present background current of fear turning to stupefying horror at the suggestion that she be turned into one of those bimbo harem slaves. If she hadn't been gasping in shock, she would have struggled wildly.

In actual fact, Minerva had only been half serious. She wasn't in favor of enforced indoctrination of slaves, not when there were so many people willing to be slaves without all that added effort. But just sometimes she was tempted. Right now, she was very, very, tempted.

"You haven't slept with a girl in all those three years, have you? Have you ever, I wonder? You told us during your interview that you weren't even bi-curious. I wonder: Does that mean you have tried, or that you haven't even tried to try? Which is it, Kim?"

For a second, Kim could only stare in terror. One of her guards reached down to seize her nipple between thumb and forefinger and tweak it sharply, making her cry out, tears springing to her eyes.

"Answer your Mistress," the guard told her firmly but not unkindly. "Have you ever slept with a girl?"

"No!" Kim gasped, tears still running down her cheeks. "I haven't!"

Minerva gave a flick of her fingers to Charles, who read it and relayed it to the door. Within seconds, both of Kim's male guards were replaced by women, making the expression on the prisoner's face reach new levels of horror. Merely imagining that something might happen is not nearly as bad as thinking that it probably will happen.

The new guards wore leather briefs more like panties than the shorts of the men and with a zip running from the waist band in front to between their legs. Their leather boots ran to just below the knee and had a low heel, designed not to interfere with movement. Their bodies were nearly as muscled as the men, though slimmer, but even so they had breasts to control and they were held by bras which relied nearly as much upon straps around torsos and over shoulders to contain soft tissue as they did upon cups.

Minerva, seeing the expression upon the prisoner's face change, smiled contentedly. There were so many possibilities running through her mind, so many ...

She leaned forwards, resting one hand on her knee, letting the arm holding the whip rest upon the elbow so that the whip could swish idly from side to side. She savored the sweating Kim with a confident grin, then turned her head so that she could look at a female lackey.

"Bring in the toolbox," she said.

At that point, Kim really did start weeping and begging, so Minerva had to order one of the guards to hold her mouth shut.

When the toolbox, an 18th century steamer trunk in immaculate condition, arrived, Minerva hesitated over the selection of gags before settling on a wire one. After all, access to that mouth might prove useful.

When Kim saw the gag she started to struggle again, but when Minerva clicked her tongue in exasperation and started to gesture at the guards, she went deathly rigid. In growing despair, she allowed the guards to fit the gag. Two loops of wire were bent into tall hooks that fit into the sides of her mouth, stretching it open enough to take a decent-sized cock. The two loops were joined by a broad strap running around the back of Kim's head, which was tightened until she gasped in pain, then relaxed only slightly. Her mouth was left gaping wide. She could still make noises, but the fear inspired by the position would be effective in stopping her.

Minerva's gaze next strayed to her right, past Charles, to where a footstool sat waiting. In a distracted fashion she motioned a lackey to bring it around, and position in front of the kneeling Kim. She motioned to one of the guards, who pushed Kim down until she landed on her belly on the footstool, her head hanging and her arse presented in the air.

Next out of the box was a bright blue rubber dildo (the colour amused Minerva) with exaggerated veins and a flat, slightly curved plate on the base. Holding it in her left hand, waving it slightly in front of the even more terrified, quietly sobbing Kim, Minerva fished out a tube of lubricant, hesitated, returned it to its place and retrieved a rather more special tube. It was smaller, because it had a shorter use-by date. Glycerin will do for most occasions, or even Vaseline, but sometimes a little additive is in order.

Minerva almost introduced the lube to Kim, but decided that its effect might be more devastating without forewarning. Instead, she just put a thick smear on the end of the dildo, hesitated in indecision and then held it out to the guard who had obviously, but just slightly, been enjoying the proceedings more.

Not many people know that testosterone is the greatest aphrodisiac, known or otherwise, in the world. It doesn't play havoc with erectile tissue the way that more famous drugs do, it supercharges the entire physiological system, inducing not a fight or flight response but a fight, flight or fuck response that gets even women, who were so famously let down by that certain other drug but who respond to testosterone being rubbed into the skin. Well, some areas of skin absorb drugs more quickly and, under the circumstances, more appropriately, than others.

Now let's see how Kim responds to being aroused when she's terrified and being raped by a woman.

"Just her cunt, I think," Minerva said to the selected guard who, smirking, had unzipped the slit in the front of her panties and slipped the plate at the base of the dildo inside, settling it comfortably against the softer leather that lined the panties and her skin.

Kim's head had dropped, still sobbing, until it nearly rested against the ground in front of the footstool, her delicious blond hair pooling beneath her. She moaned even louder as the guard hooked the silk rope out of her pussy, sobbed what might have been begging as she felt the cold lubricant-covered head of the dildo being positioned at her entrance, and then nearly screamed as the guard, smoothly but quickly, shoved it inside her.

The lubricant at the base spread itself back, leaving no resistance to the smooth possession of Kim's cunt.

The guard quickly settled into a steady, well-paced, smooth and full stroke, letting the dildo pop nearly out each time before ramming it fully back in. Each time it withdrew Kim groaned as if in relief and each time it thrust back in she sobbed. Each time it bottomed out, deep inside her, she had to choke back a small scream. The effort of the guard shifted her back and forth on the footstool.

The testosterone would take a while to work, so Minerva sat back to enjoy the show until then.

It wasn't long, however, as Kim's moans began to peter out in resignation and quiet sobbing but before the increased, drugged arousal in her cunt began to make itself felt in her brain, that Minerva began to wonder. Had she really never slept with a girl?

So what would she be like, then?

Minerva was feeling the constraints of the morning, and the lack of sexual release this afternoon, beginning to make her feel frustrated and itchy. She quickly gestured again, making a lackey dash forward with another foot-stool and place it where Minerva indicated, just in front of Kim's head.

Kim, although just barely, registered this. Her head rose, tear-streaked and jerking back and forwards. Minerva saw the first beginnings of a flush in her cheeks and pounced.

"So you're beginning to enjoy that, are you?" She asked cheerily, as she brought her legs together and pushed herself upright. "I can see it in your eyes, little slut. I'm glad we found this out about you. It opens up so many extra possibilities."

Kim wasn't enjoying it. Not in the slightest. But her body was beginning to. The testosterone in the lubricant, soaking into the long tunnel of her sex, had now made her entire body react, changing her physiological arousal from a helpless fear reaction to a readiness for action. No matter what Kim's mind might say, Kim's body was now aroused and arousal meant that sexual stimulation felt sexually good.

While Kim was desperately trying to rationalize the pleasure she was beginning to feel, to redirect it, to ignore it or to try and blank it out, her body was gathering pace towards satisfaction. Her breasts were flushing, feeling even tighter, her skin tingling and her nipples hardening. Her pussy lips were now thicker and puffier, her own lubrication adding to that already there, and her face was flushed and sweaty. At her Mistress' words she shut her eyes tight and tried to whimper, but it came out as a gargled moan through stretched lips as she lost the desperate battle to deny her own body.