Becoming LeAnn Ch. 01

She turned the page to a sight she had never imagined even in her most lurid masturbation fantasy.

The girl in the magazine had been flipped around facing the room, butt up against the thick mahogany desk top. The boss had her bent backwards over the desk, holding her fast by the hair at the back of her head. Her shaved kitty was rampantly displayed despite her obvious efforts to bring her leg up.

In the following frames, the boss fastened the wide-eyed girls' ankles to the feet of the desk with fur lined leather cuffs and was placing a black leather dog collar around her throat as her large eyes gazed innocently up at his face. He fastened a silver chain to the collar at the back of her neck and fastened the opposite end somewhere behind the desk, pulling her awkwardly backwards. He pulled the leather belt from his trousers and looped it around her elbows, fastening them tightly behind her. He completed her bondage by placing a red plastic ball in her mouth and fastening it behind her head with black leather straps.

The next frame pulled back to show the dark haired office girl, bound, trussed and gagged, spread eagled and bent backwards over the expansive dark wood desk. Her skirt was bunched up in a band over her hips, blouse ripped wide open and her tits pulled roughly out over the cups of her black bra. Her panties were gone, ripped from her body. The black silk stockings, black satin garter belt and bra, along with the rampant pink undersides of her abused breasts contrasted profoundly against her milky white skin.

The boss returned to the picture with a riding crop made from stitched black leather. About two feet long with a leather triangle at its business end, it looked as though he was teasing her with it, letting it glide over her skin as her brows furrowed over her alarmed eyes.

Over the course of the next two pages, what he did to her became obvious by the growing pattern of red triangles marking her milk white skin. They first grew on her stomach, very close to but just inches away from her bald pubis, circling down the outside of her hips to the areas of her thighs exposed above the tops of her black stockings. Then pictures of the boss cropping the undersides of her breasts, a perfectly timed close up of the black triangle striking a nipple, capturing the shock waves rippling through the soft tit-flesh. LeAnn had to wipe her wet fingertips with a towel before she could turn the page.

The next frame sent LeAnn plummeting over the edge. The boss was cropping his secretary's exposed little kitty.

The girl's eyes were blazing, as wide as her head would allow. LeAnn could almost hear the wet muffled screams through the gag. Long streams of saliva were running from the corners of the girl's pretty mouth, on down her chest.

The high definition camera closed in on the girl's reddened pudenda, the black leather triangle striking her mound, sending shockwaves through the tender flesh. A large amount of liquid sprayed from between her swollen red labia.

LeAnn collapsed against the bathroom counter as her knees buckled. She could feel the orgasm exploding from deep inside her; she could feel it in her fiery clitoris, now rubbed almost raw, and alarmingly, an incredible sensation had been radiating from the region around her anus. She slid down to her knees as her climax ransacked its way through her body, causing her to lose all muscle control. Gasping and moaning loudly as she came, she reached her free hand behind and let her fingertips slide down to circle her slippery rectal opening.

Cumming like a hot little bitch, a scream ripped from her throat as her fingertip pushed past the tight barrier ring of her rectum. She shoved it in as far as it would go and held it there as the other hand worked furiously at her clitoris and her pelvis bucked spastically in the throes of the best orgasm she could remember.

The climax ebbed slowly and took it's time winding down. LeAnn leaned forward, almost unconscious and let her head hang limp as the last spasms and shocks settled their way down throughout her body.

On her knees on the cold tile floor, leaning on one hand, skirt rucked up around her waist, panties around her ankles and her finger lodged firmly in her asshole, LeAnn was suddenly and glaringly aware that she had sunk to an all-time low.

She slowly got up, pulled up her wet, cold panties and went about the business of cleaning up the crime scene. She washed and dried her hands, then carefully stacked the magazines back in the proper order and position. She took the metal step ladder back down the corridor and put it in the mop closet, fully intending never to get it back out again.

-----0-----




After her first visit to her bosses bathroom "Library", LeAnn felt so utterly dirty afterward that it was almost easy for her have her mind change the subject every time it came up.

She tried to pretend to herself that the magazines didn't exist, but she did have to pee throughout the day, and as she sat on the potty relieving herself, she could feel the hot, dark, beckoning presence hovering up there, and the fact that she lusted to look again made her so ashamed she almost cried.

She was so remorseful at her shocking lapse of moral control that she backed off the frequency of her evening "solo flights" for a time, but then she found she couldn't sleep without diddling herself.

She had also tried to limit the subjects of her masturbation fantasies to the conventional "love making with movie stars" scenarios that had worked so wonderfully well before. She had long since given up on the idea of fantasizing about sex with her husband. That had worked okay back when she had first faced the fate of masturbation as the sum of her marital sex life, but it had lost its appeal some time ago.

LeAnn had remained an honorable catholic woman who had enough integrity to stick to the plan and not have sex with anyone except Tim, but she harbored a little too much pent up resentment to realistically honor her wedding vows when she jerked herself off. Even though she knew it was officially "adultery" by the catholic churches definition, it had become impossible, for all practical purposes, to picture Tim's face while she played with herself. She rubbed herself sore with no effect trying to fantasize about him and in the end she always had to bring it to a close by thinking of something else anyway.

LeAnn also committed to abstain from any further dirty toilet moments for another very strong reason: She was mortified at the thought of Brock catching on.

LeAnn's fragile sense of self-esteem had been increasingly dropping for quite some time. The fact that she had lost all control and jerked off while kneeling on the toilet floor had it dragging around on the ground.

The idea of Brock even suspecting would absolutely kill her. In the back of her mind a panicky little voice screamed, "What if he already knows?!" As she did with the many un-thinkable thoughts whispering or screaming inside her head throughout a given day, LeAnn stifled it and soldiered on.

Now that she had discovered his stash, LeAnn's marginal recollection of the amount of time Brock had spent in the John took on new meaning. Before, she had thought he must have had constipation issues, and that was so disgusting she had quickly found other things to think about.

LeAnn now realized that Brock's ten to twenty minute sessions in there almost certainly included pulling savagely on his legendary horse-sized-penis and dropping a pint of semen into the toilet. The thought honestly did disgust her, but she could not ignore the profound arousal she felt when he was in there for a good long time. She caught herself giving in to curiosity, working very quietly and listening intently whenever Brock went in to the john, straining to hear what he was doing in there. She would practically jump out of her seat and scramble to look busy when the restroom door swung suddenly open. She loathed herself every time it happened.

It had now been a month since that pivotal bathroom discovery. LeAnn had resumed her nightly fingering sessions at home and her fantasies had begun to move on from the missionary position with George Clooney. She had been increasingly allowing fantasies about the things she had seen in Brocks magazines, spanking and rough sex, and curiosity was getting the better of her. Had he brought in any new material? She hadn't even given herself a chance to get tired of the old stuff. What other horrifying acts of hot, delicious, animal sexual fulfillment existed out there?

Fantasies of being controlled had begun to fill her thoughts as she played with herself in bed. Tied, spanked, men's strong hands restraining her, multiple sets of hands roughly enjoying the feel of her skin, her breasts, shoving fat, rigid fingers into her holes as she squirmed and strained as she was controlled by large, brutally built, faceless men. They could do anything they wanted to her and she was a helpless damsel in distress.

Much to her surprise and a little to her dismay, LeAnn had also been catching herself fantasizing about Brock Magnusson. She did not like him, didn't even find him attractive in the ordinary sense, but taken as a whole, the raw sexuality of the man could not be denied. When Brock bossed her around in a demeaning way, her nerves were pushed beyond all normal limits. But when he concluded and left her to her work, she always became suddenly and shockingly aware of that feverish feeling coming over her, and that old familiar irritation in the magical little cleft between her thighs, and the feeling of moisture flooding slowly down her vaginal walls to puddle between her swelling labia, threatening to leak out and flood her panties.

Her chat with Lucy had ruined any chance of her not imagining about all his hidden parts. He was such a dominating figure that he just fit perfectly into these control fantasies. The office was an almost perfect porn set, and she had begun to stage articulately detailed little plays as she got herself off in bed every night.

Brock had been shown a fleeting sweet side too, albeit mixed with his normal authoritarianism. The month of probation he had imposed on her had gone well. LeAnn had met all his demands and scored highly. He even gave her a nice raise. She came back from lunch later that week to find a very elegantly wrapped flat box on her desk. The tasteful card read:

"LeAnn, Thanks for complying to my requests. I know it put you out of your comfort zone, but your change to haute couture not only makes you look absolutely glamorous, it's been a facelift for the whole office." ~Magnusson

She opened the box and was confronted with extremely mixed emotions. Inside was a pair of very expensive silk stockings, equally luxurious black satin panties with a matching garter belt. It was practical for daily wear, but adorned with pink satin ribbons and a gorgeous pink satin flower right in a very conspicuous spot on the front of the panties. The stockings had a seam up the back with little elliptical details at the finish. They also had very sexily detailed reinforcement at the heels and toes. These things were not cheap.

Her immediate thought was to walk into Brock's office and put the box back on his desk with a note telling him thanks but also reminding him of the level of impropriety involved in giving his married office girl sexy lingerie. But LeAnn's better judgment was overtaken by the sudden realization that it had been so very long since anyone had given her lingerie. She had forgotten what it was like to have a man generously give her a gift that made her feel sexy and gorgeous. She had suppressed any memory of a man making her feel sexy in a kind and generous way, and now it flooded through her being.

Then she noticed the card underneath:

"Put it on, right now. That's not a request. When I get back from lunch you'd better have seams running up the backs of your legs." XXX, Brock

As the words sank in LeAnn's senses were flooded by what was becoming a familiar range of reactive emotions. Her anger flared instantaneously at the impudence of such a brazen direct order; she could definitely send this note to Human Relations and get Brock fired without a doubt, maybe sue the company for a small fortune.

The other side of her brain, however, had been warming up to the feeling of being commanded. There was a sense of order, of a promise of some reward awaiting her obedience, and although LeAnn had mechanisms in place to switch off her conscious thoughts about it, she was aware that the promised reward was physical, sexual satisfaction. Her body had been denied for what seemed like an eternity, and any promise of release now triggered alarms that went off like flashing lights in her head. Once again she found that her thighs were rubbing against one another, and she did not fool herself as to the origin of the itch they were trying to scratch.

She obeyed before she gave herself another second to think about it. She ran to the restroom and hastily stripped off her elastic top stockings. Slowly, carefully she rolled on the silk stockings, enjoying the incredible feel against her legs. LeAnn then donned the obligatory garter belt. She thought about skipping the panties, fairly certain even Brock wouldn't risk a panty check, but in the end her curiosity got the better of her and she slid them on, feeling absolutely slutty at the thought of changing her panties in the office toilet. She did like the way they looked, and although it was a completely guilty pleasure, LeAnn felt extremely sexy. Just the fact that he was smart enough to get her size right was a little mind blowing.

Brock was late getting back, and she was on eggshells all afternoon waiting. Of course this would be the afternoon that men were in and out of the office all afternoon. The seams running up the backs of her legs might as well have been a scarlet letter painted on her forehead. She tried to stay seated as she served customers and salesmen all afternoon, but that wasn't always possible. She was vividly aware of her legs as she walked away and turned every time to catch men staring shark eyed below her waist.

When Brock finally came back late that afternoon, she had risen from her desk and started to walk across the floor, fully expecting an inspection. Instead, he didn't say a word, just went straight to his office and closed the door. LeAnn sat back down, fuming as she got back to work.

Sometime later, when Brock emerged to rattle off some orders, LeAnn was busy at the copier, working away. She heard a low whistle behind her and turned to meet his wolf-like grin.

He complimented her and she thanked him in turn, and LeAnn thought that would be it, but he stopped her on her way back to her desk and ordered her to walk back and forth in front of him and model his gift. Her crimson cheeks betrayed the intense self-consciousness behind her nervous debutante smile as she faked an un-characteristic little ramp model strut.

She changed back before she went home that night and put the pretty box in her desk drawer, not even considering taking them home for a second. That would be a little too much to explain. She tried to think about other things as the guilty little secret kept teasing her mind on the drive home.

----0----

It was 5:35. Tim was notified, the office door was locked, the sign flipped to "Closed", and the phones rolled over to the answering service. Realizing that she had the office completely to herself, a sense of relaxation came over LeAnn, and she found was dying for a soda. She jumped up from her desk and headed through the back door and down the long corridor to the soda machine.

LeAnn almost walked lightly down the corridor, suddenly tingling with a kind of inner electricity. The concrete walls with electrical conduits running over the surface were bringing back images she had previously been shying away from.

The echo of her heels coming back from the cold concrete surfaces of the parking structure brought with them echoes of her most forbidden fantasies. Helpless, beautiful, respectable damsels accosted and dragged into dark, cold, foreboding places, forced to perform the most deliciously sinful acts.

The fact that a man could make her do something lustful seemed so appealing. If a forceful man controlled her, would that really make her a slut? She might enjoy it, lust for it, might even have multiple orgasms while it was done to her, but she would she actually have to take moral responsibility for it if she was forced?

She reached the machine and dropped her quarters in, waiting for the metallic thud of the cold can, reaching in to ferret it out from under the plastic guard.

She cracked the can open and slowly wandered out further, to where the parking garage opened up to look out over the town. She drank her pop and looked out at the sunset, enjoying the breeze. As the warm air wafted up LeAnn's skirt, a little chill brought the awareness that her panties were damp.

Somewhat reluctantly, she turned to head back down the corridor to the office, taking her time. She seldom took breaks and felt she should, but what was really making her drag her heels was the thought of passing the mop closet door, the ladder was in there, she would need it.

She had to make a decision somewhere between here and the door. If she walked too fast, she might talk herself into doing the right thing for her husband and herself and walking on by, finishing her work and going home to her boring sexless marriage.

The more she thought about another evening lying in bed alone masturbating, the slower she walked. She thought about the pretty box of lingerie buried in her file drawer, she had been dying to try it on again. She thought about the last pages of "Secretary's Day", where the girl was tied with her back against the desk, leaning backwards, her boss spanking her pubis with the black leather triangle of the riding crop. The image that had stuck in her mind, and she was unable to dislodge it.

--0--

At 6:15, Kurt Wagner parked his truck down the block, walked up and unlocked the front door of the Glennstone office. It had been a long day on the road and he was looking forward to getting his paperwork done and getting to the usual motel he used in town. The office was dark except for LeAnn's desk light, and he assumed she was gone for the day. He was just getting ready to flip the overheads on and find a spot at the table, when he heard a sound that stopped him cold and caused him to drop his fingertip from the switch and leave the lights off.

He thought at first that it might be LeAnn crying, but it was only a matter of seconds before he recognized the cries of a woman in the throes of ecstasy, and it sounded intense. He measured his steps and slowly moved around the corner, drawn to the sound like a dog towards the scent of a bitch's estrus. As he turned the corner he saw the light spilling on to the floor from the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door.

He'd already suspected, but his ears made the connection. It was LeAnn for sure, and she was in there playing with herself. He got as close to the door as he could, but still gave himself the option of ducking back around the corner if she came out. His mind raced. He had been stroking himself while fantasizing about LeAnn from the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She had always seemed so out of his reach. Kurt was a shrewd and opportunistic man. How was he going to use this? He didn't have to think about it very long when the game began to play itself out before his eyes.

He could hear LeAnn's moaning increase in pitch and intensity, and a wet slapping rhythm which was also steadily increasing in tempo. My god, he thought to himself, she's spanking her pussy! pretty hard too, from the sound of it. He stood there drinking in the sounds, thinking how lucky he was to walk in when he did. She must be getting close to cumming. Her long moans began to break up into wordless "oh, Oh, OH's!" that were timed precisely with the percussive spanking sounds, building, growing more ragged and raw with each stroke.