Blackmailing Jessica Ch. 01bySeattle Zack©
Jessica sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to ease the headache that was already threatening to overwhelm her. It would be a long day. Still six more candidates to interview -- and none of them particularly impressive, by the looks of their resumes. Glancing at the next one on the pile, she pressed the intercom button on her desk. "Denise? Send in Andrew Carson, please."
A few moments later, the door opened and he entered. Tall, with an athletic build, dark hair, a tailored Brooks Brothers pinstripe suit. His tie was tasteful and knotted perfectly. Still, she sensed a little unease on his part, as if he wasn't entirely comfortable in the expensive clothes. Older than the others she had interviewed as well. He had a quick easy smile with a current of ... something ... behind his blue eyes. He moved with the ease of an athlete, someone comfortable with his body. His grip was firm and dry as he shook her hand and introduced himself, then sat down in the office chair, his briefcase in his lap.
Jessica shuffled some papers on her desk, letting the silence build. An old tactic, but effective. It was always interesting to see how they reacted to the tension -- some felt compelled to speak immediately, filling the emptiness. Others fidgeted nervously, looking around the office.
He did neither. Rather he sat in the chair, slouching a bit indolently, looking at her with a slight smile on his face.
She cleared her throat. "OK, Mr. Carson --"
"Call me Drew," he interrupted. "Everyone does."
"Very well," she said, a little nonplussed. The other prospective copywriters had been so eager, falling over themselves like puppies to please her. This guy was too cocky, he acted like he was interviewing her. She scanned his resume again. "I see you've done some freelance work for several West Coast magazines ... and three online advertising firms. I hope you brought some samples of your work." She looked at him expectantly.
"No, that was bullshit." He waved his hand dismissively. "I've never done any copywriting. I'm a fiction writer. Some non-fiction for a few specialty mags, but that's it."
She blinked several times. "So, you have no advertising experience?" she asked slowly.
He grinned. "None at all. But advertising is fiction, right? I can pick it up in no time. Oh, but I did bring a sample of my writing," he said, opening his briefcase.
Jessica stood up. "Mr. Carson, let's not waste each other's --" She froze as he tossed a magazine on the desk, landing with a thump in front of her.
She stared at the lurid cover. Bondage Chronicles. The photo was of a young blonde woman, ropes crisscrossing her body in an intricate harness, her lips spread wide around a red rubber ball strapped between her teeth. Drool dangled in a thin line from her chin. "Sluts Bound and Humiliated!" promised the tagline.
"Is this a joke?" Her tone was icy.
His grin widened. "Not at all. My story is on page 39. 4200 words -- pretty good, if I do say so myself. Not a real innovative plot or anything, but they pay quite well."
"Look, Mr. Carson, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said firmly. "This isn't funny."
"I told you, call me Drew," he reminded her gently.
"I'm going to call security." She picked up the phone.
"How about this?" he asked. "Reddened Bottoms? Maybe you remember this one."
She froze, her hand gripping the receiver. Oh God, no. It couldn't be. But there it was, in his hand. She had hoped, prayed, that she'd never see it again.
Flipping through the pages, he found the pictorial he wanted. "Let's see ... 'And sassy Cassie loves to have her naughty butt spanked,' or so it says here." He flipped the magazine open on the desk, exposing the pictures. "She looks familiar, doesn't she?"
The photos showed a slender, tanned brunette, dressed in a plaid skirt, knee socks, and white button-up shirt. She was bent over, fingers laced together behind her knees. The skirt was flipped up over her back, revealing her bare bottom. A man in a suit and tie stood behind her, wielding a large wooden paddle.
There were several close-ups of the poor girl's exposed buttocks, the bright red imprint of the paddle evident against the paler skin. One shot in particular caught Jessica's eye. The photographer had captured the girl's face just as the paddle struck -- her head was back, eyes wide with pain, teeth clenched. The resemblance was unmistakable.
"Give me that!" she snapped, grabbing for the magazine. He pulled it away at the last minute, tucking it back into his briefcase.
"Get out!" she hissed, pointing at the door. Her heart raced as she struggled to remain calm.
"Have a seat, Jessica," he suggested. "Or should I call you Cassie?"
Legs trembling, she lowered herself back into her chair, and put her face in her hands. "Please. Just go," she whispered.
He stood up and strolled around the office, looking at the copy of her diploma, the award plaques on the wall. "I've done a little research on you, Jessica," he commented. His familiarity was infuriating, yet she forced herself to remain quiet. "Majored in business at Washington State, and then an MBA in marketing from UC Berkeley. Graduated at age 22." He raised an eyebrow. "Quite an accomplishment."
Jessica closed her eyes. It was her worst nightmare come true. She had struggled all through college -- the loans and grants were never enough to keep up with the costs of tuition and books and rent and food and so much more. The ad in the student paper had promised no nudity, although she soon found out that the payment was much more lucrative if she agreed to pose naked. Five hundred dollars for a two hour photo session. The spanking hadn't been so bad. In fact, you kind of enjoyed it, accused the voice in her head.
"Hired by Aston-Fremont, one of the biggest advertising firms in Seattle," he continued. "In only two years, you became a director of marketing. Youngest in the firm's history." He turned around and dropped back in the chair, looking at her. "Very impressive."
The bondage shoots had been the worst. She shuddered, remembering. The sleazy photographer in the tiny studio in Redwood City, how he had tied her tightly and then leered and pawed at her as she struggled. No one would ever see it, she had reasoned. No one she knew would ever buy a filthy magazine like Bound Bitches or Tortured Teens. Her past had come back to haunt her.
"So, let's talk, Jessica," he said quietly.
She took a deep breath. "Are you suggesting that that's me in those photos?" Even to her own ears, the protest sounded quavering and unsure.
"Of course it is." He reopened his briefcase. "Shall we look again? The hair color is different now, of course, but I can tell by the little mole on your neck. Perhaps you can prove it to me, show me you don't have those three freckles on your inner right thigh." He smirked.
"Well, what if it is?" she countered. "That was a long time ago. Lots of college girls experiment with ..." Her voice trailed off. Where was she going with this? What could she say?
He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "Here's what's going to happen," he said firmly, his gaze locking with hers. "You're going to give me the job. I know I can do it. If you don't, then copies of those photos will go out to all your major clients. I'm sure Hansen Chevrolet -- the owner's a fundamentalist Christian, you know -- would be quite appalled."
She dropped her eyes. Olaf Hansen was one of the firm's biggest clients, with nine car dealerships in the Puget Sound area. What Drew said was true. She would be disgraced, ridiculed. It was largely because she landed the Hansen account that she had been promoted over several others in the firm with seniority. Her rise to director had been quite contentious; she knew many of the senior employees at Aston-Fremont would revel gleefully in Jessica's debasement and fall from grace.
"A porno star," he chuckled. "Yeah, I bet old man Fremont would love to know how his newest director paid her way through college -- by getting tied up and spanked for whack-off magazines and spanking videos."
Oh, fuck! He even knew about the two videos. She realized now it had been a mistake, but at the time it seemed there was no other option. With her heavy courseload, she hadn't had any time for a conventional job, and the money had been very good. But now she was ruined. Her career was over.
"I can pay you. Give you money," she pleaded. "Please don't do this to me."
"No, I told you what I want." He snickered derisively. "You're mine now, Jessica."
Goddamn it, get control of this situation. Don't let him push you around. Crossing her arms defiantly, she stood up. "I won't do it," she said firmly. "Go ahead, tell whoever you want. I can get another job."
He shook his head. "You're not a very good poker player, Jessica. Maybe you need a little demonstration." Leaning over the desk, he pressed the intercom button. "Denise? I'd like to schedule an appointment with Mr. Fremont, please."
"Stop that!" She lunged for the intercom, knocking his hand away.
He grabbed her wrist. Although she struggled to free herself, his grip was like iron. She stared at him defiantly over the desk for a long moment. There was no mercy in his dark green eyes, only determination.
The intercom squawked. "Miss Landers? Did you want something?"
"No, that's fine Denise, I hit the button by accident." Without waiting for a reply, she snapped the OFF switch.
"Come here." Still gripping her wrist, he dragged her from behind the desk, surprising her with his strength. He twisted her wrist up behind her back, forcing her to her toes.
"You're hurting me!" she hissed, trying to push away from him. As close as she was, she couldn't help but notice his masculine scent, a woodsy outdoor aroma.
"I think you need to realize who's in control here, Jessica," he said softly, looking down at her. "You really have no other option." He grinned. "Besides, I saw the videos, Jessica. You liked it, I could tell."
He released her wrist and she stepped back, rubbing her shoulder. Her mind raced wildly. "This is extortion! You can't get away with this!"
"Of course I can." That arrogant smirk, how she wanted to slap it off his face! "I've got you over a barrel, Jessica. Figuratively, of course, but soon literally as well." He chuckled.
She shook her head, not understanding what he meant. "Look, Mr. Carson --"
She sighed. "Look, Drew, we're two reasonable adults. We can work something out."
"Sure we can." He pulled the chair from in front of the desk, its back facing towards her. "But I think you may need a little persuasion. Bend over the chair."
"What?" Surely he couldn't be thinking ... "I'll call the police," she said bravely, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.
Smiling, he shook his head. "And have everything made public?" He glanced at his watch. "I have a program running on my computer at home. If I'm not there in an hour to stop it, then an email will go out to every executive in the firm, with a link where they can buy Sorority Punishment 4. Starring one Cassidy Hartley. It's on DVD now, you know." He snickered.
Jessica's mind whirled. Word would travel fast, especially about a juicy bit of salacious gossip like this. She'd never get another job in Seattle, or the entire West Coast for that matter.
"Bend over the chair," he repeated firmly. His voice and his eyes would brook no resistance.
Anxiety and excitement fluttered in her belly. Numbly she did as he had directed, leaning over the back of the chair, her palms on the cushion. "I don't think --"
"Of course you don't," he interrupted. Placing his hand on her upper back he pressed her down firmly, then yanked her skirt roughly upward.
"Stop it!" she squealed. She tried to struggle free but his strength kept her pinned in position.
"Very nice," he commented, rubbing his hand over her pantyhose-clad ass. "Oh, yes, you've been a bad girl, Jessica."
Her face flushed with embarrassment at the familiar little tickle between her legs. "Please! You don't have to do this!" she pleaded, her exposed bottom tingling with anticipation.
"I know you're quite familiar with what happens next, Jessica," he commented. "Let's get started, shall we?"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
He spanked her quite firmly, his large hand leaving a stinging imprint with every strike. Jessica's fingernails dug into the seat cushion as she struggled not to make a sound. I won't give him the satisfaction. Although it stung terribly, the humiliation was the worst part. Here she was, a high-profile executive making six figures a year, being spanked like a naughty schoolgirl. In her own corner office, no less.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Biting her lip she threw her head back, fighting to remain silent. She hoped that the loud reports -- they sounded like gunshots to her ears -- could not be heard outside at the reception desk. Each impact flared hotly against the curve of her butt, overlaying and intensifying the previous one. The pressure of his hand was firm against her back as he held her in place. She squirmed, one foot off the ground, as he continued to punish her.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
The relentless rain of blows continued, turning her ass into a bright mass of pain. Finally she whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Mercifully, he desisted, pulling her back to a standing position by her upper arm. Unable to meet his eyes she reached back, rubbing at her blistered bottom. Heat radiated against the palms of her hands. Even more degrading, she could feel the rush of arousal dancing through her belly.
He caressed her cheek, wiping away a trail of tears with his thumb. "There now, don't you feel better?" he said softly. "I know I do."
She glared up at him, wanting to spit in his face. Truthfully, though, she was angrier at her own responses than she was at him. He knows. The realization sent a thrill through her.
Picking up his briefcase, he turned to go, one hand on the doorknob. "I'll expect to hear back about the job within a week," he said. "Don't cross me, Jessica. Don't even think about it." With that, he turned and left.
She leaned against the desk for support, breathing heavily. Fuck! What the hell was that! Still quivering from the adrenaline coursing through her, she maneuvered slowly behind the desk and sat down, wincing at the sensation. She put her face in her hands, fighting the urge to weep uncontrollably. What have I gotten myself into? What am I going to do?
There was a knock at the door and Denise peered in. "Miss Landers? Are you all right? I tried buzzing you --"
"No, I'm OK, Denise," she said, attempting a smile. "Just a bad migraine. Came on all of a sudden."
Denise nodded uncertainly, looking at the chair turned sideways in the middle of the office.
Jessica stood up. "Reschedule the other applicants, would you Denise?" Oh shit! She grabbed the bondage magazine and swept it into a desk drawer, hoping her secretary hadn't noticed. "I'm going home early."
Denise gave a halfhearted smile, her brow furrowed, then closed the door.
Jessica hated to even touch it, but she picked up the magazine with two fingers and dropped it into her leather satchel before she left. It certainly wouldn't do to have the cleaning lady discover it. She resolved to burn it as soon as she got home. Stepping into the small private office bathroom, she splashed some cold water on her face, then saw her reflection in the mirror. You look like shit, Jessica.
Turning around, she pulled her skirt up and slipped her pantyhose down, looking at her reddened butt in the mirror, the flaring print of his hand across her ass and thighs. It had not been an especially severe spanking, she realized; he had merely wanted to let her know who was in control. Well fuck you, Mr. 'Call me Drew.' You don't know who you're messing with.
On the drive home she gripped the steering wheel of the BMW tightly, her emotions churning. You'll figure some way out of this. You're a smart girl. She remembered his cruel mocking tone. You're mine now, Jessica. Shuddering, she drove even faster.
This is a novel length manuscript I'm trying to revive/rewrite. The editor that I've pitched this to, she wants it tight and streamlined. So, I thought I'd throw it up here, get some feedback. More chapters on the way, please let me know what you think. Thanks!