Civil Penalty Pt. 09

WikiHow said if you had a great time, text straight away but wait one to two days to phone. OK, I could do that, so I grabbed my phone:

'David, thank you again for being my white Knight and saving me from having my career and the last of my self-respect utterly destroyed. I had a wonderful time with you and loved every second of it. I hope we can do it again before too long. Beth.'

I had a definite bounce in my step that morning as I entered the legal department and cleared with them that I could fire Franklin - all they needed from me was an email stating what he'd done from one corroborating witness who could verify my account, which was easily done.

I ensured HR included me when they visited him in his office. Two security officials came with us. The look on his face as he was escorted out was priceless.

"You can't fire me," Franklin sputtered, "the company stated in writing that there would be no retaliation for using Ms. Cartwright sexually. That is a legally enforceable contract."

I gleefully replied, "You aren't being fired for trying to use me sexually. You are being fired for attempting to bribe Federal officials in a clear breach of our Code of Ethics. A code that you certified you understood at the end of your biannual mandatory training. Oh, I should also point out that it's also a felony, so you can expect to be contacted by the authorities shortly, which, given it involves a military contract, would probably be the FBI." He visibly paled. I couldn't resist waving as he was bundled into the elevator, "Have a nice day!"

I returned to my office, knowing I had one fewer traitor in my department. I was still on cloud nine from the sex last night, and firing the bastard had just been the icing on the cake.

Gianna wandered past my office, and seeing the wide smile on my face, she popped her head in the door, "You look happy this morning, Beth; what's up?"

Beaming, I told her.

***

Marguerite Foucault gazed sleepily out of their bedroom on a bright, sunny Monday morning at the luxurious Salamander Middleburg Resort outside DC. Her husband was away on a business trip to Europe, and David's wife had gone on a Danube River cruise with a handful of her sorority sisters. Freed from any fear that they would be discovered, David had booked them a 5-night long weekend to celebrate her anticipated win of the DoD contract.

After all, by destroying that bitch, Cartwright, she could guarantee that Carrouges SA would win the multi-billion contract. And, as the VP of Marketing for Carrouges's US subsidiary, her annual grant of Restricted Stock depended this year on winning that bid; so, expensing a $800 per night hotel so she could screw the brains out of her contact in the military and keep him amenable and begging for more would be entirely justifiable.

She still felt a warm glow from the fast and furious fucking he'd given her doggy style on the coffee table last night and then up against the shower wall while the room filled with steam and the multiple rain shower heads had caressed them softly in hot water. He had left her delightfully satiated, so she had rewarded his efforts with a long, luxurious blowjob. He had been smiling when he left that morning, and she chuckled at the memory as her breakfast was served.

The only thing ruining her mood was that her latest plan to destroy Cartwright in the eyes of the appropriations committee had failed because of the unexpected arrival of a new strait-laced Colonel. She'd been gleefully anticipating a video of the sordid gangbang they'd arranged via Major Ryan but had gotten nothing.

Her small group of conspirators on the encrypted chat app Signal had already buzzed in frustration; still, they had the video of the cunt naked during her enslavement and of her being made airtight at Ski Pole Ranch, which, as a last resort, they would risk releasing through an East European hacker. Oh no, she wasn't done with that bitch yet, not by a fucking long shot.

Between those two events, all the main conspirators except for her and Franklin had gotten to fuck her roughly, and they made the sex as demeaning as possible. Sadly, the bitch showed no signs of breaking, and her work for Absconditus appeared unaffected despite being pounded by her own colleagues almost every night. She snorted, "Maybe the little whore was enjoying it?"

Her cell phone buzzed with a new private message on Signal. Her heart leapt to see it was from David at the SEC. Expecting a sext, she opened the app eagerly, but what she read didn't so much inspire lust as send an icy spike of fear stabbing through her.

"Sweetheart, we have a problem. This morning, the DOJ served me with a Target Letter for criminal conspiracy to defraud the US Government. The letter advised me to get a lawyer with the appropriate experience. I've been subpoenaed to appear before a Grand Jury in DC in two weeks. It is no longer safe for us to risk being seen together, so, sorry, but after work, I will collect my things from the hotel and be gone. You should return to the office today to see if you are also a target and ascertain if my connection with Carrouges SA is known to them."

If this conspiracy went south, she knew she was potentially risking years in prison. Damn Cartwright; she'd hated her ever since the Defence conference in Richmond six years ago, where after what she thought was a brilliant presentation on Carrouges' latest technology, that bloody woman had asked a question that nailed the one design issue that her engineers still hadn't solved, and she'd been desperate to conceal.

Several potential customers had been present, leading to them asking further awkward questions. It eventually led to losing one massive sale and years-long delays in two other major projects. It had not only cost her a promotion but also bitten into her annual bonus quite heavily when she had two kids in expensive private colleges. She'd banked on winning this current contract to pay off the loan she'd taken for her kids' college bills.

She needed to self-soothe before driving and calm the fuck down. The minibar had two miniatures of whiskey. Good; that should do it. But still not feeling it, she poured two miniatures of vodka into the orange juice from the minibar and downed it before snatching up her purse. Thirty minutes later, she'd checked out and was gunning the engine of her new BMW coupe as she turned onto Route 50 to DC.

But instead of helping, the drink made her all the more belligerent, and as her anger grew, her body tensed, and the more she subconsciously pressed down on the accelerator of her car. She muttered a furious series of curses as she drove and turned the music system up loud.

Not ten minutes later, her blazing self-righteous indignation at having been humiliated by that fucking Cartwright woman was interrupted by the wail of a police siren and the appearance of strobe lights in the mirror. For one furious moment, she considered outrunning the cop, but sanity prevailed, and she pulled over. The Police cruiser slowly slid in behind her, and the officer got out. A nasty smile crept over her face when she saw how young he looked. She was sure she could intimidate him.

Officer Grendel had joined the Police after serving one tour in the Marine Corps. He had joined up straight from school and would have probably stayed in longer, but his young wife had been pregnant with their first child and was understandably anxious, and while she made efforts not to pressure him, he knew she was keen that he take a civilian job. Besides, the Police was a pretty good gig all in all. Decent pay, good benefits, even some fine people, and thank God it wasn't just office work, which would have driven him fucking nuts. He'd only been in a couple of years, but it was mostly shaping up OK.

He had been happily sitting in his patrol car, lazily drinking his coffee and catching up on a little paperwork, when some lunatic screamed past in a BMW. Now, to be fair, he hated paperwork, so he had a slight grin as he tossed the coffee and took off after it.

It took longer than usual for the car he was following to finally pull over, and for just a few moments, the damned driver had started to accelerate away from him, and he wondered if the other driver was actually gonna run. He pursed his lips as he pulled in behind the sleek-looking BMW, "Hmm, wonder what's on their mind... From the way they gunned the engine, they definitely thought about it, then had a change of heart. Nothing got pitched from the windows, so they haven't tossed evidence? Did they come to their senses, or just chicken out? And if they were gonna run, you should ask yourself why that is?"

Once they had finally pulled over, he sat in his cruiser momentarily, eyeing the sleek car in front as he radioed in the stop and requested backup. His fingers drummed thoughtfully on the steering wheel of the Chevvy Blazer EV SS Police Pursuit vehicle as his mind mulled things over. It had only been a few days since a drug runner had been stopped not so far from where he was sitting, and that fucker had been armed to the teeth. He grunted, "Right, let's see what's what I suppose. Hopefully, just another entitled fuckwit, but you never know."

He alighted from his vehicle and, checking his holster, made to approach the vehicle. It looked like a single female driver, but it always paid to be wary, so he gave the car and her a careful once-over before moving up and tapping on the window.

The woman lowered it and gave him a thoroughly contemptuous glare. He had seen that look a hundred times and suppressed a weary sigh, "Oh, she looks like a barrel of laughs."

"Ma'am, do you know what the posted speed limit is on this route?"

"Yes, officer. It's 65."

"No, ma'am, it's 50, and you were doing over 80. Slowly remove your driver's licence and registration and hand them to me. Might be best to keep your other hand on the wheel while you do that."

She all but snarled, "Wait a minute, young man, do you know who the hell I am? One phone call and I can have your badge and gun taken from you by the end of the day. I was doing 70 in a 65-mph limit; that's not a ticketable offence. So, let's just leave it there before I take this further with your superiors. Yes?"

"Fuckwit it is, I guess."

He sighed, "Ma'am, I hear those threats daily, and I'm still here. Might be best if you modify your tone and comply with my directions before you talk yourself into more trouble, OK?"

The woman flushed, and her voice raised an octave as she snatched at the purse on the passenger seat beside her, "Don't you fucking speak to me like that! I want to talk to your supervisor right now! You'll be lucky to still have a job after this!"

The officer stared at her for a moment, and then his lips curled ever so slightly in a wry, possibly even slightly sinister smile, and her face paled as she noticed him move one hand to the grip of his sidearm as she reached for her purse.

He shook his head slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was calm, almost quiet, "Oh my, I hadn't realised how much trouble I was in... Still, reckon I'll risk it. Please step out of the car, ma'am; turn and place your hands on the side and widen your stance."

Shit, shit, shit! Could this day get any worse?

The cop had stepped close enough to check her for hidden weapons and then paused as something caught his attention.

"Ma'am, have you been drinking?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she asserted.

He grinned, "Doesn't rain, but it pours, eh? Give me your car keys and remain where you are while I run your plates and get the breathalyser."

While the cop was running her plates, she got a phone call from the CEO's PA.

"Marguerite, I know you took today and tomorrow as vacation, but the FBI have been here since 7 a.m. carting away boxes of documents related to our bid for the current DoD contract. You are needed back here right away. There was also a Federal Marshall here looking for you."

"Fuck!"

***

Elizabeth's POV

Two days later, I phoned Delano and left a voicemail with my cell phone number. He called me thirty minutes later. I told him that Eamon, my legal owner, had given permission for him to come to the Penthouse for a date any day except Saturday when I still had to provide sexual services as per my status as a sex slave. He promised to bring take-out and a bottle of wine for a long lazy date with no time pressure. Knowing that I would have to be naked after 7 p.m. (which, for once, I was looking forward to), I asked him to come at six.

The following morning, I was summoned to the office of our newly hired Chief Legal Officer. When I got there, an official from the DOJ was waiting. As a slave, that terrified me; what more could happen to me?

The pounding in my heart eased slightly when the man smiled at me, "Ms. Cartwright," he shook my hand, "I have subpoenas for you and your CEO to appear before a Grand Jury in DC investigating an allegation of bid-rigging and an attempt to defraud the US Government. Your lawyer, at the time of your enslavement, has also been issued a target letter, so you will need to find new representation. Grand Jury rules forbid you from discussing the case with anyone else subpoenaed or putting any hint of this on social media. In particular, you should not discuss it with your CEO or former lawyer. Understood?"

Nervously, I nodded.

"I also have a letter of notice requiring your presence at Slave Processing next week to meet with a lawyer from the SEC to review the stipulations relating to your enslavement. You will need to bring both your own lawyer and a corporate lawyer to that meeting. Good day, ma'am."

With a nod, the Marshall left, leaving me stunned, wondering what on earth was going on.

Our new CLO looked grim and took off his spectacles to pinch his nose with a disgruntled sigh, "Beth, I don't know what's happening, and I'm sorry to point this out, but slaves must be naked and collared in courthouses and slave processing centres. We will drive you as close to the door as possible, where you can strip before being escorted in by a representative of your legal owner at both of these meetings. Your own lawyer can meet with us there."

He eyed me, "We haven't had the chance to get to know each other yet, and I can understand any suspicion you might feel towards me, but I take my professional responsibilities quite seriously, Ms. Cartwright, and unlike last time, I can assure you, you will not be left hung out to dry."

***

Sunday came, and I was still in a quandary: was I preparing for my date with David as a sex slave who should be waiting, kneeling naked at the door with her rear passage cleaned out by an enema? Or should I be preparing as Beth, hopeful that this would blossom into a romance, ending the bitter taste of the last few months of slavery?

In a flurry of indecision, I compromised. I gave myself an enema and showered before putting on my slinkiest LBD and my favourite perfume, CK One Reflections, from Calvin Kline. I loved the fresh, energising ginger, lemon, and green tea mixture.

The doorbell to the Penthouse rang, and my heart thudded, suddenly fearful that my hopes for a romantic evening would be destroyed by my status as a sex slave. I opened the door to a bouquet of colourful, fragrant flowers in a vase, obscuring the face of the man holding them. I could smell Fresias, my favourite scented flower, and my heart skipped.

I gently nudged the flowers aside, stood on tiptoe, and tenderly kissed him, "Oh, you shouldn't have; they're so beautiful, and I love the fragrance. How did you guess that Fresias are my favourite?"

He laughed, "I caught a hint of your perfume while I kissed your neck the other night; it was light and floral." I took the bouquet from him and led him inside. I gave him a look that communicated my desire to strip on the spot and jump his bones.

"Tut, tut, so impatient." He laughed again, "Wine and conversation first before Doordash brings our food." He kissed me tenderly again, "Where's the corkscrew and a sharp knife?"

He'd brought a bottle of Caymus Suisun Grand Durif and a packet of Pecorino Locatelli from a well-known Italian shop.

"Before we start, Beth, I want to say one thing. You will be manumitted in two months, and this nightmare will be behind you. I'd like it if we could set aside your current legal status and relate to each other as if your manumission had already happened?"

He'd just answered my biggest fear, that he'd see me as a sex slave and not a girlfriend, "Oh, Delano, I'd love that."

We nuzzled each other, which turned into a long, slow, languid kiss, and I savoured each moment of intimacy.

The doorbell rang twice before I could bring myself to break our embrace, and I was distinctly flustered when I opened the door. The young delivery man took in my flushed expression and comically smeared lipstick and grinned as he handed over the food order, and I caught Delano giving him a sly wink as he tipped him.

Back inside, Delano laid out a veritable banquet of Boeuf Bourguignon and all the trimmings and poured us a generous glass of red wine. Before taking his first bite, he looked up at me, and his Cheshire-Cat smile was almost a smirk, "This smells delicious, but I have to say it looks like the feast I most want is right in front of me. Still, I suppose, like a good boy I'll just have to wait for my dessert." and I knew he wasn't talking about the food. The thought of him between my thighs again made my toes curl, and I had to resist sweeping the dishes away and fucking him right there and then on the dinner table.

As we settled down to eat, I kicked off my shoes and stuck my foot out, pushing between his muscular thighs. The table was too wide to let me reach the hardness I knew must be busting against his zipper. He chuckled mischievously and lowered himself in the chair so I could reach him. We kept unbroken eye contact as I rubbed my toes over the rock-hard erection I could so easily feel. He groaned; his eyes rolled back, and he almost dropped his fork, and I felt the satisfying elation of a woman's power over a man when he's thinking with his cock.

He got a hold of himself, pulled upright and growled, "The food will get cold."

I smirked as I was far from done toying with him. I picked up a piece of wine-drenched beef with my fingers and popped it into my mouth. I then slowly inserted my sauce-lubricated finger into my mouth and withdrew it, fellating my finger while keeping eye contact that he couldn't break free from. He watched mesmerised.

"Absolutely NOTHING is cold here. It's just getting hotter and steamier."

"Oh, you cruel, cruel woman."

Not to be outdone, he tore his eyes away from me, picked up a couple of the roast carrots from his plate and made them into a "V". Fixing me with a sharp gaze, his tongue snaked out and licked up the juices from the erotic gesture, and a fresh gush of moisture leaked into my already sodden panties as I clutched the table in anticipation.

By the time we were done eating, we'd had to microwave our plates more than once, and the bottle was empty. We eyed each other over the empty plates for a moment, and then Delano swept everything off the table onto the kitchen counter, grabbed me by my waist and lifted me on my back onto the table.

"Mine," he growled while pushing my dress up and pulling my panties down. He pushed my legs back for me to put my arms over my knees and was about to descend on my desperate pussy like a man who hadn't eaten in years. He stopped as if awestruck at the sight of my shaved, swollen vulva and well-rounded derrière.

"Beth, you are so fucking desirable, I can't bear it."

His mouth descended on my aching slit with a long lick up the centre and a light nip at my fully emerged nubbin. I mewled with longing, "Harder, David, I need it hard tonight."