Compliance Pt. 05

"Here?" Olive hissed, though there was thankfully nobody else nearby to hear their conversation.

"Here and now, pet. Last chance." Olive winced.

"The first option, I guess," she muttered. She mentally ran through the list of usual lunch spots where Kent could be, and how far away they were. Five minutes seemed safe-ish.

"What was that?"

Through gritted teeth, she tried again in a less combative tone of voice. "I want you to play with me, Daddy," she growled reluctantly.

"Good girl. Pull up your shirt."

If Olive had been in her right mind, she would have glanced quickly out the windows of the office to make sure no passersby could see her. But of course, since Paul had reminded her what a good girl she should be for him, she wasn't in her right mind. She didn't feel the added friction of a single thought as Paul's words seemed to send a direct signal to her body to obey. She complied, and pulled up her green turtleneck, exposing her heavy breasts in a black bralette.

"Mmm, very good." Paul grabbed them both and freed them from the black lace, kneading the soft flesh and teasing the nipples with his thumbs. Olive twisted and moaned. The heat rose in her pussy and she damn near wondered if she shouldn't ask for the vibrator anyways.

"Olive," Paul whispered.

"Mmmm?" she regarded him through fluttering eyelashes, though her expression appeared dreamy and far-off.

"See the long hand on the clock to your left?" He firmly gripped her breasts and leaned in to kiss her. His full lips crushed against hers and his stubble grazed her cheek. She murmured something incomprehensible. Which way was left, again?

"We have until that hand moves from the five to the six. Watch the clock, Olive."

Olive could make out the ticking sound the analog clock emitted if she really focused on it as instructed. It was almost like a metronome, the second hand moving forward at a steady rhythm. It overcame all other noise in the room. Tick. Tick. Tick. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that Master was touching her, teasing her, playing with her body, but it was not her job to notice that right now. She need only watch the clock. The minute hand had already reached the second notch past the five. There was a far-off, slightly perceptible sensation of a cool, wet point dragging across the skin of her breasts. Then Paul resumed pinching and tweaking her erect nipples. Olive let out a contented sigh as she felt moisture dribble into her panties.

Three minutes past the five now. Only two to go. Olive was on her hands and knees, her exposed tits pointing down towards the carpet. Paul's caresses had moved from her tits, down her waist, to her hips, where he was now playing with her ass cheeks. His hands circled their curves, pushed them together, grabbed and shook them greedily. She didn't remember being commanded to present her ass to him, but she might have missed it, as she was simply too busy watching the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. She felt a cool breeze on her naked bottom as Paul pulled down her black trousers. He plunged three fingers once into her sloppy hole, savoring the way Olive rammed her hips back to welcome their entry. He hooked them upwards to stroke the ridges of her G-spot and she purred and trembled. Her sticky, damp pussy lips contracted tightly around his fingers as he removed them and dragged them up to her tiny asshole. Then, one by one, he sunk each finger in to the tight opening, pumping them in unison, stretching her ass in three directions at once.

Olive could feel that her mouth was wide open, so she knew that a scream had to be pouring out of it at the intense sensation of her asshole being penetrated in the lobby at her work. But she only heard the ticking of the clock. As the second hand crept through its final pass of the clock face, pushing the minute hand towards the finish line at the 6, Paul forcefully extricated all three fingers at once and utilized his remaining 10 seconds of playtime to spank Olive viciously. He angled his open palm at a diagonal and slapped across both ass cheeks over and over again, so quickly the skin barely had time to turn color. The irregular rhythm of his beating snapped Olive out of her trance, and she instead tuned into the violent impact sounds of his hand on her bouncing ass cheeks, so loud they cut through her pained shrieks. At what must have been 12:30, as promised, Paul suddenly let up. With one last slap, he promptly stood up, grabbing Olive by the back of her top and pulling her to her feet. She felt as if she could put no weight on her limbs, as if she was a marionette that he was holding aloft by her strings. In a way, this was true.

"Open your mouth, Olive," Paul hummed contentedly as he admired her disheveled appearance.

Olive complied.

Paul tightened his grip on her collar, stared into her glassy eyes and spit into her mouth. Shocked, she squirmed and shot him an indignant expression, but she dutifully swallowed it.

"Good girl." Olive heard the crinkle of a wrapper. Paul gently pried her bottom lip open again and slid a square of dark chocolate over her tongue. Then he pushed her towards the door behind the reception desk with one last smack on the bottom. "Go clean yourself up now."

As she shut herself in the bathroom to catch her breath, she heard the street door swing open and shut. No aftercare today. She tugged her shirt back down over her tits and gingerly wiggled her stinging, sore ass into her pants. Then her phone buzzed. A text from Paul, then another one:

'Good choice, baby'

'Send Daddy a cute picture.'

Another picture? She resented that he had asked her to take it herself instead of simply sneaking a creepshot, like a normal pervert. It felt like he was making her complicit in her own destruction.

Still, those five minutes in the waiting room were rough enough without any explicit dedicated time to punishing her. She knew it could get much worse if Paul didn't get what he wanted. Surmising it might be worth it just to survey the damage he'd done, she dropped her pants and lifted her shirt, and her jaw dropped in shock. The strange cool sensation across her breasts had apparently been Paul employing the services of a Sharpie. DADDY'S SLUT was emblazoned across her chest. She twisted her hips to check her ass in the mirror. It was a deep, angry red, and prickled hotly to the touch. Another note, FUCK PET, was written on her lower back, just above her ass. She held the pose long enough to snap a mirror selfie, taking care to crop her face from the photo before saving and sending.

'Pretty baby.' was his only reply.

For her sake, Olive hoped that Paul was telling the truth when he implied he cared about her. If he wasn't, then he would be the ruin of her before she ever got to work on another case.