My Ambition Pt. 08

To say that my emotions that night were in turmoil would have been an understatement. I hardly slept after waking from that dream. But when I did, it was fitful and unsettling, full of strange images, leaving me tired, uncertain and on edge... mentally, emotionally and sexually strung out.

How could I get turned on by a dream about being abused? That wasn't what I was about. No way would I have fantasies of submission. It had to be an aberration, my subconscious at work trying to make sense of everything. I was not ready to consider it, even as a naughty idea. Because I was meant to be the one in power, with a future, not getting wet at the thought of being a sexual slave... They were there to serve and lick people like me, not the other way round.

My whole world had turned upside down. Dias and Associates had the reputation I wanted and did the work I desired, even though the job was not what I had expected. Nic was a curveball and now I had rejected him... again. But I felt justified... Surely just because he was the boss' cousin didn't mean I had to compromise myself... even though the boss had compromised me just the day before...

I changed my clothes literally ten times that morning... putting on a longer skirt to show I'm not a whore -- but they had strict instructions about the length... they wanted women in heels, so I slipped my two-inch court shoes on -- no they were clear, they must be higher than three... a loose knit top and sensible underwear -- not what they wanted, it was not rocket science, office sensual is what they called it... no jacket, because Mr Dias said so!

I'd considered whether to call in sick, because I didn't want to have to face Nic. But this was my job, my future, and I wasn't going to give up without a fight. No matter what...

With some apprehension I left for the office in my hybrid outfit, feeling sluttier than all the coffee girls in the world, face subtly made up as was expected. A professional mask to the outside world, covering the turmoil of my emotions.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, but not even the gorgeous spring day could lighten my mood as I walked through the milling crowds. People going about their lives, people that my boss had said would never get anywhere, wouldn't take risks. At that moment I wasn't so sure I wasn't one of them, that I was not so special... I wasn't sure I even liked myself that morning...

No! I couldn't think like that. I was fine. I would make it. I would be successful.

I felt silly when I half expected to be told to see Ms Alves, but I went through security without incident. And to my shame the recollection of my dream caused a slight tingle between my thighs. It was a relief to find that Nic wasn't in the office. Neither was Val.

My email told me they would be out the entire day with Ridge Breta, on the itinerary I'd arranged. I wasn't sure whether my exclusion was always intended or arranged as retaliation for the rejection. But I couldn't let that distract me, because a new instruction had arrived. To arrange refreshments and a couple of 'coffee girls' for the CEO and a client, in the Pantanal Boardroom on the twelfth flood. A level I had yet to gain access to and had only heard rumours about its existence...

It seemed these 'personnel' requests were channelled though Ms Alves' office, which I did. Miraculously her assistant Debbie was instantly available to make the bookings, and her professional non-nonsense attitude defrayed any awkwardness I may have felt.

A couple of hours later I found myself outside the Pantanal Boardroom standing beside two barely dressed women... coffee girls... whores... I didn't really know what to call them or how to think about them. I hadn't given instructions for them to be half naked, wearing only those ridiculous little thongs. Like the one I had been given to wear a couple of days before, with stupidly high heels that must have been almost impossible to walk in.

Numbers tattooed on their backsides, O 112 and O 121, just like the other 'coffee girls' I'd seen before. Marked as whores, as if they were owned. How desperate must they be? How much money must they be paid to do this? To willingly degrade themselves for the company. To serve their betters. I couldn't imagine what it must be like.

Yet there they were, standing patiently outside the boardroom doors, waiting to be let in. The first, 112 was a dirty blond with sultry eyes and a naturally pouting mouth to match her miniscule pink panties. Seeing her up close, I realised that she looked so similar to me in hair colour, skin tone and features, that she could have been my sister. I had to shake the feeling that it could be me standing there, reminding myself that I was different to them, I had something they did not and would not make the decisions they must have made to become company whores. Her small gold nipple rings confirmed the distinction, because I had never had any interest in body piercing or tattoos.

The other woman numbered 121 was classically beautiful, a statuesque model with auburn hair contrasting with her almost non-existent olive-green lingerie. Their made-up faces and rouged nipples clearly designed to entice the unknown men behind the closed doors to do whatever they desired. For a moment I wanted to be one of those men, knowing that these shameless sluts were waiting to perform my bidding. When they deigned to let them in. Until then they would have to wait outside... like me...

It'd been quite a process to get up to this level. I'd been made to wait for clearance at the elevator that was tucked around behind the CEO's office, by a man who looked more like militia than office security. It wasn't what I expected, but I said nothing and waited, until he'd cleared me. The way he licked his lips and looked at me was creepy and made me feel really uncomfortable. I know that doesn't sound so bad, but when you are the target of creepiness, it feels horrible... no, it's awful and dehumanising and...

I was shaken by that experience, not knowing what to make of it. But this was my job and I needed to do it to the best of my ability. Even if it made me feel dirty, and a little bit scared.

I looked at the other women and they looked back at me... fixed expressions, pasted smiles, absolute silence...

"Hello. How are you?" I said, in a mundane greeting, whether to break the silence or to start a conversation, I'm no longer sure. In retrospect, it was a silly thing to ask. But it was the only thing I could think of to cut the interminable tension in the corridor.

How would they be, displayed and ready to serve their superiors? Having given up their lives to be figuratively owned. How must it feel to have the burden of thought removed? How easy it must be, knowing exactly what they were for, as if they were created for this role, devoid of emotion, following all instructions to the letter, experiencing only the physical stimuli that were imposed on them. Had they too been independent educated women, that were now only valued for their looks and physical attributes? And their obedience...

I should have expected it, but neither of them said anything, they just smiled meekly at me, shook their heads apologetically and wriggled their almost naked bodies as if that would appease me. I wondered whether they were forbidden to speak or had nothing to say.

Then the door opened uncannily, even though we hadn't made a sound. As if whoever was inside controlling this pantomime knew we were there, and it was time to stop the games. It must have been automated, because there was no one standing there to invite us in.

The women knew what was expected and hand in hand they sashayed across the expanse of grey carpet towards the men in the room, towards Mr Dias and another man I had never seen. I followed them, assuming I should, even though I felt invisible and somewhat irrelevant.

The men were seated at the other end of the boardroom, plush leather chairs pushed back from the table, so they were facing each other. Discussing something so intently that they hardly notice the naked women entering for their entertainment. That surprised me, that men would ignore naked women entering a boardroom. I remember wondering what level of entitlement was required to act so cavaliere? That they were so used to this sort of thing, that it hardly warranted their attention. I stood at the end of the table, feeling foolish but not knowing what else to do.

"Oh, hello Lucia. It's good of you to join us." Mr Dias eventually glanced over towards me. My boss... my rapist... The man that I had let assault me, was talking to me, ignoring the two naked women who were running their hands over each other's bodies in a way they had obviously been trained to do... He was paying only me attention, despite their sultry undulation, their erotic writhing, performing for him...

"Afternoon, Sir" I responded with a tight bright smile. Then not really knowing what else to say, what I was doing there, thinking they had everything they needed. "Can I get you anything, Sir?"

"Yes, a latte for me... Garcia?" It was surreal. Two half naked women gyrating and trying to get the men's attention, while I was taking coffee orders. But at least I was not a 'coffee girl'...

"Oh yes... coffee... flat white." If I'd met him at a bar, rather than in the company boardroom, I might have thought he was kind of good looking, for an older guy. Slicked back black hair, tanned face and rugged jaw with designer stubble. Confident brown eyes that noticed the women and glanced at them appreciatively before looking my way. But in this environment, he felt like a predator, waiting to strike unexpectedly. These two men emanated danger and I felt as defenceless as the two naked whores.

"Yes. Right away, Sir." I went to the coffee station near the door, happy to turn my back on their rapacious gaze.

"Yes... now you two." I heard the words behind me, not wanting to look round to see what it meant. Even when I heard their timid voices simper in unison "Thank you, Sir."

Until I had made the coffees and had no options but to return into the lions' den. By that time, both girls were on their knees, their heads bowed down, one in front of each man. As I approached, I realised they were licking the men's shoes, in an act of such utter degradation that I could barely look. And what was worse, what must have been even more degrading, was that the men weren't bothering either. They had resumed their discussion as the women obsequiously lapped at the shiny black leather shoes.

As I put the coffees down on the table, I had to suppress a shiver of revulsion and something else less laudable. The power these men wielded was incredible. And with such casual disregard. It excited me in a depraved carnal way, causing a clenching electrified knot in the pit of my stomach and a gush of liquid into my panties. I wondered what it would be like to have someone abase themselves like that, licking my shoes as I sat nonchalantly ignoring them.

"Thank you, Lucia. You can go now." Mr Dias instructed me with a knowing mischievous smile, as if he could see through me and my inappropriate thoughts. I blushed and it felt like I ran for the door, but as I was about to escape, he called "Lucia?"

I paused, looking over my shoulder, one hand on the door handle, wondering if he was going to make me return. To join them in whatever debauchery they had planned. My heart pounded and my mouth was dry, anxiety warring with anticipation in my chest. It felt like I croaked out a feeble "Yes, Sir."

"Come back in about an hour. We should be finished then, and you can help us clean up." His piercing gaze held me frozen, ensuring I knew this was a command I had to obey.

"Of course, Sir." I replied and then gratefully fled the room.

I made my way back down to my office, the conflict in my head doing nothing to dampen the visceral yearning down there, brought on by the raw power I'd witnessed... again. I could hardly concentrate as I sat in front of my computer, staring blankly at the screen, all manner of dark thoughts and unsavoury emotions whirring through me. But no matter how much I tried to distract myself, I couldn't stop it.

I had lost track of time, when I heard a soft knock at the door. I looked up to see Catia standing there reticently, a manila envelope clasped in her hand.

"Can I help you?" I asked brusquely, slightly disarmed by her sudden appearance and the guilt of what I'd been thinking.

"Yes, miss. Ma'am told me to bring you this. It's your contract." Her voice seemed to tinkle delightfully deferentially, as if she had been trained to speak meekly. "The one you signed the other day." Her eyes were downcast as she said that, as if to avoid having to watch me remember that day. Unless it was all part of her well-trained demure act.

I couldn't help but get a thrill from the situation. Here was the whore who had licked me to orgasm, not once, but twice. Alone with me in my office. Ms Alves had told me what they were for. And here she was, treating me with esteem, like one of the other managers. With my arousal from the earlier, the wild thoughts I'd been having and the opportunity presenting itself before me, I couldn't help myself.

"Come in... and close the door, Catia." I ordered, my tone heavy with anticipation. "Or do you prefer to be called by your whore-number?" I said spitefully as she minced towards me, placing one heeled foot effortlessly in front of the other, her long stockinged legs seeming to flow elegantly, designed to be visually pleasing. She seemed to tremble imperceptibly at my words, but did not answer, nor did she look up.

I was not attracted to her physically, rather it was the control that I seemed to have over her that made it so erotic. The paradox of her sultry confident walk with her timid submissive attitude was quite alluring. An educated woman who had fallen into whoredom, had become a corporate plaything, valued for how she looked and how she served. My pussy gushed at the thought.

"You have to do whatever your told? Don't you?" My voice cracked as she gave me the envelope and I tossed it onto the table, more intrigued by her than my contract...

"Yes, miss." Her trembling reply.

"Including me?"

She didn't respond, just bit her lower lip anxiously as she nodded, eyes remaining downcast. It was so damn cute... and intoxicating. I had spun my chair around to face her by then and crossed my legs, my shoe dangling from one foot, just like I'd seen Ms Alves do. It felt so... so assertive.

"Then kneel." I barked in the sternest tone I could muster. "Kiss my shoe. Show some respect."

She glanced up at me for a moment, but that second was all it took for me to see her misery, her sadness, her dismay that I would make her do this... like they did to her. And then she obediently bent down and did as I directed. Watching her lips pucker onto my patent leather pumps sent a thrill down my spine and straight into my oozing snatch. It was sublime, commanding her. By myself. Not depending on someone else... And she was obeying, like she should. It proved to me that I was special. I was different. I took risks and received the rewards... she obviously hadn't.

"You went to university?" I said as she worshipped my shoe. "Probably got a useless arts degree. Something no one wants... What a waste." I commented for her, because she didn't answer. She just kept on kissing my shoe. Just like I'd seen the whores do for the men earlier. It really did feel good to have her prostrate herself for me and stick her dainty little pink tongue out and lick the slick leather, leaving it glistening with her saliva, improvising as I'm sure she had been taught. "Is that what happened to you? You found that selling your body was better than selling your mind. All your dreams and ambitions, worthless."

She glanced up again, but this time there was a strange expression in her eyes, almost like she hated me or wanted vengeance. But again, it was only a flash and then she returned to her task... adoring my shoe. But I wanted more. There was a furnace between my legs that needed quenching... or feeding. Either way that little pink tongue had proved it was more than up to the task.

"Bring your tongue here." I snarled, spreading my legs and exposing my lacy panties as my short skirt rode higher. "Do what you are paid for." This time she didn't even look at me, she just kissed her way up my calf and onto my thigh, even though I hadn't told her to. Experiencing that level of adoration, I realised that whoever had trained her knew what they were doing. Because this was incredible.

Until she reached the flimsy material of my panties and wormed her tongue underneath them to idolise my slit... That's when I knew that I really wanted to be successful at this job, because the feeling was sublime. The fact that she was doing this at my instruction was so much better than when it had been ordered by someone else. I sank back into my chair and thrust my pussy towards her. She never even used her hands, just competently worked her way into my core and across my sensitive little button. The shocks and tremors she induced were marvellous...

"Do you do it for the money? I bet they pay you well." My words ragged as she expertly played with my sensitive girl parts, knowing first-hand what felt good. "Or do you like it? Being a whore. Do you get off on it?" I pulled her head into my crotch wanting to possess her, to take her very soul. "Go ahead. Play with yourself, you slut. Is that it? Are you just a horny slut who threw away her future because she had to cum?"

I'll never forget the look in her eyes, peering over my trimmed mons... eyes filled with sorrow and pity. Who was she to pity me? Or was it self-pity? I was in charge here and she was a stupid fucktoy, licking my pussy and making me feel good while her hand was frigging her own pussy at my command. Who did she think she was?

The door burst open as I was nearing my apex. Ms Alves strode in, her expression one of fire and brimstone as she yelled at me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She reached us and grabbed Catia by the hair, pulling her away from my bliss. "OUT!"

The whore who had been so obediently and pleasurably lapping me didn't even try to stand, she literally bounded out on all fours like a beaten pup.

"I... I didn't." I stuttered as I tried to pull myself together, closing my legs and straightening my skirt, but not having time to adjust my panties that were still pushed to the side, leaving me conscious of the air on my labia. But that was the least of my worries...

"Who said you could use the merchandise?" She was towering over me, spilling lava. "You're just an insignificant gnat in the bigger scheme of things. You have to earn your place at the table." She leant down so her face was inches from mine as she whispered in the most diabolical manner. "You'll make up for that indiscretion. Otherwise, you're out. You worthless cunt."

I sat there trembling, not knowing what was worse, the threat or the c-word. I hated that word, believing it was only used by fat misogynist pigs sitting around bars talking about things they hadn't experienced, but wished were true. Hearing it from a woman aimed at me, made it all the more shocking and degrading.

All I could think of to say was "I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Shut your trap. I'll deal with you later." She spat back at me, not letting me finish. "Get your sorry ass back up to the Pantanal and hopefully you can do something right."

Then she was gone, like a tornado that had touched down for a moment leaving destruction in its path and then disappearing. Leaving me a quaking wreck, filled with unbridled fear and unsatisfied lust.