Stress and Success

Six foot four inches and two hundred pounds. That's what Westin had measured in at when he left the gym locker room that morning. He was thirty-three years old, and had recently taken an interest in how much of an effect gravity has on him. By this evening he would only measure six foot three and a half inches.

Statistics like this weighed heavily on his mind. He had graduated Stanford with a B.S. in statistics, and a minor in finance. Statistics were always in his head. It wasn't a curse, more of a blessing. He was a major up and comer at the firm. As a broker, several of the portfolios he managed were among the most profitable in the company. All of his portfolios owed at least 30% of their value to his shrewd statistical mind, and last year the firm's absolute largest account had asked specifically to be put under his management.

The account move had provided him with a partnership. Which he had paid for by selling a good portion of his own personal portfolio, but the raise he had gleaned from the situation was worth it. He had gone from a good one hundred and fifty thousand a year, to a stunning six hundred thousand a year as well as a sizeable bonus based on his account's performance.

He had sat on the first year's bonus of one million just to see seven digits in his bank account. This last year though when his second bonus arrived he was perplexed. The job had taken a toll on his health. His fingernails were gnawed into nubs, he ground his teeth day and night, and he didn't have the stamina to run up two flights of stairs.

The gym had been his first attempt. He thought the exertion would let him dump off the stress. It hadn't worked. He tried dating, but the women either couldn't hold his interest, or they couldn't keep up with him intellectually.

One sleepless night, he found himself staring at a premium cable channel show about sex in reality. It showed a couple it dubbed as "Goths"; the man was pouring hot wax on his woman, and she was enjoying it. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, and her body arching when the hot liquid splattered her skin. Westin found himself with a raging hard on almost at once, and as soon as the show completed he pulled his laptop out and pursued their actions on the Internet. His love affair with Bondage and S&M was immediate. He had to tell his secretary to cancel all of his meetings the following day so he could catnap in his office. The fetish sites had kept him up until the sun came up.

He started ordering bondage gear two days later. Westin found that he could play with the leather and the buckles and locks for hours. The smell was intoxicating, and the feel was pure pleasure. He needed a subject though; it was rather empty without a subject.

This was about two months ago, and recently his boss Senior partner Barry J. Roberts, had entered his office with a stern yet distressing look on his face. Barry was a rotund man in his late fifties; he took Westin's career seriously and had acted very protective of the younger man's future.

"Wes, your bonus accounts are untouched." Barry challenged. "I guess that means you disapprove." Westin muttered.

"You have to do something with the money Wes, two years worth of bonus money is serious cash, do you have any ideas?" The big man said.

"None at all to be honest I enjoy knowing I have the money too much to spend it." Westin remarked coolly.

"That's no good Wes, you cant just leave the money to accumulate, it's not in your best interest, and it's not in the firm's either can you imagine if a client found out you refuse to invest your own money? They'd take it as a sign from out premiere broker that the market wasn't worth it."

Westin rolled this around his head for a second.... the boss had a good point. "Suggestions Barry?"

Barry stood tall for a moment. "You can't go to stocks. I know you and if you put that kind of money into the market there's no way you would be able to leave it alone."

"Okay...."

"I think you should go with real estate, get a bunch of rental properties or a condo complex or something."

"Sounds fine. I can let the housing market and the renters grow the money for me." Westin was still cold, his mind was sure that he could do it, but his heart wasn't into it at all. The money was nice, and the balances were reassuring. As long as the money was there it was money that had been off his mind.

"Just get on it please before it embarrasses the firm." Barry ordered before he turned and left the office without comment.

That conversation had set the house of cards that was his life tumbling without any sort of warning at all. Westin had wandered down two floors from the thirty first floor, where his office was to the companies mortgage brokerage. He had fully intended to take his lunch by inviting the junior partner in mortgage to eat and discuss the options available to him.

He never made it to the man's office though. Half way through the immense cubicle farm on the twenty ninth floor, he had stopped dead in his tracks. She was stunning. He had neither been looking at anyone, or expecting to see anyone in the cubicles, but his eyes had defied him and sought her out. She was not heart stopping, or drop dead sexy. She was rather young, perhaps twenty-five, and not in very good shape. He knew when she stood up that she would have the pear shaped body so typical of women in America. He could see that she was wearing a tweed business skirt and jacket with a pale blue blouse underneath. He wanted to see her real underclothes, wanted to see her ass, which he knew, had to be round and squashy. But her physical attributes were not what were drawing him in. Her actions were. She never looked up. Her eyes were hesitant and wary. In a mortgage sales position she would rely on cold calling to make her sales, but she didn't. Instead she worked furiously on the few contracts sitting on her desk. She behaved in a timid sheepish manner that he could not get enough of. The plastic nameplate on her cubicle wall read "Christine March"

Apparently he had lost track of time, an executive management type was now standing in front of him. The man was unknown to Westin, and his demeanor reeked of kiss ass.

"Sir may I be of some assistance?" The offending pinstripe suit had barked.

"No, I have found the loan officer I was looking for thank you."

"Sir you've been standing there for quite a while perhaps a cup of coffee in my office, and I can help you with whatever you need." The man's voice was nasal and grated the sides of Westins ears each time he spoke.

"Perhaps I have already found the officer I am searching for, thank you." His tone was complete; leaving no interpretation save that he was done dealing with the peon. The man shrank like a wilting flower and disappeared into the maze of cubicles.

Astonishingly this had awoken Christine March from her dream trance of a workday. The woman had snapped her head upward, but her eyes remained in the cubicle.

She's examining the room with her peripheral vision...afraid to make eye contact

Westin was now fully engaged in the woman. A new idea formed in his head and he stalked over to her cubicle. Using the arrogance of executive power he sat in one of the two uncomfortable chairs by her modular desk. Finally she looked at him. Her eyes were green, and the red hair she kept at neck length framed her face defensively.

"Sir, may I help you?" She almost squeaked but the words settled into a sweet tone mid sentence as she grabbed control of her voice. The "Sir" had almost shot out of her mouth.... He loved every syllable. Trying to control his own thoughts into coherence he spoke.

"I need a new home. Therefore I need a new home loan. I would like approval to purchase a home in the one and a half million range; I will be putting one third down. Thus I will need a loan of one million." He commanded, rapidly spilling out the details. She paled a bit. He noted quickly that it was not the numbers, but the interaction that caused it.

"Maybe one of the more experienced people would be better suited sir?" This time all words were fluid, and there was even a bit of hope he would see her logic in the voice.

"Nonsense, Ms March I walked through this office and you are the only one dutifully doing their job while everyone else gabs on the phone." He knew it was a ludicrous, the phone was how these people made money, but once again found himself using his station in the company to get his way. It was a long ten or fifteen seconds before she slightly nodded and acquiesced to his comments.

"Of course sir, I will assist you in getting the funds." Christine March stammered losing her voice again.

"Excellent I will call personnel and have them make my information available to you. Assess the situation, and call my secretary in the morning to schedule a meeting to go over it with me. Here the direct extension to her desk, and if you need any directions to the office she'll provide them."

He scribed a four-digit extension on her post it note pad, and stood. With out another word or look he walked away. As he moved to the elevator he took off his suit jacket and folded it on his forearms in front of him to conceal his erection.

He spent the evening imagining her naked ass and back. When he woke to the alarm he rode a strong wave of energy through his morning routine and to the office. At nine o five his secretary advised him that Ms March had called and would like to meet with him at eleven thirty. He gave his agreement to the speakerphone, and rolled his eyes into the back of his head. She had called immediately when the office opened for the day, and obviously had her things together. His erection returned. He took care of it in his washroom, and made phone calls to clients until eleven thirty.

Promptly at eleven thirty his secretary opened the door and announced "Ms March and Mr. Rivisi to see you."

Mr. Rivisi?? Who the hell was this?The nasally pinstriped suck up strolled in to the office with Ms March at his heels.

That figures, this jackass obviously enjoys touting his position over her, and I managed to need the girl who works for him.

His thoughts got venomous and he spoke slowly and purposefully. "Ms March did my secretary not provide you good information on the location of my office." . "I figured as Ms March's supervisor I should attend to ensure your satisfaction." The jackass spoke in her place. Westin did not like it and felt the hairs on his neck rising

B.S. you wanted to come to the thirty-first floor, and be seen, and you wanted to try and impress me.

"I see, have there been any problems with Ms March's transactions?" Westin admonished.

"No sir" The man faltered slightly. Westin now smiled.

"Well then relax, and return to your desk knowing that I will inform you the instant I am feeling even slightly mistreated. I will of course advise Mr. Waterson of the excellent customer service I am sure to receive in you and your staff's hands." Dropping the name of the senior partner over the man solidified the man's idea of a successful encounter and he warmed to the idea of leaving. After he shut the door to the office on his way out Westin smiled broadly.

"Your promptness is flattering Ms March. I wasn't expecting a response until this time much less a meeting. Have a seat." He indicated a leather couch on the wall.

"Thank you sir." The slight hesitation was back in her voice, and drove him to erection again. Thankful for the three feet of mahogany desk concealing his lap he pressed on.

"May I have some coffee or tea brought in?" He asked. She slightly moved her head from side to side.

"That won't be necessary sir."

Over the next month and a half he met with her weekly to discuss his funding. In the meantime he met with a real estate agent specializing in high-end housing. The agent helped him find a five thousand square foot Victorian, in a secure guarded and gated community. The house was stunning, but he found the space rather empty. It had a good basement. That he filled with his toys. He had been buying them the entire time. They intoxicated him still, and he longed to use them on Christine.

Once he was moved in he acted on his feelings. He called Christine up to his office saying he would like to thank her. She still acted meek around him, and he loved it. She had no idea of his interest in her and that he had bought a large house for the basement, and the chance to develop a rapport with her.

His secretary announced her ten minutes later, and Christine entered alone wearing a black cotton skirt and jacket. Her rear was prominent to him, and he thought she wore her extra weight well. He wondered if heavier women could take more of a beating than thinner women. There was no reference for him, all of his toys had been completely unused, and he had never known any activity in the lifestyle he longed for.

"Ms March," He hesitated. The statement had been in his head for weeks. But would not come out easily. "Christine, I want you to have dinner with me."

She was now stunned. It hung on her for a minute. "S...Sir, I'm not sure that would be appropriate." "I want to thank you, and can think of no better way than to do so personally." He chose that moment to run roughshod over the encounter. "Your services have been invaluable, and I owe you. I'll pick you up from your home Friday night at seven. Dress is formal."

The eyes told the battle in her head. She lamented for a bit then hesitantly agreed. He spent the remainder of the week looking forward to it.

When Friday came he left the office early and began preparing the meal. He had bought wine especially for the occasion, and had purchased a rack of lamb directly from the butcher on his way home. Six o-clock rang out on the grandfather clock he had purchased for his entry hall, and he placed the lamb in the oven to keep. He showered briefly to refresh his cleanliness, and donned his Hugo boss tuxedo. Swiftly, he moved through his new, large walk-in closet, and selected a maroon bowtie. The last action before switching off the lights was to snap on the clasp of his Tag watch. Tonight it was important for him to seem more than her. He wanted her to feel his superiority from the moment she laid eyes on him.

His five-year-old BMW 5 series pulled into her apartment complex precisely at seven. He knocked on the door to her unit three minutes later. Christine answered the door in a flowing simple black dress with black tights barely visible in the small gap between the hem of the dress and her simple black shoes with their slight heel.

"You look great. "Westin beamed when he saw her and his cock stirred with anticipation.

"Thank you I'm glad you found the place without trouble."

"I used to have a place near here when I was an assistant broker."

In the parking lot he held the door to the BMW open for her and hoped to get a better view of her tights. She was not helpful backing into the seat with her hands firmly on her dress, and quickly swinging her feet into the car. Westin took a moment to admire her neck and small pearl earrings that were visible since she had pulled her rust colored hair into a bun. Taking notice of her detached earlobes, he quietly shut the door.

Silently they rode back to the house, and when the driveway appeared in the headlights she spoke. "Are we going to your home"? It was a nervous question.

"Yes I wanted you to see the results of your labors. I'm actually a decent cook. I don't think you'll be disappointed." The words seemed to calm her a bit.

He left the car on the drive in front of the double doors of the house. Then he went to the passenger side of the BMW and helped her out.

"I was thinking we should eat first and then I'll give you a tour." It was not a question, just a statement asserting his plan, and testing the water a bit. She nodded.

When they ate in the large dining room with it's honey stained oak floor, they made little small talk. Through the brief conversation however, he did learn that she had no man of significance in her life save her father. The rest was idle chatter though. So he took initiative.

"Christine I would like to pursue a personal relationship with you." He said seriously as he looked her square in the eyes over a strawberry tart.

"Why?" She questioned lamely.

"Because you interest me, and I want to know you better. I think I can trust you. Is that true?" He was still holding her eyes with his.

"Of course you can sir, I think it may be a bad idea though, I am not well suited to you, and don't bring anything to you." She was very serious now, and her eyes saddened a bit.

"I think you will, but I need you to know some things about me that I would expect you to keep to your self if you do not find it desirable." She had blinked and was not looking into his eyes any longer, but he knew he had her rapt attention.

"I'll show you now if you don't mind." Westin slowly stood waiting to see if she would also. She actually rose confidently obviously thinking he was about to show her a room full of hunting trophies or something else that certain groups of women would disdain. When she was standing he made his way to the hall where the door to the basement was.

Wes took the stairs two at a time and was at the basement floor several seconds before Christine got there. The lights were still off, but he could smell the leather. The basement was very large, and took up a large portion of the house's footprint. It had two entrances; the one Westin and Christine were standing in from the interior of the house, and one from the exterior from a large set of double doors that opened upward. Slowly he turned to face her in the hall light, and flicked on the light.

"Remember please keep this to yourself." He intoned.

Her jaw went slack. He had surfaced the concrete floor with a bluish glaze, and had one of the forty-foot walls covered with toys. Floggers, paddles, crops, ropes, chains hoods, gags, cuffs, dildos, and hundreds of other implements littered the massive pegboard structure attached to the wall. Strewn about the center of the room were two sawhorses four large wooden chairs a set of stocks, and a large wooden table. All were smoothly sanded, and oiled beautifully.

Westin soaked in her reaction. She was flabbergasted. She made no noise, and stared at the room as if unable to take it all in.

"What the..." she stammered. "I seem to have an impulse control problem when it comes to buying this stuff." He tried to explain.

She took two steps into the room beyond him and turned to face him. Then she swiftly dropped to her knees. She had her hands in her lap and sat on her ankles. Westin reeled with the action. She had done this before...and she approved of it. Obviously she wanted to try this with him. There was no other explanation for her sitting on the cold floor before him in such a nice dress.

"I have no experience with this, but deeply desire to do it with you. I am well researched, and trust worthy. I will not bind you, as I want you to feel that you can escape if you need to. The safe word in my house is "Cardinal". Use it whenever needed. Take your hair down now." Westin struggled to get the words out without sounding frantic. She quickly moved to comply

"Slowly." He warned her.

A moment later he hair was free of the bun, he stepped forward and ran his right hand through it. Winding his fingers in it, he abruptly made a fist trapping it in his hand. Then yanked her to her feet. With a slight gasp she stood and he walked her to the table. Twisting a small wheel beneath it he lowered the table to just above her waist height.

"Place your hands on the table." He barked at her

When it was done he released her hair and pulled the hem of her dress over her head. The sight was not even half as appealing as he had hoped. She was wearing a massive control panty, and the black tights revealed themselves to be black panty hose that were fraying at the top.