The Glass House Ch. 02

It was only then that I was permitted to experience the glass walls of the house suspended over the lake above the torture chamber. Hoffman freed me and helped me up two stories to the bathroom, itself a glass-block cubicle between the two glass-walled bedrooms.

He filled the tub with water. The tub too was make of transparent acrylic. I was completely malleable now--indeed, from the very start I'd let him do what he liked and I'd given him whatever he wanted. I was moving only where and how he directed me, my expression one of glazed shock--and, I'm sorry to admit, sexual satiation. Hoffman was a man of lust, using me hard, and I was there for him, thrilled to serve him, obtaining my satisfaction from being the object of his uncontrolled lust and desire. My body, the body I worked so hard to keep fit and supple, was good enough to overwhelm the great man's lust.

As I moved to get in the tub of water, he pushed me down at the tub's side, on my knees and forced my head into the water. He grabbed my blond hair with his fist, pressing my chest into the side of the tub with his other hand on my back, and dunked my head once, twice, six times, seven, in the water. I sputtered for air, gasping, as Hoffman pulled my head out of the water each time. He continued dunking me until he felt me completely collapse, no fight or independent movement left in me at all. Then he dragged me away from the tub, put me on my back on the bathroom floor, and put my ankles on his shoulders as he knelt between my open, spread, vulnerable thighs.

He leaned over me, moved his bulb into position, and thrust up inside me. I gasped and gave a little yelp as he penetrated me, yet again, but I gave no more sign of resistance. Once saddled, he let his hands glide up my well-muscled chest, to my throat, where he took my throat in his hands. Choking my throat and releasing as he fucked me, he coordinated the breath play with the rhythm of the fuck. I lay, docilely, under him, my glazed-over eyes barely focusing on his face, my hips weakly rocking to the rhythm of the thrusts, panting lightly and gurgling in response to the breath play, surrendering completely to him, as he fucked me to another coming for both of us.

The man was a virile, cruel monster. The man was my master. Whatever he wanted...

Later, after leaving me there on the bathroom floor and after I had dragged myself up and soaked in the tub, I came out into the bedroom, where Hoffman lay, naked, on the bed floating high over the surface of Lake Como in the twilight through the glass wall. I approached the bed and sat by him. Leaning over, I took his cock in my mouth, giving him slow head, working him up to another erection. When I had, I came up on the bed, saddled myself on his pelvis, and descended my channel on his cock, giving myself fully to him, showing him that he didn't have to rip it from me. We fucked, finding and reveling in a shared balance in the dance of the fuck, giving and taking, for the first time making love and being as focused on giving pleasure as much as taking it. At the finish we came together in one prolonged, shared sigh.

After I'd given him everything, I heard that signature laugh of his echoing off the glass walls.

* * * *

Nearly a week later, I was back in Manhattan, back at my classes and still trundling through the halls of the ten-floor chunk of a downtown office building designated as the offices of the Josh Hoffman Financial Services Company. My body had healed and my finances had improved considerably since my long weekend at Lake Como. The gold bar and multicarated diamond I had received as tips at the men's club meeting had given me financial security through to the end of my year of studies and had netted me a somewhat larger, less-dingy apartment. I didn't really need this part-time job. I could walk away from the Josh Hoffman Financial Services Company and everything and everyone involved with it if I wanted.

Everything was looking up, and then I got the call. I can't say I wasn't expecting it.

"Corporate wants you on the top floor, now," Linda, the receptionist on the floor I then was delivering mail to, said. She had a funny, somewhat apprehensive look on her face.

"Corporate?" I asked.

"Yes. The front office. The manager's floor."

I stood just outside the open doorway of the Great Man's office.

"Don't linger there. Peekaboo, I see you," a gruff voice said from inside the office. "Don't just stand there. Come in and shut and lock the door behind you."

And then I was in, shutting and locking the door behind me, and turning and facing the man himself, Josh Hoffman. I was either going to be fired and buried where I could tell no tales, or I was about to become Josh Hoffman's permanent sexual toy--for as long as I was desirable to him or until I was completely used up, whichever came first. I had options. I had financial means to carry me for a while. I could just walk away from this.

But I knew what was true. The choice wasn't up to me; it was up to him. Whatever he wanted.

"Come over here, lay on your back on this conference table, strip off your trousers and briefs. Open your legs to me; give yourself to me," he said in a low, hoarse voice.

I unbuckled my belt as I started walking to the table.

It appeared the man knew who I was and what I'd do for another man all along and that I was going to be continuing to work for Josh Hoffman--both the company and the man.