The Secret Ownership of Tim Ch. 02

My name is Timothy Willow. I am the VP of Sales at Cockle Wire. I got to this position by being calm, directed and willing to do what it takes to advance myself. I consider myself easy with the right word at the right moment and that makes me likable. You know, a good salesperson.

You wouldn't know the calm part to see me now. I am sitting here at my desk, holding a letter in my sweating hands. It is a Request for Quote; a sales opportunity for my company to supply wire. It is a legitimate RFQ, but we don't get requests for these types of applications every day. It is from Body Beautiful. The RFQ is signed by the president herself, Natasha Bodinski. And it is her signature that has turned my normally steady hands into jittery, moist betrayers of my mixed emotions.

Natasha was my high school tutor. The daughter of Russian neighbors, she had learned English at an early enough age to be completely fluent in it, but late enough in her teens to still maintain a slight lilt that always seemed slightly stern yet fascinating to me. In an earlier story, I told you about the time she arrived earlier than expected for tutoring at my parents' house and caught me masturbating on my sister's bed into my sister's panties. The memory of my shame and her punishment of me for my dirty act, even now, some dozen years later, races through my blood, engorging my dick, and making me sweat.

I don't want to respond to Natasha's letter. I sense danger, just like a rabbit looking out onto a sunny field that shows no visible signs of enemies, and yet the rabbit twitches its nose, its blood pounding and adrenaline coursing so powerfully through its small, frightened body that it almost hurts in the heart. Natasha had ruthlessly exploited my embarrassment back then, and to top it off, she drove me even deeper into that desperate pit of confusing pleasure by taking me and calling me her whore and her slut.

Back then, the pleasure was stronger than the shame and I longed to see her again, but I never did. She moved away, and left me fantasizing ever since. But now I am older, and hopefully wiser. Oh sure, I still masturbate to fantasies of being taken by an assertive woman. But I have become clear about Natasha and her particular type. She is what I call a sexual blackmailer; an exploiter of the embarrassed; a predator with a sixth sense of men with perverted thoughts. She is a vampire that thrives on a men's humiliation and she knows how to draw it out of your deepest recesses and so deviously that as she sucks the shame to the surface, you eventually give into the shame, you desire to revel in it like a pig rolling around in a sty, because you see how much it pleases her, and pleasing her becomes all you want to do, offering up all your debasement for her pleasure, ... that becomes your one and only want, your one and only need.

That's why I don't want to answer the letter. Natasha would surely exploit her power over me to her advantage with my company. Blackmail me perhaps into low prices. Who knew what her savage imagination was up to, but it was no coincidence that Natasha Bodinski was requesting a quote from me, Timothy Willow.

Sitting here now for a while, I am ridiculing myself for thinking that I can't handle this situation. After all, didn't I say I was older and wiser? Hadn't I gotten to my position by demonstrating resolve and, sometimes, even defiance at the right moment? If I don't respond, wouldn't that make me weaker than responding? And yet, there is the rub already. I can't chose to not respond. She might call the company and ask why I hadn't? She already had me in a bind. But, I have nothing to fear from Natasha if I don't let her pervade my inner resolve to resist whatever games she might be playing. So, I am going to review the quantities of various wire in the attached spreadsheet, and then issue a quotation.

I print a standard cover letter, but then hesitate for a moment before signing. My full name? Just "Timothy"? She called me "Timmy" but I can't sign official correspondence that way. I snap back to awareness. My only power against her is in never giving into being personal. I sign my full name.

Three days later, my secretary pages me. Ms. Valooma of Body Beautiful is on line 3. I take the call.

"Ms. Bodinkski would like you to visit to discuss the quote," says Ms. Valooma.

I say I will check my schedule and call back to confirm, but Ms. Valooma insists on finding an agreeable time for the appointment right now on the phone. Friday, 3 p.m. was preferred by Ms. Bodinski, her firm voice says, and I agree. As I hang up, I wish I was married, and for a moment, I even consider borrowing a wedding ring from someone in the office.

I google her name and company. In its ten year history, Body Beautiful has mushroomed into the most noted competitor in "fashionable erotics," as her company likes to call them. Natasha has finessed the company's line and reputation to a successful niche that is classier than, say, Frederick's of Hollywood, but racier and much bolder than Victoria's secret. Her leather lines, for instance, more than hint at primal struggles for power and control.

I am also surprised to learn that the corporate offices comprise the top three floors of a downtown building. The train ride in is 45 minutes, and while I have taken out a pad to jot down notes for the coming week, my mind drifts and my pen doodles. The web site's photograph of Natasha comes back to me. In it, the pride and stature of her lithe body was sculpted by a skin tight, black, dress that reached up and hugged Natasha's curves. The dress slinked its choker-like collar round her sleek neck. Her blond hair rolled in long soft curls down around that jealous collar, lounged on her shoulders and then spilled down her back. Her body, her neck, her hair and especially her yellow eyes were all like wild animals, panthers, jaguars, tigers, that she kept on short chains while they growled dangerously and even fletched their teeth at each other in competition for Natasha's attention to use that particular animal in the attack on the next victim.

Between images of what a stunning woman Natasha had become and memories of her evil desires for humiliation, my cock is growing hard in my slacks. I snap to attention at the conductor's call of my stop, and embarrassed at the hard cock in my pants, I hold my attaché case in front of my crotch as I exit the train.

I was hoping I would lose my erection while exiting the train, but by now my breath is short and my pulse quick with the anticipation of the meeting. My own cock seems to mock me by gorging even fuller. "Natasha commands her body's ferocious beauty," I think, "and my body's chronic urges betray me." Laughable, I think, and my hard-on rages against my pants in full erection as I imagine Natasha laughing at my deplorable lack of control over my very own cock.

On the escalator in the train station, I end up behind a woman in heels and a mini skirt, and my face is almost level with her round and luring behind. I imagine that even that woman's sassy ass is taunting me.Want some of this, don't you dirty boy, the ass laughs.You want to peak under this skirt at some tasty pussy, don't you horny boy? And just then, the woman shifts her weight to the other side and the ass shrugs at me,Pervert! and walks off the escalator.

By the time I reach the building, I am struggling to breathe normally and assess the circumstances. My cock is no longer hard, but still swollen in my pants. I can feel that precum has oozed out. My crotch and the head of my dick feel wet from the slick slime. I glance down and see that, so far, it doesn't show through my pants. I pray for mercy that it won't soak through.

The elevator opens and I feel instantly overwhelmed. I have seen some lush offices before, but this is more than lush, it is lavish. And seductive. I step into a two-story high rotund that is lined with marble. Suspended in the center of the arched ceiling, is a many-times larger-than-life-sized hologram of a lingerie-clad, almost too-stunningly beautiful model. She is crouched on her haunches, one elbow casually on her bent leg, the other hand reaching out and beckoning the visitor in. The black bra is cradling tight, perky breasts, and the lacey thong is just see-through enough to hint at her pleasure. My mind reels back to masturbating as a young boy to cartoon pornography depicting giant women tormenting me. Without the least bit of hope to control it, I feel my dick swell hard again.

"Can I help you?" says the receptionist again, louder.

I look at the round reception desk under the hologram. An equally beautiful, and this time real, woman smiles at me. I announce myself, and after a brief phone call, she bids me to wait in a conference room down a hall from the rotund. I enter the conference room, put my briefcase on the table and turn to look around. In the corner, I notice another hologram display at waist height coming from a short roman-styled column. This time, the model is only a foot high, and as she models the lingerie, she turns and bends and slinks her hips, and then this one too beckons me. A new hologram flashes up, this time a brunette, wearing leather bra and pre-torn mini skirt to look like an Amazonian loincloth. Then another: red teddy with black ribbons. And another and then I realize the trap I am in, my dick hard, my mind already feverish with the poison of Natasha's control: I am in her web.

There is only one thing to do. I walk back briskly down the hall into the open rotund, under the crotch of the giantess and ask the receptionist for the men's room. With my suit jacket slung over my arm to hide my bulging pants, I hurry to the men's room. It is a single bathroom, thank goodness. I drop my jacket, fumble with my pants, finally freeing my stiff cock and curl my hand softly around my meat. Slowly I begin stroking up and down. I'll blow my cum, and preempt the danger of her exploiting me. Fine, if this was her trap, I'll give in, but right here in my own hand, on my own terms. I stop to slick my hand with soap and water. I almost groan as I slip my dick into my wet fist. Faster now and harder. As I pump I imagin that maybe she even knows, maybe they all know, the receptionist and every one that works here, that this is what the men do when they come to this office. I imagine them standing around me right now, egging me on to wank my dick harder.Faster! a blond commands.Harder! a brunette orders.On the floor, a red head yells,Fuck the marble floor with your cock. And I do. My knees slowly give way while my pussy-fist slams onto my cock. Now I am flat on the cool marble, pants around my ankles, using both hands on my bare ass cheeks as my hips grind my soap-slippery, rock-hard dick along the marble floor. I bite my lip as my mind hears them all yelling:Cum you fucker! Cum on the floor like a horny, humping dog! Spurt your little seed right here at our feet! Now! And I do, oh God, oh glorious God, I do. Shot after shot after shot.

After I calm down, I get up and clean the floor. I splash my face with cold water, dry off, and straighten my appearance in the mirror. Then I return to the conference room. Almost as soon as I get there, a doppelganger of Dolly Parton comes in.

"Hi, I am Ms. Valooma. Ms. Bodinski has been waiting for you."

I start apologizing, but she interrupts and is already walking out, "Right this way."

I am shown into a large, wood-paneled room. The far wall is floor to ceiling glass, overlooking the city. The other wall is a large, semi-circle from one end of the picture window to the other. It is a cherry-paneled wall with padded red leather studded inside each panel. Besides the large wooden desk, which is bare but for a phone, there are only two chairs in the office. A large black leather executive chair behind the desk, and in front of the desk, a simple, leather woven, high-back hair with no arm rests. Ms. Valooma closes the door and leaves me in the room alone. I sit in the chair, place my briefcase at the foot of Natasha's desk, and look out on the city.

Eventually, one of the panels opens. I rise as Natasha walks in.

"Timmy," she says as she walks in. Her smile is broad, warm and genuine. She is wearing a classic business outfit. Heels, stockings, short skirt, and suit jacket over a white blouse. Her heels are silenced by the carpet as she strides toward me, extending her hand. I hold it, and then do something I have never done before: I bow and barely press my lips against her fingers. Her perfume invades my memories and begins its assault. I rise and look into her yellow eyes. They penetrate and entrance me.

"Natasha," is all I can manage to say.

I stand and I stare. Stare into the eyes that once – and now again -- control my very core of desire, lust and will. I stare into those eyes and feel they were an abyss, taunting me to jump. Abandon all will and jump. I am overcome by a deep and peaceful weightlessness. I am devoid of all feeling and of all thought. I know there is no hope of maintaining self-control. Nor do I want hope. Or control. Or even self. Not in her presence.

And this very idea, that I am nothing in her presence, that with her eyes alone she had just eviscerated my entire self; this idea that there is no shred of hope that I will be able to resist this woman, no matter what she demands; this idea is so powerful and so present that it begins to vibrate through my body like low voltage, and the charge is heading straight into my groin. All the energy of my body and my mind and my soul are now concentrating in my dick and making it swell as I stand there, helpless, in front of this woman.

"Timmy, please, call me Ms. Bodinski. After all, this is business, no?" She says in her seductive Russian voice. "Sit!" she says as she walks around to her chair.

I sit.

"Well, well, Timmy, look what's become of you. A corporate executive in a large company. I am quite impressed. It appears my tutoring did some good after all, hmm?"

I smile uncomfortably, lick my lips and slowly begin to regain my wits. "Yes, I am quite happy at this company. And yes, quite a turn-around from that high school kid you knew."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Timmy, but we shall see," she says, tailing her lips off in a smile.

I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment, and though I am normally never at a loss for words, I struggle to find something to say.

"Anyway, let's get down to business, shall we? I'll tell you right off, Timmy, your wire prices are high. Too high even for your quality, with which you tout your company. But rather than negotiate a lower price, I would rather have some leverage to demand your best quality. So, as of the first shipping dates that can be arranged, Body Beautiful will begin sole-sourcing all of its wire from you."

"Nata... Ms. Bodinski, this is quite sudden. You haven't even sampled our wire yet." I feel suspicious and quickly alert.

"I trust your word that your quality is beyond reproach, Timmy. And I know you wouldn't risk quality at the cost of having me as an account, now would you?"

"No, of course not, Natasha. Thank you for your business. I know you won't be disappointed."

"Ms. Bodinski."

"Sorry," I blush and look down. "Ms. Bodinski."

"Well, good. Now that we have that out of the way, let's move on to the next bit of business."

"Yes, Ms. Bodinski?"

Natasha rises and begins to walk around the desk, trailing one forefinger along the edge of the desk.

"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy."

I am silent.

"Timmy I run a large corporation. And my company's image and reputation depends on the discipline that I can instill here..."

"I understand, Ms. Bodinski, and if...

"Shut up, Timmy, you're interrupting," she says, folding her arms under her breasts and leaning back to rest her behind against the desk edge. Her Russian accent makes her voice even more severe. "Don't make me annoyed with you. You're in hot enough water as it is. But you're cute, and I have a soft spot for you. Who knows why; perhaps because you were the first boy I ever took, but anyway, I digress. Now, just behave and listen."

"Yes, Ms Bodinski," I say, but I am nervous now. Shocked by her sudden change in tone. I feel heat course through my body and concentrate in my cheeks. Why was I in hot water? I thought we had just come to an amiable business agreement. Natasha straightens herself now, pushing off the desk with her behind. She begins circling my chair.

"Now, as I was saying, I run this company with an iron fist. Nothing is done without my approval or anticipation of my approval. In this business, unless you instill discipline, you receive no respect. Without respect, your merchandise ends up selling in seedy catalogs. And you don't become the hottest seller of fashionable erotics that Body Beautiful has become."

The entire time Natasha is talking, I can smell her perfume. The scent has not changed from that first time she caught me masturbating and punished me for it. I want to turn my head as she walks around me, but restrain myself. My eyes arch to the right, watching her pass, and then roll to the left, waiting for her form to appear, and then follow her as she passes in front of me. Her body inches from me, and my eyes between the bliss of her breasts and the yonder of her yoni. I am beginning to breathe shallower. Embarrassingly, I can't control my cock that is now beginning to swell in my pants. I pray that the lay of the fabric from my sitting position will hide my cock's growing size.

"Are you listening to me, Timmy? Because it seems you are distracted."

"Yes, Ms. Bodinski."

"Good, then let's get to the point. One thing I cannot tolerate is disrespect for my company. Is that clear, Timmy?"

"Yes, Ms. Bodinski."

"Well then, Timmy. Is there anything you want to tell me now?"

She is standing in front of me. Her arms crossed, her legs slightly apart, forcing the skirt tight around her shapely thighs. I stare at her breasts under her blouse rising and falling with her breaths. I am helpless. My cock straightens to its full length, and I figure she is looking right down into my crotch. I startle when I feel her finger under my chin. She lifts my face so that I am looking up into her face, her finger still under my chin. My eyes are wide and my breathing is coming in short takes. I am now that poor rabbit with blood pounding and adrenaline injecting itself into my heart, sensing danger. All I can do is stare directly into her paralyzing yellow eyes.

"Well, Timmy? Is there?"

I swallow hard and shake my head, truly ignorant of what she expects me to say at this moment. I have nothing but respect for her and her company. Fearing she expects a response, but not knowing what it is, my heart begins to race. I would say anything right now just to please her, to meet her expectation of the cute boy she said I was. I would lie and make up anything just to have her finger move from under my chin to across my cheek and stroke me and perhaps pat my head and tell me what a good boy I am, and how I please her. Right now, I didn't even care anymore that my dick is now pushing up my pants and making a fool of how easily I can be entranced by her, how easily I can be seduced and controlled with my lust for her. Not knowing what she wants, I slowly shake my head from side to side.

"No, Ms. Bodinski."

Her slap across my face is sharp and shocking. My hand shoots up to cover my cheek and the heat of the sting warms my hand as well as my cheek. Tears flush my eyes, and I hope they don't roll down my face, but it is too late and they are. And most shockingly... my cock engorges even harder with sudden and almost painful pressure.

"That's right, go ahead and nurse your face, little cry baby. But don't you ever lie to me again! Understood Timmy?" Her voice is loud and stern. She is wagging her finger at me.