You Can Always Say No Ch. 07byAngelCherysse©
She awoke slowly, just as I had that morning. I gazed down longingly at her figure, still seductively attired in corset, stockings and heels, as she knelt before me on the coffee table. Her face rested to one side on the tabletop. I strolled slowly around the table, allowing her to drink in the sight of my body, tightly corseted in black calfskin with my breasts riding high and pushed together by the corset's demi-cups. The matching custom-made boots laced up the front, all the way to my bare pussy. Their five-inch stiletto heels lent the right air of authority to the image, as did the black kidskin gloves that clung to my upper limbs like wet tissue from fingertip to armpit. My makeup was provocative without excess and my hair was done up in a chignon, not a strand out of place.
As I circled her, I noted with satisfaction the cuffed-together ankles and wrists cuffed behind her thighs. I gently caressed her shapely, upturned ass with the tip of my crop.
"Angie, Angie, Angie," I crooned softly. "What am I going to do with you? On the one hand, you are making magnificent progress towards becoming the sexy sissy I want you to be. When you walked in my door this afternoon and proudly proclaimed you had gone into work today, looking the way you did, I thought I had died and gone to Heaven. I don't think there is any question you are enjoying it, too – perhaps too much. That brings us to the other hand…."
Her whole body flinched, even as she emitted a muffled shriek.
"WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO CHEAT ON ME, BITCH?" I screamed in her ear.
Another flinch. Another stifled scream.
"We are married you and I. 'Love, honor and cherish, forsaking all others,' remember? Doesn't that mean anything to you?
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
She was crying and whimpering now.
"What's the matter, Baby?" I purred in her other ear. "Cat got your tongue? Ball gag got your tongue?"
She glared at me through her tears, unable to reply.
"I wouldn't have minded so much if it was just the man," I hissed. "I was okay with my little sissy taking her first real cock – although I would have preferred to see it for myself. No, my problem is with that little redheaded slut who obviously decided to keep you for herself for a couple of nights – and you went right along for the ride, didn't you?"
Continuing my circuit of the table, I passed out of her line of sight, allowing her to digest that last part. I stopped at the end of the sofa to once again smell those magnificent roses. I had placed them on the end table to make room on the coffee table for our fun and games. The thought occurred to me to transfer the spectacular bouquet to my heavy, more formal Baccarat crystal vase later on. I resumed my prowl up the opposite side, stopping to place my lips right at her ear.
"Did you think I would be okay with that? Hmmmm? Did you think I wouldn't have a problem with some other girl seeing you, meeting you, dancing and chatting with you, then deciding 'hey, this little chippie is a really good catch' and stealing you away from me? WELL, I DO!!!!!!!!"
Angie was quietly sobbing now. Tears streamed from her closed eyes and her body was quivering. I noted the savage whipping had loosened one edge of her buttock prosthetics. The stripes on the lower, unpadded portions of her flesh where I had been carefully directing my blows were turning a livid purple.
With Deidre and the others, I would have been feeling supreme satisfaction, even arousal at that moment. A session might have lasted hours. I would have cum more than once from the intense emotion alone, if not the sensation caused by the rims of my boots rubbing against my pussy. Now, after only a couple of dozen vicious swats on Angie's upturned tush, I felt… empty and unsettled. The intense emotion had been there, but this time it had been the suppressed rage of betrayal, of which I had already purged myself.
That was the difference. With the hopelessly submissive, masochistic Deidre and the others, it had been consensual; an act of admittedly perverse pleasure for both. I had made love to them with my whip; light, caring flicks and caresses, building slowly, passionately in intensity, in tune with our emotions. 'Release' had not been about the eventual soft, sensual unbuckling of a buckle or flick of a strap; those were mere afterthoughts. There was none of that romance here. This had been a unilateral act of petty vengeance, with no pleasure for either of us. The sight of my Angie's bruised, battered rear end, knowing I had done this to her, was making me sick. I wanted to end this farce. Still, I had started this; I had to play it out….
"Look at you," I sneered loudly, stifling the sob that threatened to creep into my voice. "Little Miss Sweet Cheeks; just shake that luscious tush of yours and all the big, strong boys and foxy girls come running, don't they? Not so hot to trot now, are you? I wonder what your little redheaded girlfriend would say if she were here right now?"
"How about, 'Nitie-nite, Bitch'?" came the malevolent growl from behind me.
My peripheral vision caught a swirl of red hair, then a blur of motion. I felt, as much as heard the crash; then oblivion….
I regained consciousness sometime in the gloom of night – and immediately wished I hadn't. My head throbbed, pounded. There was a huge, hyper-sensitive knot on the back of it. The room was dimly illuminated by a flickering light. There were voices in the background, two of them; one male, the other female. I shook my head to clear it, instantly regretting the effort as the wave of pain washed over me. As my vision came into focus, I noted the roses and shards of thin, glazed ceramic scattered about me on the floor, in near-perfect symmetry to the point of impact. Thank God for that cheap florist's throw-away. If I had already transferred the blooms to my heavy crystal vase as intended, I might have been killed; my skull crushed.
I summoned my righteous indignation, resolving to follow those voices to their source, confront the lovers and vent my spleen on them. They had callously left me lying there on the floor while they left to do… whatever they pleased. How dare they? Then I realized the voices, like the flickering light, originated from our wide-screen plasma television. Two figures cavorted in bed; our bed, Angie's and mine. The sex was graphic, raw, and intense. So were her lustful screams. The red mist of my rage blotted out vision and reason itself. I cast my eyes about, looking for something I could hurl at the screen, at the lovers who taunted me with their passion. Then I took a good look at those figures again. My heart sank when I realized this was no 'revenge fuck' staged for my benefit. The girl on the screen was me; the man was Jason. The recording captured us in all our glory – or infamy.
How… I started to ask myself, then just as quickly realized the horrifying answer. The ultra-sophisticated surveillance system I had had installed, at hideous expense, to capture Alan's cross-dressing peccadilloes had never been removed. I hadn't even given thought to it after it had done what I had intended it to do. Obviously my spouse had - and gone looking for the source of the recording I had used against him. Alan may have been a de facto administrator when our adventure began, but Jason had originally hired him for his expertise in electronic engineering. That, plus the army of geeks at his disposal at the time would have made short work of uncovering the system and unlocking its complexities.
I had paid for the best and gotten it. Now I tried to remember the buzz phrases the installers had bandied about after completion of their task. DVD burner. That was an easy one; it had created the disc I had flaunted in Alan's face – and most likely the video I was now watching. Motion- and sound-activated cameras. That was also easy to understand; efficient, unattended, around-the-clock surveillance, for which I had paid a premium. What were the other features they had enumerated? RAID tower storage. Removable hard drives. One Terabyte capacity. I hadn't paid attention to such technical jargon, but now fully appreciated a frightening statistic the installers had quoted me; when activated, my in-house spy system would record up to three months of activity before it began overwriting old information with new. Worse, the automatic backup-to-disc software would ensure nothing was ever lost, as long as fresh discs were inserted regularly.
The time stamp appeared in the upper-left-hand corner of the image. It was not the romp of Wednesday night and Thursday. I might have been able to explain that away, given the events at Neo. No, this was a record of the very first time I had brought Jason into our bed. How had Sam Irvin put it during the Watergate hearings? What did he know? When did he know it? The intent of this little docudrama was crystal clear; Angie knew it all, from then to now, and had a record of it. I had been hung with my own rope.
I knew at that moment I would not find Angie anywhere in the house; nor would I find her discs, or the hard drives in their bays in the surveillance server. I didn't bother looking for a note; the video on the big screen was the note. Dear Donna, it proclaimed, You asked how could I cheat on you? What do you call this? What HAVE you called it all these months? If you insist on pointing fingers, start with yourself. Even as I flogged her, she had been staring at me with those defiant, knowing eyes. With this video, she was now voicing the utter contempt which the gag in her mouth had stifled, flinging my own hypocrisy back in my face.
I went upstairs, removed my domina garb and took a long, hot shower. After toweling dry, I slipped into my silk robe and slippers, then made my way downstairs to the kitchen. Pouring a glass of the Pinot Noir – unadulterated this time – I filled an ice pack with cubes and made my way back to the living room. Upon igniting an extended-duration fireplace log, I retreated to the sofa, curled my legs beneath me, propped the ice pack between my head and the back of the couch, sipped wine and stared at the flames. Through my tears, I could have sworn I saw the casino walls crumbling to ash.
Each day was a gift. I went to work, did my job and did it reasonably well. After all, I had nothing but memories and a guilty conscience to distract me. I went home, ate something or other, perhaps watched a little television, then went to bed. As I turned out the light, I counted my blessings. I had not yet been served with a divorce petition. I had not been called into our President's office to discuss an ugly and potentially embarrassing situation that had been brought to his attention. No police had shown up at my door with a warrant for my arrest for Aggravated Battery. I had not received the dreaded e-mail:
Been to YouTube lately? Click HERE.
I knew if that day ever came, my life, as I had known it, would truly be over.
To no surprise, my repeated attempts to contact Angie were rebuffed; gone to voicemail on the cell phone and "may I take a message?" when I called the office. At least my emails were not returned as 'undeliverable'. She would contact me when and if she was ready. The fact she had not already done so - through an attorney or process server - was encouraging.
Of course, Jason called; several times a day, every day. I let those calls go to voicemail. Among his messages, he mentioned he had received an 'anonymous' e-mail containing a really interesting video clip. He had viewed it several times since then, enjoyed it immensely, and wanted to know how soon we could make another one.
Finally, he called my office, requesting a meeting to discuss the status of his media campaign. I couldn't turn that down. Yes, I really had been developing a campaign for him; after all, business is business. We were ready with some newspaper and magazine spreads and even had storyboards for possible television spots, all of which were ready for his approval. I had hoped to convince him my office was the better location, but he was not having it. He insisted I come to his office for a mid-afternoon appointment.
No problem, right? Just stay away from Alan's – or was it now Angie's? – office and everything would be fine. That's what I told myself as I crossed the parking lot from my car to the front door. My resolve began to crumble the moment I announced myself to Sally Bennett at the front desk. We had met and chatted at several company functions. She now stared a hole through me as though I were a homeless person begging for a handout.
"One moment, Mrs. Ames," she purred oh-so-syrupy-sweet. "I'll announce you."
She dialed an extension and informed the party on the other end of my arrival. After acknowledging the response, she hung up and turned to me.
"Patti will be right out to escort you back," she informed me with a glint in her eye. Then she turned her attention to something on her desk, dismissing me peremptorily.
Well, I thought to myself, at least I'll have the opportunity to meet Jason's secretary at last. How bad could that be?
Pretty damn bad. I would have recognized those flashing emerald eyes and fiery red hair anywhere.
"Would you follow me please, Mrs. Ames?" she intoned, all business. "Mr. Miller is expecting you."
She escorted me resolutely, eyes straight ahead, past female staffers who stared coldly at me.
"I should have guessed… Trisha," I muttered out of the side of my mouth. "The whole thing was a set-up."
"You would know about set-ups better than anyone, Mrs. Ames," she smirked. "I'm sorry; that would be Ms. Peterson-Ames for someone like you, wouldn't it? How's the head? No permanent damage, I trust? Too bad about the roses. I picked them out myself, for her to give to you."
"Why?" I hissed, "to give the knife another twist?"
"Look who's talking," she spat. "You wanted Angie to come home that night so you could flaunt your infidelity in her face, rub her nose in it? You don't have a clue; never did and never will. You and your boyfriend deserve each other."
I was about to counter "he is not my boyfriend," then realized the utter absurdity of the contention. We reached Jason's door. Patti knocked twice and opened it.
"Mrs. Ames is here for her two o'clock appointment," she announced in her sincere-efficient-secretary voice.
"Thank you, Patti," Jason responded. "Would you please hold my calls? We won't want to be disturbed."
I winced at his abysmally-bad choice of words, given the situation.
"Of course, Mr. Miller," Patti answered, doing a good job of keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. "I'll just shut the door behind me."
As I walked by her, she shot me a look that would have turned Old Faithful instantly to ice.
The moment the door closed, Jason was out from behind his desk like a shot.
"Thank God you're here, Baby," he exhorted, all over me like an octopus. "I have missed you so much. It's been awful around here the last couple of weeks, especially not being able to see you. Why haven't you been returning my calls?"
"Jason, please, not now," I asserted, fending him off as best I could. "Let's go over these galleys, shall we?"
I wanted to say "not ever", but thought it best to stick to business for now. I would find a better time to explain my personal feelings to him and let him down easy.
"Oh, sure," he responded with his boyish grin and a wink. "Business before pleasure, right? Okay, let's see what you have."
I explained the different ads, presented the results of our market research and offered my recommendations on media buys to maximize the impact on broadest demographic possible. At the same time, we would be focusing on the 'movers and shakers' who had the ear of the people who awarded the contracts.
Disturbingly, Jason made no attempt to return to his chair during the presentation. Instead, he stood next to me – right next to me – as I leaned over his desk, pouring over the contents of my folio. My brain and body sent conflicting messages on the desirability of this invasion of my personal space. When his hand moved to my butt and began massaging it, I shifted my hips back and forth to shake it off. That sent the wrong message; he slipped his hand under my skirt and grinned triumphantly when he encountered my soaked panties. It had been two weeks since I had had any sex; I hadn't even masturbated. My body was writing checks my brain did not want to cash.
"What has been going on here in the last two weeks?" I asked, as much to distract myself as Jason.
He snorted and shrugged his shoulders.
"The important thing is, we're a step closer to securing the contract," he responded. "Did you know 'Angie' made the presentation without me? I don't have any idea how he pulled it off, but apparently the General liked the pitch a lot. When I met with him later, he told me he would be taking a personal role in presenting our bid to the review board and was looking forward to working with 'my charming assistant' in the future."
"Then Angie has…" I began.
"Oh, yes," Jason interjected with a smirk. "He certainly has. He…"
"She," I corrected.
"Whatever," Jason conceded. "She has come out in a big way. All my female staffers are solidly in her corner – and have made no bones about it. I had to hold an emergency meeting with my executives to tell them to back off. If 'Angie' has become so important to securing that contract for us, then she can wear a tutu and ride a pink pony, for all I care."
"So you are going to be okay with all of this?" I asked hopefully.
He grinned evilly and took me in his arms.
"The way I see it," he opined, grinding his crotch into mine, "this is what you asked for – and I delivered. You owe me big time."
"But we've been caught," I protested. "Angie walked out on me."
"All the more reason for us to hook up again," he chortled. "You want it and so do I. Now we don't have to sneak around."
I had to push him back to keep this situation from getting out of control.
"Slow down, Lover," I urged, smiling coyly. "There will be plenty of time for that later; somewhere we can be more comfortable. I always pay my debts." I stepped away from the desk and walked over to his 'me' wall, pretending to be interested in his college diploma. I had never really paid attention to his little shrine before. Then I realized; the framed certificate before me proclaimed him a Bachelor of Science in Recreation Science.
"You amaze me," I pronounced genuinely. "You came from a P.E. background, yet started such a successful high-tech business. Your parents must be proud of you."
He stared at me quizzically, thrown off-balance. Then he pursed his lips and made his way over to me, smirking, planting his hands firmly on the credenza on either side of my body, trapping me in-between. He lowered his face to within an inch of mine, with that same silly smirk on his lips.
"I didn't start anything," he schmoozed. "My father started this company thirty years ago, producing communications and navigation equipment for general aviation aircraft, Cessnas, Pipers, and Beechcraft, mostly. He retired five years ago and turned it over to me. Really, I could just as easily be building Kitchen Magicians or Pocket Fishermen, as long as it was my company to run. I buy whatever technical expertise I need to get the job done – like your gayboy husband. I deserve this, just like I deserve you. You started this thing between us. It's a little late for you to be playing hard to get.