Once back at the office, Phil had given her some actually interesting work. It had to with planning some of the ads and how to source the material. He made it clear that it was not due until Monday and that she should take it easy. Despite her traumatic lunch, going down on both Phil and Todd at the restaurant, she continued to be determined to do her best in this role. She started to work on it, even just to get a sense of how much work it was to ensure it would be done on time. The challenge of the work proved to be a welcome distraction, allowing her to focus on something other than the awkwardness of her lunchtime escapade. The boozy lunch made it hard to concentrate, slowing down her work. The office, once a hub of activity, was slowly emptying out as the weekend beckoned, but she remained, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and a desire to make a good impression.
There was a knock on her door and a man stepped into her office and closed the door behind him. “I see you are still here,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Good to see you working so hard on a Friday.” His tone was warm, but laced with a hint of curiosity, as if he was sizing her up. “My name is Mr. Smith. I’m the VP of Marketing here. Your name is Kenna, right?” The question hung in the air, and Kenna felt a flutter in her chest as she responded, hoping that the lingering effects of the boozy lunch wouldn’t betray her.
“Yes, I’m Kenna,” she replied, her voice emerging stronger than she expected. “Very nice to meet you.” She forced a bright smile, trying to convey a sense of professionalism, while secretly praying that her words weren’t slurred and her eyes weren’t glassy.
As Mr. Smith’s eyes locked onto hers, Kenna felt a sudden jolt of awareness, as if the air in the room had shifted to accommodate his presence. His tailored attire and polished demeanor commanded attention, and she found herself sitting up straighter, her fingers instinctively smoothing out her own rumpled clothes. The hint of grey in his dark hair added a touch of distinguished sophistication, and his chiseled features seemed to radiate an air of quiet confidence. Her mind scrambling to process the unexpected interruption.
Mr. Smith paced slowly around the office, making small talk. Asking her about her first week, what she was working on, how she found the people she had met so far. At one point, he stood by the door and she thought he was going to leave, but then turned back towards her. As he continued to pace, he moved closer to the window.
“You know, the internship program at S&A was my idea. So, in a lot of ways, you owe your job to me.” He said as he looked out the window behind her. He turned around and placed his right hand on her shoulder, startling her and suddenly making her feel much less comfortable.
Kenna felt a growing sense of unease, her skin prickling with awareness. His pacing had been a gentle, soothing accompaniment to their conversation, but the sudden invasion of her personal space made her heart skip a beat.
She tried to subtly shift away from his touch, but his hand remained, a gentle yet firm pressure that seemed to anchor her in place. The gesture was ostensibly friendly, a gesture of camaraderie and mentorship, but Kenna’s instincts screamed that it was something more. The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken implications, as she struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Not knowing what to do, she stared at her desk, wondering what was happening.
She suddenly felt something touch her shoulder. Kenna’s eyes widened in horror as she stared at the reflection in the mirror. The image of Mr. Smith’s pants undone, his cock had been placed on her shoulder, was seared into her brain like a branding iron, leaving her feeling violated and helpless. Her jaw hung slack, her lips parted in a silent scream, as she felt like she was frozen in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken. The thought that this man, a senior executive, could so brazenly disregard her boundaries and treat her like a mere object, was almost too much to bear. The memories of her traumatic lunchtime encounter with Phil and Todd came flooding back, and she felt like she was reliving the same sense of powerlessness and disgust. Here was another man, here to take advantage of a woman at the bottom of the ladder.
Mr. Smith turned her around slowly so that now she was facing his crotch. His grey pants were parted down the middle and his half erect cock pointed directly at her. He had a deep patch of pubic hair and his balls hung low underneath. Another day, another dick in her face. This was the third cock she had seen today.
“I think you know what I want Kenna.” Mr. Smith said, gently pulling her head closer. Almost instinctively, she opened her mouth and let him sink into her mouth. With some nudging from his hand, she started to move up and down on his cock. She started to suck on it, succumbing to being used again. He would push her deeper at times, until her nose would touch his pubic hair, tickling the tip.
“Play with my balls while you suck my cock.” After some hesitation, she raised her hand and cradled his heavy balls in her small hands, stroking them gently.
As the scene unfolded, Kenna’s mind seemed to detach from her body, observing the events with a sense of resignation. It was as if she had become a mere object, a tool for Mr. Smith’s pleasure, rather than a person with her own morals and beliefs.
Looking up briefly, Mr. Smith’s eyes were closed, his face twisted in a mixture of pleasure and concentration, as he savored the sensation of Kenna’s mouth and hands. His hands had fallen to his sides, no longer guiding her movements, as he had come to trust that she would do what was expected of her. The sound of his labored breathing filled the air, a reminder of the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment, despite the power imbalance that defined their interaction.
As she ran her tongue along the cock in her mouth, Kenna’s thoughts drifted to the other times she had found herself in similar situations, the men, and even a woman who had used her for their own gratification, leaving her feeling empty and unfulfilled. The memories blended together, a haze of faces, bodies, and sensations that had become all too familiar. She wondered if this would ever end, if she would ever be able to break free from the cycle of objectification and exploitation that had become her life.
She was about to speed up, hoping to bring him to climax, when he unexpectedly pulled out of her mouth, leaving a trail of saliva which fell onto the front of her skirt.
“Stand up.” Mr. Smith said with lust in his voice. Kenna slowly stood up and faced him, although now that she was standing, she could see that me was at least a foot taller than her, even in her heels.
“Don’t worry, I locked the door.” He said. Now she understood what he was doing by the door earlier. Pushing her chair out of the way, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around until she was facing her desk. Kenna caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall. Her eyes looked sunken, her skin pale, and her expression a mask of resignation. Mr. Smith stood behind her, towering over her small frame. Mr. Smith’s towering figure loomed behind her, his presence suffocating, as he began to undress her.
The sensation of her skirt being lifted, the cool air hitting her skin, and the feeling of her panties being pulled down her legs all blended together in a cacophony of sensations. Kenna felt a sense of detachment, as if she was observing the scene from outside her body. The mirror reflected the image of her shaved pussy, a reminder of the bikini she had worn recently, a carefree time that seemed like a lifetime ago.
As Mr. Smith’s hand pressed against her back, pushing her down onto the desk, Kenna felt a wave of familiarity wash over her. The position, the sensation, it was all too familiar, a stark reminder of the time she had been used by Donald earlier this week. Her mind numbed, she prepared herself for the inevitable, the pain, the pleasure, and the degradation that came with being used as an object for someone else’s gratification. The desk creaked beneath her, a protest to the weight that had been placed upon it, as Kenna steeled herself for what was to come.
As Mr. Smith’s hands grasped her ass cheeks, spreading them apart with a gentle yet firm pressure, Kenna felt a surge of uncertainty wash over her. She had no idea what to expect, and her mind was racing with questions about what he was going to do next. The cool air of the room hit her exposed skin, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized the intimacy of the moment.
As she looked up, trying to make sense of what was happening, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Smith’s face, his eyes fixed intently on her anus. She felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over her, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The sensation of his warm breath on her skin was the first thing she noticed, followed by the soft, wet texture of his tongue as it made contact with her rectum.
The feeling was unlike anything Kenna had ever experienced before. It was as if her body was being rewired, and her nerve endings were being stimulated in a way that was both pleasurable and unsettling. She felt a shiver run down her spine as his tongue danced around her anus, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized that she was actually enjoying the feeling, despite the initial shock and discomfort.
As she squirmed beneath his touch, Kenna felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her. She was exposed, not just physically but also emotionally, and she felt like she was at Mr. Smith’s mercy. The sensation of his tongue on her anus was both exhilarating and terrifying, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he would do next. The feeling of his warm breath on her skin, the softness of his tongue, and the gentle pressure of his hands on her ass cheeks all combined to create a sense of intimacy and connection that she hadn’t expected.
Despite the initial strangeness of the sensation, Kenna found herself relaxing into the feeling, her body beginning to respond to the stimulation. She felt her muscles relax, her breathing slow, and her mind quiet, as she allowed herself to surrender to the pleasure. The sensation of Mr. Smith’s tongue on her anus was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and she couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets her body held, waiting to be discovered.
Standing up, Mr. Smith’s eyes seemed to gleam with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as he stood over Kenna’s bent form, his voice low and husky as he asked, “Kenna, tell me, how do you feel about anal sex?” He paused, his hand dipping into his pocket to retrieve a small tube, which he began to unscrew with a soft twisting motion.
Kenna’s voice was laced with a hint of uncertainty as she replied, “What do you mean, how do I feel about it?” She couldn’t help but wonder where this conversation was headed, her mind racing with possibilities.
Mr. Smith’s gaze never wavered from hers as he asked, “Well, have you ever had anal sex before? Let’s start with that.” The tube in his hand seemed to be waiting, poised for use, as he awaited her response.
Kenna’s eyes darted to the mirror in front of her, her reflection staring back as she hesitated before answering. “I’ve…I’ve never had it. Nobody ever really asked me to do it. But I’ve heard it can hurt quite a bit. I don’t think it’s something I would really want to try.” Her voice trailed off, a hint of trepidation creeping in.
Mr. Smith’s expression remained calm, almost detached, as he revealed, “See, I love anal sex. The way it feels, the thrill of it, the sense of depravity that comes with it. But my wife won’t let me…indulge in it with her. So, this is the only way for me to have it.” The words hung in the air, a sense of resignation and longing underlying his tone.
Mr. Smith pulled his pants down so they were mid thigh. As he squeezed out a small amount of lubricant from the tube, the squirting noise seemed to fill the room, and Kenna’s eyes were drawn to the mirror, watching in a mixture of fascination and horror as Mr. Smith stroked his rock-hard cock with the lube. The motion was almost clinical, yet it sent a shiver down her spine. He wiped his hands clean with a tissue, his movements economical and precise.
Kenna’s voice was laced with a sense of desperation as she pleaded, “Wait, Mr. Smith. Can we talk this over? Maybe there’s something else we can do instead? I can…I can suck you off, or you can fuck me on the table?” The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt to deflect the course of events, as she tried to appeal to whatever humanity was left in him.
Mr. Smith once again spread her ass cheeks. Kenna looked up in horror, watching this man she just met as he prepared to give provide her first experience with anal sex. She may have been relaxed earlier, but now she was in complete fear. The first sensation was a feeling of pressure on her rectum. She tried to push herself forward, away from him penetrating her, but the desk held her firm. The pressure grew, which was very uncomfortable. There was a sudden shift in how it felt and instead of pressure forward, it was stretching her out like she had never felt before.
“Don’t worry Kenna. I’ll go slow. Just relax and it will be that much easier for you.”
How could she relax when it felt like she was being filled and stretched like never before. She clawed at the desk, trying to get away, but Mr. Smith held her firm, with one hand on her hip and another hand on he back, keeping her down.
“The head of my dick is in you now. I’m going to push in a little bit more, so you have time to get used to me.”
As Mr. Smith continued to push deeper, Kenna’s pleas turned into desperate cries, her body tensing up in an attempt to resist the invasion. The pain was sharp and stinging, like a burning sensation that threatened to consume her. She felt like her insides were being torn apart, the stretching and pressure giving way to a searing agony that made her vision blur.
“Please, stop! It hurts too much!” she begged, her voice hoarse from the effort of trying to push him away. But Mr. Smith seemed unfazed, his grip on her hip and back holding her firm as he continued to push into her.
“Oh god, oh god, it hurts. Please take it out.” Kenna pleaded, trying everything to get away from the position she was in, but Mr. Smith held her firmly on the desk, and continued to push deeper into her. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and discomfort that made Kenna feel like she was losing control. She was trapped, unable to escape the feeling of being stretched and filled beyond what she thought was possible. The desk beneath her seemed to be holding her down, a cold and unforgiving surface that offered no comfort or relief.
As the pain reached a crescendo, Kenna’s body began to shut down, her mind numb and detached from the sensations that were ravaging her. She felt like she was floating above herself, watching in horror as Mr. Smith continued to push into her, his face a mask of determination and pleasure. The only sound was Kenna’s ragged breathing, her cries and pleas reduced to mere whimpers as she struggled to cope with the overwhelming pain and discomfort. Her body was trembling, her muscles tensed up in a futile attempt to resist the invasion, as Mr. Smith continued to push deeper, his movements slow and deliberate.
“There Kenna. I’m all the way in. I’ll give you a chance to get used to it.” Mr. Smith’s voice was low and soothing, a stark contrast to the turmoil that was brewing inside Kenna. The initial shock of the penetration had given way to a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to pulse through her entire body. It was as if her nerves were screaming in protest, the discomfort a constant reminder that her body was being stretched to its limits.
As she lay there, frozen in a mixture of fear and discomfort, Kenna started to feel a subtle shift in her sensations. The intense pain began to recede, replaced by a dull ache that still lingered, but was slightly more bearable. The fullness was still there, a constant presence that made her feel like she was being filled to capacity, but she started to get used to it. Her body, it seemed, was slowly adapting to the invasion, the initial shock giving way to a begrudging acceptance.
As she caught her breath, Kenna became aware of the sound of her own rapid breathing, the only noise in the otherwise silent room. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her forehead, a testament to the tension that still gripped her body. Despite the discomfort, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity, a morbid fascination with the sensations that were coursing through her body
As she struggled to come to terms with the agony, Mr. Smith suddenly pulled back, only to forcefully shove it back in, burying it deep to the base. The intense pain and shock were too much for her to bear, and she let out a blood-curdling scream, her voice echoing through the air as she begged for mercy.
“Oh god, please sir, I’m begging you, stop this. It’s too much for me to handle. I don’t think I can take it anymore. You have to stop, please,” she pleaded, her words tumbling out in a desperate, tearful torrent. But her cries fell on deaf ears, as Mr. Smith seemed to take pleasure in her distress.
Instead of showing any compassion or relenting, he began to thrust in and out with increasing ferocity, his pace quickening as he pounded away at her. The sound of his hard cock sliding in and out of her was like a grotesque, squishy melody, each thrust feeling like a searing, red-hot poker being inserted into her ass, stretching her to the limit and beyond. The pain was unbearable, and she felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out.
As the assault continued, she started to sob uncontrollably, her body shaking with each brutal thrust. She was desperate to find a way to escape the agony, to make it stop, but Mr. Smith seemed determined to push her to the edge. She cried out again, her voice hoarse from screaming, “Please, please stop. I beg of you, have mercy. It’s too much, I’m begging you.”
But her pleas were met with indifference, as Mr. Smith continued to hold her down, his grip like a vice, as he mercilessly fucked her ass. He showed no signs of slowing down, no signs of compassion or empathy, just a relentless, brutal pace that seemed designed to break her spirit and shatter her resolve. The pain and the fear were overwhelming, and she felt like she was losing herself in the depths of his cruelty.
As the minutes ticked by, the agony showed no signs of abating. Mr. Smith’s relentless pounding continued, his cock slamming into her ass with a ferocity that left her gasping for breath. She felt like she was being ripped apart, her body screaming in protest as he stretched her to the limit.
Despite her pleas, he showed no mercy, as he drove into her again and again. The sound of their bodies crashing together was like a never-ending drumbeat, each thrust a fresh wave of pain that threatened to consume her.
She tried to squirm away, to escape the torment, but Mr. Smith’s grip was too strong. He held her down, pinning her in place as he continued to ravage her. Her body was aching, her muscles screaming in protest as he stretched her to the limit.
As the assault continued, she felt like she was losing herself, like she was being erased by the sheer force of his brutality. She was a rag doll, a plaything for him to use and discard, and the knowledge was almost too much to bear.
But still, he didn’t stop. He kept pounding away, his cock driving into her with a relentless intensity that showed no signs of slowing. She was a mess of tears and sweat, her body shaking with each brutal thrust, but he just kept going, driven by some twisted desire to break her.
And yet, despite the agony, she couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of awareness. She was aware of every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein, every brutal thrust. She was aware of the sound of their bodies crashing together, the smell of sweat and sex that filled the air. She was aware of the pain, the fear, and the humiliation, and it was almost too much to bear.
But still, he didn’t stop. He kept going, driven by some dark and twisted desire, his cock slamming into her with a ferocity that showed no signs of slowing. And she was trapped, pinned beneath him, unable to escape the torment that he inflicted upon her.
Suddenly, he pulled out of her hole. This left an even stranger sense of now being empty. The throbbing pain was still there, but it was like there was a sudden void in her. She collapsed on the desk, not sure what was next for her. Mr. Smith took a hold of her shoulders and lifted her of the desk and then turned her around. Mr. Smith’s face was still flush from the intense anal sex, and his eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire. He took a step closer to Kenna, his movements deliberate and menacing. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, and she knew that she was at his mercy. She was trapped, with no escape from the torment that he inflicted upon her.
“You know, I have a deal with my staff. With interns, they have to leave their asshole for me to try first. I want to be their first one.” Mr. Smith said as he casually started to unbutton her top. She stood there in complete shock, not even sure what to do. She was very aware that she was standing there with her skirt bunched up around her waist and nothing below that except high heels. Now that her top was unbuttoned, he pulled it off her arms and admired her dark frilly bra she had underneath.
“Please take your bra off. I want to see your tits.” He said, like a manager would say to an employee. Kenna looked up at this man that towered over her, scared what he might do next. She reached back, unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor.
“Now, your skirt.” He said with lust in his voice. She pulled down her skirt, unzipped it and let it fall to the floor next to her panties and bra. Kenna’s body trembled as she stood before Mr. Smith, her high heels the only remaining article of clothing. The cold air sent shivers down her spine, but it was the fear of the unknown that truly paralyzed her. She had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Mr. Smith’s eyes roamed over her body, his gaze lingering on her breasts, her hips, and her thighs. She could sense his lust, his desire, and it only added to her terror.
As Mr. Smith positioned her naked body in front of the window, Kenna felt a surge of humiliation and degradation. He gently pushed her forward, her breasts pressed against the cool glass, and her hands placed on the wall beside the window. She was now a spectacle, a display of flesh and vulnerability, exposed to the world outside. The evening sun cast a golden glow over the scene, illuminating her naked form and making her feel like a prized possession, a trophy to be showcased.
As she gazed out at the buildings next door, Kenna saw the shapes and figures of people going about their daily business, oblivious to her predicament. She saw them chatting at their desks, laughing and smiling, while she was trapped in this nightmare, forced to endure the twisted desires of Mr. Smith. The people on the street below seemed to be moving in slow motion, their faces blurred and indistinct, as if they were mere puppets in a twisted game.
Kenna’s mind recoiled in horror as she realized the true extent of Mr. Smith’s depravity. He was using her as a prop, a mere object to be displayed and used for his own gratification. The fact that she might be visible to the people outside, that they might see her naked and vulnerable, only added to her sense of shame and degradation. She felt like a mannequin in a store window, a mere doll to be posed and manipulated at Mr. Smith’s whim.
As she stood there, frozen in humiliation, Kenna couldn’t help but wonder if anyone outside could see her, if they could sense her distress and her fear. Or was she just a distant figure, a blur of flesh and glass, lost in the urban landscape? The uncertainty was agonizing, and Kenna’s mind was a jumble of emotions, her thoughts torn between shame, fear, and desperation. She was trapped, exposed, and vulnerable, at the mercy of a monster who seemed to delight in her suffering.
Kenna felt a mix of emotions: fear, anxiety, and a hint of desperation. “I want you to know that I’m not a complete monster,” he said, his voice low and husky, as he pressed his body against hers. The warmth of his skin and the weight of his presence made her feel trapped and helpless. She bit her lip, bracing herself for what was to come, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t subject her to another round of anal sex. The memory of the pain and discomfort still lingered, and she wasn’t sure if she could endure it again.
As Mr. Smith began to probe between her legs, Kenna’s heart racing with anticipation, she felt a twisted sense of relief when he finally slid into her vagina. It was a painful and unwelcome invasion, but compared to the agony of the anal sex, it was almost a relief. The irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her – she was grateful to be raped again, just in a different way. The thought sent a wave of nausea washing over her, and she felt a deep sense of shame and degradation. She was being used, objectified, and treated like a mere plaything, and the fact that she was finding solace in the lesser of two evils was a stark reminder of the depths of her despair.
As Mr. Smith’s rhythmic movements intensified, Kenna’s mind began to disintegrate, her thoughts shattering into a kaleidoscope of emotions and sensations. The sound of flesh on flesh was deafening, a cacophony of grunts and slaps that seemed to reverberate deep within her soul. She felt like a rag doll, helpless and limp, as Mr. Smith pounded her from behind with reckless abandon.
The remnants of lubricant from their previous encounter provided a meager solace, but Kenna couldn’t shake the feeling that her own body was betraying her, responding to Mr. Smith’s touch with an involuntary wetness that made her feel ashamed and disgusted. As she gazed out the window, she was forced to confront the stark contrast between her own private hell and the mundane lives of the people outside, who were blissfully unaware of the horror unfolding in this room.
The building next door seemed to loom over her, its windows like empty eyes staring back, as Kenna struggled to maintain her balance on her high heels. Her fingers dug deep into the wall, the only thing keeping her upright as Mr. Smith’s hands roamed freely over her body, claiming her as his own. He stroked her back, squeezed her ass, and groped her breasts, his touch both rough and possessive. Kenna felt like a piece of property, a mere object to be used and discarded at Mr. Smith’s whim, her body a plaything for him to maul and dominate.
Mr. Smith’s movements slowed, and he leaned in close to Kenna’s ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. “Talk dirty to me,” he whispered, his voice low and menacing.
Kenna’s mind went blank as she struggled to process the request. “Wha…what? I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Smith’s grip on her hips tightened, and he resumed his relentless pounding. “Tell me you’re a slut, and you love my cock. If you want me to come, talk like a dirty whore,” he growled, his words dripping with degradation.
Kenna’s thoughts were a jumbled mess as she tried to come up with something to say. She didn’t want to give in to Mr. Smith’s demands, but she was desperate to end the ordeal. “Umm…fuck me, sir. Please fuck me good,” she mumbled, the words feeling like ash in her mouth. “Your cock feels…so good, and… I want your come,” she added, her voice cracking with humiliation.
As she spoke, Kenna felt a wave of shame wash over her. She was saying the words, but they didn’t feel like hers. She was just trying to survive, to get through the nightmare, but a part of her was dying with each passing moment. Mr. Smith’s grip on her hips tightened, and he rammed into her with renewed intensity, his grunts and groans filling the air as he claimed her as his own.
“Keep going,” he growled, his thrusts relentless as he drove into her with a fierce intensity. Kenna’s mind had numbed, unable to fully process the emotions that threatened to consume her. The humiliation was suffocating, a crushing weight that pressed upon her chest, making it hard to breathe. Yet, despite her revulsion, her body was beginning to betray her. A slow, tingling sensation was building between her legs, a familiar precursor to orgasm that she couldn’t ignore. But this was different, a deeper, more languid feeling that seemed to emanate from a place she couldn’t quite reach. It was as if her body had developed a mind of its own, responding to the stimulation with a willful disregard for her mental anguish. Kenna’s thoughts recoiled in horror at the notion that she might actually be experiencing pleasure, no matter how fleeting or unwanted. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that her body was responding, even as her mind screamed in protest.
In an abrupt movement, he withdrew from her once more, leaving Kenna with a hollow, unfulfilled sensation that paled in comparison to the emptiness she had felt when he had first pulled out of her butt. The memory of that initial withdrawal still lingered, a haunting reminder of the depths to which she had been invaded. With a swift motion, he guided her away from the window, reversing their positions as he led her towards the desk. His hands closed around her waist, and with ease, he lifted her onto the polished surface, her naked butt cheeks making contact with the cool wood. Her eyes met his, and she was struck by the unadulterated lust that burned within them, a flame that seemed to fuel his every action.
“I have to say, you are incredibly hot,” he murmured, his fingers extending to stroke her chin with a gentle, almost paternal touch, as if he were petting a favored animal. “Justin did a great job picking you,” he continued, his tone implying that she was nothing more than a carefully ***********ed acquisition, a valuable addition to his collection, rather than a living, breathing human being with thoughts and feelings of her own.
Mr. Smith gently pushed her back, his hands applying pressure to her shoulders, until she was reclining on the desk, her legs dangling over the edge. Her gaze drifted upwards, fixing on the ceiling as she wondered what new horror awaited her. The sound of lubricant being squirted from a tube cut through the air, and Kenna’s heart sank, her mind recoiling in terror. Oh god, not again, she thought, a desperate plea that went unspoken. Mr. Smith’s hands closed around her legs, lifting them upwards until they formed a wide V shape, her body stretched out before him like a sacrifice. He pushed forward, his hands guiding her legs further apart, until her most intimate areas were exposed, her pussy and anus both vulnerable to his gaze and his touch. She had a strong feeling which one he would use.
As Mr. Smith began to slowly penetrate her asshole again, Kenna felt a wave of pressure wash over her, her body tense with anticipation. She gripped the edge of the desk tightly, her lip caught between her teeth as she struggled to maintain her balance. Having resigned herself to her situation, she could only hope that it would soon be over, her mind fixated on the promise of relief. Her breathing grew more ragged, a deliberate attempt to calm her racing thoughts as Mr. Smith’s steady pressure continued, his cock sliding deeper into her until he was fully seated, his balls nestling against her skin.
Mr. Smith’s low, husky tone sent a shiver down Kenna’s spine as he murmured his appreciation, his words dripping with sensual pleasure. “Mmm, you do have a fantastic ass. It feels so good around my cock,” he purred, his gentle movements inside her a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within. Despite the lingering sense of being utterly filled, Kenna noted with a mix of surprise and relief that the pain had receded, her body seeming to adapt to the unfamiliar invasion. As she lay there, her legs pressed firmly against Mr. Smith’s shoulders, her high heels pointing towards the ceiling like twin sentinels, she fixated on a small, insignificant spot above, her gaze a desperate attempt to disconnect from the reality of her situation.
As Mr. Smith began to establish a slow and deliberate rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of Kenna’s body with a measured pace, the pain started to intensify, evolving into a throbbing, pulsing sensation that seemed to echo through her very being. Though still uncomfortable, it was a far cry from the brutal, violent invasion she had endured mere moments ago, and for that, she was begrudgingly grateful. Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, her eyes locked onto the same insignificant spot as her mind struggled to cope with the sensory overload. The squishing sound of Mr. Smith’s lubricated dick moving in and out of her, accompanied by his loud, labored breathing, created a cacophony of noises that served as a harsh reminder of her situation, a constant barrage of sensory input that threatened to overwhelm her. The sound of his breaths, heavy and rasping, seemed to fill the air, punctuated by the soft, wet sounds of his cock gliding in and out of her, a stark and unromantic soundtrack to her degradation. As she lay there, her body being used for Mr. Smith’s pleasure, Kenna felt her thoughts growing increasingly disjointed, her mind retreating to a distant, detached place in a desperate bid to escape the reality of her predicament.
The sound of Mr. Smith’s voice cut through Kenna’s fragile mental shield, shattering her concentration and forcing her to confront the reality of her situation. “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone low and husky, dripping with an air of superiority. Kenna’s gaze, previously fixed on the ceiling, was dragged down to meet his, her eyes locking onto the man who was violating her. The sight that greeted her was almost surreal – Mr. Smith still wore his shirt and tie, the tie clip glinting in the light, giving him an air of respectability that was utterly at odds with his actions. For a moment, it was almost as if he was about to walk into a meeting, his attire a stark reminder of the mundane, everyday world that existed outside of this twisted, nightmarish scenario. But the sheen of sweat on his shirt, the way his eyes gleamed with a sadistic light, and the fact that Kenna’s legs were propped up against his shoulders, her high heels dangling in the air, served as a harsh reminder of the true nature of their interaction. Mr. Smith’s smile, a twisted, triumphant curve of his lips, seemed to say that he had won some sort of prize, that he had claimed her as his own, and that thought sent a shiver of revulsion down Kenna’s spine.
Mr. Smith’s voice, low and menacing, cut through the haze of Kenna’s thoughts, his words a twisted demand that made her skin crawl. “Talk dirty to me,” he commanded, his tone dripping with a sickening sense of entitlement. “Tell me you want my dick in your ass. That you love how it feels.” The words themselves were like a slap, a cruel reminder of the degradation she was being forced to endure. The last time he had made this demand, Kenna’s mind had been reeling, her thoughts shattered by the trauma of the moment, and she had been unable to respond. But now, her mind was a fog, a dull, gray haze that seemed to suffocate her, leaving her acting on autopilot, her body and voice mere puppets under Mr. Smith’s control. She felt like she was floating outside of herself, watching as her mouth opened, the words tumbling out in a hollow, robotic tone, a desperate attempt to appease the monster who was violating her, to placate him and bring an end to the torment.
The words tumbled out of Kenna’s mouth, a forced, hollow litany of degradation, as she struggled to inject a semblance of excitement into her voice. “Fuck me, sir,” she whispered, the title a bitter taste on her lips. “Use me like the whore I am.” The phrase was a cruel mockery, a twisted echo of the degradation she was being forced to endure, and Kenna’s voice cracked with the effort of speaking, her mind reeling with the pain and humiliation. She tried to sound eager, to feign an enthusiasm that she didn’t feel, but it was a poor facade, and the strain of maintaining it was evident in the tremble of her words. “Take my ass like…like the slut I am,” she continued, the sentence trailing off into a barely audible whisper, as if the very act of speaking was a betrayal of her own dignity. The pain and stretching were still her primary focus, a constant, gnawing ache that threatened to consume her, and Kenna’s words were merely a desperate attempt to distract herself from the agony, to placate the monster who was using her, and to survive the ordeal with some semblance of sanity intact.
Kenna’s eyes locked onto Mr. Smith’s, her gaze burning with a false intensity as she spoke the words, she knew would hasten the end of her ordeal. “Mr. Smith. I want you to come hard in my ass. I want you to fill my little tight butthole with all of your wet and sticky come.” As she spoke, she released her grip on the desk and began to massage her own breasts, her fingers teasing the nipples and squeezing them together in a blatant attempt to arouse him further. The gesture was a calculated move, designed to fuel his lust and bring a swift end to the torment.
Mr. Smith’s face lit up with a twisted grin, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he grasped Kenna’s thighs with a firm grip. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more frantic and intense, and Kenna felt the pain begin to surge once more. She bit back a cry, knowing that to ask for more lubricant would be to risk breaking the spell, to distract him from his mounting climax. Instead, she steeled herself, focusing on the singular goal of bringing this ordeal to a swift conclusion, and endured the agony in silence, her body trembling beneath his relentless assault.
As Mr. Smith’s thrusts became a frenzied blur, his body pounding into Kenna’s with a ferocity that left her breathless and trembling, she felt her vision begin to blur. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, streaming down her face as she gazed up at the man, his dress shirt still immaculately in place, a stark contrast to the animalistic lust that contorted his features. His face was a twisted mask of pleasure, his eyes gleaming with a sickening intensity as he reveled in her degradation. Kenna’s mind recoiled in horror, but her body seemed to be on autopilot, responding to the cruel stimulation with a mixture of pain and numbness.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the effort of speaking through the pain. “Fuck your little anal slut. Fuck her until she comes. I want your come so bad right now. Please come for me.” The words spilled from her lips, a desperate litany of submission, each phrase a little easier to utter than the last, as she surrendered to the role he had forced upon her. Her voice was a husky, tear-choked whisper, the sound barely audible over the harsh gasps of her own ragged breathing. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of pain and humiliation, with no escape from the torment that seemed to be stretching out before her like an endless, dark highway.
As she spoke, Kenna’s eyes locked onto Mr. Smith’s, her gaze meeting his in a fleeting moment of connection. She saw the lust and the cruelty there, the utter disregard for her as a human being, and it fueled her desperation. She knew that she had to keep him engaged, to keep him focused on his own pleasure, if she was going to survive this ordeal with any semblance of sanity intact. So, she continued to whisper her filthy litany, the words spilling from her lips like a dark, twisted prayer, as she begged him to come, to finish, to end the agony that was consuming her.
In a sudden, brutal motion, Mr. Smith grasped Kenna’s thighs with a vice-like grip, pulling himself almost completely out of her before slamming back into her with a force that sent shockwaves of agony coursing through her body. The impact was like a blow, leaving her breathless and reeling as she instinctively reached out to grab the desk, her knuckles turning white as she clung to it for stability and support. The pain making her vision blur and her head spin.
As Mr. Smith’s face contorted in a grimace of pleasure, he let out a low, guttural groan, his eyes rolling back in his head as he began to climax. He held himself deep inside her, his body shuddering with each mini-thrust as he released his pent-up desire, filling her rectum with his warm, sticky come. Kenna bit her lip, feeling a tiny trickle of blood as her teeth sank into the tender lips, but she didn’t care – she just wanted him to finish, to be done with this horrific ordeal and leave her be. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his body spasming inside her, willing him to hurry up, to finish and withdraw, so she could collapse, exhausted and shattered, onto the cold, hard desk.
As Mr. Smith’s breathing slowly returned to normal, he let out a low, satisfied sigh, his eyes gleaming with a lascivious light as he gazed at Kenna with an unbridled admiration. “Fuck, Kenna,” he whispered, his voice husky with pleasure, “that…that was amazing. I swear, that was the best sex I’ve ever had. You are easily the hottest intern we’ve had, and your holes feel amazing.” His words were a crude, unvarnished expression of his lust, and Kenna felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized that she had been reduced to nothing more than a collection of orifices, a means to an end, rather than a living, breathing person.
She forced herself to respond, her voice barely above a whisper, as she struggled to find the right words to say. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured, the phrase feeling like ash in her mouth. “I’m glad I’ve made you happy.” The words were a hollow, insincere platitude, but she knew that she had to say something, anything, to fill the awkward silence that had fallen between them.
As Mr. Smith pulled his now-softening dick out of her, Kenna felt a strange, disorienting sensation, like her body was betraying her, and she flinched, her muscles tensing in response. It was as if she was experiencing a bizarre, involuntary movement, like her body was accidentally expelling something, and she felt a wave of humiliation wash over her. Mr. Smith, seemingly oblivious to her distress, gently lowered her legs to the floor, his hands grasping her hips to steady her as he pulled her to a mostly standing position, her body leaning against the desk for support.
As she stood there, covered in sweat, feeling used and abused, Kenna was acutely aware of the lubricant that still lingered between her butt cheeks, creating an odd, tingling sensation that seemed to mock her, reminding her of the brutal, animalistic act that had just been perpetrated against her. She watched, numb and detached, as Mr. Smith cleaned himself off with the tissues, his movements calm and matter-of-fact, before throwing the soiled tissues in the garbage with a casual, dismissive gesture. The sound of the tissues hitting the bottom of the trash can was like a punctuation mark, a stark reminder that she was nothing more than a used, disposable object, a plaything to be used and discarded at Mr. Smith’s whim.
Kenna stood frozen, her naked body a stark contrast to the sterile, professional surroundings of the office. She felt a sense of disorientation, unsure of what to do next as Mr. Smith began to compose himself, pulling his pants up and tucking in his shirt with a calm, methodical precision. He checked his reflection in the mirror, his eyes scanning his face and hair with a critical gaze, before brushing his hair into place with a few swift strokes of his hand. The gesture was a mundane, everyday action, but it seemed jarringly out of place in the aftermath of their brutal, animalistic encounter.
As he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, Kenna’s eyes narrowed, her mind racing with a mix of emotions. He handed her the envelope with a curt, dismissive gesture, his words dripping with a condescending, patronizing tone. “A bonus for all your hard work this week,” he said, his voice a stark reminder that she was nothing more than a commodity, a tool to be used and exploited for his own gratification. “Have a great weekend,” he added, the phrase a hollow, insincere platitude that seemed to mock her, given the circumstances.
With those words, he turned and stepped out the door, leaving Kenna standing alone and vulnerable, her naked body a stark contrast to the empty, sterile space around her. The door closed behind Mr. Smith with a soft, muted click, leaving Kenna to stand there, frozen and alone, the only sound the soft hum of the office equipment and the quiet, ragged gasps of her own breath.
She was left standing next to her desk, her high heels the only thing that remained of her former, professional self, a poignant reminder of the brutal, dehumanizing act that had just been perpetrated against her.
Kenna’s unease grew as she stood naked, her mind racing with the fear that someone would walk in and see her in this vulnerable state. Given the events of the week, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d be subjected to further exploitation. With a sense of urgency, she hastily gathered her clothes from the floor and began to dress as quickly as possible.
As she moved to sit down, her gaze fell upon a small, disturbing sight: a pool of semen on the edge of her desk, tinged with a faint rose color. Her heart sank as she realized it was mixed with blood, a grim reminder of the brutal anal rape she’d endured just moments before. The sight sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she struggled to come to terms with the trauma she’d just experienced. She took a tissue, wiped it clean and threw it into the garbage, which took a few tries to get completely clean.
As she contemplated making a swift exit, Kenna’s anxiety spiked at the thought of encountering anyone outside her office. Had they heard her screams, or were they simply indifferent to her plight? The uncertainty hung in the air like a challenge, but her attention was soon diverted by the envelope Mr. Smith had left behind. Her hand moved with a mix of trepidation and curiosity, uncurling the top to reveal the contents. Eight crisp, new hundred-dollar bills stared back at her, their value a stark reminder of the transaction that had just occurred.
A wave of guilt and self-doubt washed over her as she grappled with the implications. Was she now a prostitute, exchanging sex for money? Or was this some twisted form of hush money, a bribe to silence her? The questions swirled in her mind, but the allure of the cash was undeniable. She could really use it, and the prospect of indulging in a weekend of escapism was tempting. With a sense of resignation, Kenna decided to take the money and leave, hoping to drown out the memories of the trauma she’d endured. The cash would be her ticket to a fleeting distraction, a chance to erase the pain and shame, if only for a little while.