Perfect Slave (2 page)

‘Hi.' Pam Mitchell was short and cute. She had fizzy black hair and a rather chubby figure, and always insisted on wearing spiky high-heels in a vain attempt to increase her height. ‘Have you heard the news?'

‘What news?'

‘It was on the telly this morning.'

‘What was, Pam?'

‘Silverton. They've sold out to Darrington International.'

‘What?' Andrea was astonished. Edward Highfield, the chairman, managing director and major shareholder of Silverton, had always sworn he would never sell out. It was his company and, he had told his staff on numerous occasions, that was the way he wanted to keep it.

‘He's obviously had an offer he can't refuse. There's a meeting downstairs at eleven. We're all supposed to be there. He's going to explain the situation, apparently.'

‘Darrington. They're huge.' Andrea sat down at her desk. She had a sinking feeling. Any company taken over by a multi-national conglomerate was bound to suffer redundancies, and she was sure it would be a case of last in first out. With only two years' experience not only would she be first out, but it would be hard for her to find another job in what was an extremely crowded field.

‘You'll be all right,' Pam said, reading her thoughts.

 

At ten to eleven Pam and Andrea made their way down to the big conference room on the ground floor. As they trekked across the foyer with the other employees, all expressing their views on what was most likely to happen to them, Andrea glimpsed a large black Mercedes stretch limousine drawing up at the front door. It had black windows and Andrea could not see inside.

‘Who's that?' Andrea said, nodding towards the car. Its doors still remained firmly closed.

‘Big wig from Darrington, I guess,' Pam replied.

They trooped into the conference room, which was designed like a large lecture hall, with raked seating and a wooden rostrum. Edward Highfield was sitting on the rostrum behind a desk. He was making notes on a laptop computer, pointedly not looking up as his audience assembled. He looked, Andrea thought, decidedly sheepish.

At eleven precisely he got to his feet.

‘Good morning, ladies and gentleman,' he said. ‘I am sure that you have all heard the news. I was sorry that I was not able to communicate my intents to you personally, but unfortunately the press got hold of the story. You all know what the press is like these days.' This was intended to be light-hearted, but no one so much as tittered.

‘As you know I never wanted to part with this company, but I've been approached by Darrington International with an offer which I believe will enhance the prospects for all of us. The problem with a business like ours is the need for constant investment. We are at the cutting edge of technology, and unfortunately in order to keep ahead of the game we are obliged to spend more and more on research and development. Darrington offers us a chance to do just that. In addition, I have a cast iron assurance from the chairman of Darrington that all your jobs will be protected.'

This was greeted by exclamations of delight from most of the assembled company, and conversation immediately broke out, the staff all sharing Andrea's worries about the need for redundancies.

Highfield raised his hands to calm the noise. ‘What's more, I am delighted to tell you that as an indication of how seriously the chairman of Darrington takes this pledge, he has agreed to come here this morning and address you personally.' Highfield nodded to his secretary, who was standing by the main entrance. She opened the door and Charles Darrington Hawksworth strode into the room.

Whether it was Edward Highfield or Charles Hawksworth who had choreographed this dramatic entrance Andrea did not know. But she did know that she couldn't take her eyes off the man who strode up to the rostrum and turned to face the rows of employees.

‘Good morning.' He had a firm but velvety voice, a soft-cultured English accent. ‘Your chairman has explained the basic situation I hope...' He began to explain Darrington's interest in Silverton and its plans to pump money into the new software it was developing, and how marketing would be a great deal easier with their considerable resources, but Andrea barely heard what he was saying. Instead she found herself staring into his eyes. They were the deepest blue she thought she had ever seen. What's more, though he was addressing his remarks to the whole room full of people, they seemed to be staring directly at her.

She had no doubt that Charles Darrington Hawksworth was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. He had a square jaw and a craggy face, with a straight nose and a wide fleshy mouth, very smooth lips, and thick curly black hair that was greying over his temples. He was tall and slender with a broad chest, and he had the longest fingers she thought she had ever seen, the fingernails immaculately manicured. His clothes were immaculate too; a beautifully tailored navy-blue suit, a white silk shirt and a yellow silk tie, his handmade shoes polished to a mirror-like shine.

‘...So in conclusion, I have bought this company because of its personnel, not to strip it of its assets. I hope you will all continue to work for me and that we enjoy further success.'

There was loud applause, no doubt based on the considerable relief that the employees' jobs appeared to be guaranteed.

Edward Highfield got to his feet. Andrea had never liked the man. Though he was moderately attractive and there was no doubt about his business acumen, she thought he was smarmy and insincere.

‘Thank you, Charles,' he said.

Charles Hawksworth bowed slightly then strode back out of the room with Edward Highfield at his side.

Andrea Hamilton found herself applauding too, though her eyes were still rooted to Hawksworth. But as the applause died away she noticed that Hawksworth had stopped at the door and looked around. Once again she had the impression he was staring straight at her. She saw him speak to Highfield, though she was too far away to hear what was being said, then nod in her direction. Then they were both gone.

‘What a dish,' Pam said, as they filed out of the room. ‘Jesus, Andrea, what I wouldn't give for a night alone with him. Did you see those eyes?'

Andrea nodded. She could still see them. Like catching a glimpse of the sun by mistake they seemed to have burned into her retinas.

‘I wonder how often he's going to visit us. I want to be prepared next time. Throw myself under his car, something subtle like that,' Pam continued.

‘I didn't really notice him,' Andrea lied, not wanting to discuss the real feelings Charles Hawksworth had aroused in her. ‘Come on, let's get back to work,' she said. ‘At least it looks as if our jobs are safe.'

 

It was a ritual. It had started as a routine. Now every detail had become enshrined, every moment savoured, every action adding to the excitement. But tonight there was an urgency she had rarely felt before.

She had begun to strip off her clothes as soon as she got home. She abandoned her jacket on the sofa in her small living room and headed straight for the bedroom. Everything was kept in the bottom drawer of a large pine chest. She took it all out and laid it carefully on her double bed, having to remind herself not to hurry, that the anticipation was as much a part of the ritual as the performance.

Unbuttoning her blouse she went into the small en-suite bathroom. She adjusted the mixer taps until she got an even flow of warm water, then took off her blouse and her skirt. She was wearing a black lace bra that strained to hold her fleshy breasts, tan coloured tights and small bikini briefs. As she reached behind her back to unhook the bra she looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. She stared into her eyes, but gazing back at her over her shoulder she could see the face of Charles Darrington Hawksworth, those deep-blue eyes perfectly still, the expression on his face betraying no emotion.

She allowed the bra to drop away. Her breasts trembled. She had large nipples surrounded by a narrow band of dark-brown aureole, which was pimpled with little papillae. Her nipples were already erect. They had been like that since the meeting. In fact they were so hard and knotted they had turned a deep red, standing out from the orb of flesh like cherries on a cake. Tentatively she tweaked the left one between her thumb and finger and felt a huge surge of feeling. She looked into the mirror. Charles's eyes were disapproving, and she knew why. She was not allowed to touch her nipples this early on in the proceedings. Everything had its place.

She turned the water off, scented it with bath oil then stripped off her tights and panties and climbed in. She lay with the back of her head against the edge of the bath and closed her eyes. On the blank screen of her mind Charles Hawksworth appeared again, his expression unchanged, those eyes looking at her critically.

She could feel her clitoris, trapped between her thick labia, pulsing. The temptation to open her legs and run her finger down to manipulate it was strong, but she resisted. Everything had its place. She usually spent longer luxuriating in the water, enjoying the prospect of what was to come, but tonight her needs were altogether too urgent. She stood up, soaped herself down then washed the lather away with a big sponge. As it cascaded off her body, the water channelled down between her legs, it looked as if she were peeing.

Climbing out of the water she picked up a big fluffy towel and rubbed herself dry, determinedly ignoring the sexual feelings this aroused as the towel brushed her breasts and her sex. She dropped the towel aside and walked into the bedroom. She felt little butterflies of excitement beginning to flutter in her stomach.

The corset was made from black leather. It was tight, at least one size too small for her, and narrow, no more than a wide belt of material that cinched around her waist. Andrea pulled it into place, the leather cold against her warm body. She struggled with the hooks and eyes that held it in place, sucking her breath in to get it to do up. The constriction excited her.

Dangling from its hem was four long black leather suspenders. Andrea sat on the bed. She had laid out a pair of sheer black stockings. She picked one up and rolled it into a pocket, then inserted her foot into the nylon, rolling it up over her leg. The nylon was woven with Lycra to give it a shiny, almost wet look, and Andrea loved the way it transformed her flesh, making it smooth and silky, clinging to the contours of her calves and thighs. She clipped it into the suspenders at the front and the side of her thigh, then repeated the process with the second stocking.

She stood up. The black patent leather high heels were standing on the floor by her wardrobe. She climbed into them. The heels were so high it would have been impossible to walk for more than a few steps, but the shoes tightened all the muscles in her calves and deepened the gluteal fold where her thigh tucked into her buttocks. She had installed a floor-length mirror on the bedroom wall opposite the foot of the bed, and stood in front of it admiring herself. Again, over her shoulder she could see Charles Hawksworth admiring her too. She looked like a whore. The idea made her clitoris throb.

She allowed her hand to run down over her flat, smooth belly, framed as it was by the leather corset at the top, the long suspenders at the side and the opaque black stocking tops underneath. She had very short, soft pubic hair, shaped in a narrow triangle, like an inverted Eiffel tower, and between her legs she was virtually hairless, with nothing to mask her thick puffy labia. She could see the first inch of them now, pursed at the base of her mons.

Slowly, walking with tiny steps because of the shoes, she knelt at the foot of the bed. The ropes were permanently tied around the legs of the bed but tucked away under a valance, out of sight of casual visitors. She pulled the first one out and set it down on top of the mattress, then tottered around the bed and did the same with the other three. Knotted to the end of each was a metal snap-lock.

The shoes were already making her feet and the muscles of her calves ache, but the pain was mixed with a peculiar pleasure.

Four black leather cuffs lay on the bed. Putting her left foot up on the mattress Andrea wrapped one of them around the silky nylon that sheathed her ankle and buckled it tight. She did the same with her right, then sat on the bed again. Being right-handed it was comparatively easy to buckle the cuff around her left wrist by holding it tightly against her body, but the right wrist was more awkward. She had practised the manoeuvre so many times however that it didn't take long.

The feeling of each cuff circling her limbs increased her excitement markedly. She looked in the mirror again. Her body was banded by black, the tight leather corset biting into her waist, the leather cuffs and the bands of the black stocking tops around her thighs. By contrast to these tight black rings her exposed flesh, particularly her large round breasts and the top of her slender thighs, seemed incredibly creamy and soft. She could see Charles Hawksworth's eyes looking at her, examining every detail of her body.

Andrea picked up the final item of her equipment. It was a narrow black leather belt. She pulled it around her waist and buckled it tight. Another much wider piece of leather was attached to the back of this belt, hanging down at the moment, loosely between her legs. Projecting from this was a small but very stout dildo made from cream-coloured plastic.

Sitting on the bed Andrea scrambled over to the middle of the mattress, then opened her legs. Leaning forward she secured the snap-locks attached to each rope at the bottom corners of the bed to a shiny metal D-ring at the side of the ankle cuffs. She lay back, feeling a surge of excitement. She tried to close her legs but couldn't, the bondage preventing anything but the slightest inward movement.