Spike Trap

An eBook By Han Li Thorn.

Jennifer recognized her cue instantly. "Would you like to see me now, Mr. Martelsen?"

"I believe I would."

Even before he'd finished speaking, she was shrugging her jacket off and dropping it on the floor of his office. She knew that taking the time to hang it up would earn her a black mark – physically as well as metaphorically, because Martelsen wouldn't be above signing her flesh with a whip. The important thing was to strip for him, quickly and elegantly, without any hint of rebellion or willfulness.

The thought crossed her mind that someone might come into the office at any moment – Martelsen hadn't bothered to lock the door. She quickly pushed that thought aside to concentrate on what she was doing: physical modesty was a habit he'd broken her of, a long time before.

She watched him discreetly, just as she'd been trained, alert for any signs that she might be displeasing him. His eyes followed her fingers as they flew to the buttons of her blouse, and he licked his thin lips as she twitched the garment open. He nodded his approval and she let it fall away completely, exposing the lacy black bra that enhanced rather than concealed the generous curves of her breasts.

"The skirt too," he said.

She loosened the waistband and let the skirt fall to the floor. Now she was down to her bra and panties and stockings, and the matching garter belt, embroidered with delicate flowers. She'd chosen the ensemble carefully, half-expecting that Martelsen would want to see her. Not that she had much choice; the list of underclothes that the Partners had approved for her was short, select, and far more expensive than she could really afford.

It was just one more way in which they controlled her, and humiliated her, and used her.

Martelsen leaned back and let his gaze roam over the girl's body, enjoying the contrast of black lace against creamy flesh, the delightful pressure of pubic mound against silk panties, and the way the garter straps cut so tautly across the flawless territory of her thighs.

She was as beautiful as ever, and exquisitely obedient. He remembered a time when things had been different: the long training process that had started with determined resistance, and fiery threats, and proceeded to tearful begging and grudging compliance. All that was over now; there was nothing left but submission. He'd trained her well. He almost regretted that she was ready to be sold, but it would be a few weeks yet before she was shipped to her new owner. There was still time to enjoy her.

"Come here, and kneel."

She walked across the room, superbly confident in the heels: another lesson well taught. When she was kneeling at the side of his chair, he reached forward and tilted her chin towards him. She parted her lips slightly, and he ran a finger over them. Her tongue flicked out obediently, moist and inviting, exactly as he'd taught her.

He reached behind her back, groping for the fastening of her bra. She leaned forward slightly, offering better access, and his fingers found what they sought and undid it with a swift pinching motion. The bra went slack, allowing the girl's cleavage to separate and her breasts to relax into their natural form.

Relaxed or no, they were still beautiful to Martelsen. He became aware that his cock wasn't relaxed, not at all. His arousal was growing by the second. He leaned forward to enjoy her scent – he'd selected her perfume himself, chosen it to complement the girl's unique natural fragrance. As he breathed her in, the hairs on the back of his neck started to tingle and stand up, as if in sympathy with his cock.

Her bra straps were slack against the bare skin of her shoulders. She looked up at him mutely and he nodded his permission for her to remove the garment. A moment later it was next to her on the floor, with her heavy breasts fully released from its constraint.

He brushed his fingers over the dark point of an exposed nipple and felt it harden gratifyingly at his touch. Sometimes, Martelsen wondered if that was really a sign of her arousal, or if it was simply another aspect of her training: a trick learned to please whatever Partner happened to be enjoying her, and no consequence of her own desire.

If he was honest, he didn't really care how she managed it. Martelsen could be harsh with his girls, but he didn't mind if they found some pleasure in the uses he made of them.

He really didn't care if they found nothing but humiliation and distress, either, as long as they responded prettily, and obeyed.

His free hand reached down and eased its way inside her pantie elastic, exploring the warm girl-flesh that nestled there under its fragrant covering of well-remembered curls. She shifted slightly, parting her thighs, offering better access. He quested further, seeking the opening between her labia.

The girl was wet.

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