Wantonica
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Apr 24, 2003
- Posts
- 480
Here is my latest story. I just joined Literotica recently, and am aware that this genre doesn't exactly "fit in". However, I would like feedback on my writing itself. Thank you in advance; I hope to be submitting a variety of stories in the near future.
~Lascivious Wanton~
Monique pressed her slender forefinger against the doorbell, the deep burgundy polish on her slightly tapered nail glistening under the glow of the porch lamp. She heard the expected chime reverberating throughout the large brick house. Tyrone, her boyfriend of four years, stood next to her in all his masculine glory. His skin was a deep brown; his hair cut short and gelled a bit, creating a sheen and immaculate control of style and shape. He was sporting a pair of Dockers, a polo shirt and new leather loafers. His hand rested on the small of Monique’s back, just above her tiny waist. It was not an indication of control or possessiveness, but his usual way of showing his loving bond to her.
Monique had put some extra effort into appearing polished this evening. This casual cocktail party was for Tyrone’s colleagues and she wished to assist him in his rise to partnership in the law firm. It meant so much to him, was what he had worked for all these years, and the vote was coming up soon. She was wearing a stylish, yet comfortable outfit -- her brown suede skirt fell mid-thigh with dark brown stockings to match, crocodile print pumps and a sleeveless, ribbed mock turtleneck in cream and white stripes. She had put on a wide gold cuff bracelet, and a large gold teardrop necklace on a long chain, which caused it to sit just between the small peaks of her breasts. Her long, dark hair hung loose and she unconsciously brushed a stray strand off her cheek as they waited for a response to their arrival. For 43 years of age, her 5’9” frame was svelte and enticingly curvaceous. She had a slight jiggle to her rear end, yet it was certainly not unattractive. If anything, it gained her extra attention. When she stepped on the scale after her shower that day, it read just under 140, a perfect weight for her tall frame, she thought. Her skin was a deep caramel, with a smooth, silky texture and radiant glow. Her eyes were very deep, dark and full of warmth. She was certainly the most beautiful and exotic woman Tyrone had ever met, and he would be happy to have her as a corporate wife someday. She had just the type of innocence that would keep her from letting it go to her head.
The party was being hosted by one of the partners in Tyrone’s firm, and apparently he had not done poorly for himself. Monique guessed that it must take more than one gardener to keep up with the large grounds, flowerbeds, topiaries and the tall bushes bordering the property. The house was nothing to sniff at either -- it was perfectly symmetrical, with a huge, carved front door in the middle and two L-shaped wings on either side. She found herself wondering what types of vehicles sat in the 5-car garage situated in the right front wing.
A young man in a tuxedo and white gloves answered the door with a small bow. Monique smiled. She assumed him to be one of the children of the house playing butler. She found that so sweet. Tyrone guided her gently through the door and they followed the young man into a formal living room. The group was not extremely large, perhaps 12 people. They worked their way to the bar for a cocktail, stopping along the way for introductions and greetings. There was a man standing at the bar, Monique guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. She had met him before and knew his name to be Jake and also knew him to be the other lawyer up for the one available partnership. Tyrone was obviously chummy with him. The two of them bantered easily and seemed very accustomed to one another. Such a shame, she thought, that they were in the spot to rival one another for the position.
She glanced around the room as the men joked. Many of the attendees she knew from previous gatherings. Two of the ladies had even been gracious enough to invite her for lunch with them at the local Country Club while their fellows golfed. One of the younger ladies caught her attention. They had never met, but she remembered her face from a photo in Jake’s office. She must be his wife. She was very pretty, with a young and spunky aura about her. Monique thought hard and remembered the young lady’s name was Deborah. She was wearing a sheer white blouse with many tiny pearl buttons down the front placket and on the long sleeve cuffs. A lace camisole was barely visible through the light fabric. Her dark blonde, shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a neat, high ponytail with a thin silver barrette, and in her ears dangled solitary pearls on short silver chains. Her slacks were navy blue, as were her leather loafers and sheer socks. Pale hands circled a glass of wine, the short nails done in a tasteful light pink polish and every finger adorned with a silver ring, most set with some type of natural stone. She appeared to be sitting on the sofa alone, waiting for her husband to return, no doubt.
Tyrone handed Monique her own glass of wine, and she made her way over to the black velvet sofa and held her hand out to Deborah. “Hi, I’m Monique, Tyrone’s girlfriend. You must be Deborah?” No hand came up to shake Monique’s. “That’s right.” The young lady’s voice was crisp and dripping with something, but it certainly wasn’t friendliness. Looking at her closely, Monique guessed her to be about 26 or 27 years old, with a light complexion and bright green eyes. Not thwarted by the chilly reception, Monique sat down on the couch, making sure to leave space between them, and crossed her legs gracefully. Deborah looked at her coolly. “You know, Jake will get the partnership in the firm this time. I’ll see to it.” Surprised, but not about to let this chit intimidate her, Monique looked Deborah square in the eyes, deep brown to bright green, neither wavering. “I don’t think either one of us can see to that. The man who gets it will be the man who deserves it.” Monique said the words slowly, deliberately. With a smirk, Deborah stood up and made her way to the bar to refill her drink. Monique watched her hips sway as she walked, her body slightly curved and very perky. Her breasts were perky, her butt was perky, even her nose was perky. She was about 5’5” and looked to weigh around 125 pounds. Her slacks clung tightly to her body, accentuating the shapely curves of her behind and showing her slightly rounded belly._ Well, that explained the unpleasant meeting, Monique thought. They were instant enemies because their men were vying for the same position, and all the while the men were chatting contentedly.
Tyrone and Jake worked their way over to Monique and sat one on each side of her. Jake was friendly, as always. He smiled and asked her how she had been and if she had done anything interesting lately. “I‘ve been very well, thank you. I went to that fabulous Van Gogh exhibit at the art museum this afternoon.” This obviously impressed Jake. “Really? I went there with my mother last weekend. Deborah wasn’t able to go.” Deborah was standing behind him by then, and it was obvious that she was annoyed with this conversation. Monique would have bet money that Deborah didn’t go to the art museum because she did not want to go. As she plopped back down on the sofa, she sat as close to her husband as she possibly could, the lengths of their legs touching. Giving her an odd glance, Jake reverted his attention back to Monique. They chatted about the various pieces of artwork they had both viewed at the museum exhibit and about museums in general. They both spent a lot of time in them, and learned that their mothers were the reason for this.
Monique dearly missed her mother, now an elderly, yet still elegant black woman living once again in her hometown of London. After the death of Monique’s father, the traveling to and_ from his familial countries of France and Germany had stopped. It had been a wonderful life for Monique, living during her younger years in both countries of her father’s origin, then in England while she was a teenager. Many family members had surrounded Monique wherever they lived, and she was exposed to a variety of cultures. She had made the decision to attend university in the United States, and had remained despite her distance from relatives. She hoped that someday her mother would come to live with her, but feared she would never leave her home.
Tyrone excused himself to mingle, and Deborah made several attempts to engage her husband in a change of subject. Jake talked to her obligingly for a few moments each time,_then quickly took the conversations back to art with Monique. It was obviously a passion he was not often able to discuss. Deborah began to form a slight pout with her lips. Her arms were soon crossed and her jaw was tight. The glass of wine went more and more frequently to her lips. Another couple soon took seats on the facing sofa and before long the two side chairs were occupied as well. The older gentleman seated in the leather wing-backed chair next to Deborah asked her if she had tried the new French restaurant in town. She crinkled her nose. “No, I don’t particularly care for French cuisine.” Monique, feeling sorry for the gentleman who was just attempting to make small talk, interjected. “We tried it recently, the food was excellent. The French make some of the best dishes in the world.” She was not about to let Deborah knock any part of her ancestry, including the food. The gentleman appeared relieved to be spared from what could have been an awkward moment and smiled broadly at Monique. “On your recommendation, I shall have to try it then, thank you.” He was one of the senior partners in the law firm, and would be one of the main voices in determining which man would obtain his partnership.
Deborah was obviously getting uncomfortable in her position on the couch, squirming back and forth from one butt cheek to the other, crossing then uncrossing her arms and legs. She drank the last half of her wine so quickly, it reminded Monique of a jogger who had forgotten his water bottle. As soon as her glass was empty, Deborah jumped to her feet, presumably for another refill. She turned to Jake. “Honey, let’s go talk to some of the others.” By now there was a group of about ten people standing by the fireplace in the other portion of the_ room, and several men chatting by the bar, including Tyrone. Jack glanced at his wife. “You go ahead, dear. I’m fine here for right now.” Deborah’s face looked a bit paler and somewhat pinched after he said this, but she turned toward the bar without another word to him. Jake turned back to Monique and asked her to tell him more about her mum and their experiences together with culture and art. His boyish good looks brightened when he spoke of his own mother and last week's trip to the museum exhibit. They spoke amicably for a short time, then Monique excused herself to find the powder room. She sat her glass on a crystal coaster on the massive square coffee table. It was made from a deep mahogany and appeared to be an ancient cut-down library table. Jake told her he would be waiting there, he wanted to show her something when she returned.
Monique assumed the restroom would be through the doorway next to the bar and headed in that direction. She quickly noticed that the other men who had been gathered there had moved elsewhere. Besides the woman tending to drinks, Deborah and Tyrone were the last ones remaining. As she got closer to them, Monique saw that the wine glass in Deborah’s hand was again full. Assuming she had not stood there without taking a drink during this time, she must have polished off yet another one. She was talking about the bloodlines of her afghan hounds. Tyrone was listening politely, but appeared unsure how to react with Deborah standing so close and touching his arm every time she made an important point. When he saw her walking by them, Tyrone asked Monique if she was having a nice time. She affirmed and said she would be right back. Deborah smiled at her, but it was a wry smile. There wasn’t any friendliness toward Monique from this woman, and it seemed as though there was a certain challenge to her demeanor. Giggling to herself, Monique realized that Deborah was simply talking to Tyrone as a tit for tat because her own husband was preferring to socialize with Monique this evening. It was so very boarding school childish.
Her hunch had been correct, and she quickly found the powder room. She relieved herself,_ washed and checked herself in the gilded mirror. No damage done, no repairs needed, she decided. Brushing those inevitable loose strands of hair from her cheeks, she made her way back into the party. Her stride was confident and long, her movements lithe like a cat. Her hips swayed fluidly and caused a slight rustle from the lining in her suede skirt.
Monique entered the large room once again. The bar was just to her left, the seating area where they had all been earlier was straight ahead and set up in a big square formed around that coffee table. On the right side of the room was a larger area with several small, more intimate seating areas for two or three people and a huge fireplace. With the exception of Deborah and Tyrone, and the few people sitting in the big square, everyone else there was gathered in the fireplace area. Their voices were a steady hum, with the occasional sophisticated laughter thrown in. Monique noticed that the odor of over-applied perfume and cologne was rather strong with this group. She wore a light musky scent, and was careful not to allow it to enter and leave a room without her.
Jake wasn’t in his seat, and she saw him waving her over to the wall on her right. There was a beautiful painting of a field full of flowers and surrounded by lush, deep greenery, a true Monet he told her. Monique was impressed. These people had excellent taste. She had always adored Monet’s portrayals of fields and meadows, and this picture was no disappointment. She became more observant of her surroundings and something immediately caught her eye. Behind the back of the velvet sofa was a high, narrow table of the same deep wood tones as the other furniture. What got her attention, though, was an item on top of the table. Between a pair of crystal candlesticks holding thick tapers, a plate was displayed_ on a stand. “Oh, Jake, look at this!” Monique pulled on his sleeve to lead him over to the plate. Just as they arrived at the table, their mates finally left their perch in front of the bar and came over to join them. She quickly included Tyrone in her discovery before proceeding. “Look Tyrone, it’s a piece of ancient Tibetan pottery! These are so rare to find intact.” She glowed as she looked at it, her cheeks flushed with the excitement. Jake and Tyrone came closer as she explained how the pottery was made from clay and graphite found in the area around the Mawa Mountain. This particular piece had then been glazed with a colorful swirl and large colored dots splattered randomly across the face. Not only was it rare for still being perfect after several hundred years, it was also not a typical plate made solely for function. During a time when the lower-class could not even secure the most basic functional items, this must have been made for someone very important. “This should be in a museum!”_ Monique was amazed to see something so precious in a living room.
“Ha!” When Deborah interrupted them with her exclamation, they all turned around to look at her. The elderly gentleman, still sitting in the same chair as before, turned to look as well. He was seated between the two sofas, at the end of the coffee table nearest the bar, and was the closest person to them. Deborah was holding yet another glass of wine. “That has to be the tackiest plate I’ve ever seen in my life! I certainly don’t think it would end up in one of your museums!” She rolled her eyes as she said it. Monique’s jaw dropped. “How can you say that? You are lucky to even see something like this!” She moved around the men to get closer to Deborah. Her ecstasy from a moment before had turned to shock at this girl’s lack of respect for some of the finest things life had to offer. Deborah held the finger up from her free hand, tilted it toward Monique, and looked her square in her now smoldering eyes. “You just think you know it all, don’t you? Well, one thing you don’t_ know is that my husband will get the partnership, and I’ll see to it that you don’t get invited to these little functions anymore to take up all his socializing time.” Her voice was getting steadily louder, and her bright irises began to darken. Tyrone and Jake looked at each other in confusion. They never discussed the opposing positions their occupation had put them into.
Monique brought her hands up her sides, rested them just above the slight swell of her hips and moved yet closer to Deborah. They were only a few feet away from one another now. Deborah stepped back slightly, but whether it was on purpose or due to the wine was unclear. It was Monique’s turn to smirk. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle being a proper partner’s wife with an attitude like that?_ And by the way, that wine you’re drinking is French.” With that, she poked the glass with her forefinger, causing some to slosh out and land on Deborah’s shoes. Deborah moved in closer now, reached around Monique and set her glass on the sofa table. The two women were standing face to face now, and all the people sitting in the living area square were intent on watching them. Deborah was several inches shorter, but she still had a spunkiness about her which made her seem bigger than she was. Her head held high, nose in the air, she put her finger on Monique’s breastbone. With each word, she pushed the tip of her finger into the skin beneath. “You - need - to - stay - out - of - my - way. I - will - get - what - I - want.” Monique put her hands on Deborah's shoulders and shook her. As Deborah's torso moved back and forth, the motion of her head was loose and exaggerated; the wine was definitely taking it's toll.
Suddenly, Deborah seemed to come out of her trance and brought her arms up to push Monique's off to the side, away from her shoulders and her body. Free from the hands on her, Deborah turned and began to walk away. Just as she reached the edge of the sofa, Monique grabbed her arm and spun the young blond to face her once again. "You have given me disrespect all evening, and I refuse to take that from you!" It was a determined declaration. By now, several of the people gathered in the space around the crackling hearth had noticed the dispute taking place, nudged their companions to take a look, and they were all moving toward the large seating area. Sensing the audience gathering, Deborah again put her nose up in the air to look at the dark, exotic woman and smiled with obvious contempt and force. The hands on her hips were balled into tight fists. "You are not a decent person, Monique. You are rude and uncultered."_
That was Monique's last straw. How dare this snooty young twit call her uncultured. Oblivious to the crowd gathering around, not paying attention to Tyrone and Jake standing behind her in disbelief, she pulled hard at Deborah's blouse by the lapels. As she yanked, the wobbly girl lost her balance and the sheer fabric ripped, sending tiny pearl buttons flying across the gold plush carpet. Her white lace camisole was exposed and she obviously had no support beneath it, as her nipples showed clearly through the fabric. Deborah looked down at herself for just a moment, and then came at Monique bringing her foot up to deliver a kick to the taller woman's crotch. Seeing the movement coming, Monique grabbed her calf just before any cotanct was made and pulled up. Deborah fell back over the arm of the couch, her legs spread apart, one over the arm and the other on the floor at the front of the sofa. The sudden motion caused her navy slacks to split straight up the middle, from the front to the back. She had on a pair of panties which matched her camisole, and through the white lace, her pubic hairs were visible and obviously not trimmed.
Monique kicked off her pumps and reached toward Deborah. The girl had lost one shoe when she fell back, and the other was quickly pulled off and thrown on the floor. Her eyes were wide and slightly reddened. Monique grabbed her hand and helped pull her back up off the sofa and onto her feet. The moment she was standing, Deborah threw herself at her adversary with full force, but her consumption again slowed her down. "Your pants are already ruined, let's get rid of them." As she side-stepped Deborah's advance, Monique just as quickly grabbed both sides of the damaged slacks and tore them off sideways, the seams splitting with a rip that only exhalted her more. She was glad to be putting this one in her place. "Take off your knee-highs." It was a demanding tone. Still hopeful to outwit, Deborah stood her ground and shook her head from side to side. Monique pushed her onto the floor, grabbed the sheer hosiery by the toes and yanked them off. They were stubborn, so her efforts caused Deborah to scoot down along the carpet and pushed her french-cut panties deep between her butt cheeks.
Literally, Deborah decided she would not take this lying down. She jumped to her feet with as much speed as she was able to muster and grabbed at Monique. She was able to claim a hold on her sleeveless turtleneck at the waist and instinctively threw her arms up and back. With that one swift motion, Monique's arms were brought up by the quick pull of her shirt and it was instantly over her head and clear of her body. The top of her black satin teddy was askew, one of the thin straps off her shoulder, and the ribbon woven through the lace placket which she had tied in a neat bow when she dressed earlier was now hanging loose. Monique's first instinct was to reach out and grab the reddish nipples she saw through the lace camisole and pinch them hard. Deborah gasped. By now, everyone at the cocktail party was tuned into the two women, holding their drinks and silently observing. Tyrone and Jake were still standing next to one another in awe of what was occuring with their partners.
As Monique grabbed Deborah's ponytail and wound it around her hand, the girl fell to her knees with the hard pulls to her head. She began clawing at Moniques legs and the gartered brown tights pulled loose from their clips and were nearly down to her ankles by the time she released her hold on Deborah's hair. The silver barrette snapped off and fell to the floor. The dark blond strands it had contained now fell about the bare shoulders, framing Deborah's pale face with a wild veil. Monique kicked her tights off the rest of the way. Seizing the momentary opportunity from her position on her knees, Deborah took hold of one of the tall woman's smooth, caramel legs and pulled it toward her. Monique fell to the thick carpet, landing on her back and feeling briefly stunned. Deborah was on top of her in a flash, straddling her on the suede skirt and holding her arms down with her own. Monique regained her composure and easily flipped Deborah off her. They were now in the opposite position as a moment ago. The younger lady's chest was rising and falling hard with the exertion of her breathing, her taut nipples showing bright red through the woven fabric of her camisole. Monique had to hitch her skirt in order to straddle, and the lace around the leg openings of her teddy was showing, the attached garter strings dangling between and beside Deborah's legs. "You think you can win just because you want to?" Monique leaned down and hissed in her ear. "We'll see who's in charge of winning now." Deborah squirmed beneath her, but the taller woman was stronger and held her down with ease. Crossing the girls hands above her head on the floor, she held them both with one long-fingered hand as she reached to the side for one of her discarded brown tights. She wound it around Deborah's wrists and tied it with a secure sqaure knot. Gathering up the other one to use on the girl's legs, she hesitated and began pulling off the lacy panties first. Deborah was bucking in protest and trying to kick her legs as Monique pulled off her, but Monique quickly pinned them down with her shins. She slid the panties off pale legs, tied the ankles in the same manner as the arms and sat back to admire her work.
Deborah tried to sit up, her camisole barely brushing the top of her curly pubic bush. The color was slightly darker that that on her head, probably from lack of sunlight to the area. Her eyes were pleading now. "Okay Monique, just let me up. I'll be nicer to you, I promise. We can even be friends if you want." The darker woman pushed her back down with a hand to her chest and sat back on her haunches as if considering the proposition. Deborah seemed to think she was going to get out of this humiliation, so she persisted. "It won't even matter who gets the partnership, we can entertain together. It will be great fun!" Monique looked around. Everyone's eyes were on them. No one was saying a word. Tyrone looked stunned, and Jake appeared confused. He seemed unsure about what he should be doing to help his wife, or what would happen next. The elderly partner was turned to watch them over the arm of his chair, his wrinkled face peering out from beneath the wing. He was obviously as amused as everyone else was shocked. Turning back to her captor, she heard the girl continue with her attempts at release. "Let me up and we'll meet for lunch tomorrow to work this all out. My treat, of course." Monique looked at the wide eyes, amazingly sincere for the first time since she had first seen them. She moved toward Deborah. "I wish you would just keep your mouth shut!" With that, she brought herself back up to straddle her, but above her face this time. She pushed the crotch of her teddy onto the mouth now devoid of lipstick, the front garter strings hanging on flushed cheeks. She felt Deborah's warm breath and felt the vibrations from her muffled protests. The body beneath her was wriggling back and forth desperately. Looking around, she reached for the closest article of clothing she could find, which happened to be the pinned girl's panties. Lifting off her face, Monique stopped any further sounds by wadding the panties up and pushing them into Deborah's mouth._ _
Exhilarated by her handiwork, Monique glanced around at the items in the room. Smiling to herself, she reached for the girl's arms and helped her to her feet. "Hop!" Her voice was firm and demanding. Deborah tried to hop beside her, but kept losing her balance, even with her arm being held for support. Monique got behind her and held the camisole at the wide straps in an effort to keep the girl on her feet, but when Deborah again swayed forward and Monique tried to hold her up, the fabric gave way and the young girl was completely unclothed. Her perky breasts were tipped by flushed red nipples the size of playing marbles, encircled by half-dollars of a lighter rosy hue. Almost to their destination of the large mahogany coffee table, Monique put her arm around the girl's waist and helped her hop, the small breasts barely moving with each jolt. When they got to the table. Monique sat Deborah down on it roughly. The cheeks of her small ass landed on the dark wood, bringing no movement to the sturdy piece of furniture. "Stay there!" It was an order, not to be disputed. To further point out that she meant business, slender fingers reached out and again pinched the cherry nipples that were now exposed to everyone in the room, twisting them this time. They became an even deeper red from the infliction, and Deborah made a small groan in her throat.
Monique made her way around the room, ignoring the bystanders. She first went to the bar and filled a glass with ice from the silver ice bucket. Looking thoughtfully at the slim ice tongs she held in her hand, she took those with her as well. She then made her way through the onlookers to the sofa table holding the precious Tibetan plate and took the two flanking tapers from their holders. Returning to the girl seated on the table with eyes as wide as they could possibly open, she sat her items on the floor next to the elderly gentleman's feet. He had a front row seat now, and was sitting comfortably, his legs crossed and a rock glass with a splash of bourbon in his hand.
Monique looked at Deborah, her body quivering with fear and anxiety of what she was going to do now. She pulled the bound legs apart and felt through the hair centered there_ with slender fingers until she could seperate the hidden pink lips. The smell of baby powder floated to her nostrils. Reaching into the glass of ice, Monique pushed one, then another, then a third sliver into the opening. She heard whimpers coming from behind the panties in Deborah's mouth, felt the girl squirming the bottom half of her body back and forth in an effort to shake off the feeling between her legs. The ice was melting already, water dripping onto the dark wood of the table. Deborah's eyes looked desperate, she just wanted this to end. Monique held together the slender tongs and worked them slowly into the path the ice had taken. As one sensation subsided, another began. Through the numbness brought on by the cold, Deborah felt the metal working back and forth in the wet area that a moment ago had been hers and Jake's alone. Then Monique released the tongs, and they opened inside her like a doctor's tool. The little wimpers turned into one deep groan.
Monique seemed almost as a mad woman,_ the proceedings giving her a rush of adrenaline, some sort of a strange high brought on by her new-felt power. She squeezed the tongs back together and blissfully for Deborah, removed them. Just as there was a visible relaxing in her body, the dreaded words came."Turn over!" She looked up at Monique in confusion. What did she want from her now? "Knees on the floor, chest on the table!" Deborah, looking like a worn-out, haggard older woman now, slid off the table and onto her knees. She scooted around until she was able to lay her chest onto the wet table. Her perky breasts were now squashed under her body, the taut nipples hidden beneath her in the pools of water. She laid her head on the table and waited...
Monique took her time now. She was relishing this, she had never felt so empowered and satisfied with bringing someone down a few pegs. She took one of the thick tapered candles and slid it into Deborah's pussy. She thrust it in and out with vigor, not stopping even when the moans from the table became squeals. For a moment she stopped and let the candle rest there, inside the girl. Monique opened the container of bar wax and took out a glob of the paste. She rubbed it around the tapered half of the other candle and worked the long, firm, now slippery object into the tight ass sticking up in the air. Deborah writhed and groaned deep in her throat, as both candles were worked diligently and relentlessly inside her, pounding into her again and again without mercy.
After some time, no more sound came from the young blond. She was spent, as was her provoked assailant. Monique had a mist of perspiration on her brow and in the space between her breasts. She pulled the punishments out of Deborah, untied her ankles and helped her limp body stand up. She then removed the bindings from the wrists and lastly, removed the panties from her mouth. "Is there anything you'd like to say to me now, dear?" Deborah looked up at this tall, elegant woman and shook her head from side to side. She would never say anything again, she thought.
Monique turned to collect her clothing and noticed as she walked by the elderly gentleman, the important senior partner, that he was smiling broadly at her and gave a slight nod as she passed. She suddenly didn't have any more worries about who would get the partnership.___
~Lascivious Wanton~
Monique pressed her slender forefinger against the doorbell, the deep burgundy polish on her slightly tapered nail glistening under the glow of the porch lamp. She heard the expected chime reverberating throughout the large brick house. Tyrone, her boyfriend of four years, stood next to her in all his masculine glory. His skin was a deep brown; his hair cut short and gelled a bit, creating a sheen and immaculate control of style and shape. He was sporting a pair of Dockers, a polo shirt and new leather loafers. His hand rested on the small of Monique’s back, just above her tiny waist. It was not an indication of control or possessiveness, but his usual way of showing his loving bond to her.
Monique had put some extra effort into appearing polished this evening. This casual cocktail party was for Tyrone’s colleagues and she wished to assist him in his rise to partnership in the law firm. It meant so much to him, was what he had worked for all these years, and the vote was coming up soon. She was wearing a stylish, yet comfortable outfit -- her brown suede skirt fell mid-thigh with dark brown stockings to match, crocodile print pumps and a sleeveless, ribbed mock turtleneck in cream and white stripes. She had put on a wide gold cuff bracelet, and a large gold teardrop necklace on a long chain, which caused it to sit just between the small peaks of her breasts. Her long, dark hair hung loose and she unconsciously brushed a stray strand off her cheek as they waited for a response to their arrival. For 43 years of age, her 5’9” frame was svelte and enticingly curvaceous. She had a slight jiggle to her rear end, yet it was certainly not unattractive. If anything, it gained her extra attention. When she stepped on the scale after her shower that day, it read just under 140, a perfect weight for her tall frame, she thought. Her skin was a deep caramel, with a smooth, silky texture and radiant glow. Her eyes were very deep, dark and full of warmth. She was certainly the most beautiful and exotic woman Tyrone had ever met, and he would be happy to have her as a corporate wife someday. She had just the type of innocence that would keep her from letting it go to her head.
The party was being hosted by one of the partners in Tyrone’s firm, and apparently he had not done poorly for himself. Monique guessed that it must take more than one gardener to keep up with the large grounds, flowerbeds, topiaries and the tall bushes bordering the property. The house was nothing to sniff at either -- it was perfectly symmetrical, with a huge, carved front door in the middle and two L-shaped wings on either side. She found herself wondering what types of vehicles sat in the 5-car garage situated in the right front wing.
A young man in a tuxedo and white gloves answered the door with a small bow. Monique smiled. She assumed him to be one of the children of the house playing butler. She found that so sweet. Tyrone guided her gently through the door and they followed the young man into a formal living room. The group was not extremely large, perhaps 12 people. They worked their way to the bar for a cocktail, stopping along the way for introductions and greetings. There was a man standing at the bar, Monique guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. She had met him before and knew his name to be Jake and also knew him to be the other lawyer up for the one available partnership. Tyrone was obviously chummy with him. The two of them bantered easily and seemed very accustomed to one another. Such a shame, she thought, that they were in the spot to rival one another for the position.
She glanced around the room as the men joked. Many of the attendees she knew from previous gatherings. Two of the ladies had even been gracious enough to invite her for lunch with them at the local Country Club while their fellows golfed. One of the younger ladies caught her attention. They had never met, but she remembered her face from a photo in Jake’s office. She must be his wife. She was very pretty, with a young and spunky aura about her. Monique thought hard and remembered the young lady’s name was Deborah. She was wearing a sheer white blouse with many tiny pearl buttons down the front placket and on the long sleeve cuffs. A lace camisole was barely visible through the light fabric. Her dark blonde, shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a neat, high ponytail with a thin silver barrette, and in her ears dangled solitary pearls on short silver chains. Her slacks were navy blue, as were her leather loafers and sheer socks. Pale hands circled a glass of wine, the short nails done in a tasteful light pink polish and every finger adorned with a silver ring, most set with some type of natural stone. She appeared to be sitting on the sofa alone, waiting for her husband to return, no doubt.
Tyrone handed Monique her own glass of wine, and she made her way over to the black velvet sofa and held her hand out to Deborah. “Hi, I’m Monique, Tyrone’s girlfriend. You must be Deborah?” No hand came up to shake Monique’s. “That’s right.” The young lady’s voice was crisp and dripping with something, but it certainly wasn’t friendliness. Looking at her closely, Monique guessed her to be about 26 or 27 years old, with a light complexion and bright green eyes. Not thwarted by the chilly reception, Monique sat down on the couch, making sure to leave space between them, and crossed her legs gracefully. Deborah looked at her coolly. “You know, Jake will get the partnership in the firm this time. I’ll see to it.” Surprised, but not about to let this chit intimidate her, Monique looked Deborah square in the eyes, deep brown to bright green, neither wavering. “I don’t think either one of us can see to that. The man who gets it will be the man who deserves it.” Monique said the words slowly, deliberately. With a smirk, Deborah stood up and made her way to the bar to refill her drink. Monique watched her hips sway as she walked, her body slightly curved and very perky. Her breasts were perky, her butt was perky, even her nose was perky. She was about 5’5” and looked to weigh around 125 pounds. Her slacks clung tightly to her body, accentuating the shapely curves of her behind and showing her slightly rounded belly._ Well, that explained the unpleasant meeting, Monique thought. They were instant enemies because their men were vying for the same position, and all the while the men were chatting contentedly.
Tyrone and Jake worked their way over to Monique and sat one on each side of her. Jake was friendly, as always. He smiled and asked her how she had been and if she had done anything interesting lately. “I‘ve been very well, thank you. I went to that fabulous Van Gogh exhibit at the art museum this afternoon.” This obviously impressed Jake. “Really? I went there with my mother last weekend. Deborah wasn’t able to go.” Deborah was standing behind him by then, and it was obvious that she was annoyed with this conversation. Monique would have bet money that Deborah didn’t go to the art museum because she did not want to go. As she plopped back down on the sofa, she sat as close to her husband as she possibly could, the lengths of their legs touching. Giving her an odd glance, Jake reverted his attention back to Monique. They chatted about the various pieces of artwork they had both viewed at the museum exhibit and about museums in general. They both spent a lot of time in them, and learned that their mothers were the reason for this.
Monique dearly missed her mother, now an elderly, yet still elegant black woman living once again in her hometown of London. After the death of Monique’s father, the traveling to and_ from his familial countries of France and Germany had stopped. It had been a wonderful life for Monique, living during her younger years in both countries of her father’s origin, then in England while she was a teenager. Many family members had surrounded Monique wherever they lived, and she was exposed to a variety of cultures. She had made the decision to attend university in the United States, and had remained despite her distance from relatives. She hoped that someday her mother would come to live with her, but feared she would never leave her home.
Tyrone excused himself to mingle, and Deborah made several attempts to engage her husband in a change of subject. Jake talked to her obligingly for a few moments each time,_then quickly took the conversations back to art with Monique. It was obviously a passion he was not often able to discuss. Deborah began to form a slight pout with her lips. Her arms were soon crossed and her jaw was tight. The glass of wine went more and more frequently to her lips. Another couple soon took seats on the facing sofa and before long the two side chairs were occupied as well. The older gentleman seated in the leather wing-backed chair next to Deborah asked her if she had tried the new French restaurant in town. She crinkled her nose. “No, I don’t particularly care for French cuisine.” Monique, feeling sorry for the gentleman who was just attempting to make small talk, interjected. “We tried it recently, the food was excellent. The French make some of the best dishes in the world.” She was not about to let Deborah knock any part of her ancestry, including the food. The gentleman appeared relieved to be spared from what could have been an awkward moment and smiled broadly at Monique. “On your recommendation, I shall have to try it then, thank you.” He was one of the senior partners in the law firm, and would be one of the main voices in determining which man would obtain his partnership.
Deborah was obviously getting uncomfortable in her position on the couch, squirming back and forth from one butt cheek to the other, crossing then uncrossing her arms and legs. She drank the last half of her wine so quickly, it reminded Monique of a jogger who had forgotten his water bottle. As soon as her glass was empty, Deborah jumped to her feet, presumably for another refill. She turned to Jake. “Honey, let’s go talk to some of the others.” By now there was a group of about ten people standing by the fireplace in the other portion of the_ room, and several men chatting by the bar, including Tyrone. Jack glanced at his wife. “You go ahead, dear. I’m fine here for right now.” Deborah’s face looked a bit paler and somewhat pinched after he said this, but she turned toward the bar without another word to him. Jake turned back to Monique and asked her to tell him more about her mum and their experiences together with culture and art. His boyish good looks brightened when he spoke of his own mother and last week's trip to the museum exhibit. They spoke amicably for a short time, then Monique excused herself to find the powder room. She sat her glass on a crystal coaster on the massive square coffee table. It was made from a deep mahogany and appeared to be an ancient cut-down library table. Jake told her he would be waiting there, he wanted to show her something when she returned.
Monique assumed the restroom would be through the doorway next to the bar and headed in that direction. She quickly noticed that the other men who had been gathered there had moved elsewhere. Besides the woman tending to drinks, Deborah and Tyrone were the last ones remaining. As she got closer to them, Monique saw that the wine glass in Deborah’s hand was again full. Assuming she had not stood there without taking a drink during this time, she must have polished off yet another one. She was talking about the bloodlines of her afghan hounds. Tyrone was listening politely, but appeared unsure how to react with Deborah standing so close and touching his arm every time she made an important point. When he saw her walking by them, Tyrone asked Monique if she was having a nice time. She affirmed and said she would be right back. Deborah smiled at her, but it was a wry smile. There wasn’t any friendliness toward Monique from this woman, and it seemed as though there was a certain challenge to her demeanor. Giggling to herself, Monique realized that Deborah was simply talking to Tyrone as a tit for tat because her own husband was preferring to socialize with Monique this evening. It was so very boarding school childish.
Her hunch had been correct, and she quickly found the powder room. She relieved herself,_ washed and checked herself in the gilded mirror. No damage done, no repairs needed, she decided. Brushing those inevitable loose strands of hair from her cheeks, she made her way back into the party. Her stride was confident and long, her movements lithe like a cat. Her hips swayed fluidly and caused a slight rustle from the lining in her suede skirt.
Monique entered the large room once again. The bar was just to her left, the seating area where they had all been earlier was straight ahead and set up in a big square formed around that coffee table. On the right side of the room was a larger area with several small, more intimate seating areas for two or three people and a huge fireplace. With the exception of Deborah and Tyrone, and the few people sitting in the big square, everyone else there was gathered in the fireplace area. Their voices were a steady hum, with the occasional sophisticated laughter thrown in. Monique noticed that the odor of over-applied perfume and cologne was rather strong with this group. She wore a light musky scent, and was careful not to allow it to enter and leave a room without her.
Jake wasn’t in his seat, and she saw him waving her over to the wall on her right. There was a beautiful painting of a field full of flowers and surrounded by lush, deep greenery, a true Monet he told her. Monique was impressed. These people had excellent taste. She had always adored Monet’s portrayals of fields and meadows, and this picture was no disappointment. She became more observant of her surroundings and something immediately caught her eye. Behind the back of the velvet sofa was a high, narrow table of the same deep wood tones as the other furniture. What got her attention, though, was an item on top of the table. Between a pair of crystal candlesticks holding thick tapers, a plate was displayed_ on a stand. “Oh, Jake, look at this!” Monique pulled on his sleeve to lead him over to the plate. Just as they arrived at the table, their mates finally left their perch in front of the bar and came over to join them. She quickly included Tyrone in her discovery before proceeding. “Look Tyrone, it’s a piece of ancient Tibetan pottery! These are so rare to find intact.” She glowed as she looked at it, her cheeks flushed with the excitement. Jake and Tyrone came closer as she explained how the pottery was made from clay and graphite found in the area around the Mawa Mountain. This particular piece had then been glazed with a colorful swirl and large colored dots splattered randomly across the face. Not only was it rare for still being perfect after several hundred years, it was also not a typical plate made solely for function. During a time when the lower-class could not even secure the most basic functional items, this must have been made for someone very important. “This should be in a museum!”_ Monique was amazed to see something so precious in a living room.
“Ha!” When Deborah interrupted them with her exclamation, they all turned around to look at her. The elderly gentleman, still sitting in the same chair as before, turned to look as well. He was seated between the two sofas, at the end of the coffee table nearest the bar, and was the closest person to them. Deborah was holding yet another glass of wine. “That has to be the tackiest plate I’ve ever seen in my life! I certainly don’t think it would end up in one of your museums!” She rolled her eyes as she said it. Monique’s jaw dropped. “How can you say that? You are lucky to even see something like this!” She moved around the men to get closer to Deborah. Her ecstasy from a moment before had turned to shock at this girl’s lack of respect for some of the finest things life had to offer. Deborah held the finger up from her free hand, tilted it toward Monique, and looked her square in her now smoldering eyes. “You just think you know it all, don’t you? Well, one thing you don’t_ know is that my husband will get the partnership, and I’ll see to it that you don’t get invited to these little functions anymore to take up all his socializing time.” Her voice was getting steadily louder, and her bright irises began to darken. Tyrone and Jake looked at each other in confusion. They never discussed the opposing positions their occupation had put them into.
Monique brought her hands up her sides, rested them just above the slight swell of her hips and moved yet closer to Deborah. They were only a few feet away from one another now. Deborah stepped back slightly, but whether it was on purpose or due to the wine was unclear. It was Monique’s turn to smirk. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle being a proper partner’s wife with an attitude like that?_ And by the way, that wine you’re drinking is French.” With that, she poked the glass with her forefinger, causing some to slosh out and land on Deborah’s shoes. Deborah moved in closer now, reached around Monique and set her glass on the sofa table. The two women were standing face to face now, and all the people sitting in the living area square were intent on watching them. Deborah was several inches shorter, but she still had a spunkiness about her which made her seem bigger than she was. Her head held high, nose in the air, she put her finger on Monique’s breastbone. With each word, she pushed the tip of her finger into the skin beneath. “You - need - to - stay - out - of - my - way. I - will - get - what - I - want.” Monique put her hands on Deborah's shoulders and shook her. As Deborah's torso moved back and forth, the motion of her head was loose and exaggerated; the wine was definitely taking it's toll.
Suddenly, Deborah seemed to come out of her trance and brought her arms up to push Monique's off to the side, away from her shoulders and her body. Free from the hands on her, Deborah turned and began to walk away. Just as she reached the edge of the sofa, Monique grabbed her arm and spun the young blond to face her once again. "You have given me disrespect all evening, and I refuse to take that from you!" It was a determined declaration. By now, several of the people gathered in the space around the crackling hearth had noticed the dispute taking place, nudged their companions to take a look, and they were all moving toward the large seating area. Sensing the audience gathering, Deborah again put her nose up in the air to look at the dark, exotic woman and smiled with obvious contempt and force. The hands on her hips were balled into tight fists. "You are not a decent person, Monique. You are rude and uncultered."_
That was Monique's last straw. How dare this snooty young twit call her uncultured. Oblivious to the crowd gathering around, not paying attention to Tyrone and Jake standing behind her in disbelief, she pulled hard at Deborah's blouse by the lapels. As she yanked, the wobbly girl lost her balance and the sheer fabric ripped, sending tiny pearl buttons flying across the gold plush carpet. Her white lace camisole was exposed and she obviously had no support beneath it, as her nipples showed clearly through the fabric. Deborah looked down at herself for just a moment, and then came at Monique bringing her foot up to deliver a kick to the taller woman's crotch. Seeing the movement coming, Monique grabbed her calf just before any cotanct was made and pulled up. Deborah fell back over the arm of the couch, her legs spread apart, one over the arm and the other on the floor at the front of the sofa. The sudden motion caused her navy slacks to split straight up the middle, from the front to the back. She had on a pair of panties which matched her camisole, and through the white lace, her pubic hairs were visible and obviously not trimmed.
Monique kicked off her pumps and reached toward Deborah. The girl had lost one shoe when she fell back, and the other was quickly pulled off and thrown on the floor. Her eyes were wide and slightly reddened. Monique grabbed her hand and helped pull her back up off the sofa and onto her feet. The moment she was standing, Deborah threw herself at her adversary with full force, but her consumption again slowed her down. "Your pants are already ruined, let's get rid of them." As she side-stepped Deborah's advance, Monique just as quickly grabbed both sides of the damaged slacks and tore them off sideways, the seams splitting with a rip that only exhalted her more. She was glad to be putting this one in her place. "Take off your knee-highs." It was a demanding tone. Still hopeful to outwit, Deborah stood her ground and shook her head from side to side. Monique pushed her onto the floor, grabbed the sheer hosiery by the toes and yanked them off. They were stubborn, so her efforts caused Deborah to scoot down along the carpet and pushed her french-cut panties deep between her butt cheeks.
Literally, Deborah decided she would not take this lying down. She jumped to her feet with as much speed as she was able to muster and grabbed at Monique. She was able to claim a hold on her sleeveless turtleneck at the waist and instinctively threw her arms up and back. With that one swift motion, Monique's arms were brought up by the quick pull of her shirt and it was instantly over her head and clear of her body. The top of her black satin teddy was askew, one of the thin straps off her shoulder, and the ribbon woven through the lace placket which she had tied in a neat bow when she dressed earlier was now hanging loose. Monique's first instinct was to reach out and grab the reddish nipples she saw through the lace camisole and pinch them hard. Deborah gasped. By now, everyone at the cocktail party was tuned into the two women, holding their drinks and silently observing. Tyrone and Jake were still standing next to one another in awe of what was occuring with their partners.
As Monique grabbed Deborah's ponytail and wound it around her hand, the girl fell to her knees with the hard pulls to her head. She began clawing at Moniques legs and the gartered brown tights pulled loose from their clips and were nearly down to her ankles by the time she released her hold on Deborah's hair. The silver barrette snapped off and fell to the floor. The dark blond strands it had contained now fell about the bare shoulders, framing Deborah's pale face with a wild veil. Monique kicked her tights off the rest of the way. Seizing the momentary opportunity from her position on her knees, Deborah took hold of one of the tall woman's smooth, caramel legs and pulled it toward her. Monique fell to the thick carpet, landing on her back and feeling briefly stunned. Deborah was on top of her in a flash, straddling her on the suede skirt and holding her arms down with her own. Monique regained her composure and easily flipped Deborah off her. They were now in the opposite position as a moment ago. The younger lady's chest was rising and falling hard with the exertion of her breathing, her taut nipples showing bright red through the woven fabric of her camisole. Monique had to hitch her skirt in order to straddle, and the lace around the leg openings of her teddy was showing, the attached garter strings dangling between and beside Deborah's legs. "You think you can win just because you want to?" Monique leaned down and hissed in her ear. "We'll see who's in charge of winning now." Deborah squirmed beneath her, but the taller woman was stronger and held her down with ease. Crossing the girls hands above her head on the floor, she held them both with one long-fingered hand as she reached to the side for one of her discarded brown tights. She wound it around Deborah's wrists and tied it with a secure sqaure knot. Gathering up the other one to use on the girl's legs, she hesitated and began pulling off the lacy panties first. Deborah was bucking in protest and trying to kick her legs as Monique pulled off her, but Monique quickly pinned them down with her shins. She slid the panties off pale legs, tied the ankles in the same manner as the arms and sat back to admire her work.
Deborah tried to sit up, her camisole barely brushing the top of her curly pubic bush. The color was slightly darker that that on her head, probably from lack of sunlight to the area. Her eyes were pleading now. "Okay Monique, just let me up. I'll be nicer to you, I promise. We can even be friends if you want." The darker woman pushed her back down with a hand to her chest and sat back on her haunches as if considering the proposition. Deborah seemed to think she was going to get out of this humiliation, so she persisted. "It won't even matter who gets the partnership, we can entertain together. It will be great fun!" Monique looked around. Everyone's eyes were on them. No one was saying a word. Tyrone looked stunned, and Jake appeared confused. He seemed unsure about what he should be doing to help his wife, or what would happen next. The elderly partner was turned to watch them over the arm of his chair, his wrinkled face peering out from beneath the wing. He was obviously as amused as everyone else was shocked. Turning back to her captor, she heard the girl continue with her attempts at release. "Let me up and we'll meet for lunch tomorrow to work this all out. My treat, of course." Monique looked at the wide eyes, amazingly sincere for the first time since she had first seen them. She moved toward Deborah. "I wish you would just keep your mouth shut!" With that, she brought herself back up to straddle her, but above her face this time. She pushed the crotch of her teddy onto the mouth now devoid of lipstick, the front garter strings hanging on flushed cheeks. She felt Deborah's warm breath and felt the vibrations from her muffled protests. The body beneath her was wriggling back and forth desperately. Looking around, she reached for the closest article of clothing she could find, which happened to be the pinned girl's panties. Lifting off her face, Monique stopped any further sounds by wadding the panties up and pushing them into Deborah's mouth._ _
Exhilarated by her handiwork, Monique glanced around at the items in the room. Smiling to herself, she reached for the girl's arms and helped her to her feet. "Hop!" Her voice was firm and demanding. Deborah tried to hop beside her, but kept losing her balance, even with her arm being held for support. Monique got behind her and held the camisole at the wide straps in an effort to keep the girl on her feet, but when Deborah again swayed forward and Monique tried to hold her up, the fabric gave way and the young girl was completely unclothed. Her perky breasts were tipped by flushed red nipples the size of playing marbles, encircled by half-dollars of a lighter rosy hue. Almost to their destination of the large mahogany coffee table, Monique put her arm around the girl's waist and helped her hop, the small breasts barely moving with each jolt. When they got to the table. Monique sat Deborah down on it roughly. The cheeks of her small ass landed on the dark wood, bringing no movement to the sturdy piece of furniture. "Stay there!" It was an order, not to be disputed. To further point out that she meant business, slender fingers reached out and again pinched the cherry nipples that were now exposed to everyone in the room, twisting them this time. They became an even deeper red from the infliction, and Deborah made a small groan in her throat.
Monique made her way around the room, ignoring the bystanders. She first went to the bar and filled a glass with ice from the silver ice bucket. Looking thoughtfully at the slim ice tongs she held in her hand, she took those with her as well. She then made her way through the onlookers to the sofa table holding the precious Tibetan plate and took the two flanking tapers from their holders. Returning to the girl seated on the table with eyes as wide as they could possibly open, she sat her items on the floor next to the elderly gentleman's feet. He had a front row seat now, and was sitting comfortably, his legs crossed and a rock glass with a splash of bourbon in his hand.
Monique looked at Deborah, her body quivering with fear and anxiety of what she was going to do now. She pulled the bound legs apart and felt through the hair centered there_ with slender fingers until she could seperate the hidden pink lips. The smell of baby powder floated to her nostrils. Reaching into the glass of ice, Monique pushed one, then another, then a third sliver into the opening. She heard whimpers coming from behind the panties in Deborah's mouth, felt the girl squirming the bottom half of her body back and forth in an effort to shake off the feeling between her legs. The ice was melting already, water dripping onto the dark wood of the table. Deborah's eyes looked desperate, she just wanted this to end. Monique held together the slender tongs and worked them slowly into the path the ice had taken. As one sensation subsided, another began. Through the numbness brought on by the cold, Deborah felt the metal working back and forth in the wet area that a moment ago had been hers and Jake's alone. Then Monique released the tongs, and they opened inside her like a doctor's tool. The little wimpers turned into one deep groan.
Monique seemed almost as a mad woman,_ the proceedings giving her a rush of adrenaline, some sort of a strange high brought on by her new-felt power. She squeezed the tongs back together and blissfully for Deborah, removed them. Just as there was a visible relaxing in her body, the dreaded words came."Turn over!" She looked up at Monique in confusion. What did she want from her now? "Knees on the floor, chest on the table!" Deborah, looking like a worn-out, haggard older woman now, slid off the table and onto her knees. She scooted around until she was able to lay her chest onto the wet table. Her perky breasts were now squashed under her body, the taut nipples hidden beneath her in the pools of water. She laid her head on the table and waited...
Monique took her time now. She was relishing this, she had never felt so empowered and satisfied with bringing someone down a few pegs. She took one of the thick tapered candles and slid it into Deborah's pussy. She thrust it in and out with vigor, not stopping even when the moans from the table became squeals. For a moment she stopped and let the candle rest there, inside the girl. Monique opened the container of bar wax and took out a glob of the paste. She rubbed it around the tapered half of the other candle and worked the long, firm, now slippery object into the tight ass sticking up in the air. Deborah writhed and groaned deep in her throat, as both candles were worked diligently and relentlessly inside her, pounding into her again and again without mercy.
After some time, no more sound came from the young blond. She was spent, as was her provoked assailant. Monique had a mist of perspiration on her brow and in the space between her breasts. She pulled the punishments out of Deborah, untied her ankles and helped her limp body stand up. She then removed the bindings from the wrists and lastly, removed the panties from her mouth. "Is there anything you'd like to say to me now, dear?" Deborah looked up at this tall, elegant woman and shook her head from side to side. She would never say anything again, she thought.
Monique turned to collect her clothing and noticed as she walked by the elderly gentleman, the important senior partner, that he was smiling broadly at her and gave a slight nod as she passed. She suddenly didn't have any more worries about who would get the partnership.___
