Story: If You Only Knew, Part 1

Discussion in 'Stories' started by headslave, Apr 12, 2009.

  1. headslave

    headslave New Member

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    If You Only Knew by M. Roulette
    Years ago, I found myself embroiled in some rather inappropriate, though, no doubt common, office politics. I wrote this to blow off some steam. It remained scrawled in a journal of mine filled with random bits of nothing in particular. Until now.

    22 September; 11:36a

    I know it’s tough to be a man. I know it’s even harder to be in charge — so many demands being made on you, everyone expecting that you have all the answers; to be in control. Especially when I know you aren’t, really. That it’s all a big facade. I know what you really want; that you wish you could let it all go and be yourself. I know you want to be that with me.

    That’s why I don’t like the game you seem to be playing. It makes me angry and want to do things I know I shouldn’t. That you shouldn’t let me. After all, you’re the boss. You should know better than this. You should expect better of me. I makes me fear you don’t really know me at all. Worse, it makes me want to show you what I really am. And I know, at first, you’re not going to like it. Not at all.

    I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what would have really happened, had I not walked away. You didn’t know what I’d brought with me that day; just in case. I told myself that I was sick of you. What you were doing to me. How you made me feel. You thought I was going to be under your thumb. That you could just take control of me, and I’d like it. You thought I was that kind of girl. You didn’t know how wrong you were.

    That’s why when you’d said to me what you did this morning, I stopped by my apartment for lunch. Of course, I returned with my bag as usual, never liking to keep my purse anywhere that it could seem inviting to sticky fingers. I knew you weren’t that sort of naughty boy, so it was safe in your office. Of course, that afternoon, it wasn’t just my purse I was keeping hidden. I brought what I knew I’d need to teach you a lesson. And had it not been for a lapse of momentary sanity, you would be at my feet right now, instead of back home with a woman who doesn’t understand you, and me with a man that I hate and only use for sex when I feel like it. (It beats having to go out and play the bar scene. Ugh. Really, now.)

    No, you were the one I wanted. But you’d made me so angry, I wasn’t sure I could do it without really hurting you — and we both know that you couldn’t have taken that. You’re a lightweight at this point, and unless you did something to really piss me off, I had no real desire to break you down completely. Just enough so that you dropped this image of being what I know you’re not. Instead, it’s just what I’ll have to envision tonight while I’m using my boyfriend’s cock so that I can get off, as I usually do. I’ll just have to imagine you, instead, and what I would have done had I not had the sense to walk away.

    Oh, I’m sure you would love to know what I would have done to you. Unfortunately, you never will. But for my own pleasure, I’m going to write it all down in this notebook, inches from you, ignoring any playful inquiries into what I may be writing during my coffee break.

    If you only knew.

    That’s enough for now. Back to work.

    22 September; 4:06p
    I figured I could steal about five minutes and write a few more things down before I forgot them.

    Where was I?

    Oh, right …

    I already had everything at my disposal, and soon, I would’ve had you, too. But I’m getting ahead of myself, again, and your oblivious smile is only infuriating me further. You’re lucky I don’t grab you by the hair right now and shove your face into the paper. But, it might break your glasses. And I might get fired. Although, I’d love to hear you try and explain it to corporate. Can you imagine what sort of controversy it would build up around your burgeoning career?

    No, no, no.

    I have you right where I want you. Even now.

    Go on. Keep smiling. I may have to set this aside until later, you may have convinced me that you deserve the abuse after all.

    That’s right … keep smiling.

    23 September; 10:48a

    Today is a new day, and I’m sure the orgasm I enjoyed last night (thanks to my fantasy of what I would have done to you the other day) is radiating from every pore. I’ve still got the tools. Don’t tempt me.

    But there’s something different about you. You’re not smiling, and the way you keep looking over at, though you’re not facing, me while I know you’re on the phone with The Big Guy is not exactly comforting. Your tone is hurried, and your voice is low.

    Hmmm. You’d better not be doing something else stupid.

    Now that you’ve left your office for the time being, I can write in peace. So, new plan. I’ve decided to write it all down. Things did not go well that night when you made your move, and I’m wondering if my job is potentially in jeopardy because of your fuck-up. That’s right — your fuck-up. After I was so good to you. Dutiful. Appropriate. Acting intelligently while your cock led us into all kinds of precarious positions, and, had I not been the smart one, would’ve gotten us both canned weeks ago. Nice going, Einstein. Now it looks like I’m going to be taking the brunt of it.
    That’s okay. Two can play this game. And I only play to win.

    You may flip things around. May make it seem like it was my fault. That’s all right. You need this job more than I do, and you’ve got a lot more to lose. I’ll just make sure that this finds its way to you long after the smoke has cleared and the dust settled. I guess you’d just hope your girlfriend doesn’t find it first. Especially if you have plans of upgrading your relationship anytime soon. Wives don’t typically like tales of how their husbands came onto their employees. It’s bad form. I’d hate to see you get involved in something nasty like that. Underneath it all, I think you’re an okay guy. Don’t make me regret my generosity. Of course, your suffering would hardly be undeserved, since I was the one who walked away.

    Don’t forget that.

    Oh, you’re back. Guess I’ll have to stop for now. Especially since you don’t look happy. Just wait. I’m far less cheerful than I look. You have no idea who you’re fucking with. But that’s all right. You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you? I’ve done far worse to men for far less. You’d better be grateful for how good I’ve been to you up until now, because those days are over. Jekyll’s gone away for now. Time to meet Hyde. Terribly sorry; I’m afraid you won’t like her.

    Oh, but I will.

    … Continued.

    For more free erotica, real life thoughts (both audio and written), or to keep up with Mistress Roulette, visit her home on the web at
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  2. Prissy

    Prissy Member

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    Wow, I love story
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  3. headslave

    headslave New Member

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    Thank you. I myself have written some erotica, but this is by my Mistress and is from some fantasies she had from a real life work situation. Real life does make for some of the best erotica.
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  4. headslave

    headslave New Member

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    She just finished and posted the second part today.
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  5. Prissy

    Prissy Member

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    Really, Where is it, I cannot find it.
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  6. headslave

    headslave New Member

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  7. headslave

    headslave New Member

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    Here's part II in its entirety. The ending of the story has been posted if anyone's curious.

    Here's Part II

    24 September; 11:22a
    My boy-toy was begging to be fucked last night, so I finally let him. Only on the premise that I was taping you to your chair. (Oh, I know I’m jumping ahead. Again. But we just have so much duct tape!) Anyway, somewhere between making you beg me to let you come, and my imagining lines of red welts across your ass, I experienced some wonderful release myself. So, I guess you’re not completely useless after all. I’m pretty sure you’re not a masochist, though, which makes the thought of causing you real pain even more arousing. You don’t want to know how wet I am right now, and I’m not so reckless to let you find out.

    Let’s see …

    Today is the first day of my writing it all down. I figured I would have plenty of time typing it all out in the comfort of my own home, except that it’s less personal, and not nearly as much fun as doing it while you’re feet from me. So, the whole thing will be composed right here, in this chair, as we go about our daily business. If you ask to see it, I’ll think up something clever and humiliating to make you drop the line of questioning immediately. (I love how pink you get when you blush. It’d be kind of cute if I hadn’t already decided to destroy you.) Oh, and I know if you knew that you’d be so hard you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. But since you’re in denial about the whole thing, that’d be even more terrible for you. Which is why I’m going to make sure this gets to you, word-for-word, someday.

    Now, then. To begin at the beginning. First-person, present tense. (My favourite.)

    You’ve just made your move and been subsequently shot down. There’s no one but us on the premises, and you’ve turned the music lower and are hiding certain embarrassment. You thought you’d be fucking me up against the wall by now. Instead, you’re going to find yourself suddenly grateful they’re made of such sturdy concrete. (Not that the neighbouring businesses could tell that it was you screaming. But, still.) On the off-chance someone happened to come by for some strange reason that late, I’d setup behind the large steel shelves, which take the weight of heavy chain well. But before we get too far in with what I might be doing to you over there, let’s start with how I’d even get started.

    You think it’s business as usual. You’re rejected, feeling sorry for yourself, and wondering where-oh-where it all went wrong. You wander back into your office, finishing up the books for the day, not expecting me to be there at your desk, with the roll of duct tape behind my back. And as you catch sight of me, in your moment of confusion, I take total advantage of the awkwardness you’re feeling, slide the roll down my arm like an over-sized bracelet, and grab your shirt collar with my other hand, yanking hard and pulling you down to the surface of your desk while I undo your belt. Now, you think I’ve changed my mind, and I’ll see you smile with unexpected glee. Of course, it happens so quickly, you don’t realise why I’m taking your belt off, or what I plan to do to you with it. For now, it just seems really hot, and you’re sure you’re getting lucky. It’ll still be really hot — but you’ll feel anything but lucky.

    Belt off, I suddenly retrieve the utility scissors from my pocket. You know them well; we use them everyday. Sure, now you’re confused — and a little alarmed. Even more so as I begin cutting straight down your slacks, rendering them useless. I’m not thinking pragmatically right now; just how much fun it’s going to be for me to watch you drive home in your boxers. Or, maybe nude. I haven’t decided if they won’t see the same fate as your pants. (Hope they were expensive. They looked to be mid-range.) Shirts are fairly easy to rip, especially our shirts, given the company didn’t exactly contract the highest quality clothiers. Buttons go flying; ricocheting off of this and that, and I’ll probably make you collect them after I’m through with you. You won’t refuse me anything by that point. You’d never refuse me anything after this.

    Now you’re standing there in front of me, pants-less with your shirt ripped open and exposing your relatively fit chest and abdomen. I’m silently admiring just how much working out you truly do outside of working, which you already do too much of anyway. Sane men would be home with their girlfriends and wives by this point; not hanging about in their underwear with their kinky employees. You’re setting a terrible example, and I’m going to need to punish you for it. Severely. What you’ll hate most of all is discovering how much you love it. That’ll be the best revenge I could ever exact.

    I move my fingers across the fabric encasing your cock with the lightest touch, and it practically leaps in response. Hard, as I wanted. I tell you it isn’t acceptable, and your expression changes to one of confusion. Now, you notice the roll of duct tape, especially since I’m beginning to yank some off in long strips. I order you to bring your hands together. You refuse me. That’s okay. I knew you would the first time. I tell you I’ll give you the best blow-job you’ve ever had if you put your hands together. You think about it for a minute, but your hormones win out over your good sense — unsurprisingly — and you brings you hands together after all, muttering something about watching the arm hair. I pretend not to hear you; after all, I’m binding your wrists anyway. I loop the tape around you once, twice, three times before deciding it’s sufficient, and you’re not going anywhere. Then, I grab you by the hair, (and enjoy your complaining that it hurts and various related expletives) and shove your body down to your knees. (That concrete hurts like a bitch, don’t it?)

    You’re starting to regret having let me get this far, especially now that I’m binding your feet together in the same fashion. No, not your ankles, but your feet — soles together, legs apart. You’re already down on your knees, so getting up is going to be the sort of challenge I know you’re not really up for, and this guarantees you’ll have no way to even try and stand. I’ve little to worry about you going anywhere. Besides. I know that little voice in your head that can’t help but be insanely turned on by all of this won’t let you do anything but see it through to its chilling end — where you’ll have no other choice but to come to terms with exactly who and what you are; not to mention, never going back to this lame excuse for what you’ve never been. That ends tonight.

    Now, I pull your chair toward you and sit down in it. Your head is the perfect level to give me the greatest cunt-licking I’ve had since this one guy I taught in college, but you’ll learn quickly, if you’ve not figured it out already, that you hardly deserve it. No, I’m just going to watch you, fingering the strip of duct tape I’ve yet to use, and wondering if I want to gag you, too. But it’s fun to listen to you ask me repeatedly what’s going to happen to you and ignore you each time. Instead, I’m just going to sit here for the moment, refrain from tasting your lips, even though I’ve thought about it before, and let you be terrified over what may happen to you next as I double your belt in my hands, and prop my chin upon my elbow against my knee. Just watching you.

    Fine mess you’re in now, boy.

    Damn. Day off tomorrow — and much deserved, I’ll admit. Guess I’ll resume after that.

    … Continued in Part III.
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  8. allen

    allen New Member

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    great story..

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