enemy and soon to be bête noire.
She looked professional,
dressed immaculately in a crisp white shirt, smart black skirt, sheer black
tights and polished shiny black heels. Her outfit contrasted sharply with that
of the normally powerful Mr Jenkins, who looked ridiculous chained in just his
white underpants.
“What’s the meaning of
this, what are you doing here, this is outrageous,” his words stumbled out,
over one another as he looked at her gobsmacked.
She held a finger to
his lips.
“Shhh, that’s enough
talking for now.”
Her voice was smooth, silky,
with a husky intonation.
She stepped back
slightly and withdrew a pair of silver scissors from behind her back, raising
an eyebrow as she ran a finger along its sharp edge.
“What am I to do with
you Conrad, what am I to do?”
Mr Jenkins looked at
her in shocked bewilderment, before violently rattling the metal structure he
was cuffed to. Just as before his bonds didn’t budge an inch.
“Get me off this
infernal thing,” he shouted enraged, demanding to be let lose.
He looked at her
seething, his breathing had become heavy, his face a furious red.
“All in good time, all
in good time,” she said unfazed, ignoring his complaints. “First I have a few
demands.”
She stepped forward,
scissors in hand.
“Keep still,” she said,
running the sharp blade gently against his chest. “I wouldn’t want there to be
any accidents."
He winced feeling the
cold steel against his soft, bare, skin. Much to his horror she went lower,
running the metal gently over his cotton boxers.
“Nice pants,” she said,
snapping the waistband. “Lets see what’s underneath shall we.”
She looked him in the
eye as he squirmed before her, panting, trying in earnest to move his body away
from her. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, he was gasping in stunned
panic like a stranded fish out of water. He almost felt like he was losing
consciousness.
Carla proceeded to
crisply cut both sides of his boxers, removing them fully with one gentle tug.
She exposed his dangling little penis, his disproportionally large, low hanging
balls.
“Looks like you’ll be
going commando,” she said, tossing his pants aside dismissively.
He looked at her
speechless, mouth still agape.
She stood before him, one
knee bent, arms folded, with an amused grin as her gaze drifted downwards.
“What do you want?” he
asked glumly, regaining some composure.
“Now that is the
question.” She tapped her lips, in no hurry. “Hmmm, what do I want, maybe just
some fun or maybe for you and your cronies in government to stop making
people’s lives miserable. I’ve had enough of your smug, arrogant, self-satisfied
style of doing things. I expect you to follow my orders from now on.”
“Hah,” he said,
shaking his head. “Not in your lifetime.”
“I don’t think you
understand me Conrad,” she said, moving forward holding his head still by his
chin. “This is non negotiable, and in any case I don’t think you’re in much of
a position to negotiate. Do you?”
He scornfully looked
away. She let go and turned to her left, surveying a row of hooks and a metal
shelf. They contained whips, clamps and various bondage regalia that looked
like medieval instruments of torture.
“First things first
though, time for that fun.”
He could only watch as
she extracted a riding crop from a hook and turned towards him with a wicked
smile.
Ms La Verne held the
crop behind her back, poised ready to strike. As she swung Conrad flinched,
wincing in anticipation, his eyes tightly knitted shut. She stopped at the last
moment, a whisker away from striking his cheek.
“I’ve had enough of
you sauntering about like you’re the King of England,” she said, running its
leather tip over his face, ‘From now on you’ll be doing as I say. Understand?”
He was silent, glaring
at her with narrowed eyes as he weighed up his limited options.
“What’s the matter,
cat got your tongue?” she
She looked professional,
dressed immaculately in a crisp white shirt, smart black skirt, sheer black
tights and polished shiny black heels. Her outfit contrasted sharply with that
of the normally powerful Mr Jenkins, who looked ridiculous chained in just his
white underpants.
“What’s the meaning of
this, what are you doing here, this is outrageous,” his words stumbled out,
over one another as he looked at her gobsmacked.
She held a finger to
his lips.
“Shhh, that’s enough
talking for now.”
Her voice was smooth, silky,
with a husky intonation.
She stepped back
slightly and withdrew a pair of silver scissors from behind her back, raising
an eyebrow as she ran a finger along its sharp edge.
“What am I to do with
you Conrad, what am I to do?”
Mr Jenkins looked at
her in shocked bewilderment, before violently rattling the metal structure he
was cuffed to. Just as before his bonds didn’t budge an inch.
“Get me off this
infernal thing,” he shouted enraged, demanding to be let lose.
He looked at her
seething, his breathing had become heavy, his face a furious red.
“All in good time, all
in good time,” she said unfazed, ignoring his complaints. “First I have a few
demands.”
She stepped forward,
scissors in hand.
“Keep still,” she said,
running the sharp blade gently against his chest. “I wouldn’t want there to be
any accidents."
He winced feeling the
cold steel against his soft, bare, skin. Much to his horror she went lower,
running the metal gently over his cotton boxers.
“Nice pants,” she said,
snapping the waistband. “Lets see what’s underneath shall we.”
She looked him in the
eye as he squirmed before her, panting, trying in earnest to move his body away
from her. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, he was gasping in stunned
panic like a stranded fish out of water. He almost felt like he was losing
consciousness.
Carla proceeded to
crisply cut both sides of his boxers, removing them fully with one gentle tug.
She exposed his dangling little penis, his disproportionally large, low hanging
balls.
“Looks like you’ll be
going commando,” she said, tossing his pants aside dismissively.
He looked at her
speechless, mouth still agape.
She stood before him, one
knee bent, arms folded, with an amused grin as her gaze drifted downwards.
“What do you want?” he
asked glumly, regaining some composure.
“Now that is the
question.” She tapped her lips, in no hurry. “Hmmm, what do I want, maybe just
some fun or maybe for you and your cronies in government to stop making
people’s lives miserable. I’ve had enough of your smug, arrogant, self-satisfied
style of doing things. I expect you to follow my orders from now on.”
“Hah,” he said,
shaking his head. “Not in your lifetime.”
“I don’t think you
understand me Conrad,” she said, moving forward holding his head still by his
chin. “This is non negotiable, and in any case I don’t think you’re in much of
a position to negotiate. Do you?”
He scornfully looked
away. She let go and turned to her left, surveying a row of hooks and a metal
shelf. They contained whips, clamps and various bondage regalia that looked
like medieval instruments of torture.
“First things first
though, time for that fun.”
He could only watch as
she extracted a riding crop from a hook and turned towards him with a wicked
smile.
Ms La Verne held the
crop behind her back, poised ready to strike. As she swung Conrad flinched,
wincing in anticipation, his eyes tightly knitted shut. She stopped at the last
moment, a whisker away from striking his cheek.
“I’ve had enough of
you sauntering about like you’re the King of England,” she said, running its
leather tip over his face, ‘From now on you’ll be doing as I say. Understand?”
He was silent, glaring
at her with narrowed eyes as he weighed up his limited options.
“What’s the matter,
cat got your tongue?” she
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