Lisa Learns Her Place Ch 02

Author's Note: This story contains strong sexist and racist language and is definitely NOT for everyone. I co-wrote this with a friend who knew this was my fantasy so if you find raceplay offensive, please do not read any further.

*

Day 2

When I get into the office the following day, I get a message from my assistant. Apparently Trip wants to see me in his office, immediately. Fuck, it's only nine in the morning. Helluva way to start the day, summoned by the CFO. Just what I need. As I make my way through the cubicle farm, I notice something's different about the office today. It's hard to place. New carpet? Some light bulbs been replaced? Hmm, maybe some new lamps? Then I realize it's that you're not at your desk. Huh. New lamps would have been more exciting.

I knock on Martin's door and he calls me in. I open the thick wooden door and step into his office and see you sitting in one of his leather upholstered chairs. I pause for a quick second, my heart in my throat, but it's not out of fear. You're not wearing your glasses. Rage nearly overwhelms me, and it's all I can do not to walk over and choke you with one hand while slapping you repeatedly with the other. Little fucking worthless disobedient gook slut fuckdoll. I'm so upset with you I can barely think, much less speak, and I need to stand motionless in the doorway for a long instant while I regain control of myself. I make a silent promise that you'll be punished for angering me so and ruining my morning.

I manage to step into Trip's office, noticing in passing that you look like you've been crying and haven't slept, just looking terrible in general. I half-heartedly wonder what could be wrong, and see that a couple of Trip's plants are dying. He should probably get someone to water them more often. He does have a nice desk though, and whoever picked out his artwork is much better than my guy.

"Have a seat, Taylor."

I swing myself down into one of the soft chairs along the wall, directly perpendicular to you. You can't really see me except out of the corner of your eyes, you're facing Trip, and I'm off to his left. "What's up, Trip?"

"Lisa here has told me something that has me a little worried, Brad."

"You don't say. And what's that, Trip?" My eyes are locked on you, watching your face, seeing you blinking back tears. This must be hard for you, I know. I should get my shoes polished during lunch.

Trip's doing his "serious boss voice," the one he saves for meetings with the CEO. I almost break out laughing, but I know that would ruin things. I want it to be a surprise. "Lisa tells me that yesterday morning, you used some language with her, called her some names, that she found offensive." He turns to you, a look of concern and sympathy on his face. His almost-silver hair is thick and full, parted on the right, reminding of James Brolin. Very presidential. Good look for a CFO. I make a mental note to ask him who his barber is. "Lisa, stop me if I'm wrong, but you told me that Taylor here called you, among other things, a 'gook,' a 'slant,' a 'cunt,' a 'bitch,' a 'whore' and a 'slut.' Is that right?"

Trip's really giving it his all, leaning towards you with each word, really letting you hear them. It's great. I watch you wince with each utterance, shrinking lower in your chair. By the time our CFO calls you a slut, you're visibly sobbing, but silently. I can feel myself growing hard watching it. You manage to nod, your head down. "Y...Yes," you whisper.

"Hmmm." Trip continues, "And she also told me that after our meeting yesterday -- splendid presentation by the way, Brad, just splendid -- she told me that after the meeting, you..."sexually assaulted" her in your office? Is that true, Taylor?"

I shrug. "Well, to be honest, Trip, I don't know if legally it would be considered an assault. She definitely seemed to enjoy it."

Trip smirks, your head still down, crying. I can tell Martin's trying not to laugh. "Well let me see here. Lisa tells me that not only did you have her remove all her clothes, but that you made her perform felattio on you; you fornicated with her on the floor of your office; and then you masturbated yourself in front of her, humiliating her by ejaculating on her face and chest. Is that accurate, Lisa?"

You sniffle loudly, trying to control your tears, and nod silently, quickly, staring at the floor.

"Well, Taylor. Hmm." Trip moved around to perch on the front of his big wooden desk, his legs crossed one over the other, his grey suit slacks immaculately creased, thin grey wool socks visible above his gleaming black Thom McAns. He was wearing a three-piece suit today, and the waistcoat had a slimming effect that I noted. "This whole thing does seem a bit messy."

"It was, Trip, quite messy."

Martin almost loses it at that, but manages to somehow keep a straight face. His serious voice cracks just a bit as he resumes speaking, but he quickly brings it under control and I don't think you've noticed in between your sobs, which have become quite annoying, like the dripping of a faucet. I find myself anticipating your next heaving convulsion, the next simpering breath, and begin wondering if this is all really worth it. You're proving to be quite the hassle, but I remind myself that most projects worth taking on aren't easy. You'll learn. I wouldn't have taken you on to begin with if I didn't see in you the potential to be turned into a faithful, obedient little Asian fuck slave.

"So, Lisa," Trip continues, fighting to keep a smile off his face, ending up with some contorted Joker-esque grin, but fortunately for our fun you can't even raise your head, "You do realize that these are very serious allegations. If it's true, not only will I have to immediately fire Mr. Taylor here, but I'm guessing you would have strong grounds for a number of different sexual harassment lawsuits, against both him and possibly the firm. I can only hope that you would understand that the firm and its partners and executives had no knowledge of Mr. Taylor's activities, and would wholeheartedly support you in any legal action you chose to take against him."

Your head pops up, looking at Trip, staring through your tears and your short hair that's fallen over your forehead. I see your cheeks streaked and sunken, you obviously didn't sleep much last night, if at all. The sudden hope in your eyes is so pathetic, and I immediately feel my cock harden completely, throbbing against my leg.

Trip lets you enjoy the moment, letting your imagination and your hope soar, the adrenalin surely coursing through your veins. Then he speaks, "I assume, Lisa, that you have some proof of your accusations, something that can substantiate your story? Because I know you understand, your word alone would hardly be enough." The anxious expression that had begun to form on your face fades, your hopes falling. I notice a small bug crawling along the arm of my chair, and move my hand to let it pass. It's got small blue eyes that catch the light in an interesting way. "I would hope you would appreciate, Lisa, that it would hardly be proof for someone like you -- " Trip pauses and gazes down at you for a moment, his meaning fully clear " -- to accuse someone like Mr. Taylor here, going on just your word. That would truly be a futile endeavor."

Then your eyes brighten once more, for what I'm guessing is the final time. "There's proof, Mr. Martin, sir." I smile broadly, both at the reflexive "sir" and at what I know is coming. "Bradley, he... took photos. H-He has them on his phone!" Your voice is cracking, pleading... begging. Your eyes are desperate.

Trip glances over at me, then back at Lisa, a smile inexorably creeping across his features. I can't blame him, he's done so well to this point remaining stoic and solemn, the great grim arbiter of fairness. But the mask is finally slipping, and you see it fall. "Lisa, I'm not going to check Taylor's phone."

"But..."

Martin interrupts yours pathetic bleating, "I don't need to check his phone." He reaches back onto his desk and grabs his own iPhone, flipping quickly through his photos, and then holding it up so that you have a perfect view of the screen. "I've already seen the photos. And the video. Taylor emailed them to me right after you left."

The look on your face is utterly beautiful, natural law in action, your will and resolve and hope all destroyed in an instant. Any dreams you had of revenge or justice are wiped away in a heartbeat as you see yourself, your face, being splashed with my hot cum, over and over again as Martin hits the replay button on the video I had made. After a moment, he turns the screen so that he can see, and frowns. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry!" He presses a button on the side a few times. "I totally forgot the volume." The sounds of your moans fill the office, my grunts and your whimpers and groans echoing off the walls, and then the three of us hear you begging, clearly, perfectly, "Cum on me, sir!" It's wonderful.

The moment is perfect, more perfect than I could have engineered myself. Martin's devastation of you is a thing of beauty. I thought my work the day before had been nice, but I realize that in this 60-year old silver-haired man I've found a mentor, an inspiration. He took what I had done and had surpassed it in an instant. I felt like applauding his genius, but I contented myself with smiling at him, this man 30 years my senior, who had so much to teach me.

He smiled back, grinning from ear to ear like a schoolboy who's just received top marks on an exam. It's so nice to see evidence that one can still get pleasure from the little things in life, even at an advanced age. Then Trip turned back to you. You've utterly collapsed, your small shoulders hunched down, your arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as if you're going to be sick, your head almost resting on your knees. You'd dressed in tight black slacks today, with a pale blue blouse, small earrings with some clear gem, maybe a diamond. You look like you were trying hard to look nice, to present yourself professionally, as if that would make a difference. And now you just look that much more pathetic for your ignorance, for thinking it could have any effect on what happened today. I watch as your body slowly bobs up and down, holding yourself tight, squeezing yourself in your arms, moaning softly, broken, sobbing, whimpering, almost drooling, and I hear a low moaning "No..." from your lips. My cock is threatening to burst from my pants, and I'm anxious to get back to resume your training.

But Trip beats me to it. He stands up from his desk, and I see that he's apparently as engorged by your masterful humiliation as I am. The front of his suit pants are visibly stained, and I can see that he's about to pop right through them. He solves the dilemma by unzipping his trousers and reaching inside, and as I watch, he pulls out his dick, swollen and firm, a little longer than mine and about as thick. For an older guy, he's certainly got no problems in that department. Good for him.

He steps forward to stand in front of you, putting his hands gently on your shoulders, the grotesquely swollen head of his dick casually resting on your hair, rubbing against you, and I see strands of black hair clumping together as he paints you with his precum.

"Lisa... Lisa." His voice is soft and low, totally different from the "serious voice," or from any voice I've ever heard him use. It's almost -- fatherly. I sit back and begin taking copious mental notes. I'm humble enough to know when I'm in the presence of genius. "Lisa, sweetie. From what I understand, Brad here was absolutely correct to do what he did." His hands move over your head, stroking your short hair soothingly. "He, and I, we know what's best for you. I've been around the block more than once. And it's for your own good that he did what he did. He's helping you more than you can possibly understand."

It's a ludicrous scene, this silver-haired 60-year old standing over the tiny, young Vietnamese slut, his bulbous, veiny cock rubbing in her shiny hair as he speaks to her as a father would. I don't crack up in laughter only because of how impressed I am. "Brad was just doing something that I should have done years ago. I saw you when you first started here, I've seen you working her, slaving here, for years, showing up early and staying late, and for what? I can't honestly believe you thought that anyone cared, or that anyone appreciated your effort. No one is that naïve, are they?"

Trip put his hand under your chin, lifting your face, and you see his bare cock for the first time. Your red-rimmed eyes widen comically, and you look up at him. "You're not that naïve, are you Lisa? You didn't really think that you were ever going to be more than the office slut, did you?"

He looked down at her, shook his head sadly. "Oh my. You really did think you were going to get promoted, didn't you? Oh dear. That's precious." Martin crouched down and wrapped his arms around you, his dick still hanging, hard and rubbery, between his suit-clad legs. He hugged you to him, pulling your still sobbing body against his, drying your tears on his $3,000 suit, patting your head gently, almost lovingly. It's almost sweet. After a minute, you sobs begin to subside, and he releases you and stands back up. You've managed to sit up now, and you draw your arm across your face, embarrassed, wiping snot and tears and saliva onto your blouse.

"Lisa, please understand, all that Brad was doing was trying to prepare you for reality. If he, if we, had let you go on believing that you could ever amount to more than you really are, why, that would just be cruel. Cruel, and unfair to you."

As he spoke, Martin casually stepped forward so that the head of his dick is pressed against your lips. I see your face, half shock, half lust, totally confused and scared and ashamed. It reminds me of yesterday, and I slowly rub my palm across the massive erection straining at my pants, pressing down on myself through the fabric as I watch him work. "Open your mouth, sweetie." I've never heard him speak as softly, as gently. "It's okay, open up. Go ahead."

Your lips slowly part, and he slides his hips forward slowly, pushing his throbbing dick into your mouth, moaning softly as your warm tongue wraps around his massive member, your eyes closing as you try to adjust your throat. Martin groans softly, "That's wonderful, dear. You're doing great. You're such a good little cocksucker. I'm so proud of you." His hand moves to the back of your head and gently strokes your hair, letting you begin a slow, steady bobbing motion on his dick. "That's so nice, honey. Daddy's so proud of you."

I feel my cock leaking through my pants as I stroke myself, watching the two of you, trying to hold off pulling myself out as long as I can, enjoying the show.

"Lisa, honey?" Take your clothes off. You don't need those anymore." I watch as you continue sucking Martin's dick, maintain a steady rhythm while your fingers move to your blouse, undoing the buttons easily, shrugging the thin fabric off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. You reach behind yourself and undo your bra, and It joins your shirt. Martin's cock has never left your mouth. I'm impressed. You have a lot of natural, innate talent, as I knew, but I'm surprised how quickly it's emerged. Martin reaches down and gently unclasps your earrings, taking them off you, pocketing them. "You don't need these. Please don't wear them ever again."

You try to nod with a mouthful of cock, and only succeed in momentarily gagging yourself. Your eyes tear up, and Martin pulls back enough to relieve the pressure on your throat. "It's okay honey. Take it slow. You've got so much to learn, there's no need to rush it. I hope you know that neither Brad nor myself have any desire to hurt you. I know he got a little rough with you yesterday, but I'm guessing you deserved it, didn't you, sweetie?" You don't try to nod again, but he goes on. "I'm sure he didn't want to do what he did, didn't want to cause you pain, but sweetie, if you don't listen, if you don't obey, than sometimes things have to happen. But it's always for your own good, I promise you. You can trust me. And you can trust Brad." He turns to me, thrusting his hips forward as he does, his hips almost flush against your face and I see you struggling to relax your throat to take him in. Trip doesn't seem to notice the discomfort he's causing you. "Isn't that right, Taylor? My little girl can trust us, right?"

"Absolutely, Trip, absolutely." I slowly get to my feet, my erection almost painful in my suit pants, jutting noticeably against the dark fabric, tenting the material and leaving a large dark stain on the expensive navy wool. Trip looks down at my crotch and laughs, and his body's convulsions cause his dick to push down your throat, hard, and you gag loudly, tears springing from your eyes. Trip looks down at you, "Oh, sorry honey, my fault. You're doing great, you're coming along real well." Then to me, "Taylor, bud, you look like you could use a little help with that. Why don't you c'mon over here and let my little girl here take care of you."

"That sounds fine, Trip, thanks." I move across the room, watching your head bobbing on Trip's dick, your mouth making small slurping sounds as you enthusiastically work on his cock. I see his shaft gleaming each time you pull your head back, your saliva thick on his thick cock. I can tell that you're taking him almost all the way down your throat with each movement of your small head, and I can't help but be impressed and pleased with your quick progress. You're obviously a quick and willing learner, despite your terrible behavior this morning, and I feel a sense of elation and pride in my selection of you.

As I near the two of you, Trip looks up at me. "So, Taylor, what did you have in mind?"

"Well, Trip, to be honest, I'm still a little upset with her. The way she acted this morning, doing what she did, I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little bothered by it."

The older man reached over and patted me gently on the shoulder as you suck particularly hard, making a guttural slobbering sound around his thick tool. "And you've got a right to be upset, son. I don't blame you, and she doesn't blame you either, does she?" He looks down at you, and you look up, meeting his gaze, your mouth and throat stuffed full of 60-year old cock, your thin lips stretched wide around his shaft. You somehow manage to shake your head slightly, drooling down your chin in the process. "See, Brad? She doesn't blame you either. But frankly, that's for you and her to work out in your own time. We're going to need to have some ground rules for this arrangement if things are to progress equitably. Like a contract."

"That sounds fine, Trip." I've unzipped my pants, and finally get to pull out my throbbing dick. It's visibly leaking, the tip shiny with precum. As we talk, I casually push my dick against your face, leaving a viscous streak of precum along your cheek, a trail that leads all the way from your ear to the corner of your mouth. "What did you have in mind?"

"Go on, sweetie, open up for Brad here, I'll make room." You gasp loudly as Trip withdraws his dick partially from your mouth, and you turn your head just enough so that I can push my cock into your mouth alongside his. It seems impossible that you could fit both of us in there at the same time, and for a moment I see you struggling to open your small mouth wide enough, but you eventually find a way, both of us now inside your lips just a few inches, not nearly as far as Trip was before, but I feel your tongue circling my head, and that's good enough for now. There's time. You grunt and gag just a little bit somewhere below us, but Trip ignores you.