Ten minutes later it was me that was discreetly knocking on the boardroom door, timidly waiting to be told to enter. I'd pulled myself together after the altercation with Ms Alves, a few minutes of deep slow yoga breathing, and my expression was one of serene composure. A façade against the tremor in my heart.
The door opened, this time with Mr Dias there to greet me with a sardonic smirk. He stood in the doorway, blocking my view into the room and not allowing me to enter as he unabashedly eyed me up and down, before murmuring so that only I could hear. "I believe you were partaking in some unapproved extracurricular activities?"
I turned crimson and looked down, the heat flooding my chest up through my neck into my face. I can't remember feeling so mortified at him not only knowing, but explicitly telling me he knew. I didn't have an answer, already freaked out by Ms Alves' reprimand, so I stood there not knowing where to look, anywhere but at his amused but voracious eyes as I stuttered "I... I... um... I'm sorry... um... I won't..."
"I'm sure you won't." His smug voice and threatening words chilled me to the core. "But first you must atone for your transgression." That made me look at him, startled, uneasily wondering what he meant. "Come in, Lucia."
He stepped aside to let me enter and what I saw shocked me, despite having expected something... The girl with sandy blond hair was on her back at the nearest end of the boardroom table, her backside and her whore-number 112 on display facing me. Because she was doubled over, knees pressed to her shoulders stretching her thighs into a painful V.
Mr Dias slid his hand up my back and grasped me around the neck, like he had done a couple of days before. My reluctance and fearfulness increased as he pushed me towards her, but I felt like there was nothing I could do. I was as trapped as the girl before me, because as we approached, I could see that her tight pink panties were wrapped about her knees and pulled behind her head, forcing her chin into her chest and holding her knees in place. Her calves and heels were pointed straight up at the ceiling but not freely, because there was a piece of twine tied from each nipple ring to the heel of each shoe, ensuring that any movement of her feet pulled painfully on her stretched breasts.
Despite the discomfort she was obviously in, she had clearly been instructed to spread herself widely, because her hands were pulling her buttocks apart to present her nether orifices. Both of her holes had traces of whitish slime oozing from them despite being filled with foreign objects. What looked like the pink gem of a butt plug was up her rectum and a dildo was embedded deep in her vagina.
Her eyes darted frantically between us, but she said nothing, because her mouth was full, with what appeared to be a golf ball. Drool was leaking from her mouth and fat tears were dripping from her eyes, distress and misery apparent in her expression. We halted in front of her, with me feeling increasingly anxious about what might happen, given the diabolical things that had been done to this whore. Because that is how I chose to see her, despite my own tenuous position.
It was only then that I noticed a movement down the table and saw the auburn whore bent over next to the man called Garcia, looking somewhat dishevelled. Time seemed to stand still, and I noticed how her hair was spread over the table, matching the colour of the dark red mahogany. I thought I could make out the glistening residue of fluids all over the left side of her face, gumming her eye partially shut, but she was not obviously tied or otherwise abused. She was watching us furtively with an anxious expression on her classically beautiful features, hands on each side of her naked torso, stomach, breast and cheek pressed to the wood, unmoving as the man casually fondled her backside and gave it the occasional slap.
But he was ignoring her, except for his hand almost moving instinctively to play with her, to caress and spank her. He seemed far more interested in what we were going to do. But where she oozed insecurity and angst, his face betrayed his self-assurance and expectant enjoyment.
I had taken all of this in, in the couple of seconds that it took to walk from the door to stand between the unfortunate whore's leg, where the smell of sex wafted strongly from her genitals.
"Whaa...." My instinct to question was cut short by the squeeze on my neck.
"Shhhhhh..." Mr Dias whispered in my ear. "She was a naught girl... orgasmed without permission, while we were playing with her... whores are here for our enjoyment, not theirs... so she's being punished. That's fair enough, don't you think?"
The thought of being punished for a natural response seemed barbaric and unfair, but I was in no position to question him or take her side. I had no alternative, but to agree. So, feeling like a coward, I nodded. "Yes, Sir."
After all, she had signed up to be a whore and should follow the rules, shouldn't she. Her entire life revolved around the physical, so she should have learned how to control her urges and arousal. Shouldn't she? That was her role, and this was her life... she should know what was expected, surely? I tried to ignore the nagging thought that I had unknowingly broken their rules and was going to pay the consequences myself.
"Since she's such a needly slut, I want you to turn on that vibrator and stimulate her to cum five times." I looked back at him, not believing what he wanted me to do. I thought that he must have been joking. But his features were set in a stern cruel visage that told me he meant every word.
"What... How?" I spluttered, regardless of how mean he looked.
