Headsnap
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2004
- Messages
- 2,189
- Points
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Based loosely on a girl I used to work with.
eNjoi 😀
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Cathina had been sitting outside Mr Stoker’s office for what seemed like an eternity before he finally called her in. He was typical CEO material, a podgy, ruddy-faced man in his late forties with appalling dress sense and a greasy combover. He also had a reputation as a slimebag, a lech and a complete arsehole, which made Cathina somewhat nervous as she took a seat across from the wobbling man-pile at his massive desk. He sat back and looked at her sideways with a harrumph, wringing his hands.
“You’ve been with us for six months now, is that right?” he enquired. Cathina nodded affirmingly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, sorry”, stuttered Cathina. Mr Stoker nodded.
“Six months…. And you’ve been doing admin all that time, is that right?”
“Yes, Mr Stoker; I was originally supposed to….”
“Yeah I know”, he huffed, “Your old man all but begged me to give you a job on the graduate enrolment programme. You were meant to get a promotion after three months.” He clammed up and turned to his computer, leaving Cathina to stew for a second as he closed the porn websites he’d been browsing using the company’s bandwidth. Eventually he cleared his throat and turned back to her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Cathina”, he said flatly, “Our upstairs operations have been downscaled significantly. The market we’re in has gotten pretty competitive over the last few months, several big rebrandings and a shift of focus away from the traditional paradigms to a more proactive business model, all of which our competitors have managed to do under our noses. Times are tight, and as a result we’ve had to really maximise the work output of our people on the management side.” Cathina’s heart sank; she’d been warned by her father not to expect much from Alfie Stoker, and the fact he was trying to sugar-coat the letting go speech with corporate bullshit just made it all the more disheartening. She was trying hard to hide her disappointment at the fact that Stoker had basically gone back on everything he’d originally promised her and the fact he was blatantly trying to baffle her with his jargon, but her eyes were beginning to betray her. She felt them welling up, and she became increasingly angry with herself; she really, really didn’t want to give this horrible man the satisfaction of seeing he’d upset her because she knew he’d just feed off it, that was the kind of demented, sadistic scumbag he was, but she couldn’t help herself. She was a bright girl, even though everyone seemed to think she was some country bumpkin, a mental midget from the boonies of Ipswich just because she was a little bit quiet and reserved. She didn’t need to be coddled or talked down to, and the more he went on about marketeering and profits and AGMs the angrier she became; angry at Stoker for being such a bastard, and also a little at herself for allowing him to upset her. Eventually he broke off from his babble and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.
“You lot all seem to think I’m some kind of monster”, he sighed, “But I dunno why. I’m the Chief Exec; I’ve got to look out for the future of the company above anything else. I don’t enjoy having to make the decisions I do, but that’s the world of business. It takes a special kind of person to succeed here, and given the current situation upstairs I need to know that the candidates I’m sending up there have got what it takes. We need our best people up there; people who have commitment to the team, who are driven and ruthless and willing to succeed.” Cathina was trying really, really hard to just let all this run off her back, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being sacked from the job her poor dad had worked so hard to get her into.
“Please Alfie”, she sputtered, “Please don’t let me go. I… I know I can do his job; I’ve got a lot of experience and, I mean, I can learn to be a little more assertive if you-“
“That’s not enough”, snorted Stoker triumphantly. He’d done it. Took longer than he thought it would, but he’d managed to make her so bloody desperate to hold on to her crappy job that she was actually crying. He sat back in his plush chair and heaved out a sigh.
“Like I said, I just don’t think you’ve got what it takes to work upstairs.” Cathina shook her head dejectedly and let her chin fall to her chest. Her dad would be so disappointed in her. No, actually he wouldn’t, he’d be as supportive and reassuring as hell and bend over backwards to try and help her get herself back on track, and that stung even worse. He did so much for her but because she couldn’t find that one little spark, that modicum of strength she needed to succeed, she always just threw it back in his face. And there he’d be with a shoulder to cry on and a list of other things for her to try, all of which she’d just fall flat on her arse with. She felt like a complete failure, as though everything she’d worked so hard for and her dad had helped her through were all for nothing.
“However…..”
Stoker’s voice was full of a tantalising promise, like a secondary character in the movies who spends ten minutes explaining why the situation is hopeless before revealing the existence of an unlocked rear entrance to the villain’s lair. Cathina sensed it, and her spirits lifted a little.
“I do have a proposition for you….” There was something very wrong in Stoker’s expression and something quite stomach churningly furtive in his voice, but Cathina couldn’t quite place it.
“What is it?” she enquired, somewhat tentatively.
“I’m looking for a personal assistant”, he said, sitting back in his chair, “It’s a cushy enough job, especially compared to the monkey work you’ve been doing so far, and it comes with a sweet bonus package linked to your performance, in addition to double the salary you’re on at the moment.” Cathina’s jaw dropped into her lap. Stoker noted her joy and a sly smirk crept across his face.
“Don’t get excited yet”, he snorted, “You’d need to be on call twenty four seven and you’d also be accompanying me on business trips, which can be quite tiring. On top of that, the job isn’t as cut-throat as the positions upstairs but it does require a…. special kind of commitment over and above the norm.” Cathina puzzled over his words for a moment, before she had an epiphany that hit her like a ton of bricks.
“You… you’re not suggesting I…..”
“Noooo”, Stoker chortled, “Nothing that bad.” He looked her over for a second, taking in her cute curvaceous frame, her sparkly green eyes set like emeralds in a sweet, innocent face framed by jet black hair that flowed over her shoulders an down to her waist. Cathina wasn’t a hot, sexy slut, but she was as cute as a button and had this constant aura of nervousness which made her seem like a fawn in a rifle sight. Just the kind of tart he liked. He’d been fulminating over just how exactly he was going to put his proposition to her; seeing how weak and foppy she was he decided it would probably be best just to bulldoze her with it, though that would remove the anticipation. He stood up and prowled around the desk towards her, hands clasped behind his back and head cocked upwards, and gave her a little once-over. She had a sexy outfit on today; long, airy red skirt, sleeveless maroon top and a pair of flip-flops that showed off her adorable little size four feet, curvy and delicious, ending in chubby little toes that she’d painted with swirls of scarlet and maroon. His smirk widened as he saw her flip-flops and he decided on his course of action. He was going to have a bit of fun with her, give her a gentle breaking-in session to get her acquainted with her new duties.
“Flip-flops?” he said at length. Cathina looked down at her feet and felt herself blushing slightly, returning Stoker’s gaze awkwardly.
“Yeah, I always wear flip-flops in summer”, she bleated.
“You do know those are against health and safety regs”, followed Stoker sternly, sitting down on the edge of his desk and folding his arms.
“Oh, really?” enquired Cathina growing ever more sheepish as the line of questioning continued, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Oh don’t worry about it”, he said almost reassuringly, “I’m not too bothered myself, y’know, they look alright, but strictly speaking you really, y’know, you just shouldn’t be wearing them.”
“Oh, okay, sorry about that… I’ll wear something more appropriate in future.”
“Yeah, okay”, Stoker fawned, “It’s not that I’m being an arse or anything, it’s just, y’know, they’re really not safe. I mean they’re not so bad in the office because I mean, it’s not the mail-room, the worst things you’d have to worry about here I’d imagine would be someone treading on your toes or, I dunno, one of the tech boys tickling you while he’s under the desk doing cabling or something.” They both chuckled at the absurdity and a moment of silence passed.
“Are you ticklish?” The question was something of a slap in the face. Cathina didn’t really know how to take it.
“Well, I suppose…” she blundered, “I mean, everyone’s ticklish to a certain extent, aren’t they?”
“True, but I’m not asking about everyone; I’m asking about you. Are you ticklish?”
“I…. I suppose I am.”
“On your feet?”
“Well, yeah, I mean-“
“So you have ticklish feet, and you’re walking around my office wearing flip flops, basically baring them. Do you see how that could be a problem?”
“To be honest, I… I mean, no, I don’t…..”
“Well I do”, he snapped, “Let me paint you a picture; you’re sitting there at your desk. You’re wearing your flip-flops, you’re typing away and you’re drinking a coffee. One of the sexless spods from IT comes by to sort out some phone problems you’ve been having. He gets under the desk and sees your feet, and decides he’s going to give them a little poke. Just a little practical joke, no harm in it. However, you’re ticklish, so when he does run his finger along the blade of your foot rather than just giggling like normal, you jump back in shock, squeal, and scatter scalding hot coffee all over the office. Can you see how a shower of scalding hot coffee could be a problem?”
“Of course, but-“
“Well then, there you go. The best possible case scenario is that the coffee ruins a bit of computer equipment; the worst is that it hits someone in the eye and blinds them.” He sighed and shook his head disappointedly. Cathina was still bemused by the sheer ridiculousness of his analogy, and somewhat uncomfortable with the fairly personal questions he was asking her. However Stoker had seemingly angered himself with his paranoid ravings and seemed in no mood to brook any arguments she might make. Instead of defending her poor flip-flops she decided just to let it ride, shuffling nervously in her seat as he walked over to one of his storage cabinets.
“To be honest”, he said, “I think this is a pretty serious case of health and safety contravention, I really do. I’m not in a position where I can have coffee being showered over my staff. I really don’t want to do this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to make this a disciplinary matter.” He fished something out of the back of the cabinet and closed the door. Cathina had been expecting some sort of file, however what Stoker actually produced was a small wooden item. It was elliptical in shape, roughly eighteen inches wide at it’s longest point across which it had been cut and hinged so that the top could be opened, a small latch on the opposite side being used to hold it closed at this moment. There were three holes gouged out of the centre of the wood, a central hole which was about ten inches in diameter and two smaller ones to either side which were about six inches round, each one lined with what looked like padded leather. Along the bottom ran a long rubber clamping device, which Stoker used to fix the thing to the edge of his desk. After giving the thing a shake to make sure it was held fast, he turned back to Cathina and swung open the top. He sat in the edge of his desk, arms folded and eyes fixed sternly on Cathina. A silence passed which felt like at least an hour, and Cathina shuffled in her seat, eyes darting around the room in intimidated bewilderment.
“Put your feet in there”, demanded Stoker at length.
“Wh…. What?” gasped Cathina.
“Put your feet in the middle hole”, he demanded again, “It’s a demonstration technique, the health and safety chaps were teaching it last year. Put your feet in the middle hole.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got ten seconds to put your feet in that middle hole before I sack you”, barked the boss. Cathina was unsure about what exactly was going on and she was bloody well sure she didn’t like it, but some little nervous voice in the back of her mind reassured her that whatever it was would be alright. It was probably one of Stoker’s many oddball motivation techniques, and given the choice between feeling uncomfortable for a few minutes or breaking her father’s heart she decided she’d rather just stick her feet in the stupid hole. With a sigh, she shuffled her chair forward and raised her legs, demurely holding her skirt in place around her thighs as she gently placed her ankles onto the central hole. Stoker nodded approvingly at the gesture of trust and gently swung the top of the device closed, securing it with the latch. He then went around to his drawers and removed a small padlock and a pair of padded thumb-cuffs, before returning to Cathina’s side and locking the top in place. He looked at her feet for a moment and cracked a satisfied, beaming smile, before returning to his seat. Cathina wasn’t sure about the locking business, but Stoker seemed pleased enough. He looked like a man who’d made his point.
“Is that comfortable?” he enquired. Truth be told it wasn’t; her ankles were slender, but even still it was a tight squeeze fitting both of them in the hole and the padding didn’t make it any more comfortable. All it did was eat up a little bit more space and keep her feet pressed together. Not wanting to risk upsetting him even slightly, Cathina girnned and bore it with a slight nod of her head.
“Happy days”, he chirped, pressing a button on his telephone, “Jayne, could you come here for a moment?”
The door to Stoker’s office opened and Jayne walked in. She was a tall, cuddly looking blonde girl who was probably slightly overweight, but dressed herself so well and had a naughty look about her that disguised it beautifully.
“The stuff is in the cabinet over there, you can make a start whenever”, Stoker instructed. Jayne nodded with a curt smile and went over to the cabinet, rummaging for a second before dipping her head back out again with a small ebony box in her hand. Stoker was smiling. Jayne had a look of disinterest on her face. Cathina’s eyes were darting between one and the other slowly. She still had no idea what was going on, not even the slightest inkling. She still thought she was going to be given some sort of health and safety lecture or a demonstration, and the oblivious security she felt continued right up until the moment Jayne took hold of her arms and gently pulled them around the back of the chair, handcuffing them together and securing the chain to a knob at the back.
“What the-“ she gasped, “What are you doing?” Jayne shrugged playfully in reply, her pearly white teeth flashing from behind her full, red lips and her button nose wrinkling adorably as she sat herself down on Stoker’s desk, pulling herself into position in front of Cathina’s feet and splaying her legs around the stocks which held them. The blonde girl opened the box and rummaged through it for a second, placing various items on the desk as she searched for something. Cathina saw what looked like a plastic riding spur, a short length of pliable rubber, along with various pens, scribes and a feather, none of which seemed to be the thing Jayne was after.
“Have you got the cuffs there, Alfie?” Jayne asked matter-of-factly. She looked as though she’d sat down to type something or perform some menial, everyday task, not a hint of worry or anger or anything in her face. The normality of her manner made Cathina even more nervous; her heart was already racing, pounding away in her throat as she sat there helpless.
“What are you doing to me?” she bleated, but there was no reply.
“This is ridiculous; let me go!”
“No.” Jayne’s voice was dead and toneless, her upper-class Merseyside accent as flat as a stone which served only to make Cathina yet more nervous. Nervous wasn’t even the word anymore; she felt trapped, anxious, and more than a little bit scared. She struggled against the handcuffs for a moment and yanked at her legs to try and free her ankles, but there was not an inch of give to either the stocks or the cuffs.
“What the hell!” she cried, “This is not right!” Silence. Stoker and Jayne were wittering amongst themselves until a moment later when Jayne turned back to Cathina. She smiled evilly at the bound girl before running her fingers in between the soles of Cathina’s feet and her flip flops. Cathina yelped as Jayne slowly removed the shoes, curling her toes to try and stop them coming off and thrashing frantically against the chair as the first pangs of real panic began to set in. She was still struggling and whining as Jayne leaned in a little bit closer.
“Oooh, these are really cute”, she cooed, gently caressing Cathina’s arches with the back of her finger, “Your feet are gorgeous, wish mine were this nice.” Stoker had reached a similar conclusion. Cathina’s feet were dainty and nimble, wriggling and thrashing about even as Jayne tried to hold them together. They were so petit that Jayne was able to hold them with one hand, her thumb pressing against the blade of Cathina’s left foot as her fingers held the right against it.
“This is wrong, you can’t do this to me!” yelped Cathina.
“Oh shush will you?” admonished Jayne, “It’s not that bad.”
“You… you’re imprisoning me against my will! This is illegal!”
“It’s only illegal if someone finds out”, chirped Jayne with a playful wink and a flirty sneer, “Just one last thing, and….” With that, Jayne gently clipped the thumb cuffs around Cathina’s toes and sat back with a satisfied nod. Stoker took a moment to admire the captive girl’s feet; he’d seen the tops of them and they looked delicious, but however lovely they looked her soles were equally as sweet. The skin of her arches and the stems of her toes was creamy white, the same colour as her legs, and was tinged lavender around the fleshier parts of her soles and toes. They were so smooth and shapely that they looked as though they’d been sculpted from clay, and were even slightly dirty around the upper parts of her soles which had been exposed to the miasma of grime floating around the city. Soft, supple, scared, petit and ticklish, well worth the scheming.
“Please”, begged Cathina, all semblance of indignance or outrage gone from her voice, “Whatever you’re going to do to me, please don’t. Please. I’m scared…”
“Ooooh you’re so adorable!” squealed Jayne in delight, jumping down from the desk “You’re just sooo cute, but you don’t half fret a lot. Here….” She produced a ball gag from the box and padded over to Cathina. Cathina screamed as Jayne tried to hold her still, yanking her head to and fro in a desperate attempt to keep from being gagged. Eventually Stoker ran around the desk to help, holding Cathina’s head straight as his assistant gently placed the gag in her mouth and secured it around the back of her head.
“There we go, all better now”, she said, returning to her seat at Cathina’s feet as the poor girl sobbed dejectedly. Whatever these sick, demented pair of bastards had planned for her, she could only submit to. She lowered her head in defeat; all she could do was hope that it was over quickly….
A sudden jolt coursed through Cathina’s body, snapping her head back upright and forcing a squeak from her throat.
“Heehee, tickly!” exclaimed the blonde girl. Stoker nodded.
“She said she was”, he remarked.
“Good good, this should be fun then….” Her face a mask of focus, Jayne leaned into Cathina’s helpless soles once more and cracked her knuckles. Cathina tried to plead around the gag but it was pointless; within a heartbeat the tarty blonde’s preened nails were scrabbling across poor Cathina’s helpless feet, sending needling shocks of pure nerve energy coursing through her legs and body. The bound girl’s brain was on autopilot as Jayne’s fingers scattered across every available inch of bare skin she could find; she was probably laughing or screaming or something but she couldn’t tell. That was an involuntary reaction, and her conscious mind was too embattled with trying to find some way to just stop the tickling, to push it away, that there was no time to worry about anything. Jayne’s fingers buried themselves expertly into the pit her victim’s captive arches created, eagerly swirling and scratching at what seemed like lightning speed as Cathina wrenched and struggled and sputtered painful laughter around her gag, coughing and wheezing as her eyes forced themselves closed in an attempt to block out what this fucker was doing to her poor feet. She thought she heard Jayne giggling, like a kid, like a fucking schoolyard bully, mocking her convulsions and laughing quite contentedly as she plucked away at every nerve, every inch of soft skin, one second caressing the tops tantalisingly and the next driving her fingers between Cathina’s toes. Suddenly Jayne varied her actions somewhat, poking her nails into the supple flesh of Cathina’s arches before flicking them outwards and drawing them back in, her agile fingers working themselves quickly against her victim’s increasingly tormented feet. After a few seconds of this, Jayne curled her fingers dextrously around the back of Cathina’s feet and pushed her thumbs into the soft flesh at the base of her captive’s toes, kneading the silky skin at the back with her fingers and rolling her thumbs in small, slow circles along the length of Cathina’s sole and back again. Cathina emitted a strangled shriek as soon as Jayne’s thumbs began to move, pressing deep into her helpless soles yet rubbing with an agonising gentleness that became unbearable after barely a second. Jayne remembered this particular technique well; Stoker had enjoyed using it on her when she was first offered the position as his tickle-toy nearly five years ago, and she remembered the paroxysms of ecstasy it had wrung from her then. It was to all intents and purposes a massage, but one designed to increase tension and anxiety rather than release it, as well as tickling a pair of helpless, receptive feet like hell. Judging by the gasping, raw yelps her little dolly was rasping around her gag, Jayne presumed it was working just as well here as it had on her. The only difference really was that Jayne had loved every second Stoker spent tormenting her feet; for Cathina, this was torture.
Stoker could see it as well, the Rolling Ball Footrub he used to call it. He liked it because it allowed him to get his hands on the maximum amount of soft ticklish skin whilst also being something of a turn-on for the girl. At least, it had always turned Jayne on whenever he’d used it on her, mixing her rapturous laughter with husky moans. However, as much as he enjoyed tormenting Jayne, the more he watched Cathina the more he knew he was going to enjoy playing with Cathina even more. Jayne only begged him for mercy because she knew it turned him on. Cathina was pleading for Jayne to stop because she was scared, agonised, and she just couldn’t fucking take it anymore. She was going to take it though, she was going to take a lot more of it because the more he watched Jayne tickling his new girl’s exquisite feet the better it got. Right from the moment Jayne had first raked a nail down Cathina’s sole he’d been watching her reactions, drinking in every second of her distress. Her eyes were pressed shut, her face contorted by the bouts of forced, gasping laughter that the tickle torture was forcing from her and the frustrated pleas that were muffled by the gag and killed dead in her throat. Her body was thrashing violently against the seat, her back arching and tensing, her shoulders rolling to and fro and her head whipping in all directions as the pulses of ticklish agony surged through every fibre of her being, ripping control of her body away from her and compelling her to dance like a puppet to every stroke of Jayne’s nails across her helpless little feet. Her legs shook and pulled hard at her ankles, trying desperately to get her feet out of the stocks and away from Jayne’s fingers just for even a second, just so she could get her breath, just so it would stop. However, as much fun as it was watching the rest of Cathina’s lovely form wracked with torment, watching her powerless, imprisoned feet was even more pleasurable. Her little toes curled themselves up to prevent Jayne’s fingers from raking between them, but Jayne simply took hold of them, gently yet forcefully pulling them straight again. Her soles wrinkled at every touch as her toes curled and twitched, splaying themselves and balling up again as his senior girl’s experienced fingers did their work. At one point Jayne took a hold of all of Cathina’s toes with ther left hand and pulled them back before scraping the tensed fingers of her right hand up and down the new girl’s soles which drew a long, loud, rasping roar of sheer frustrated agony from Cathina. Her back arched upwards and slammed back against the chair, her legs wrenched and twitched, but her feet didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He could see some signs of twitching there, some signs that she was trying to stop Jayne torturing her, but she couldn’t. Stoker’s face broke into a beaming leer as he soaked up Cathina’s anguish, lustfully leering at her gorgeous little peds, enjoying the sumptuous swishing sound that Jayne’s nails made against the girl’s delightful soles. He could tell just by the noise alone how exquisitely soft and pampered those pretty little peds were. He was beyond turned-on; he had a hard-on that could break bricks and a gawping, lustful smile that he couldn’t get rid of, all of which only increased as he noticed that Cathina was pretty much at her limit. She’d gone limp and was puffing out breaths in between painful gouts of hoarse laughter and heaving woeful sobs; she’d had enough for the time being, it was time to make the proposal.
Leaping from his chair, Stoker stalked around to Cathina’s side and leaned into her tear-stained face, sweat-matted strands of thick dark hair stuck to her cheeks and a look of tormented anguish in her eyes. He reached around the back of her head and roughly untied her gag, letting her splutter and catch her breath before he launched into his speech.
“Your new job is a double role”, he snarled, “You are both my personal tickle toy and foot slave. Your duties are simple; I call you, you bring those lush little feet of yours to me, and I do whatever the fucking hell I feel like doing to them, understood?”
“That’s illegal!” sobbed Cathina.
“Oh god yes” chuckled Stoker, “That’s why you’re getting thirty grand a year and a grand a time to keep mum about it. Attractive performance related bonus package, innit? Well, maybe not ATTRACTIVE considering the sort of performance I’m looking for is the sort of performance that you really seem to hate, but hey.”
“That’s…. that’s prostitution, you can’t make me do this!!”
“I’m not a fucking sicko, sweetheart”, Stoker replied, “I’m not going to kidnap you and keep you in my loft or anything like that, but the fact remains you’re a lovely girl with a pair of the most fantastically lovely, hopelessly ticklish little feet I’ve ever seen, and I want access. I want to suck and lick and tickle and torment them, and I want to see you screaming and squirming because you hate it so much, and I want to be able to do it whenever and wherever I feel like. Thirty grand a year and whatever else you get ain’t that bad for giving up your tootsies for a few hours a day is it? Plus there’s more money to be made if you decide to let me go a bit further, but we’ll talk about that later. What I’m offering is fair, I reckon.” Cathina’s lip was quivering; she couldn’t believe what this foul pervert was saying to her, what he’d just done to her, any of it. She despised people touching her soles or toes at the best of times, even boyfriends or people she knew and trusted, but to actually allow this stranger, this despicable man to pleasure himself over her feet in exchange for money? Unthinkable.
“I won’t do this!” Stoker growled.
“Fair enough”, he spat, “Let me give you the revised package, the offer I had planned for you if you turned out to be an awkward ****. You get exactly the same money as you always were plus a tenner stuffed into your bra every time I’m finished with you, plus I grass up that fucking murdering, Chechen separatists bastard you call your dad to the Immigration authorities so they can deport him to Russia.”
“No, you can’t! Please!!”
“I fucking can, and I will; and rest assured, even if at some point during our little arrangement the Old Bill arrive to cart me off for whatever shit it is I’m doing to you, I’ll still get you. One call to my brother Barry in Strangeways would be enough. You ever heard of the Malleys from Moss Side?” Cathina shook her head.
“Good, because if you try to grass me up you will be hearing from them; and believe me if those pikey psychos get hold of you the least of your worries will be someone sucking on your feet for a few hours a day. So, you coming round to my way of thinking yet?”
She was stuck; this fucking pig had her over a barrel, and her choices were either refusing him and running the risk of her father being deported to Russia to be executed and possibly suffering a similar fate herself, or taking it on the chin, accepting his filthy money and agreeing to his demands. She’d never felt so low in her life. Dejectedly she lowered her head, heaving out a sigh of relief as rage and the sting of her predicament burned in her blood.
“Okay”, she sighed, “I’ll do it….”
“Excellent!”, piped Stoker, suddenly far more cheerful, “I’ll leave you in Jayne’s capable hands then; she’ll sort out all the paperwork for you.” He’d decided to deny Cathina to himself for a little while longer, just so it was all the sweeter when he did finally get his hands on her. He nodded to Jayne, took a cursory glance at the camera which was recording Cathina’s ordeal, and left. Cathina looked at Jayne with pleading eyes, however Jayne simply smirked and took a pen from the pot on Alfie’s desk.
“Now then”, said the blonde girl, rolling the pen between her fingers and eying up Cathina’s tormented soles again, “Let’s get your contract written up, shall we?”
eNjoi 😀
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Cathina had been sitting outside Mr Stoker’s office for what seemed like an eternity before he finally called her in. He was typical CEO material, a podgy, ruddy-faced man in his late forties with appalling dress sense and a greasy combover. He also had a reputation as a slimebag, a lech and a complete arsehole, which made Cathina somewhat nervous as she took a seat across from the wobbling man-pile at his massive desk. He sat back and looked at her sideways with a harrumph, wringing his hands.
“You’ve been with us for six months now, is that right?” he enquired. Cathina nodded affirmingly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, sorry”, stuttered Cathina. Mr Stoker nodded.
“Six months…. And you’ve been doing admin all that time, is that right?”
“Yes, Mr Stoker; I was originally supposed to….”
“Yeah I know”, he huffed, “Your old man all but begged me to give you a job on the graduate enrolment programme. You were meant to get a promotion after three months.” He clammed up and turned to his computer, leaving Cathina to stew for a second as he closed the porn websites he’d been browsing using the company’s bandwidth. Eventually he cleared his throat and turned back to her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Cathina”, he said flatly, “Our upstairs operations have been downscaled significantly. The market we’re in has gotten pretty competitive over the last few months, several big rebrandings and a shift of focus away from the traditional paradigms to a more proactive business model, all of which our competitors have managed to do under our noses. Times are tight, and as a result we’ve had to really maximise the work output of our people on the management side.” Cathina’s heart sank; she’d been warned by her father not to expect much from Alfie Stoker, and the fact he was trying to sugar-coat the letting go speech with corporate bullshit just made it all the more disheartening. She was trying hard to hide her disappointment at the fact that Stoker had basically gone back on everything he’d originally promised her and the fact he was blatantly trying to baffle her with his jargon, but her eyes were beginning to betray her. She felt them welling up, and she became increasingly angry with herself; she really, really didn’t want to give this horrible man the satisfaction of seeing he’d upset her because she knew he’d just feed off it, that was the kind of demented, sadistic scumbag he was, but she couldn’t help herself. She was a bright girl, even though everyone seemed to think she was some country bumpkin, a mental midget from the boonies of Ipswich just because she was a little bit quiet and reserved. She didn’t need to be coddled or talked down to, and the more he went on about marketeering and profits and AGMs the angrier she became; angry at Stoker for being such a bastard, and also a little at herself for allowing him to upset her. Eventually he broke off from his babble and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.
“You lot all seem to think I’m some kind of monster”, he sighed, “But I dunno why. I’m the Chief Exec; I’ve got to look out for the future of the company above anything else. I don’t enjoy having to make the decisions I do, but that’s the world of business. It takes a special kind of person to succeed here, and given the current situation upstairs I need to know that the candidates I’m sending up there have got what it takes. We need our best people up there; people who have commitment to the team, who are driven and ruthless and willing to succeed.” Cathina was trying really, really hard to just let all this run off her back, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being sacked from the job her poor dad had worked so hard to get her into.
“Please Alfie”, she sputtered, “Please don’t let me go. I… I know I can do his job; I’ve got a lot of experience and, I mean, I can learn to be a little more assertive if you-“
“That’s not enough”, snorted Stoker triumphantly. He’d done it. Took longer than he thought it would, but he’d managed to make her so bloody desperate to hold on to her crappy job that she was actually crying. He sat back in his plush chair and heaved out a sigh.
“Like I said, I just don’t think you’ve got what it takes to work upstairs.” Cathina shook her head dejectedly and let her chin fall to her chest. Her dad would be so disappointed in her. No, actually he wouldn’t, he’d be as supportive and reassuring as hell and bend over backwards to try and help her get herself back on track, and that stung even worse. He did so much for her but because she couldn’t find that one little spark, that modicum of strength she needed to succeed, she always just threw it back in his face. And there he’d be with a shoulder to cry on and a list of other things for her to try, all of which she’d just fall flat on her arse with. She felt like a complete failure, as though everything she’d worked so hard for and her dad had helped her through were all for nothing.
“However…..”
Stoker’s voice was full of a tantalising promise, like a secondary character in the movies who spends ten minutes explaining why the situation is hopeless before revealing the existence of an unlocked rear entrance to the villain’s lair. Cathina sensed it, and her spirits lifted a little.
“I do have a proposition for you….” There was something very wrong in Stoker’s expression and something quite stomach churningly furtive in his voice, but Cathina couldn’t quite place it.
“What is it?” she enquired, somewhat tentatively.
“I’m looking for a personal assistant”, he said, sitting back in his chair, “It’s a cushy enough job, especially compared to the monkey work you’ve been doing so far, and it comes with a sweet bonus package linked to your performance, in addition to double the salary you’re on at the moment.” Cathina’s jaw dropped into her lap. Stoker noted her joy and a sly smirk crept across his face.
“Don’t get excited yet”, he snorted, “You’d need to be on call twenty four seven and you’d also be accompanying me on business trips, which can be quite tiring. On top of that, the job isn’t as cut-throat as the positions upstairs but it does require a…. special kind of commitment over and above the norm.” Cathina puzzled over his words for a moment, before she had an epiphany that hit her like a ton of bricks.
“You… you’re not suggesting I…..”
“Noooo”, Stoker chortled, “Nothing that bad.” He looked her over for a second, taking in her cute curvaceous frame, her sparkly green eyes set like emeralds in a sweet, innocent face framed by jet black hair that flowed over her shoulders an down to her waist. Cathina wasn’t a hot, sexy slut, but she was as cute as a button and had this constant aura of nervousness which made her seem like a fawn in a rifle sight. Just the kind of tart he liked. He’d been fulminating over just how exactly he was going to put his proposition to her; seeing how weak and foppy she was he decided it would probably be best just to bulldoze her with it, though that would remove the anticipation. He stood up and prowled around the desk towards her, hands clasped behind his back and head cocked upwards, and gave her a little once-over. She had a sexy outfit on today; long, airy red skirt, sleeveless maroon top and a pair of flip-flops that showed off her adorable little size four feet, curvy and delicious, ending in chubby little toes that she’d painted with swirls of scarlet and maroon. His smirk widened as he saw her flip-flops and he decided on his course of action. He was going to have a bit of fun with her, give her a gentle breaking-in session to get her acquainted with her new duties.
“Flip-flops?” he said at length. Cathina looked down at her feet and felt herself blushing slightly, returning Stoker’s gaze awkwardly.
“Yeah, I always wear flip-flops in summer”, she bleated.
“You do know those are against health and safety regs”, followed Stoker sternly, sitting down on the edge of his desk and folding his arms.
“Oh, really?” enquired Cathina growing ever more sheepish as the line of questioning continued, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Oh don’t worry about it”, he said almost reassuringly, “I’m not too bothered myself, y’know, they look alright, but strictly speaking you really, y’know, you just shouldn’t be wearing them.”
“Oh, okay, sorry about that… I’ll wear something more appropriate in future.”
“Yeah, okay”, Stoker fawned, “It’s not that I’m being an arse or anything, it’s just, y’know, they’re really not safe. I mean they’re not so bad in the office because I mean, it’s not the mail-room, the worst things you’d have to worry about here I’d imagine would be someone treading on your toes or, I dunno, one of the tech boys tickling you while he’s under the desk doing cabling or something.” They both chuckled at the absurdity and a moment of silence passed.
“Are you ticklish?” The question was something of a slap in the face. Cathina didn’t really know how to take it.
“Well, I suppose…” she blundered, “I mean, everyone’s ticklish to a certain extent, aren’t they?”
“True, but I’m not asking about everyone; I’m asking about you. Are you ticklish?”
“I…. I suppose I am.”
“On your feet?”
“Well, yeah, I mean-“
“So you have ticklish feet, and you’re walking around my office wearing flip flops, basically baring them. Do you see how that could be a problem?”
“To be honest, I… I mean, no, I don’t…..”
“Well I do”, he snapped, “Let me paint you a picture; you’re sitting there at your desk. You’re wearing your flip-flops, you’re typing away and you’re drinking a coffee. One of the sexless spods from IT comes by to sort out some phone problems you’ve been having. He gets under the desk and sees your feet, and decides he’s going to give them a little poke. Just a little practical joke, no harm in it. However, you’re ticklish, so when he does run his finger along the blade of your foot rather than just giggling like normal, you jump back in shock, squeal, and scatter scalding hot coffee all over the office. Can you see how a shower of scalding hot coffee could be a problem?”
“Of course, but-“
“Well then, there you go. The best possible case scenario is that the coffee ruins a bit of computer equipment; the worst is that it hits someone in the eye and blinds them.” He sighed and shook his head disappointedly. Cathina was still bemused by the sheer ridiculousness of his analogy, and somewhat uncomfortable with the fairly personal questions he was asking her. However Stoker had seemingly angered himself with his paranoid ravings and seemed in no mood to brook any arguments she might make. Instead of defending her poor flip-flops she decided just to let it ride, shuffling nervously in her seat as he walked over to one of his storage cabinets.
“To be honest”, he said, “I think this is a pretty serious case of health and safety contravention, I really do. I’m not in a position where I can have coffee being showered over my staff. I really don’t want to do this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to make this a disciplinary matter.” He fished something out of the back of the cabinet and closed the door. Cathina had been expecting some sort of file, however what Stoker actually produced was a small wooden item. It was elliptical in shape, roughly eighteen inches wide at it’s longest point across which it had been cut and hinged so that the top could be opened, a small latch on the opposite side being used to hold it closed at this moment. There were three holes gouged out of the centre of the wood, a central hole which was about ten inches in diameter and two smaller ones to either side which were about six inches round, each one lined with what looked like padded leather. Along the bottom ran a long rubber clamping device, which Stoker used to fix the thing to the edge of his desk. After giving the thing a shake to make sure it was held fast, he turned back to Cathina and swung open the top. He sat in the edge of his desk, arms folded and eyes fixed sternly on Cathina. A silence passed which felt like at least an hour, and Cathina shuffled in her seat, eyes darting around the room in intimidated bewilderment.
“Put your feet in there”, demanded Stoker at length.
“Wh…. What?” gasped Cathina.
“Put your feet in the middle hole”, he demanded again, “It’s a demonstration technique, the health and safety chaps were teaching it last year. Put your feet in the middle hole.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got ten seconds to put your feet in that middle hole before I sack you”, barked the boss. Cathina was unsure about what exactly was going on and she was bloody well sure she didn’t like it, but some little nervous voice in the back of her mind reassured her that whatever it was would be alright. It was probably one of Stoker’s many oddball motivation techniques, and given the choice between feeling uncomfortable for a few minutes or breaking her father’s heart she decided she’d rather just stick her feet in the stupid hole. With a sigh, she shuffled her chair forward and raised her legs, demurely holding her skirt in place around her thighs as she gently placed her ankles onto the central hole. Stoker nodded approvingly at the gesture of trust and gently swung the top of the device closed, securing it with the latch. He then went around to his drawers and removed a small padlock and a pair of padded thumb-cuffs, before returning to Cathina’s side and locking the top in place. He looked at her feet for a moment and cracked a satisfied, beaming smile, before returning to his seat. Cathina wasn’t sure about the locking business, but Stoker seemed pleased enough. He looked like a man who’d made his point.
“Is that comfortable?” he enquired. Truth be told it wasn’t; her ankles were slender, but even still it was a tight squeeze fitting both of them in the hole and the padding didn’t make it any more comfortable. All it did was eat up a little bit more space and keep her feet pressed together. Not wanting to risk upsetting him even slightly, Cathina girnned and bore it with a slight nod of her head.
“Happy days”, he chirped, pressing a button on his telephone, “Jayne, could you come here for a moment?”
The door to Stoker’s office opened and Jayne walked in. She was a tall, cuddly looking blonde girl who was probably slightly overweight, but dressed herself so well and had a naughty look about her that disguised it beautifully.
“The stuff is in the cabinet over there, you can make a start whenever”, Stoker instructed. Jayne nodded with a curt smile and went over to the cabinet, rummaging for a second before dipping her head back out again with a small ebony box in her hand. Stoker was smiling. Jayne had a look of disinterest on her face. Cathina’s eyes were darting between one and the other slowly. She still had no idea what was going on, not even the slightest inkling. She still thought she was going to be given some sort of health and safety lecture or a demonstration, and the oblivious security she felt continued right up until the moment Jayne took hold of her arms and gently pulled them around the back of the chair, handcuffing them together and securing the chain to a knob at the back.
“What the-“ she gasped, “What are you doing?” Jayne shrugged playfully in reply, her pearly white teeth flashing from behind her full, red lips and her button nose wrinkling adorably as she sat herself down on Stoker’s desk, pulling herself into position in front of Cathina’s feet and splaying her legs around the stocks which held them. The blonde girl opened the box and rummaged through it for a second, placing various items on the desk as she searched for something. Cathina saw what looked like a plastic riding spur, a short length of pliable rubber, along with various pens, scribes and a feather, none of which seemed to be the thing Jayne was after.
“Have you got the cuffs there, Alfie?” Jayne asked matter-of-factly. She looked as though she’d sat down to type something or perform some menial, everyday task, not a hint of worry or anger or anything in her face. The normality of her manner made Cathina even more nervous; her heart was already racing, pounding away in her throat as she sat there helpless.
“What are you doing to me?” she bleated, but there was no reply.
“This is ridiculous; let me go!”
“No.” Jayne’s voice was dead and toneless, her upper-class Merseyside accent as flat as a stone which served only to make Cathina yet more nervous. Nervous wasn’t even the word anymore; she felt trapped, anxious, and more than a little bit scared. She struggled against the handcuffs for a moment and yanked at her legs to try and free her ankles, but there was not an inch of give to either the stocks or the cuffs.
“What the hell!” she cried, “This is not right!” Silence. Stoker and Jayne were wittering amongst themselves until a moment later when Jayne turned back to Cathina. She smiled evilly at the bound girl before running her fingers in between the soles of Cathina’s feet and her flip flops. Cathina yelped as Jayne slowly removed the shoes, curling her toes to try and stop them coming off and thrashing frantically against the chair as the first pangs of real panic began to set in. She was still struggling and whining as Jayne leaned in a little bit closer.
“Oooh, these are really cute”, she cooed, gently caressing Cathina’s arches with the back of her finger, “Your feet are gorgeous, wish mine were this nice.” Stoker had reached a similar conclusion. Cathina’s feet were dainty and nimble, wriggling and thrashing about even as Jayne tried to hold them together. They were so petit that Jayne was able to hold them with one hand, her thumb pressing against the blade of Cathina’s left foot as her fingers held the right against it.
“This is wrong, you can’t do this to me!” yelped Cathina.
“Oh shush will you?” admonished Jayne, “It’s not that bad.”
“You… you’re imprisoning me against my will! This is illegal!”
“It’s only illegal if someone finds out”, chirped Jayne with a playful wink and a flirty sneer, “Just one last thing, and….” With that, Jayne gently clipped the thumb cuffs around Cathina’s toes and sat back with a satisfied nod. Stoker took a moment to admire the captive girl’s feet; he’d seen the tops of them and they looked delicious, but however lovely they looked her soles were equally as sweet. The skin of her arches and the stems of her toes was creamy white, the same colour as her legs, and was tinged lavender around the fleshier parts of her soles and toes. They were so smooth and shapely that they looked as though they’d been sculpted from clay, and were even slightly dirty around the upper parts of her soles which had been exposed to the miasma of grime floating around the city. Soft, supple, scared, petit and ticklish, well worth the scheming.
“Please”, begged Cathina, all semblance of indignance or outrage gone from her voice, “Whatever you’re going to do to me, please don’t. Please. I’m scared…”
“Ooooh you’re so adorable!” squealed Jayne in delight, jumping down from the desk “You’re just sooo cute, but you don’t half fret a lot. Here….” She produced a ball gag from the box and padded over to Cathina. Cathina screamed as Jayne tried to hold her still, yanking her head to and fro in a desperate attempt to keep from being gagged. Eventually Stoker ran around the desk to help, holding Cathina’s head straight as his assistant gently placed the gag in her mouth and secured it around the back of her head.
“There we go, all better now”, she said, returning to her seat at Cathina’s feet as the poor girl sobbed dejectedly. Whatever these sick, demented pair of bastards had planned for her, she could only submit to. She lowered her head in defeat; all she could do was hope that it was over quickly….
A sudden jolt coursed through Cathina’s body, snapping her head back upright and forcing a squeak from her throat.
“Heehee, tickly!” exclaimed the blonde girl. Stoker nodded.
“She said she was”, he remarked.
“Good good, this should be fun then….” Her face a mask of focus, Jayne leaned into Cathina’s helpless soles once more and cracked her knuckles. Cathina tried to plead around the gag but it was pointless; within a heartbeat the tarty blonde’s preened nails were scrabbling across poor Cathina’s helpless feet, sending needling shocks of pure nerve energy coursing through her legs and body. The bound girl’s brain was on autopilot as Jayne’s fingers scattered across every available inch of bare skin she could find; she was probably laughing or screaming or something but she couldn’t tell. That was an involuntary reaction, and her conscious mind was too embattled with trying to find some way to just stop the tickling, to push it away, that there was no time to worry about anything. Jayne’s fingers buried themselves expertly into the pit her victim’s captive arches created, eagerly swirling and scratching at what seemed like lightning speed as Cathina wrenched and struggled and sputtered painful laughter around her gag, coughing and wheezing as her eyes forced themselves closed in an attempt to block out what this fucker was doing to her poor feet. She thought she heard Jayne giggling, like a kid, like a fucking schoolyard bully, mocking her convulsions and laughing quite contentedly as she plucked away at every nerve, every inch of soft skin, one second caressing the tops tantalisingly and the next driving her fingers between Cathina’s toes. Suddenly Jayne varied her actions somewhat, poking her nails into the supple flesh of Cathina’s arches before flicking them outwards and drawing them back in, her agile fingers working themselves quickly against her victim’s increasingly tormented feet. After a few seconds of this, Jayne curled her fingers dextrously around the back of Cathina’s feet and pushed her thumbs into the soft flesh at the base of her captive’s toes, kneading the silky skin at the back with her fingers and rolling her thumbs in small, slow circles along the length of Cathina’s sole and back again. Cathina emitted a strangled shriek as soon as Jayne’s thumbs began to move, pressing deep into her helpless soles yet rubbing with an agonising gentleness that became unbearable after barely a second. Jayne remembered this particular technique well; Stoker had enjoyed using it on her when she was first offered the position as his tickle-toy nearly five years ago, and she remembered the paroxysms of ecstasy it had wrung from her then. It was to all intents and purposes a massage, but one designed to increase tension and anxiety rather than release it, as well as tickling a pair of helpless, receptive feet like hell. Judging by the gasping, raw yelps her little dolly was rasping around her gag, Jayne presumed it was working just as well here as it had on her. The only difference really was that Jayne had loved every second Stoker spent tormenting her feet; for Cathina, this was torture.
Stoker could see it as well, the Rolling Ball Footrub he used to call it. He liked it because it allowed him to get his hands on the maximum amount of soft ticklish skin whilst also being something of a turn-on for the girl. At least, it had always turned Jayne on whenever he’d used it on her, mixing her rapturous laughter with husky moans. However, as much as he enjoyed tormenting Jayne, the more he watched Cathina the more he knew he was going to enjoy playing with Cathina even more. Jayne only begged him for mercy because she knew it turned him on. Cathina was pleading for Jayne to stop because she was scared, agonised, and she just couldn’t fucking take it anymore. She was going to take it though, she was going to take a lot more of it because the more he watched Jayne tickling his new girl’s exquisite feet the better it got. Right from the moment Jayne had first raked a nail down Cathina’s sole he’d been watching her reactions, drinking in every second of her distress. Her eyes were pressed shut, her face contorted by the bouts of forced, gasping laughter that the tickle torture was forcing from her and the frustrated pleas that were muffled by the gag and killed dead in her throat. Her body was thrashing violently against the seat, her back arching and tensing, her shoulders rolling to and fro and her head whipping in all directions as the pulses of ticklish agony surged through every fibre of her being, ripping control of her body away from her and compelling her to dance like a puppet to every stroke of Jayne’s nails across her helpless little feet. Her legs shook and pulled hard at her ankles, trying desperately to get her feet out of the stocks and away from Jayne’s fingers just for even a second, just so she could get her breath, just so it would stop. However, as much fun as it was watching the rest of Cathina’s lovely form wracked with torment, watching her powerless, imprisoned feet was even more pleasurable. Her little toes curled themselves up to prevent Jayne’s fingers from raking between them, but Jayne simply took hold of them, gently yet forcefully pulling them straight again. Her soles wrinkled at every touch as her toes curled and twitched, splaying themselves and balling up again as his senior girl’s experienced fingers did their work. At one point Jayne took a hold of all of Cathina’s toes with ther left hand and pulled them back before scraping the tensed fingers of her right hand up and down the new girl’s soles which drew a long, loud, rasping roar of sheer frustrated agony from Cathina. Her back arched upwards and slammed back against the chair, her legs wrenched and twitched, but her feet didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He could see some signs of twitching there, some signs that she was trying to stop Jayne torturing her, but she couldn’t. Stoker’s face broke into a beaming leer as he soaked up Cathina’s anguish, lustfully leering at her gorgeous little peds, enjoying the sumptuous swishing sound that Jayne’s nails made against the girl’s delightful soles. He could tell just by the noise alone how exquisitely soft and pampered those pretty little peds were. He was beyond turned-on; he had a hard-on that could break bricks and a gawping, lustful smile that he couldn’t get rid of, all of which only increased as he noticed that Cathina was pretty much at her limit. She’d gone limp and was puffing out breaths in between painful gouts of hoarse laughter and heaving woeful sobs; she’d had enough for the time being, it was time to make the proposal.
Leaping from his chair, Stoker stalked around to Cathina’s side and leaned into her tear-stained face, sweat-matted strands of thick dark hair stuck to her cheeks and a look of tormented anguish in her eyes. He reached around the back of her head and roughly untied her gag, letting her splutter and catch her breath before he launched into his speech.
“Your new job is a double role”, he snarled, “You are both my personal tickle toy and foot slave. Your duties are simple; I call you, you bring those lush little feet of yours to me, and I do whatever the fucking hell I feel like doing to them, understood?”
“That’s illegal!” sobbed Cathina.
“Oh god yes” chuckled Stoker, “That’s why you’re getting thirty grand a year and a grand a time to keep mum about it. Attractive performance related bonus package, innit? Well, maybe not ATTRACTIVE considering the sort of performance I’m looking for is the sort of performance that you really seem to hate, but hey.”
“That’s…. that’s prostitution, you can’t make me do this!!”
“I’m not a fucking sicko, sweetheart”, Stoker replied, “I’m not going to kidnap you and keep you in my loft or anything like that, but the fact remains you’re a lovely girl with a pair of the most fantastically lovely, hopelessly ticklish little feet I’ve ever seen, and I want access. I want to suck and lick and tickle and torment them, and I want to see you screaming and squirming because you hate it so much, and I want to be able to do it whenever and wherever I feel like. Thirty grand a year and whatever else you get ain’t that bad for giving up your tootsies for a few hours a day is it? Plus there’s more money to be made if you decide to let me go a bit further, but we’ll talk about that later. What I’m offering is fair, I reckon.” Cathina’s lip was quivering; she couldn’t believe what this foul pervert was saying to her, what he’d just done to her, any of it. She despised people touching her soles or toes at the best of times, even boyfriends or people she knew and trusted, but to actually allow this stranger, this despicable man to pleasure himself over her feet in exchange for money? Unthinkable.
“I won’t do this!” Stoker growled.
“Fair enough”, he spat, “Let me give you the revised package, the offer I had planned for you if you turned out to be an awkward ****. You get exactly the same money as you always were plus a tenner stuffed into your bra every time I’m finished with you, plus I grass up that fucking murdering, Chechen separatists bastard you call your dad to the Immigration authorities so they can deport him to Russia.”
“No, you can’t! Please!!”
“I fucking can, and I will; and rest assured, even if at some point during our little arrangement the Old Bill arrive to cart me off for whatever shit it is I’m doing to you, I’ll still get you. One call to my brother Barry in Strangeways would be enough. You ever heard of the Malleys from Moss Side?” Cathina shook her head.
“Good, because if you try to grass me up you will be hearing from them; and believe me if those pikey psychos get hold of you the least of your worries will be someone sucking on your feet for a few hours a day. So, you coming round to my way of thinking yet?”
She was stuck; this fucking pig had her over a barrel, and her choices were either refusing him and running the risk of her father being deported to Russia to be executed and possibly suffering a similar fate herself, or taking it on the chin, accepting his filthy money and agreeing to his demands. She’d never felt so low in her life. Dejectedly she lowered her head, heaving out a sigh of relief as rage and the sting of her predicament burned in her blood.
“Okay”, she sighed, “I’ll do it….”
“Excellent!”, piped Stoker, suddenly far more cheerful, “I’ll leave you in Jayne’s capable hands then; she’ll sort out all the paperwork for you.” He’d decided to deny Cathina to himself for a little while longer, just so it was all the sweeter when he did finally get his hands on her. He nodded to Jayne, took a cursory glance at the camera which was recording Cathina’s ordeal, and left. Cathina looked at Jayne with pleading eyes, however Jayne simply smirked and took a pen from the pot on Alfie’s desk.
“Now then”, said the blonde girl, rolling the pen between her fingers and eying up Cathina’s tormented soles again, “Let’s get your contract written up, shall we?”
