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TheSkirmisher
subarashii chin chin mono
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2014
She worked hard to get where she was. She had spent her whole life planning it and working toward it - the corner office, the expensive clothes, the spot high up on the totem pole, all the prestige that she had considered worthy of getting was attached to her name now. In fact, growing up, she had always aspired to see her name travel as far away from herself as possible; you work in service as a grunt, you've got your name pinned to your chest or your paper hat, but the further up you move and more success you earn, the farther your name physically leaves you and becomes a business card in your pocket or a plate on a desk or a decal on your door or eventually on the whole damn building. It was gonna get on the building one day, she made no mistake about it, but she could settle for now with her name on the front door to the office and on everyone's lips.
Until he started saying her name. Now, the rumble of his timbre rattling that word that belonged to her made her shiver.
Her skin lit up when she felt him near. Her heart stopped when anytime she saw him. Her head felt like she was all alone with him even in a crowded room. Even when she laid in her bed alone at night, the place he'd let himself into and defiled her so many times, he made her wince at the thought that she wasn't alone at all. Maybe she would never really be alone ever again after what he'd been doing to her.
For all her accomplishments and accolades and the clients she'd rescued and the name she'd pushed so far away from her body, it was all useless against a single pair of shoelaces that he used to tie her wrists to her own bedpost when he first had his way with her. She still hadn't figured out how he got his own key to her place, but now it was like a second home to him. It had turned into a nightmare for her, a place totally detached from the life she thought she'd been leading that was now something else every time he came to take her again. He'd used the shoelaces the first several times because she still couldn't help herself, but then the reasons to not fight back started stacking - the pictures he'd been taking that would surely ruin everything she'd gained over the years, learning that crying hadn't changed anything, and the fact he had been figuring out how to make her cum.
He'd been doing it for months. Letting himself in, having her, leaving. But the past few weeks, he'd been bolder: staying the night, getting it during the day, telling her what to wear, footing the bill for expensive dinner dates and gifts for him, all while he turned the perfect powerhouse everyone had grown to know over the years at the office into a whore one visit at a time.
And that old familiar feeling of fire across her skin flared up as her office door opened and he let himself in to approach the side of her desk. He greeted her pretty casually, just as he would anybody else in the office, but she knew what was in him. What he'd put in her. His footsteps were so heavy, even on the wall-to-wall carpet. Her eyes stared at its weave in a bid to avoid staring at him.
He talked about something unimportant, work-related, indifferent. Then, she started to come to when he reached to her chest and felt the flat of her upper chest over her silken blouse.
"I told you, you really gotta show more skin," He hooked a finger under the top button and let it slip free from its hole. "I need a little show." He undid two more and separated the flaps of the blouse so he could see more of her, stopping when he finally got some decent cleavage to look at. "That's better," He ran a finger between her breasts in admiration of the sight. "Wear something more revealing tonight at dinner. Definitely something that shows off the cleavage. I like when you show off for me at the steakhouse."
He leaned in. Close enough to eat her. Threatening her just with the graze of his fingertips. Rewarded with the hard weight of her breaths.
"Tonight, when we get back to your place after dinner," His fingers ran between the next two buttons and gripped. "I'm gonna fuck your ass." He tugged her blouse a little more than would be considered gently, threatening her with the strength she knew he had to rip her shirt to hell. She jerks forward a little in her $800 executive leather chair, nearly rolling the whole thing around if he wanted to. Then he let go, wrinkles marking where his fingers had nearly brought her blouse to ruin for all the office to see.
She shivered still. Had since this whole thing had started. But now, she couldn't tell if the shivers were from horror or elation. No matter what she ended up feeling, he was going to take her all the same. And some sick, deep part of her knew that he might be the only one who was good enough for her because he was the only one bold enough to take her for himself in a way that only she could understand. Even the thickest kevlar vest becomes threadbare one string at a time.
=====
This is an idea that I've been stewing on for awhile, came from a half-baked story I almost started with someone else but it just keeps prodding me. I think the relationship between a powerful woman and the person knocking her down to her basest elements is very compelling.
As always, all the details are negotiable, we can add or subtract given what you personally like, and I would love to hear some ideas on where it starts to go from here. Is he of equal status at the company or does he work under her? Is he doing it because he's infatuated with her or because he's trying to move up in the world? Is there an element of Stockholm syndrome here? What more could he possibly want from her and how can things get worse? The story can start at the beginning or we can revisit how they get here through flashbacks, but I do think that there's no way out that keeps both of them intact - one or the other has to surrender, and they're not giving up what they've taken without a fight. What would it even mean for one or the other to give up?
Additionally, I did figure out that this story has a loose thematic connection to last year's film Babygirl with Nicole Kidman (the idea came WAY before the film released from somebody who wasn't even me) but I still thought that the song during the big club sequence kind of fit the mood so I included it as our opener here.
Until he started saying her name. Now, the rumble of his timbre rattling that word that belonged to her made her shiver.
Her skin lit up when she felt him near. Her heart stopped when anytime she saw him. Her head felt like she was all alone with him even in a crowded room. Even when she laid in her bed alone at night, the place he'd let himself into and defiled her so many times, he made her wince at the thought that she wasn't alone at all. Maybe she would never really be alone ever again after what he'd been doing to her.
For all her accomplishments and accolades and the clients she'd rescued and the name she'd pushed so far away from her body, it was all useless against a single pair of shoelaces that he used to tie her wrists to her own bedpost when he first had his way with her. She still hadn't figured out how he got his own key to her place, but now it was like a second home to him. It had turned into a nightmare for her, a place totally detached from the life she thought she'd been leading that was now something else every time he came to take her again. He'd used the shoelaces the first several times because she still couldn't help herself, but then the reasons to not fight back started stacking - the pictures he'd been taking that would surely ruin everything she'd gained over the years, learning that crying hadn't changed anything, and the fact he had been figuring out how to make her cum.
He'd been doing it for months. Letting himself in, having her, leaving. But the past few weeks, he'd been bolder: staying the night, getting it during the day, telling her what to wear, footing the bill for expensive dinner dates and gifts for him, all while he turned the perfect powerhouse everyone had grown to know over the years at the office into a whore one visit at a time.
And that old familiar feeling of fire across her skin flared up as her office door opened and he let himself in to approach the side of her desk. He greeted her pretty casually, just as he would anybody else in the office, but she knew what was in him. What he'd put in her. His footsteps were so heavy, even on the wall-to-wall carpet. Her eyes stared at its weave in a bid to avoid staring at him.
He talked about something unimportant, work-related, indifferent. Then, she started to come to when he reached to her chest and felt the flat of her upper chest over her silken blouse.
"I told you, you really gotta show more skin," He hooked a finger under the top button and let it slip free from its hole. "I need a little show." He undid two more and separated the flaps of the blouse so he could see more of her, stopping when he finally got some decent cleavage to look at. "That's better," He ran a finger between her breasts in admiration of the sight. "Wear something more revealing tonight at dinner. Definitely something that shows off the cleavage. I like when you show off for me at the steakhouse."
He leaned in. Close enough to eat her. Threatening her just with the graze of his fingertips. Rewarded with the hard weight of her breaths.
"Tonight, when we get back to your place after dinner," His fingers ran between the next two buttons and gripped. "I'm gonna fuck your ass." He tugged her blouse a little more than would be considered gently, threatening her with the strength she knew he had to rip her shirt to hell. She jerks forward a little in her $800 executive leather chair, nearly rolling the whole thing around if he wanted to. Then he let go, wrinkles marking where his fingers had nearly brought her blouse to ruin for all the office to see.
She shivered still. Had since this whole thing had started. But now, she couldn't tell if the shivers were from horror or elation. No matter what she ended up feeling, he was going to take her all the same. And some sick, deep part of her knew that he might be the only one who was good enough for her because he was the only one bold enough to take her for himself in a way that only she could understand. Even the thickest kevlar vest becomes threadbare one string at a time.
=====
This is an idea that I've been stewing on for awhile, came from a half-baked story I almost started with someone else but it just keeps prodding me. I think the relationship between a powerful woman and the person knocking her down to her basest elements is very compelling.
As always, all the details are negotiable, we can add or subtract given what you personally like, and I would love to hear some ideas on where it starts to go from here. Is he of equal status at the company or does he work under her? Is he doing it because he's infatuated with her or because he's trying to move up in the world? Is there an element of Stockholm syndrome here? What more could he possibly want from her and how can things get worse? The story can start at the beginning or we can revisit how they get here through flashbacks, but I do think that there's no way out that keeps both of them intact - one or the other has to surrender, and they're not giving up what they've taken without a fight. What would it even mean for one or the other to give up?
Additionally, I did figure out that this story has a loose thematic connection to last year's film Babygirl with Nicole Kidman (the idea came WAY before the film released from somebody who wasn't even me) but I still thought that the song during the big club sequence kind of fit the mood so I included it as our opener here.