The executive vice president of Relicorp Holdings, a multinational corporation whose technological tentacles stretched into nearly every corner of nearly every device with which nearly every person on the planet interacted every day—not nearly every day, either, but literally every day—had Drina in his arms in his corner office. He kissed her hard, ran his right hand down the back of her blue dress, moved that hand lower, cupped Drina’s ass possessively.
“You should probably take off your clothes,” he said, breaking the kiss in order to issue the command. His voice came from deep in his muscular chest, almost a growl. Blond, blue-eyed Mr. Marsden was movie-star handsome and very fit, and he knew both facts more thoroughly than Drina found entirely attractive in a man.
Or, really, she thought, a man should know those things about himself—confidence certainly turned her on. He just shouldn’t try too hard to make sure you knew those things about him. Definitely not as hard as Mr. Marsden tried—and especially not at thirty-five or however old he was, to Drina’s twenty-three.
“Oh, should I?” Drina asked. “Here in your office? I don’t think so. Get a nice hotel room and buy me a Kobe steak, and we can talk about it.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Marsden said, his voice suddenly to Drina’s surprise becoming scornful, “that’s not going to happen, Drina.” The hand on her backside suddenly squeezed, and the left twined into her blonde hair, tugging painfully at Drina’s French braid.
“Ow. Quit it,” she protested, wrinkling her brow and twisting her mouth into a scornful and—she knew from experience—extremely unattractive expression. The estimated chance of fucking Mr. Bradley Marsden went down in her mental calculator from one hundred percent to eighty-five percent or so. She had thought she could keep him fairly easily in his place. If he thought he could negotiate terms, let alone dictate them, Drina would have to figure out whether he was worth adding to her stable.
She nearly giggled in his face as she thought about the stable. She had only begun thinking of the three men she had slept with, and in particular the two she still fucked on at least a semi-ongoing basis, that way. Drina had enough of her four years of New Modesty College in her still to get a naughty thrill thinking about the number of men she had fucked since graduation.
The scorn in her eyes clearly didn’t sit well with Marsden. That should, Drina thought, have made him let go of her. She might have felt a twinge of worry if the encounter had taken place in the hotel room, despite the way masculine confidence turned her on. The executive vice president’s office, though, had glass walls, and it was only 5:30. The door was open, too, for God’s sake. All she had to do was scream—and if she let him unzip her dress before she screamed, Mr. Bradley Marsden would find himself in an extremely difficult situation.
He didn’t let go, though, but used his grip on her hair to yank her head back roughly, looking down at Drina very coldly now. She opened her mouth, fight-or-flight reflexes taking hold and the scream about to happen automatically, but Marsden said something then that kept her mouth closed.
“I know about the money, Drina.”
Drina felt the blood drain from her face—from her whole body, it felt like, flowing directly into the gray carpet and presumably down the thirty-five stories of the office building onto the sidewalk, so far did it feel from her veins. With a supreme act of will, she forced her face back into its scornful expression, but she could see in Marsden’s eyes that he had noticed her blanching—just as he must now see that her cheeks had flushed red, as the blood all seemed to return at once, to all the wrong parts of Drina’s body.
“What money?” She tried to persuade herself that her voice sounded even, and dismissive, as if uttered by a young woman who hadn’t stolen fifty thousand dollars from her employer.
“I seriously doubt I have to go into it, you little whore,” Marsden said, his fingertips massaging her scalp in a way she probably would have found sexy if he hadn’t just made it clear he had discovered her very, very dirty secret. Drina might, she thought wildly, even have found it arousing to be called a little whore, in the right circumstances. Now, to her shame, the words made her whimper in fear. “Maybe the initials FC will help you decide that you’re going to do as I tell you—beginning with taking off your clothes for me right now.”
- Free Connection. Relicorp’s Silicon Valley software division’s flagship product. Billions of dollars, and a tsunami of accounting errors because of the complex licensing issues involved. Fifty thousand dollars represented a rounding error to Relicorp Holdings, and financial independence to Drina Peterson. She had noticed it in the client billing; money the client had paid that Relicorp didn’t know they had coming.
She had rerouted one payment. The stupid company had misdirected it anyway, and it would never have been found, because Relicorp Holdings didn’t even know what companies were buying licenses and under what terms. And the stupid software didn’t even seem like a product at all, to Drina at least. Why shouldn’t a payment she had found, that wouldn’t have gone to Relicorp anyway, go to Drina Peterson’s bank account?
How had Marsden even figured it out?
She felt her face crumple as she looked up at him. His blue eyes narrowed, and a wolfish little smile played over his lips. His right hand moved over her bottom gently, now, but very freely, his fingertips pressing the silky fabric of Drina’s dress against the outcurve of her hind-cheeks just where her pussy could feel it most, seeming to promise that Mr. Bradley Marsden would very soon claim that part of her as his own. With his left hand he held her head still, and bent his face to kiss her again, his lips moving firmly over hers though Drina kept her own mouth closed, breath coming in puffs through her nose as she tried to avoid the unwanted intimacy.
Marsden pulled his head back again. “You’re going to have to learn to kiss me properly, Drina,” he said. “But that’s not what I want most right now.”
He released her from his arms and walked to his office door. He closed it and locked it. Then, with a switch by the door, he lowered blinds on the glass walls that Drina hadn’t even known were there.
Turning back to her, his arms folded across his navy blue suit coat and his white Oxford, he said, “We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. I’m guessing you’re a little whore who likes it the easy way—otherwise you wouldn’t have stolen from your employer. If that’s right, you should just go ahead and take off your dress, then bend over my desk. You’ll come here every day at 5:30, from now on, and I’ll fuck you. I know you make your other guys use condoms—I’ve talked to all three of them. No need for birth control with me, though, since I’ll finish in your ass or in your mouth. Sometimes I’ll even let you choose. Not today, though: today I’m going to come in that tight little backside. I’m pretty sure you’ve never given ass, so it’s going to be uncomfortable—but pretty embezzlers really can’t be choosy when they become fuck toys.”
Drina’s jaw had fallen open. As she had watched Marsden cross the room, lock the door, and lower the blinds, she had backed up against the picture window looking out over midtown Manhattan, where the executive had cornered her—what? a minute earlier? two minutes? He had told her she had to see something down on the street. Something funny? Something weird?
Marsden hadn’t even said, and it hadn’t mattered to Drina, either, because she had known he wanted to kiss her, not show her something out the window. So she had sauntered over toward him, making the most of her dimple as she shot him a look that had said he could kiss her if he wanted, but it would take more to get her dress off than a look out his picture window.
The dimple told men that even before New Modesty College, and definitely during and after, Miss Alexandrina Peterson had been, and now still was, a good girl, a demure girl, a modest girl. She followed the rules. She had never gotten the strap at school, and she had waited until her senior year to have sex with her boyfriend, Jake, the young man (though a year older than Drina) whom she had followed to Relicorp.
She broke up with Jake and discovered that she could make very good use of her face and her body in the corporate world, without making herself any less a good, modest girl in the eyes even of her lovers. In the past three months she had sometimes fucked David one night and Brendan the next, something of which she supposed her parents and the dean of New Modesty East would not approve. Drina, though, had felt that while she definitely wouldn’t have told her parents or the dean about her sexual exploits, she had no difficulty imagining herself settling down like a good girl in a year or two—not with an old-fashioned guy, of course, but certainly in the old-fashioned way, minus the New Modesty family punishment strap. Now her cheeks flamed, though, as she realized they—Jake, David, and Brendan—must have talked to Marsden, the executive vice president of Relicorp Holdings, about fucking Miss Alexandrina Peterson.
Nor did that humiliation represent anything like the worst part of the situation, she thought as Marsden began to cross the office back toward Drina. She had fifty thousand dollars, minus a couple hundred she had spent on the dress she wore right now—the one Marsden had just told her to take off—sitting in her checking account. Fifty thousand stolen dollars.
In Marsden’s icy eyes Drina could see that he didn’t think he had a good girl in his office. When he had called her to the window on the pretense of having something to show her, she understood now, he had seen a different young woman from the Miss Alexandrina Peterson she herself had seen in the bathroom mirror five minutes before. Drina had gone in there to check her hair and her makeup before a meeting with the EVP, which she had thought might be about promotion.
She had seen a good girl in the mirror, albeit one who also did what she needed to do to survive in a man’s world. That included making use of her natural assets, and it included appropriating funds that might otherwise have gone missing entirely. She harmed no one; in fact, she gave her lovers a great deal of pleasure, especially by making them think she kept her innocence for them.
She had perfectly sized C-cup breasts, and she had folded her arms across her chest for a moment to feel how the lacy bra she had put on that morning, for the seduction of Bradley Marsden, moved across her nipples and made them tingle. The sensation had sent a flutter through her tummy, and further down, and that had turned her cheeks red as she thought about her New Modesty courtship education.
Hell, Drina thought as her heart seemed to descend through her stomach, I am still innocent. I’ve had sex with three men, and, no, I’ve never had anal sex. I haven’t even given a blowjob, and I haven’t let them kiss me down there. New Modesty accomplished that much, I guess.
Now, however, it seemed like Mr. Bradley Marsden meant to use his power over her to make sure that innocence departed forever. He saw a bad girl, and he meant to treat her like one.
She cowered even further back against the glass as he advanced. Surely someone could see what was happening, from another building? What would it look like, though? She couldn’t scream, and she couldn’t… she couldn’t even disobey him, could she?
Marsden stopped about a foot, if that, away from her.
“You should probably do as you’re told, Drina,” he said. “I thought they taught you girls that at school, these days. Your transcript said you never got whipped or paddled, I remember. Since you’re not taking off your dress for me as I asked, we’re about to change that. The only question is just how many lashes I’m going to give you before I drive my dick into that pussy I’ve wanted to get a look at for so long.”
Her cheeks had already gotten as hot as they possibly could, but now her whole body seemed to burn with shame. The fucking New Modesty colleges sent transcripts to corporate partners, and a girl’s punishment record was on there. Drina had taken pride in not having received a paddling or a whipping, but now that seemed worse than having been one of the girls who traveled regularly to the professors’ offices for discipline.
“Did you know that as a corporate partner of the New Modesty, every Relicorp exec gets a punishment strap to use on girls like you?”
Drina didn’t answer in words, but her little sob must have told Marsden the truth—she hadn’t known.
“Now go ahead and take off your dress, or things are going to get much—”
Marsden’s phone rang.
“Fuck,” he said angrily. “Stay right there, Drina.”
He walked to his desk and picked up the handset.
“This had better—ah, dammit. Yes. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He hung up the phone.
“This won’t take long, slut,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “You’ll stay right here, and you’ll take off your dress and bend over my desk just like I told you before. If I don’t find you that way, you’re going to have a lot more trouble sitting down tomorrow than having a cock in your ass for the first time would give you otherwise.”
Then he had gone, and closed the door behind him. Drina trembled as she looked at its solid wood, and at the closed blinds. Tears sprang to her eyes as she reached behind her to start unzipping her dress.
Then her phone buzzed, where she had put it on the windowsill just before Marsden had started to kiss her. She didn’t recognize the number, but with a faint hope that it might give her some way out, some excuse to go that Marsden would have to honor, she picked it up.
“Drina, listen carefully, please,” said Julia Goldberg, the New York-based assessor for the Institute, recently assigned to Alexandrina Peterson’s case. “I have two officers from a program you would gain a great deal from waiting to get you right now, if you agree to one condition.”
“What?” Drina’s voice sounded, of course, full of confusion. “Who is this?”
In the view Julia had through the window of Marsden’s corner office, from a camera two blocks away, the blonde-haired girl looked fruitlessly out at the cityscape around the Relicorp building, as if she might figure out who had called her.
“You don’t have much time, Drina,” Julia said calmly but quickly. “I’m authorized to offer you a place in a rehabilitation program for nonviolent offenders who come from New Modesty backgrounds.”
“What? Oh, no… you can—”
“Listen to me, Drina. We know about what you did, and we also know what your boss has decided to do about it.”
On Julia’s screen, the temperature reading from the perineal sensor placed between her legs the previous night by a nano-drone crept upward—not enough to raise her overall arousal, which stood at five on the Institute’s ten-point scale, but enough to suggest to Julia that the girl’s feelings concerning Marsden’s advances had a certain complexity to them. Especially when associated with her New Modesty background—as Marsden himself had done a few moments before, while Julia listened over the crypto-app they had installed on Drina’s phone—the exercise of authority had a powerful effect on Alexandrina Peterson’s mind and libido.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the girl tried, in a voice she tried to make sound cold, though the voice analyzer inspecting her words at the level of their sonic profile registered increasing stress. “I’m going to hang up.”
She didn’t, though.
“I can get you out of there, Drina,” Julia said, watching on her screen as Drina turned away from the window again and looked, it appeared to Julia, at the door in fear that it might open any moment. “You do have to pay for what you did, but you don’t have to let Marsden destroy your life.”
“He…” Julia felt sure Drina meant to protest that if she gave into Bradley Marsden’s brutal advances, he would promote her, eventually. The girl’s mind worked that way, looking for the advantage in every situation. But Drina also had a more rational side, which not coincidentally represented a large part of the reason the Institute had undertaken to rescue her. “He’s coming back,” she finished, though, her voice sounding defeated. Her overall arousal dropped to four.
Shit. Julia couldn’t lose this girl. If Marsden came back through the door before Drina agreed to the pickup, the possibility became substantial that Selecta, the Institute’s corporate parent, would have their intelligence operation inside Relicorp rolled up. Julia knew she had one more chance to get Drina on board. If she sent in the officers from Selecta’s corporate police without Drina’s consent, Marsden could appeal the arrest.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Miss Peterson,” Julia said, using the name by which Drina had known herself at New Modesty College, under which her first boyfriend had courted her but failed to satisfy her need for mastery, “but we have a place for you to learn to be a better one.”
Drina’s arousal jumped back up to five.
“Do you really want to take your dress off and bend over your boss’ desk for the strap, and then for his cock?” Julia asked, her heart rising, but also beating faster as she made this final play. If Drina got scared in the wrong way—scared of the voice at the other end of the phone—everything would fall apart here.
But Julia’s gambit came straight from the playbook the team of assessors had developed for Drina—it had just come from what might be called the last resort section of the report.
If rational persuasion fails, as it well may, our data from the subject’s social media feeds suggests that her bad girl tendencies lie close enough to the surface that an appeal directly to them could produce results. That is, if the proposition of the Institute program is put to the subject as an act of rebellion in an eroticized context, the subject may agree to it reflexively, and then convince herself that she made a rational choice.
The fundamental idea behind what the assessors called Bad Girl Theory was that certain submissively oriented women escaped their submissive tendencies by acting out in criminal ways. Drina Peterson had done just that when she embezzled the money from a Selecta-controlled corporation, bringing herself to the Institute’s attention and allowing Selecta to make Bradley Marsden aware of the theft in so subtle a way that he thought he had discovered the girl’s crime on his own.
Now Julia had to use the erotic needs Drina kept at bay with her defiance of the rules of the New Modesty and of society itself to make her rebel straight into the arms of the only people who could correct her properly. The terribly ambiguous feelings that had risen in her while Marsden had told her his sexual and disciplinary intentions—Drina’s arousal had risen to eight at one point during his threatening lecture—must serve as the impetus for her to fly in the direction Julia wanted.
That direction, to be sure, involved at least as much corporal punishment and at least as much dominant fucking as Marsden had promised. From the standpoint of Miss Alexandrina Peterson’s well-being, both general and specifically erotic, however, Julia had not the slightest qualm. Marsden meant to make Drina his fuck toy in a way that would keep her a bad girl forever, always trying to find her way to a better life and a better way of seeing herself. When Drina became a fuck toy in the care of the Institute’s Bad Girls Facility, it would mean, paradoxical as it might sound, freedom.
“What’s the condition?” Drina asked. Her arousal had gone to seven at Julia’s recalling to her mind the image of her bending naked over Marsden’s desk. Her voice sounded thick, now.
“The condition is that you agree to help us teach Marsden a lesson.” Julia smiled: she knew she had Alexandrina Peterson just where the girl needed to be. Drina had her back to the window now, so Julia couldn’t see her face even as well as a high-powered camera from two blocks away could show it, but the assessor felt sure the girl’s eyes had gone wide.
“Okay… wait, the door…”
The office door opened and Marsden stood there, his face going from a leer to a glower as soon as he saw that Drina had her phone in her hand.
Julia pressed a key on her keyboard and spoke to Quint, the lead officer of the team waiting in the stairwell. “Go, Team Alpha.”
Marsden closed the door behind him. “Did I tell you you could use your phone, Drina? I’m going to have to whip you for a long time, now. And that’s before we even talk about you not getting naked and not bending over the desk the way I told you to do. I’m afraid you have a lot to learn, whore. You’re going to learn some of it right now, before I fuck you.”
He advanced menacingly toward the girl against the window. Drina turned her head from side to side as if she could see Julia or the promised officers there.
Marsden’s hands had gone to his belt buckle. “Tell me, Drina, isn’t it true that a New Modesty boyfriend is allowed to use either the strap or his belt, depending on how he feels like whipping a disobedient ass?”
He took another step.
“I think I’ll use my belt, actually, since it will let me get my cock—”
A knock at the door.
“What the fuck?” Marsden said angrily. He turned around and strode back to the door, then yanked it open to reveal Quint and Brian, two big Institute trainers in security uniforms. Julia imagined Marsden looking at them scornfully, and Quint looking back at him with raised eyebrows.
“Corporate police,” Quint said, his voice coming to Julia’s ears very clearly through the comm implanted in his jawbone. “We’re serving a corporate warrant under FedCo statute, Title 17.” He stepped into the office, past Marsden and into Julia’s view. “Miss, is your name Alexandrina Peterson?”
“Yes?” Drina answered very hesitantly.
“You’ll have to come with us,” Quint said. “We have a warrant for your arrest and detention on a charge of embezzling.”
“What the fuck is this?” Marsden snarled. “Drina… you don’t have to go with these Selecta fucks.”
Julia almost giggled. One signal advantage of your parent company running the special police who enforced the Federal-Corporate acts lay in your opponents almost always making themselves look foolish when confronted by the quasi-legal authority represented by men like Quint. If Drina had harbored any doubts before as to whether she should go with Quint and Brian or stay with Bradley Marsden, those doubts had probably just evaporated.
Quint said seriously, nodding in a beautifully deadpan manner, “He’s right, Miss Peterson. Under Section 5, your employer can appeal your arrest immediately, unless you waive that appeal. We are also required to disclose that we are employed by Selecta Corporation in a Federal-Corporate partnership.”
Then he turned to Marsden.
“I should also warn you, Mr. Marsden, that we have the power to issue a citation to you for obscene and deprecatory language. Watch yourself, or you’re going to find yourself with a summons and a sizable fine.”
Julia wished she could see Marsden’s eyes rolling, as she assumed they must be. The asshole certainly had not the slightest idea of the magnitude of the plans in which he had just become a very small, but also a very important, part.
“Whatever. I appeal. You two can just get out of here and send one of those strongly worded letters you Selecta f—… I mean, gentlemen, always send when you don’t get your way.”
“Miss Peterson,” Quint asked as if he felt certain Drina would go along with Marsden’s appeal, “do you concur with your employer’s appeal?”
“No!” Drina said. “I—”
“What?” Marsden demanded. “Drina, go sit on the couch. I will handle this. We have a whole floor full of lawyers who love to—”
Drina interrupted him. “I waive my appeal. I’ll go with you, Officers.”
Julia heard Quint getting his handcuffs off his belt and Drina gasp at the sight.
“I said I would go—”
Marsden cut her off. “This is ridiculous. Drina, you don’t know what you’re doing. Officer, she doesn’t waive her appeal.”
But Quint spoke to Drina. “It’s standard policy, I’m afraid, miss. They’re not very tight, and we’ll take you out the back way so no one sees.”
“Drina!” Marsden said, as Julia heard the clicking of the cuffs. “For God’s sake, don’t be an idiot.”
Julia watched the girl’s arousal creep back up a notch, to six, at the feeling of the metal encircling her wrists. That could be a little dangerous, because bad girls resisted their submission so hard. Julia spoke to Quint over the comm link.
“She may wildcat a little. Get her out of there.”
“I…” Drina started, and just as Julia suspected her numbers started to crash as her mind resisted the arousal. Six became five, and then four.
“Time to go,” Quint said. They moved out of Julia’s sight, behind an interior wall, on their way to the service elevator. Marsden stood in his doorway, watching.
“Wait,” Drina said. “Wait a second, I…”
But they had her on the service elevator, downward bound for the parking garage under the building, where the Selecta van idled in expectation of her arrival. Drina fell silent on the ride down, her arousal sunk all the way to two. In her mind, Julia felt sure, the girl bounced between relief that she had escaped Marsden’s brutal advances and apprehension of what might befall her now.
“The woman on the phone…” she started just before the doors opened in the basement parking level.
“What woman?” Quint asked.
Drina fell silent. Julia heard the elevator doors opened. The security camera in the garage showed Quint leading her to the van, and Brian opening the sliding door to reveal the long bench on the van’s driver side, with Aaron, the third member of the team, seated at the wheel. Drina got in with Quint’s help, and Brian followed, sliding the door closed behind them. Aaron started to pull out of the parking space.
Julia had full video of the interior of the van from two cameras. She watched Quint sit Drina down on the bench and sit beside her.
“Where are we going?” Drina asked in a fearful voice.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Quint replied. “All you need to know for now is that one way or another you’re going to be naked when you get there.”