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Amelie passed the information she had collected about Chris’ crush on to her client. She knew it was hugely inappropriate – she was giving a convicted rapist the personal details of a girl who he had confessed to having fantasies of raping – but it was no more inappropriate that what she had already done, breaking into the girl’s apartment to get this information. (Or, for that matter, accessing the private files of Ray Batsby’s victim Taylah.)
Chris seemed pleased by it. “Her name’s Gail?” he said. “That’s so cute. Can’t you just picture how good it would be to rape a girl called Gail? I bet she’d struggle in a really pretty way.”
“What are you going to do with this information, Chris?” Amelie asked nervously.
He looked at her as if he didn’t understand why she was asking the question. “Nothing,” he said. “That was our deal, right? I think about fucking her – about fucking Gail – but I use you instead.”
“Yes,” said Amelie, with relief. “That’s right.”
She remembered she had something extra for Chris. She reached into her handbag, and fished out the pair of panties she had stolen from Gail’s apartment.
“Are those… hers?” Chris asked, wide eyed.
“That’s right,” said Amelie. “A little present for being good.”
His cock twitched, and he looked down at it.
“Do you think you could… get me off with them?” he asked.
“Chris, you just came!” Amelie objected. “I still have your cum on my tits! And your appointment time is about to expire!”
“Please,” said Chris. “I’ll be fast. It’ll help me to be good.”
Amelie found that she *did* want to please Chris. And Ray had taught her not to contradict men. And in case, Chris had made it clear that when he was horny, if he didn’t get what he wanted, he would simply take it.
Awkwardly, Amelie reached out and wrapped the lacy panties around Chris’ cock. Then she began to masturbate them.
Chris groaned. “Oh, that’s so good,” he said. His eyes focused on Amelie, and he said, “Do you mind if I talk to you like you’re Gail?”
“Uh… that’s fine, I suppose,” said Amelie nervously.
“Gail, you dumb slut,” moaned Chris. “God, fuck, I want to rape you. I want to hurt you. I want to force myself into your pretty little slut cunt and fill your womb up with my sperm. Fuck.”
His eyes were focused on Amelie’s cum-smeared tits. Suddenly, he reached out and slapped her, making her gasp.
“You fucking dumb *whore*,” he hissed. “You cockteasing little slut. I bet you *want* me to rape me, you sexy little tramp.”
Amelie kept masturbating him.
He slapped her again.
“Bitch,” he hissed. “Nothing but a cunt for me to fuck. God. I just want to *use* you. Fuck. FUCK.”
And then, suddenly, he was cumming into the panties. Amelie couldn’t believe how quickly he had cum, considering he had just orgasmed only minutes before, but she could feel his sperm soaking through the fabric of the underwear and making her hand sticky.
“Thank you, miss,” said Chris, sighing with happiness. “That was so good. Fuck, it really *would* be so good to rape Gail. But I won’t. Providing you keep bringing me things.”
Amelie felt herself tense. “What do you mean, bringing you things?” she asked.
“You know,” said Chris. “Like these panties. Or maybe a picture of her naked. Do you think you could get that for me? I’m sure you could.”
“Chris, I can’t…” objected Amelie.
Chris shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said. “If you can’t, I’m sure I can. I think she’d look pretty, all tied up and naked for my camera. And I know where she lives now. But if you want me to be good, it’s probably better that *you* do it.”
Amelie was trapped. She couldn’t let Chris rape the woman. So there was only one thing she could say.
“I’ll try my best,” she said. “But you have to be good.”
“I will be,” he said. Then he looked down at the sticky panties, still wrapped around his cock. “Do you, uh, think you could clean those for me?”
He might have meant that Amelie should take them home and wash them in her laundry. But she knew he didn’t.
She nodded, and lifted the panties off his cock, and then began to lick them, catching every last drop of his sperm with her tongue. Then she sucked on the panties, to make sure she removed as much of his juices as she possibly could.
Finally, she bent forward and took his cock into her mouth, sucking off the last of his sperm, doing it quickly before he decided he wanted a full blowjob as well.
“Thank you, miss,” said Chris when she was done. “You really are a hot slut, and I guess you’re a good parole officer, seeing as I haven’t raped anyone since we first met. I’m looking forward to our next meeting!”
“Me too, Chris,” said Amelie automatically – and to her shame, it was the truth.
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Amelie had no more clients that afternoon, and by the time five pm came around she could barely think straight. That morning, in his office, Amelie’s manager Mr Horner had made her drink multiple cups of water, and then told her she didn’t have permission to use the toilet.
It had been his way of mocking her for her habit of asking permission to go to lunch, to use the bathroom, and to go home at the end of the day. But Mr Horner didn’t know that Amelie’s rapist client Ray Batsby had told her that she must ask for that permission – and that there would be consequences if she didn’t ask, or did those things without male permission.
She wanted to go home. If she left now, she could probably get home in time to use the toilet at her house.
But Mr Horner had told her she was to stay two more hours and catch up on her paperwork.
Technically, she didn’t need permission either to use the toilet, or go home at 5 pm. She could just do it – either or both. But Ray Batsby’s rules continued to stare at her on her work desk.
“Men are never wrong. If my opinion contradicts a man’s, I will push it out of my head and forget it.”
Mr Horner wanted her to stay. Mr Horner didn’t want her to use the toilet. That was the end of the matter.
A little after five, Gabriel Horner came to visit her in her office.
“Ms Raimes,” he said. “Still here working, I see.”
“Like you told me to, sir,” said Amelie.
“And have you used the toilet yet?” he asked her.
She blushed. “No, sir. You told me not to.”
“And how is that going for you?” asked Mr Horner.
“I… I don’t think I can go another two hours without peeing, sir,” said Amelie, embarrassed.
“Well,” said Mr Horner. “I’d say that presents a problem for you, Ms Raimes. What are you going to do about it?”
She didn’t know. She blushed and looked down. She remembered Ray Batsby’s rule – that when a man made her embarrassed and uncomfortable, she should apologise.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she mumbled.
“Sorry for what?” asked Mr Horner. “Ms Raimes, I think you should get up from your desk and come and stand in front of me.”
Amelie did as she was told. She was fully dressed now, but she was acutely conscious that she still had Chris Swain’s dried cum smeared across her tits, and in her pussy.
“I asked you a question, Ms Raimes,” said Mr Horner, once Amelie was standing about a metre and a half away from him. “You don’t have permission to use the toilet, you don’t have permission to leave, and yet apparently you can’t hold your bladder. What are you going to do?”
She didn’t know. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she was going to do.
Except she did know. Because it was becoming increasingly inevitable, and she didn’t have a choice about it.
“I think I’m going to wet myself, sir,” she said, in a voice that sounded to Amelie as if she might cry.
“Amelie, if you piss right here, in a government office, I *am* going to record it for your permanent file,” said Mr Horner. “And I will require you to clean it up. And there may be other discipline required. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
She made a little sob. She didn’t know what else she *could* do.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reflexively.
Mr Horner got out his phone and pointed it at her. “Well,” he said, “don’t keep me waiting here for hours. If you’re going to do it, you may as well go ahead.”
She whimpered. She didn’t want to wet herself. She didn’t want to piss in front of a man – in front of her boss. And she knew that what she *should* do is just walk out of this room. Go to the toilets, or go home.
And yet…
“This is carpet in here, Amelie,” warned Mr Horner. “If your toileting problem requires the carpet to be replaced, it will be quite expensive.”
Amelie was alarmed. She couldn’t afford to pay for a carpet replacement! She whimpered again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Her bladder was so full.
Mr Horner sighed. “If you want to protect the carpet, I suppose you could take off all your clothes, and pile them between your legs. They might protect the carpet.”
Get undressed? In front of her boss? It was unthinkable. And yet, it seemed like she *was* going to piss – if only because she refused to disobey her manager….
Blushing, she began to undress, taking off her blouse and bra and skirt and piling them beneath her. Mr Horner raised an eyebrow when he saw she was wearing no panties, but said nothing. He just kept filming her on his phone.
“Go ahead now,” he said.
And for a moment Amelie didn’t think she could – and then, suddenly, she was. She was pissing, standing upright, naked, while her boss filmed her, and her piss was splashing onto a pile of clothes – the only clothes she had with her – and soaking them.
She moaned with humiliation.
Her boss said nothing, just silently filmed her.
When it was done, and her bladder was empty, she didn’t know what to do next, other than stand there in embarrassment.
“Stay there,” said Mr Horner, and left the room.
In his absence there was something Amelie very much wanted to do. It was wrong, it was slutty – but for some reason her humiliation had left her pussy throbbing with arousal.
So while Mr Horner was gone, she brought her fingers to her cunt, and began to desperately masturbate. If she could just orgasm before her boss came back…
But he was back too soon, and she had to jerk her fingers away. She was aware that she was now red faced and breathing heavily. Her nipples were erect and she probably smelled of sex.
Mr Horner said nothing about her state. He was holding a large parcel of adult diapers. He extracted one and stepped up to her. It was the kind that wrapped around the crotch rather than the sort that were pulled up the legs, and he quickly put it on her, snugging it against her pussy before sticking the connectors together.
“There,” he said. “If you can’t control yourself, this is what you will need. Wear it home. You don’t have permission to use the toilet at home, either, so you can get used to the feeling of relieving yourself in this. You can take it off and clean yourself up before coming back to work tomorrow, and then we’ll see whether you can manage your bladder or whether you’ll need to wear these at work too.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Amelie quietly. She didn’t know what she was thanking him for – he had humiliated and degraded her, and filmed it – but it seemed appropriate.
“Now, I believe you have two hours of paperwork still to do,” said Mr Horner. “I think I’d like you to write a document for me, describing the feeling of pissing yourself like a slut just now. You should title it ‘What It Felt Like To Piss On My Clothes In Front of a Man’, and it should have your name as the author, and you should save it to your desktop so anyone looking at your screen might see it. Do you understand, Amelie?”
“Yes, sir,” said Amelie unhappily. And then: “Sir? What… what should I wear?”
“Well, your clothes are there,” he said, pointing at the pile of piss-soaked clothes. “Wear them or not, it’s up to you.”
And then he left her office.
Amelie looked at the clothes and thought about putting them on, but in the end she decided she couldn’t bear to wear the wet, pissy clothes. So she gathered them into a plastic bin bag, and sat back at her computer wearing nothing but the diaper. And she began to type the essay that her boss had requested.
It wasn’t long before her pussy was throbbing again, and so Amelie moved to typing with one hand, so that the other could wiggle inside her diaper and rub her eager, wet clitoris.
Soon she would have to make her way to the basement like this – nude, but for a diaper, with her hair in pigtails, like some kind of slutty baby. There shouldn’t be too many people still working, so she would probably get away with it. And then she would have to drive home again, still nude. She would take back streets, without traffic lights, to reduce the chance of anyone seeing her.
And then tomorrow she would come back to work, knowing that she had urinated in front of her boss, and that he had video of her doing it, and she would deal with whatever that meant now for her career.
But that wasn’t even what scared her most about tomorrow. What scared her most was her first client
Gary Sands. The Lightning Rapist. The man who had made her illegally enter her name on the sex offender registry. The man who had required her to have a shock prod in her desk drawer of the same variety that he had used to electro-shock the cunts of his victims.
He terrified her. She hated him, and she hated the thought of seeing him again.
She thought about him slapping her, and choking her. She thought of the shock prod hidden in her desk drawer.
And, just like that, she was orgasming.
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