Wesley did not call for a car when he left Mrs. Gallio's brownstone. His face was streaked with tears. His tie was not straight. At first, he didn't even have it in him to straighten it, or to remove the trinket the woman'd placed on his neck as the first element of her contribution to solving the problem. He just walked home like a man in a fugue.
As the horror arose in his mind at the fact that the woman was maintaining evidence, Wesley'd had to still keep touching himself. And the continued violation and fear had added an edge that didn't change the state he was in at all, and the pressure had built up until she'd made him stop again. And his mind had raced with the sensation and the photographs and what she'd do in the future and what she was doing right now.
He'd just wanted it to be over.
She'd just kept it up, could keep it up all night. She'd never touched him, but would instruct the girls to do so briefly, having all three of them bent and delving for less accessible sensations, with plenty of both variety and repetition, just to maintain the tension and the sense of helplessness, while Mrs. Gallio stayed pristine in her chair. Somewhere inthe midst of this, Wesley started to enunciated a choked, raw, "No--" and bit his tongue. He had to fight it. Had to.
But a few more cycles of her little show, a few more reminders of his powerlessness, and the tears had started, and he'd shook. A cycle more, and he'd sobbed. As Mrs. Gallio had simply begun again, he'd begged. Begged to be allowed to finish, or to get her off, or whatever it would take.
She'd had her girls put his clothes on him -- not even allowing him to do it himself, put the pendant around his neck, and noted that she would make her calls. "A pleasure doing business with you, James," she'd said.
And so Wesley walked home in a near-fugue. When he found Vanessa there, he scrambled to try to straighten his tie, but it was no use. She'd taken too much notice of his not checking in earlier. "Don't tell him," he eventually said. "Please." "You'd rather the first he knows of it getting pictures in the mail?" Vanessa asked quietly. "I'm going to focus on making sure he respects you enough not to try to kill her before she fulfills all of her end of the deal. Me, I think we can do better." He blinked, unable to even try to figure out her meaning after what had happened. "How?" "Sometimes, people just need a little encouragement. I doubt 'Amy' is nearly as valued an employee as you are, or half as loyal." There was nothing pleasant in Vanessa's smile. "I'm wondering if what can be done with persuasion, a 22 mm present, and a new deal."
Minifill 'Deal' 4/4
His face was streaked with tears. His tie was not straight. At first, he didn't even have it in him to straighten it, or to remove the trinket the woman'd placed on his neck as the first element of her contribution to solving the problem. He just walked home like a man in a fugue.
As the horror arose in his mind at the fact that the woman was maintaining evidence, Wesley'd had to still keep touching himself. And the continued violation and fear had added an edge that didn't change the state he was in at all, and the pressure had built up until she'd made him stop again. And his mind had raced with the sensation and the photographs and what she'd do in the future and what she was doing right now.
He'd just wanted it to be over.
She'd just kept it up, could keep it up all night. She'd never touched him, but would instruct the girls to do so briefly, having all three of them bent and delving for less accessible sensations, with plenty of both variety and repetition, just to maintain the tension and the sense of helplessness, while Mrs. Gallio stayed pristine in her chair.
Somewhere inthe midst of this, Wesley started to enunciated a choked, raw, "No--" and bit his tongue. He had to fight it. Had to.
But a few more cycles of her little show, a few more reminders of his powerlessness, and the tears had started, and he'd shook. A cycle more, and he'd sobbed. As Mrs. Gallio had simply begun again, he'd begged. Begged to be allowed to finish, or to get her off, or whatever it would take.
She'd had her girls put his clothes on him -- not even allowing him to do it himself, put the pendant around his neck, and noted that she would make her calls. "A pleasure doing business with you, James," she'd said.
And so Wesley walked home in a near-fugue.
When he found Vanessa there, he scrambled to try to straighten his tie, but it was no use. She'd taken too much notice of his not checking in earlier.
"Don't tell him," he eventually said. "Please."
"You'd rather the first he knows of it getting pictures in the mail?" Vanessa asked quietly. "I'm going to focus on making sure he respects you enough not to try to kill her before she fulfills all of her end of the deal. Me, I think we can do better."
He blinked, unable to even try to figure out her meaning after what had happened. "How?"
"Sometimes, people just need a little encouragement. I doubt 'Amy' is nearly as valued an employee as you are, or half as loyal." There was nothing pleasant in Vanessa's smile. "I'm wondering if what can be done with persuasion, a 22 mm present, and a new deal."