The following story is a work of fiction. It contains scenes of an adult nature, so if you are under 18, stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual language and fantasies involving the mental and physical control of others. If you are offended by such activities, do not read any further. This is purely a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. The author is not responsible for any damage resulting from reading this work.
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Stacy's day could hardly have been better — even being at work seemed wonderful. The warmth of spring was in the air, allowing her to fully roll down the windows of her truck and feel the breeze flap her blond ponytail against her shoulders. As she looked around the spotless cab and double-checked her destination, she was reminded why she loved her employers.
Special Express was a niche-market courier company that treated their drivers very well — especially their women drivers. In fact they seemed to have gone to great lengths to lure any women away from the other couriers in town. There were great and flexible hours, equal and generous pay, well-kept clean trucks and benefits packages tailored for them. On top of regular sick days the drivers also received "lunar days" off every month, as needed.
Management had also gone above and beyond when it came to group benefits. Not only were there the typical medical and dental plans but also some fantastic group discounts at local salons, spas and upscale clothing stores — including beautiful lingerie from stores varying from Victoria's Secret to La Perla. Add to that the yearly company retreats that just happened to take place at some of the most stunning beaches and exquisite resorts and it was no wonder that there was hardly a woman to be found working for any of their competitors.
She wasn't so naive to believe that the gender of the person delivering the packages into offices didn't make any difference to the clients but it didn't really bother her. She wasn't a flirt by any means, but she had long ago made peace with the extra glances her looks brought her. Her blond hair was long and thick, striking even in a ponytail — and it was set off well by the deep tan she easily maintained between the retreats and spa visits. Even though the corporate uniform was a non-descript — if a little snug — jumpsuit, she still felt the warmth of a few eyes on her when she stepped into male-dominated offices. She was well curved and she stayed fit. Depending on the day or mood it affected her differently, but mostly it amused her and gave her a certain feeling of power.
When she arrived at the address on the waybill she found a convenient spot for the truck in the building's loading area. There was only one small package to go, so she could easily carry it by hand. She head inside as she tried to recall if she'd been in this particular building before — no clear answer come to mind. The buildings all started to blend together after a while. These offices did seem to be well appointed to her glance, lots of shiny metal and expensive wood. Her eyes moved back and forth between the package's label and the names on directories and doors until she found her way to one Mr. A. Gallway's office. His receptionist was a young woman, so he couldn't be that important. Stacey's had her own rule of thumb that the mid-level exec's get off on cute girls outside their door while the real power players knew that it was middle-aged career administrators that really got things done.
The receptionist balked at signing the digital pad and told her that Mr. Gallway wanted to receive the package personally — security or something. Stacey sighed okay — more time taken out of her routine, but she didn't let her disappointment show — Special Express cherished the customer service it offered — including politeness. She found this a new challenge today — this girl was actually chewing gum.
Following the perky pleated skirt into the main office after a quick knock, she put on her smile and offered the package and signing pad to Mr. Gallway. He looked to be an average sort, not old and not fat. Stacey has long ago stopped noticing too much about the "bosses" as in her world it is the receptionists and parking attendants that merit a courier's good graces and attention.
He took the pad from her and signed it, smiling at her. "Would you mind waiting just a moment while I open this? If it is what I think it is, I should have a return package for you immediately."
"Of course, Sir" she replied. Most other companies wouldn't bother, but this kind of situation was even in her training examples as one way Special Express would offer a higher level of service. She turned, just enough to give him a semblance of privacy but not enough to turn her back to him.
In the corner of her eye she could see him tear open the small box and slide out a small folded card. He must like it, she thought, because that is some smile.
He started to speak but it's didn't really seem he was directing his words to her and his eyes were locked onto the card. He spoke slower than before, like he was trying too hard with each syllable. "Code Special Express 4591."
She was about to think that's a strange thing to say, but she wasn't really thinking anymore, and besides, it wasn't nearly as strange as the way the room was getting darker and kind of blurry.
When a normal light level returned, Stacy found herself seated — vaguely aware of a change there. She was standing a second ago, right? As her eyes opened more fully and she became aware of her surroundings, she found herself in a rather plush wingback chair in an office. She recognized the face of the man smiling at her and the details of a delivery started coming back to her.
"What happened?" she managed to ask.
He didn't really reply to her; he just smiled. "God, I love it... Always a surprise."
This time turning to face her, he addressed her; "You're a Special Express courier, my dear, with a rather unique emphasis on the 'special.' I requested a delivery and I got it, and it's you. So now you're all mine, at least for a while. You were quite expensive, you know."
"You've got to be kidding," she said, not sure if she should be amazed at this guys delusions of his own charm, or to be insulted and his assumptions that she could be bought. She decided it was time to get out of here. When she tried to lift herself out of the chair, her arms didn't seem to respond to her desire to push herself up. Still too weak from fainting, she supposed, or whatever happened.
"Please, dear," he said, "take off your uniform."
She was sure of her emotions this time — anger and disbelief bubbled up inside her mind. This asshole is out of his mind if he thinks she's stripping down for him. Her mind raced to phrase the proper reply and insult before she would storm off to call her boss and his.
While she was thinking, the room started moving again. It took a split second for her to realize that this time the room seemed to be moving because she had actually stood up. Not only that, but her arms and hands seemed be moving about on their own. In fact her fingers are starting to peel open her jumpsuit uniform; opening the collar button and slowly but steadily pulling down on the front zipper. She tries to stop it, to pull her hands away, but despite feeling the sensations and pressure on her fingertips she seems to have no control over her body.
She wanted to stop, to scream, to run out -- to do anything but stand here and be exposed before this stranger. None of it seemed possible, however — she couldn't even seem to change the expression on her face — the soft curl of her lips formed into a coquettish smile mocked her inability to resist.
"In case you're wondering, the delivery code gives me your obedience as well as your presence, my sweet," he spoke in a near whisper, looking upon her in seeming awe. Each second passing saw more of her tanned flesh exposed and his eyes were locked upon the motion of the zipper.
She wasn't just removing her clothing in a utilitarian way, it became clear. Her shoulders and neck joined the kind of dance, shrugging back to slide the uniform from her shoulders as the posture emphasized her firm breasts. Despite the mental resistance she put up, there seemed to be nothing she could do to stop her body turning as her hands moved to her waist, pushing the jumpsuit down her long legs, bending at the waist as she did so — exposing her bottom so shamelessly to him. Her hands reached all the way down to her ankles, freeing her foot from her shoe as it stepped out of the jumpsuit leg. Her next foot followed suit, pulling from the shoe and the jumpsuit, now just crumpled cotton on the floor — and she'd stepped outwards each time, so her feet were spaced out nearly two feet apart — she was suddenly very aware of the view she was giving him.
She wanted to stand, to turn and cover herself as best she could. None of that happened though — just the slow slide of her fingertips up her legs as she moved upright so slowly. As she stood upright once more, her legs twisting to turn her body towards him one more, another surprise nearly overwhelmed her. A pulse of what seemed like heated electricity shot through her body, starting between her legs and pushing outward to her toes and fingertips. It seemed like pure pleasure. Her helplessness in her own form continued, and she couldn't even blush as she felt her pussy moisten and her nipples stiffen quickly — all in the open view of this Mr. Gallway.
"Yes, I bet that felt good — they tell me it feels wonderful for you to obey — to do just what you're told," he was nearly laughing and he'd clearly noticed the reactions. "Keep that in mind, my dear."
Stacy no longer knew what to think; she was hardly able to deal with the conflicting emotions and sensations. She found herself standing in this office, stripped down to tiny red lace panties and a matching demi bra of red lace and black silk piping (that would have been out of her financial reach without the company discount). Perhaps even more embarrassing than her sexy ensemble is the fact that the pulse of pleasure has left her nipples very visibly stiff and she knew from the wonderful sensation that dark wetness will soon be marking her panties.
She's humiliated, embarrassed, angry, afraid and confused. What is happening? What did he mean when he talked about the company? She's a courier, not a hooker. Is Special Express behind this somehow? God, why does it have to feel so good?
Her mind raced invisibly behind the coy smile her lips curl themselves into, parted slightly to show her tongue sliding over her teeth. Her body was quivering visibly with the pleasure.
"Go ahead, look in the package you delivered, and pull out the red plastic bag — it should be clear what to do with the contents."
Her body didn't hesitate to walk to the box and pull out the red plastic bag and open it up. Inside she saw a rather slutty-looking pair of red heels that must have been five inches tall. One after the other she slipped her feet into them and found herself balancing atop them as she leaned forwards, at the waist again, to close the leather strap around her ankle. With them on, her fingers searched in the bag and pulled out the only remaining item — a tube of lipstick.
She barely got a flash of the bright red colour before her fingers had it open and sliding over her pursed lips. It felt so smooth, so wet that she knew it must be some kind of high-gloss covering. Again she was distracted and nearly knocked over by the pulse of heat shooting from her loins. Another command obeyed, as if she had a choice, and another unwanted reward.
"Why don't you get used to those heels and walk around the office for me — I'd like to get a good look at you in motion, sweetheart."
In moments she was on her path, embarking on slow laps of his office, her body swaying and sliding, her hips beating out the unheard rhythm of a primal drum. She felt her full breasts, a very full C, bouncing and jiggling in the limited support her bra offered and the motion only brought more of her attention to her stiff and sensitive nipples.
She felt the heat of mortified embarrassment in her cheeks without knowing only a healthy pink showed on her cheeks. She felt the difficulty of balancing her body on the ridiculous heels, but only a practiced grace showed, along with the shaping of her legs and ass that only such tall heels could accomplish.
As she lapped the office as something between a runway model and commodity on display she realized that she was fast approaching the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk — she felt like a passenger in a car about to crash. There would be nothing to hide her — not that walking around this way was exactly discrete, but at least it was only for an audience of one. She couldn't make herself stop despite her internal panic. She couldn't even make her head turn to look and see who might be looking from some other office at that moment. Maybe, she thought, it was a blessing that she didn't know if some executive across the street was snorting coffee through his nose right now, as he watched her nearly bare body saunter across the room.
As a further betrayal of her body against her, her stride slowed as she crossed the expanse of glass. Her hips gave an extra wiggle, her shoulders pushed farther back and her hands slid up her belly to lift and squeeze her breasts. And, mortified internally, she actually giggled like Marilyn Monroe on a subway grate. He loved it, she could tell. He was watching her intently, eyes roaming over her like a steak on a barbeque. She saw the bulge in his trousers grow and his hands move to his crotch for some unexplained adjustment.
At that moment, if she could have, she would have visibly stumbled with the force of the pulse of pleasure and lust hitting her. She wanted to curse her body — how could she be acting this way? Displaying herself like a whore, simply following this stranger's orders without question or hesitation. How could it cause her such pleasure? It was maddening, especially as she could already hardly wait for the next feeling, the next pulse — all the while fearful of what she would be doing when it happened. Would she be touching that cock? God, would she? Part of her wanted to see it, to touch it and to squeeze it but each rising mental image was met with the opposite metal impulse of anger and disgust.
Gallway seemed happy to watch her for a few endless minutes, through her slow and silent laps of his office. Then he spoke.
"There's a special toy in the delivery box. Will you get it, please?" It wasn't a question and his pure enjoyment of his control was audible in his tone.