If you're looking for a quick fix sex fic, this might not be the story for you. If you're looking for humiliation, pain, Male Dom, and female submission... oh and hard core torture, you're in the right place! Main Characters: Mitchell Pearse - 33, shaved head, multiple tattoos. 6 feet tall, muscular build. Owns The Lagoon, a hip place to be if you're drinking and looking for fun. 9 inch long dick. 2 inches across. Naomi Sakurai - 24, Half German and Half Japanese, Not a US citizen yet. Shaved pussy, no tattoos, long black, red, and white hair with a 'scene girl' hair cut. 5 feet and 2 inches tall. Works at The Lagoon as a sexy bartender.
Naomi groaned as she tried to lift the case of Jack Daniels and make it up the steep stairs from the basement to the bar. She'd been working at the nightclub for about two weeks and nothing she seemed to do made her boss happy. She needed the job though and worked as hard as she could. Mitch saw every little fuck up, every thing that went wrong he was right there for but if something went right, there was no sign of him. He berated her constantly telling her that if she didn't start doing better she could find another job.
His words only served to make her more nervous. Chicago was a busy town, sure, there were a lot of bars and night clubs but The Lagoon was one of the best and busiest. The bartenders made a lot of money there. She had made fairly decent even if it was only her second bartending job. The first place that she'd worked, a seedy little dive with patrons that were nothing but old perverts, had burned to the ground mysteriously. She didn't ask questions but she was sure that it was for the insurance money.
At twenty-four, the half-Japanese and half-German girl stood only at five feet and two inches tall. She was short and petite with long black hair that was styled in a shaggy side cut. The front of her hair, the bangs or as some would refer to as the fringe, striped with red and white. She had wider hips than her older sister, who was fully Japanese, and larger breasts. She could attribute both of these qualities to her mother's side of her family. She wore a C-cup bra and was quite proud of her breasts. Her low cut tops attested to this fact easily.
She'd moved to the United States when she was almost ten and despite her years in the States, she still sported a slight German accent. Growing up, she'd spent half a year in Germany and the other half of the year in Japan. Upon moving from Germany to America, and until she was eighteen, she'd spent half of her year in Japan. Her family traveled because of her father's employment. He had worked for a large electronics firm and insisted, being a man with a heavy hand where his wife was concerned, that they visit his family for half of the year. He didn't see the need in leaving them behind in another country when he was traveling.
Naomi lugged the heavy case of booze and ended up having to balance it on the stairs about halfway up. It was just too heavy for her to carry. She set it on a step, stepped up, lifted the case to the next step and repeated the process until she was able to slide it out onto the floor. She stepped up onto the landing and turned to lock the door quickly, despite the club being closed and quite empty other than herself, one of the other bartenders, and their boss who was in the office doing paperwork and counting the tills. Mitch got angry if anyone had access to the cellar at all.
Dave didn't offer to help her lift the case of whiskey onto the counter. He stopped mopping and looked at her briefly but turned right back to his mopping. How was it that she had to bring the heavy shit up from the basement and he got to mop the floor? It wasn't fair but she wasn't about to complain. She could do it. She knew she could. She had to.
She bent down and lifted the case and walked as quickly as she could without dropping it. She just had to get it behind the counter so she could do the restocking.
Mitch looked up through the open office door and smirked as he watched Naomi struggling with the case of Jack. He knew it was heavy and knew that she'd drop it soon. The strategic cuts that he'd placed in the handles of the box would soon cause the cardboard to tear. He watched as Dave looked at her and immediately turned away. Good boy. Mitch had ordered him to let Naomi do her own work under any circumstances. Dave was not to help her.
He was banking on the case being too heavy for her. It was worth over three hundred dollars and he knew that she didn't have the money to pay for it. The death of her father had left the family destitute. He'd checked into her background a bit more than he normally would for an employee when she'd been hired.
He waited for a few moments before he heard the crash and shatter of glass on the tiled bar floor. He flew from his seat and out into the main room. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded of the obviously very frightened Naomi who was on her hands and knees trying to pick up the shards of glass while the expensive booze flowed freely down the drain. "You're so fucking clumsy," he growled, running his hand over his shiny shaved head. He wasn't a balding man by any means, he could let his hair grow. He just loved the look of the earrings and tattoos with out hair. It made him look more intimidating. He was the epitome of the perfectly dressed business man most of the time. That moment was no exception, his white dress shirt covered a white tank top and his dark grey suit pants were pristine. A black belt and black shiny shoes accented it nicely. He'd shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves halfway up his arms.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pearse! I'm sorry!" she whimpered over and over again as she frantically picked up the shards of glass, being careful not to cut herself. "I'll pay for it! I'll pay you back!" She pleaded with him, she'd pay it back out of her upcoming pay checks. Surely he'd work out a payment plan with her so that she could pay her bills and reimburse him. Her rent was due this week... Fuck! How could she have been so clumsy?
His eyes took her in hungrily, his tongue dragging across his lower lip.
Mitch smirked at her but turned to Dave. "Clock out, Dave. Go home. I'll see you tonight." Dave nodded and dropped the mop into the bucket and pushed it to the back room, the wheels moving noisily over the tiled floor. He walked back through and pushed the door open, stepping out into the growing sunlight of the early morning.
"Mr. Pearse, I'm so sorry!" she said again.
"Shut the fuck up, you little clumsy whore!" He walked over and lifted her to her feet by her hair, slamming her against the wall behind her and grabbing her throat. He squeezed tightly but not to the point that she couldn't breathe at all. She gasped and grasped at his wrist, looking up at him with her big brown eyes in fear. "You don't have the money to pay me back, slut." He hissed the words through clenched teeth and looked angrily down at her. At six feet tall he towered over her petite frame. She whimpered and looked away from his piercing gaze. He tightened his hand and shook her, slamming her back against the wall as he spoke. "Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you!"
Trembling, she returned her fearful gaze to his, trying hard to shrink away from him and press herself into the wall.
"I hired you. I told you what your job entailed and that if you didn't do it you'd suffer the consequences. Time and time again you've fucked up. I should fire you for this." He had arranged most of it to humiliate her and to get her right where he wanted her. The moment that he'd watched her luscious ass walk in and ask for an application he'd wanted to pin her to his desk and fuck her brains out. He knew that he had to get control over her, to bend her to his will to make it satisfactory for both of them. He had seen the natural submissive nature of her body language and ached to claim her as his; to collar her and own that bitch.
Mitch had been involved in a bondage and discipline lifestyle for over ten years and had trained well to become the powerful Dom that he was. He was highly respected in the local bondage community, however underground and low key it might have been.
At thirty-three, he was the picture of physical perfection. He often worked out and toned his body through martial arts and weight training. He knew very well that the little half Asian standing before him was trained in Tae Kwan Do. She'd been taking it since age five and he was prepared for whatever she might try to dish out.
He was also quite prepared for how lithe and flexible martial arts had made her body. He couldn't wait to find out just how easily he could bend her into impossible positions.
"Yes, Mr. Pearse," she squeaked.
"Are you doing it just to piss me off?" he asked, giving her a little shake with his words.
"No, Mr. Pearse!" she rasped.
"I don't believe you." He sneered at her and drug his tongue up her cheek. "So fucking sweet. I'll be your pussy is even sweeter." His sneer widened as she choked upon hearing his words.
"W-what?" she asked quietly.
"You heard me, bitch." His free hand moved over her body, pinching her braless breasts and pulling hard on the nipples as she struggled against him. He pinned her closer to the wall with his body and moved his hand down to her crotch to cup and squeeze her denim clad pussy. "So fucking hot, aren't you. You want to pay me back? I know you don't have the money but perhaps we can make another arrangement."
She struggled against him more. "Fuck you! Go to hell!" she sputtered.
"Wrong answer, cunt." He let go of her throat and hit her hard across the face. She fell to the ground and he grabbed her long black hair, dragging her toward his office. She grabbed a hold of his wrist and pushed her weight up on her feet to take some of the pressure off of her scalp before she was deposited unceremoniously onto his office floor. He shut the door and locked it before she could get to her feet, his hand still entangled in her hair. He grabbed her under her arms and pressed her face first against the wall.
"I know that you're trained in Tae Kwan Do," he growled into her ear. "And I swear to you if you use any of that against me, I'll kill you." Naomi nodded, her cheek pressed against the cold, painted cinder block and her eyes shut tightly. How was she going to get out of here? How was she going to escape? He was hurting her.
"Now. I'm going to let you go and you're going to strip, do you understand?" he asked. She shivered in fear and started to cry. "Please don't make me do that, Mr. Pearse." He rolled his eyes and put his hand to the back of her neck. "You will refer to me as Master or Sir. Not Mr. Pearse. Not Mitch. Master or Sir. Got it?" She nodded quickly, her eyes still shut tightly and her mouth slightly open.
"If you don't do as I say, I'll make this much harder on you than it has to be." He said, sneering at her and then lifting his head to look up at the steel pipes that ran the length of the ceiling. He'd used them many times to suspend his slaves from them with his soft ropes. Granted, most of them had been either hired slaves for the evening or had been his personal submissive. Naomi was the first one that wasn't there of her own free will. She would be soon though. He knew that by the time this was over she'd be begging him to fuck her, to use her in every hole and oh he would.