//'The master of the house has sent for his newest servant to work at an event he is hosting. You must follow every one of his orders to the T.'

The fact that she wasn't in trouble didn't dampen the anxiety, rather, it shot up. The master of the house?! She had only seen him in passing and he had never even spared her a glance. He terrified her.

'You must be better than you have ever been at your job. If I hear any complaints whatsoever about you, the 20 strokes of the cane will feel like a walk in the park. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

But she didn't, she didn't know what she would be expected to do. //

The next day she found out quick enough. The event seemed like some regular meeting, a dozen or so well dressed men sitting around a table. One of them was giving a presentation when she was ushered in. The master sat at the head of the table, watching intently. He looked completely at ease, as if he knew everyone here wanted his approval desperately. He barely looked at her before motioning her forward with 2 fingers. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, and she was suddenly right next to him.

She had gotten desensitised to being nude, almost, at this point. But sometimes, like now, standing alone and naked in a room of well dressed men, she became sharply aware of it. She felt sharp humiliation, and had to stamp down the urge to cover herself, somehow.

A blush crept up her face as the master actually looked at her. She wondered what he saw, hoping he liked it. Her ears seemed to rush with blood, drowning out whatever the man giving the presentation was talking about.

The master pointed at the floor in between his legs, and she dropped to her knees.

20 strokes of the cane will feel like a walk in the park.

This phrase ran through the back of her mind, over and over. She needed to make the master happy, whatever the cost.

Then he grabbed her by the hair, a strong, painful hold. She gasped, and felt a twinge of fear that he would damage her beautiful blonde curls. This vain thought was immediately replaced with proper fear when the master brought his cock out. It was massive, hard and already slick. He forced her head down onto it and she opened her mouth obediently.

But instantly she was choking. He moved her head up and down, up and down slowly. It wasn't violent, but his cock was massive and by the time she had swallowed it all, it was halfway down her throat. She could barely breathe. She had never had a cock in her mouth before, and she wasn't sure what the procedure was, didn't know what to do with her hands. She left them on her lap.

The speed picked up, quicker and quicker he bobbed her head, his grip on her hair tighter, more and more painful. In the background she could hear someone speaking about quotas, faintly, but his cock was becoming her whole reality. She felt tears sting her eyes as he got quicker, snot started to leak out her nose. She grabbed at the legs on his chair, gripped on as if needing something to holster her to reality. He pushed her head down and this time he thrust up, hard, and she let out a choked moan of pain. It was too hard, too quick. He twisted at her hair in response, and she groaned harder. Her chin dripped wet with saliva. Suddenly he was himself thrusting more than she was moving, it hurt, it filled her throat, stabbed at it. She could do nothing but moan through it, try to get any semblance of air through her nose, and hold onto the chair for dear life.

In, he shoved it, out, his grip on her hair somehow getting tighter and tighter.

In , and she felt her eyes bulge, snot, tears and saliva all mixed on her face. Out, and she quickly gulped up air.

And somehow, even with the pain, it hit her over and over that the whole table around her, though they spoke of nothing but business, were deeply aware of her humiliation.

The thrusts seemed to get stronger, sharper, she couldn't breathe at all suddenly. In, out, in out it hurt, it hurt, she couldn't breathe - and suddenly the master seemed to spasm, tighten the grip on her hair and stop.

She choked, spluttering and coughing as her throat, her nostrils started burning, filled with what she assumed was cum. The master was not letting her up for air. She coughed and felt it trickle out through her nose, mouth, dribble down her chin.

She felt ready to black out, struggling against the master's grip to be let up for air. Distantly, she heard him tell everyone to leave. Distantly, she felt a twinge of fear.

And then he let go. She found herself coughing, choking for air. It hit her throat and burned, but she breathed it like she had never done before. She wiped at her face, sticky and slippery, a nasty mix of cum, tears, snot and spit.

'Get up.' the voice was angry, and she felt a shiver of fear.

She did as told, her head bowed, she couldn't look at him.

'How dare you not swallow the cum I filled you with?'

She felt tears sting her eyes. She hadn't known she was meant to do that!

'My pants are stained now, because of you.'

'I - I - I'm sorry, sir,' she whispered, her hands beginning to tremble. She knew she would be punished, and the thought scared her so thoroughly she could barely think.

The master did not raise his voice, but it dripped with anger, 'oh, you will be sorry.'

He paused a second.

'Fifty strokes.'

She gasped, 'no! Please, sir, p-ple-' she bit down on her tongue. Tasted blood.

His eyes had darkened.

'A hundred. Fifty today and the other fifty later. And if you ever, ever, speak to me like that again, we will make it fifty every week until your employment contract is finished.'

Livy started crying softly and bowed her head in shame. She had been reduced to an absolute mess after twenty, how was she to take fifty? And what if, in the midst of it all, she begged him to stop? Or said something, without being able to think through the pain? Her employment contract was for two years, she couldn't take fifty a week for two years.

'Report to my office, over the table, legs spread out widely. Now.'

'Yes, sir,' she sobbed, and half ran out of the room.