My blood runs cold at the sight in front of me. I feel like I've forgotten how to breathe. My mind races - there's no way this can be real. It can't be what it looks like. But there's no ambiguity - not to the words my boss says, or the outfit this poor young woman has been put in, or the way her body trembles. She's here for one reason, but not by her own choice. And now I'm expected to carry out the task?

Is this some sort of test of my character? Do they want to make sure I wouldn't take advantage of their clients? No. From the way she's shaking, she's either the best actress ever born, or the danger to her is real. Besides, I gave up any notion this company would care about my actions the day I sat down for my interview.

The opposite, then? They're trying to buy my silence early. Preorder it, even. Get me down in the dirt with the rest of them, so I can't speak or act on anything I might see without dooming myself. That seems far more plausible. But this thought only leads to more possibilities. If the carrot doesn't work, what will their stick look like? What will they do to me if I don't play along right now?

For that matter, what will they do to her. Glancing around the room, I already see other, more senior staff eyeing the new dish. If I don't take her now, one of them is going to lay their dirty, merciless hands on her.

So, I do the only thing I can do. I stand up, and take slow, shaking steps towards the sofa. Slowly, I sit down next to her. She gasps and flinches from my weight, but I try to comfort her.

"It's alright. I promise I'll hurt you as little as possible." I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, hoping the touch might comfort her. I start to stroke my thumb along her shoulder blade, and then move my fingers down her back.

She's whimpering now. There's something pretty about her voice. I do my best to caress her skin, covered in goosebumps. It's so soft. Smooth and clear and perfect. Her hair falls against my hand, just as soft and silky, shining and lustrous. I look her over. She really is quite lovely. And this outfit they have her in is so tight. I can see how prominently her breasts press against the fabric, how they strain to push out, filling out the top so firmly I can practically see her nipples outlined against the dark lace. So round, so full, so...

She shrieks. I jump back to my senses, only to realize my hand is on her breast, gently squeezing. I don't even remember grabbing it, but I can't bring myself to let go, even as she starts to scream and thrash in my hands.

"Ssh, sh," I try to quiet her, and wrap my other arm around behind her. But any calm she had now is gone. "I'm not going to hurt you." It's a lie. We both know it, and she isn't going to just take it. She pulls and struggles against the restraints, and against me. And I grip her more tightly, and my hand on her breast grips more tightly. The more she struggles, the more she presses against my body. The more her hair whips against my face, her scent filling my nose. I don't even notice how hard I am - just the sensation of her in my arms, yearning to break free. And before I know what's happening, I'm behind her, my arms wrapped around her, and my hands are fondling her. Molesting her. I'm molesting a young woman, and it feels so good.

Her shirt doesn't last long after that. I practically tear it apart to let her breasts free. She screams as they're exposed, and even louder as I take hold of them again. I do everything I can to them - squeezing, sucking, licking, biting. Basking in their incredible softness and bounciness. It feels like I spend hours just groping her chest, her tears and sobs pouring out as her body is handled like a toy.

By the time I finally push her down, I feel like I'm ready to burst in my pants. She screams again, knowing what's coming. She's right to. Any chance I would do this gently - that I would take things slow or prepare her body first - is long gone. I need to fuck this girl. I need to *rape* her. I *want* to rape her. I grab her collar in one hand, pinning her down so that she can't move her head. Then, I spread her legs.

I don't even bother taking off her underwear. She can get fucked in them. I clumsily and hastily undo my pants, pulling them down and fishing my cock out of my boxers. She won't even get a chance to see how big it is. But she'll feel it - every inch of it. It's dripping as I take it to her entrance, and press it there. She screams, and tries one last time to thrash, but I hold her hips in place, and force myself in, in, all the way in. Past her lips, through her hymen, all the way to her cervix. She screams as her virginity is taken from her, and I bask in the pleasure of her tight, young pussy.

It's so warm, so soft, I can't hold myself still. Before she even stops screaming, I pull back my hips, and start to fuck her. No, not just fucking. I'm raping this girl. And I love it. I act like it. I grab her hair, squeeze and slap her tits, wrench her collar, do everything I assert my complete dominance over her. She can't do anything. I have all the power, both legal and physical. And I spend every second enjoying it, as I use her body for my own pleasure. As I get close, she screams with renewed desperation. Maybe she's not protected, I realize. Realize, but don't care. I cum inside her anyway, letting my seed flow into her womb.

After I'm finally finished, I wipe off my cock between her tits, leaving a trail of my cum down her chest. Then, I fasten up my pants, and return to the dining table.

"Leave her there," I tell my boss with a cordial grin. "I'm going to want seconds in a bit."