A commission fanfiction. The actual writer of this story is Flag1991
WARNING: This M-rated story has contents of non-con groping, non-con spanking, and blackmail. DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF YOU ARE REPULSED BY THESE TAGS.
There was a commotion outside Hot Topic. A gang of goths and a gang of emos ran into one another and all hell broke loose. Fiona was behind the cash register at Reininger's, which sits across the enclosed promenade from the aforementioned store when it began. She was leaning over the counter with her face in her upturned palm and gazing out over the racks of clothing dominating the middle of the space, her mind wandering. Suddenly, yelling and shouting echoed through the mall, rising above the piped music playing from the loudspeakers hidden in the rafters. Like a woman coming awake from a trance, she stood up straight and blinked her eyes. For a moment, she thought that she had made the whole thing up in her mind, a type of hallucination, but then it came again.
Fiona didn't make it a point to rubberneck while at work. Here, in the high-end fashion boutique where she had worked for nearly two years, she was as professional as they come. She minded her business, helped even the most challenging customer while smiling ear to ear, and kept her workstation tidy and in perfect order. Outside of work, she was a normal teenage girl. She could be messy, forgetful, and a little flippant, but every afternoon, when she arrived at work, a change came over her. She turned into a retail veteran who knew just what to do…and what not to do. In the grand scheme of things, her job wasn't much. She worked long hours for low pay and had to deal with some of the pettiest and most narcissistic customers on the planet - the Brads and Karens of the world - but she genuinely loved it. She loved the smell of new clothes. She loved the low and tasteful lighting, the faux wood-paneled walls, the beige industrial carpeting, the music, and the displays. She loved this place and she took her work very seriously.
At least…she had loved her job. Oh, she still took her duties seriously and all, but a lot of the passion that she had felt for the store had drained away in recent months. A lot had changed since she began working here, most of them for the worse. A few short months ago, she would have been too busy fussing over end caps and mannequin displays to notice a riot in the middle of the mall concourse, even if a flaming trash can crashed through the window of the knick-knack store catty-corner to Reininger's. There was always something to do, from putting out new clothing to tidying the dressing rooms to working on inventory sheets and placing orders. She was, after all, basically the assistant manager, and with great responsibility comes great duties.
That was then and this was now. In the beginning, Fiona loved even the smallest, lamest, and most mundane parts of her job. She loved everything, even taking out the trash and cleaning the employee bathroom - which never really got all that dirty unless Miguel missed the toilet, which happened sometimes. For a long time, Why do so many guys have trouble hitting the bowl? Seriously, all you have to do is stand over it, point, and aim. Then again, she wasn't being entirely fair. As a guy's stream died down, there was bound to be a little dribble. Okay, fine, no problem, just grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe it off before you leave. Miguel didn't do that when she first started working here. He'd leave little yellow drops behind and Fiona would bitch at him about it. She didn't want to be a nag or anything, but seriously, man, that's gross. No one wants to clean up another person's fluids.
Eventually, Miguel got tired of hearing it and started doing what she asked, which made the problem go away.
Where was she?
Oh, yes, aside from that, she once enjoyed even cleaning the bathrooms. If she had to compare herself to someone in order to make her point, she would say that she was like Spongebob. Less yellow and less porous, but just as passionate and energetic about going to work. Spongebob loved the Krusty Krab - right down to that little squeaky sound the pickles made when you rubbed them together - and Fiona loved it here, right down to the satisfying sound of the heavy drawer in the office desk opening and closing. Ahhh, music to my ears.
Then that all went out the window. Her love had drained away…or at least it had blunted. She was eighteen and out of high school, so she needed a job, which meant that she couldn't just up and quit without having something else lined up. And…to be honest…she didn't know if she even wanted to quit in the first place. Deep down, she still held a lot of affection toward this place. She still loved it dearly and she had many great memories here. Everywhere she looked, she could see ghosts of herself and Leni chatting and giggling, ghosts of Miguel teasing them like a playful older brother…so many great times here.
And they were surely all in the past.
A heavy weight of sadness fell over her and she let out a deep and watery sigh, almost wanting to cry.
Thankfully, she only felt this way on Sundays. During the week, Reininger's was always super busy. A favorite destination for every tween, teen, and twentysomething girl in a fifty-mile radius, Reininger's was packed from open to close with girls and their moms browsing the racks, looking for the season's latest and greatest fashions. On weekends, you could pull a solid eight-hour shift and never have time to sit down. That kind of routine might be too much for some people, but Fiona liked it. She was an active girl anyway and liked to stay busy at work. There was nothing worse, in her opinion than a long, boring shift with nothing to do.
That's why she hated Sundays like these, Business at the mall was really, really slow on Sundays. She didn't know why. Sunday was one of the two days during the week when people had any free time. Sure, you had church and Sunday dinner, but why not make use of the little time you have before going back to work?
All morning she had been bored to tears, serving a few customers here and there and waiting for the sweet release of death to come and carry her away. But now something cool was happening.
Moving quickly so that she didn't miss it, Fiona hurried around the counter and went to the entrance, staying largely hidden behind a mannequin dressed in a polka dot one-piece and a floppy summer hat boasting a poorly tied pink bow. Fiona had once taken great pride in dressing the mannequins just so, but lately, she had stopped caring.
Outside the store, a wide, tiled concourse halved by a stone planter separated the stores on this side from the ones on the opposite side. Reininger's was tucked away on a quiet side corridor near the mall's west entrance and the food court. Across the way, Fiona saw a gang of black-clad, broccoli-cut, guyliner-wearing kids mixing it up, all black clothes, chains, Vans and Converse, and pale skin. One boy slapped another, and a second boy shoved his foe very weakly, his arms so thin and bony that Fiona halfway expected them to snap from the strain of being casually used. One of the emos, perhaps a wrestling nerd unlike his friends, climbed onto the stone planter and jumped off, landing on a goth; they both crashed to the ground and started to roll around like two lovers so overcome with passion that they couldn't make it to the bedroom. Fiona gasped and covered her smile with her hand.
This was awesome. The best thing to happen here in six weeks or more.
Unfortunately, the awesomeness was not meant to last. All good things must come to an end, they say, and the knockdown, drag-out brawl in front of Hot Topic ended when a team of security guards rushed in and broke up the fight. One kid got slammed to the ground, another got put in handcuffs, and a third tried to run. "Don't taze me, bro!" he cried as a beefy security guard gave chase with a taser.
More guards showed up, these in riot gear, and whisked the kids away like fascist stormtroopers disappearing political dissidents. Only these little punks deserved it.
Fiona watched all of this like it was her favorite TV show, then felt a twinge of loss when it was all over. She looked around the deserted storm, empty save for the many frozen, faceless mannequins, and drew a deep, despondent sigh. Well…back to the old grind.
With another sigh, Fiona slumped her shoulders and dragged herself back to her eternal station behind the cash register. She propped her elbow on the edge of the counter, rested her chin in her hand, and pursed her lips in an unconscious grimace. Her shift would be over fairly soon and she found herself feeling uncharacteristically grateful for that fact. There was a time not that long ago when she loved just being here and hated the idea of having to leave to go home. Now she couldn't wait for her shift to end.
Just then, an old woman in a frumpy overcoat and glasses drifted in, bags from other retailers clutched in her wrinkled hands. Fiona perked up and smoothed out the front of her sweater. Oh, boy, a customer. Renniger's didn't get many of those on Sundays. This place was usually packed from the windows to the walls, now it was a ghost town.
Realizing that she probably looked as dusty and out of touch as she felt, she quickly adjusted her nametag so that it was straight and neat and put on her biggest customer service smile. "Hello, ma'am," she said, and the woman was startled. "Can I help you find something?"
"Do you have a bathroom?" the woman asked.
Fiona's smile fell.
She should have known.
"No, we don't," she said, "sorry."
Looking disappointed, the woman turned around and left without even a second glance at any of the merchandise.
Oh well, Fiona thought, at least it wasn't that bastard Ryan Uriel Malcolm.
A shiver of disgust slid down Fiona's spine and turned into a full-body shudder.
When Fiona first started, the manager was an older woman named Ms. Carmichael who was something of a local icon in fashion and retail; Fiona had never heard of her, but she was apparently a big deal and wrote a column for the Royal Woods Spectator (which is probably why Fiona didn't know her…who reads newspapers anymore?). Ms. Carmichael was extremely popular with Reininger's clientele. She was kind of eccentric but in a good way. Fiona really liked her and considered her more of a friend than a boss. She was one of those people, one of those rare leaders, who genuinely command respect. A lot of leaders demand it, but few actually earn it. Ms. Carmichael was one of them, and Fiona would go to the gates of hell and ring the bell if Ms. Carmichael asked her to.
But then something happened.
Ms. Carmichael was fired.
Fiona didn't know the reason why, and neither, for that matter, did Ms. Carmichael. It was some corporate bullshit that came from near the top of the parent company that owned Reininger's (and fifty other high-end retailers). Maybe they wanted someone cheaper, maybe they wanted someone they could train and mold in their own image, or maybe someone wanted to give a member of their own family a cushy job - nepotism at its finest. Whatever the case, Ms. Carmichael was shown the door, and Ryan Malcolm took her place.
A tall and polished man in his forties, well-built, well-groomed, and sharply dressed, Ryan Malcolm (he insisted on being referred to by all three names, which is why Fiona intentionally only called him Ryan Malcolm) was the son of a wealthy family from Wisconsin or Washington or something - who knew and who cared? He was a handsome guy but Fiona disliked him from the very beginning. It might be a little unfair, but he didn't stand a chance with her simply because he replaced Ms. Carmichael. Fiona was going to resent anyone who took the position, even her own mother.
At first, the women who came in were uncomfortable with a male manager, but they got used to him just like they had gotten used to Miguel. Fiona had to give the devil his due: Ol' Ryan might be a nepo baby (might) but he was good at business and customer service.
For not being Ms. Carmichael, Fiona may have eventually forgiven him. But there were a couple of things she could not forgive. One, he was kind of a jerk. He never talked to you, but down to you, like you were a child. He oozed confidence which is great and all…until he was wrong about something and stuck to his guns on it. He acted like he knew more about store policy than she did and even if he was dead wrong, he never gave up and never admitted it…just like the massive dill hole he was.
That was bad but hey, a lot of managers are like that. You just tune them out to the best of your ability and move on with your work. What was worse was that almost as soon as he took over, he fired Miguel. Fiona liked Miguel. Not in that way, but as a friend. He was a great guy and while not as passionate about retail fashion as she was, he did his job and he did it well. He never called in, was always on time, and had a good rapport with the customers. He did whatever was asked of him and often took the initiative to do things on his own. Basically, he was the model employee and if Fiona were manager, he'd be figured in for as long as he wanted to work here. There were literally zero reasons for Ryan Uranus Malcolm to fire him.
"He said my performance and dedication were lacking," Miguel told her afterward. He sounded hurt. That hurt her and made her so mad.
Why would he do such a thing? Miguel was awesome.
But then she figured it out.
Miguel was competition.
See, Ryan Urethra Malcolm was a Creep with a capital C. Oh, he didn't look like one. He was handsome and dressed nicely. He was charming, charismatic, and drove a new car. He was the type of guy who could get virtually any woman he wanted. He had no reason to be a creeper but he was. He would stare at Fiona's breasts and butt like a hungry dog. His eyes on her body made her shudder in disgust and want to vomit. She had never known that a gaze could have a physical sensation. His, however, did. Slimy, cold, all-around disgusting. She hated it.
She hated what he did to Leni even more.
Leni Loud was one of Fiona's very best friends. She was sweet, kind, and a little naive. Fiona wasn't sure about this - and neither, for that matter, was Leni, likely - but she thought that her friend was on a spectrum. Maybe not the spectrum, but some kind of spectrum. She could be a little gullible and wasn't really the brightest bulb in the box in terms of street smarts and common sense. That made her vulnerable, and that asshole Ryan Malcolm immediately swooped in to exploit that like a vampire biting a sleeping neck.
The first time it happened, Leni was leaning over the counter filling out a shipping form when Ryan brushed by her. There was a narrow gap between the counter and a rack of purses and handbags, so he scooted by with his back facing away from Leni. Fiona saw him intentionally bend his back so that his crotch rubbed against Leni's butt as he went by. Fiona was horrified. She tried to tell herself that it was an accident and that she was being hard on him because she already didn't like him, but that wasn't the last incident she witnessed. He was always doing little things like that. He'd come up behind Leni and put his hands on her shoulders as he talked to her. He'd walk by and brush her butt with his hands. He'd get real close when they were talking so that he could look down the front of her dress. Things of that nature…small things that she couldn't prove and that Leni, being Leni, didn't take issue with.
Poor Leni was fooled into believing that Ryan was an okay guy and not the irredeemable degenerate that Fiona knew him to be. Fiona was worried sick that eventually, like a fucking viper, he'd strike and rape or molest Leni. There was no way it would be consensual. Leni thought certain boys were cute and all, but she'd never had a serious boyfriend and didn't seem all that interested in sex. One time Miguel made a joke about people being hot and sweaty in bed (Fiona couldn't remember the context of the joke or exactly how it went), and Leni literally retched. She had a little girl's view of sex and found the idea of fluids, sweat, and spit revolting.
That's to say, not even rich, handsome, and charming Ryan Malcolm could seduce or trick her into bed. It would have to be by force and Fiona wouldn't put it past him to try.
She was also worried that her assessment was wrong and that Leni would go to bed with him willingly. God, talk about sleeping with the enemy. Fiona didn't know if she could stand watching her best friend willingly give herself to such a scumbag. Maybe it was strange, maybe she was emotional or overly dramatic, but she would feel so betrayed if that happened.
By this point, Fiona was steaming mad all over again. She left her station at the cash register and walked around the store to burn off some energy. She fiddled with displays and rearranged clothes on racks just for something to do. Part of the reason they weren't as busy during the week as they used to be was the economy. The US was in a recession and a lot of people had lost their jobs. Inflation was high and wages weren't matching the cost of living. The same old story as always. She didn't know if it was a flaw in the system or a feature, but it seemed to be one of those things that just happened from time to time. She wasn't very knowledgeable about the economy and had only the vaguest understanding of how it worked, but it seemed really delicate. Like walking on a tightrope. You can't move too quickly or too slowly, you can't lean too far this way or that way. If you hesitate for even a second, boom, disaster strikes. No matter what system you live under, it's a wonder we've made it this far.
That was another part of the reason Fiona didn't up and quit. Things were rough right now and she was comfortable where she was. After all, a ship doesn't leave a safe port in the middle of a literal freaking hurricane because the harbor master is a creepy jerk, right? Some things are more important, and some things you just have to deal with.
Fiona hated that, but such is life.
When she was done pacing, she made her way back to the register, sighed deeply, and looked around for something to occupy her time with. There were only a few hours left in her shift and then she could close up and go home. Sundays were a huge bore, but at least Ryan Malcolm wasn't around. That was the big trade-off, she guessed.
Finding nothing, she took her phone out of her back pocket, leaned over the counter, and swiped her thumb across the screen. She browsed Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube looking for a song to listen to or a video to watch, something, anything to break up the monotony of the day. She was just about to start a video when a shadow loomed over her and a shiver raced down her spine. She dropped the phone and snapped to attention.
Her heart sank when she saw who it was.
The new manager.
Ryan Uriel Malcolm.
He wore an expertly tailored suit and a diamond tie clip that looked like it cost him more than Fiona made in a year.
What was he doing here?
"Slacking off, I see," he said.
Fiona swallowed hard. "No, I was just -"
"Neglecting your duties," he finished.
"No, I -"
"At any rate, I'll be here for a while. You're free to go to lunch."
Without another word, he went into the office. Fiona glared after him and took a deep breath. If she didn't need this job, she'd crack him across that stupid nose of his with her phone. Even though he was in the office with the door closed, Fiona could still feel his malignant presence, so she took him up on his offer to go to lunch. She slipped her phone into her back pocket and left the store.
As dead as the mall was, the food court was a hive of activity. The lines weren't as long as they were during the week, but there was still one in front of every restaurant. She stood in the middle looking from sign to sign as though she hadn't seen them all a thousand times and didn't know every menu by heart. What was she in the mood for? Pizza? A sandwich? Chinese?
She finally settled on a slice of pizza. She waited in line, got it, and sat down at one of the tables in the center of the food court. She ate slowly, savoring being away from Ryan Malcolm and the empty, dead-ville store. When she was done, she threw away the greasy paper plate and what was left of her soda. She went to the bathroom, washed her hands, and rubbed them wetly together under the air dryer.
Done, she went back to work.
When she got there, her stomach twisted.
Ryan Malcolm was standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest and one Italian leather shoe tapping the floor. He looked like a disappointed parent waiting for his daughter to get home super late from what was supposed to be a ten o'clock date.
"You're late," he said curtly.
Fiona checked her phone.
Her lunches were twenty minutes. That wasn't much time but it was enough, especially if she brought her lunch and didn't have to deal with the crowds thronging the food court, which she usually did. She had checked the time before she left.
"By one minute," she said, hating the pleading quality of her voice. "Mr. Malcolm -"
He cut her off. "One minute is still late," he said. "I might have been inclined to let it go, but not after finding you on your phone when you should have been working."
"But there was no one in -"
Again, he cut her off. "That doesn't matter. What if a customer had come in and you were too preoccupied doing whatever you were doing to notice them? What if they had to wait? What if someone came in and robbed us blind while you were goofing off on your phone? This store has a very good reputation and I don't need an employee to tarnish that by providing substandard customer service or by letting any Tom, Dick, or Harry come in and steal. This is Reininger's, not San Francisco."
Fiona sputtered as she tried to come up with a way to defend herself. He was clearly being petty…who seriously gets upset about someone being one minute late? She was within sight of the store before her lunch break even ended. She couldn't tell him this because obviously, he didn't give a shit. To him, she was in the wrong.
"I'm sorry, but you're fired."
Fiona's heart dropped to her feet. "Fired?" she asked. "Mr. Malcolm, please, I'm sorry."
All of the complaints and bad feelings she had toward the job were suddenly gone. Since he came, she had bitched about everything from the hours to the pay, but now, when worse came to worst, she realized how good she had it. The hours were decent, the pay was high, and Reininger's was almost a second home to her. She wasn't qualified to do anything else, and the chances of her finding a job in this economy were slim to none.
God, this couldn't happen. She was saving up for her own apartment, and to fix her car, which made really bad cringy noises. She couldn't lose her job. Her life would be ruined, totally ruined. "Please, Mr. Malcolm, don't fire me," she begged, "I need this job."
"I'm sorry, but my mind is made up," he said and turned his nose up at her. Literally. She was too afraid of losing her job in that moment to even hate him. She balled her hands and bent her knees slightly as though she had to use the bathroom. "Please," she pleads, "please don't fire me, I can't afford to lose this job."
The manager stared down at her, contemplating. "Come to my office," he ordered.
He wheeled around and strode into the store, Fiona following close behind. In the office, he shut the door and locked it.
Why was he doing that?
Going over to the chair, he sat down, leaned back, and laced his hands over his stomach. Fiona stood there, not knowing what to do or say and feeling extremely awkward. She cupped each one of her elbows and looked down at the floor, hoping that by appearing pensive he would take pity and go easy on her. "There's only one way you're going to keep this job," he finally said.
Fiona's brain processed his words and her stomach turned. She was not a stupid girl, she already knew where this was going.
Or at least she thought she did.
"What?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "you've been a bad girl, and there's only one way to deal with bad girls."
Fiona swallowed around a cold lump in her throat. "How?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
Ryan Uriel Malcolm made a show of considering his potions, but later on, Fiona would realize that he knew exactly what he wanted to do before he even opened his mouth. "I think a spanking should suffice."
"A what?"
"You heard me," he replied curtly.
Hot anger crept up the back of Fiona's neck and she unconsciously stood up straight. Her first instinct was to tell him to go spank himself, but even as the words bubbled up in her throat, she choked them back down again. She really couldn't afford to lose this job, but worse: If she got fired, Leni would be all alone with this pervert. He would pull the same shit with her - making up some random excuse to fire her and then "changing his mind" under the condition that she let him spank her. She would have no one here to protect her.
For that reason - and others - Fiona would do it.
A shiver of disgust went down her spine, and her face hardened into a hateful glower. Ryan Uriel Malcolm grinned evilly at her. She stalked over and he made a gesture with his hand. "Pull your pants down."
Moving with the sharp, jerking movements of someone doing something against their will and pissed off about it, she unbuttoned her jeans, bent slightly, and pulled them down to her knees, then her ankles. Ryan leered at her pink panties, almost licking his lips like a hungry dog peering through a butcher shop window..
Feeling a caustic mixture of shame, rage, hatred, and humiliation, Fiona bent over her boss's knees and clenched her teeth against a stream of bile and loathing. She braced her arms on the floor and arched her back, sticking her butt into the air like a bitch in heat so that he could reach it more easily. She had never done anything like this before, had never been with a man, or had even been in her underwear in front of one, and it occurred to her that her first time doing anything "intimate" was against her will. Would this damage her in any way? Would this turn her into someone who feared affection and couldn't have a normal sex life? She had heard that a lot of rape victims have significant trouble with intimacy later in their lives. She was not the kind of girl who sat around daydreaming about her prince charming, but she did want to meet the right guy, get married, and have children one day.
And this bastard was going to ruin that for her. He was going to make it so that she could never do any of those things, would never want to do any of those things. Her hatred deepened. Her face burned bright red and her stomach rolled like she was going to be sick. She had never felt so low and vulnerable before and she hated it.
"I'm going to spank you twenty times. You're going to count each spank out loud," Ryan Uriel Malcolm said, "and each time you do, you're going to thank me."
It took everything Fiona had to keep from telling him to go to hell.
He grabbed her butt and she jumped with a little gasp of horror. The warmth of his touch soaked through her panties as his middle finger lightly grazed over her soft middle, separated from him by only a thin piece of cotton. The sensation made her tingle and she hated him all the more because she kind of sort of liked it. He ran his hand over her rounded rump and the small of her back, touching her and obviously getting off on the way her body felt. She bit her bottom lip and blinked back a rush of hateful and frustrated tears. He rubbed her butt crisply, then his hand was gone.
She barely had time to brace herself for what was to come when his hand arched down and struck her butt with a meaty thwack. Again, Fiona jumped, and again, a gasp was dislodged from her throat.
"Count," he ordered.
"One," Fiona said through clenched teeth, murder in her voice, "thank you."
He brought his hand down again and pain swept through her. "Two. Thank you."
She could not see his face, but Ryan Uriel Malcolm was grinning sadistically. It was a look of smug satisfaction, the look of a man who knew that he would eventually get whatever it was that his heart desired. He flattened his palm, reared his arm back like a pitcher winding up on the mound, and let fly. Fiona threw her head back and let out a strangled cry that she did her best to cut off, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of hearing her pain, embarrassment, and hatred. "Three," she panted after a moment, "thank you so much."
That time, however, she could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.
The next time he hit her, he made it much harder. Fiona squeezed her eyes closed. "Four," she managed, "thank you."
Ryan Uriel Malcolm went on spanking her for what felt like ever, each successive strike of his palm against her aching butt hurting a little more than the lost one. She was sore and tired, and she could feel the soft, supple skin of her backside beginning to bruise and blister. Her knees grew watery and she fell limp with one particularly brutal strike. "Lift your ass," he commanded.
Panting against the pain, Fiona did as she was told to. He pulled back his hand and slapped her butt as hard as he could. She was tingling now, going numb, her whole butt hurting and her eyes squeezed so tightly shut that bursts and whorls of color exploded across the backs of her eyelids. She fought to regulate her breathing and to keep from crying. She just had to make it through this.
For a moment, nothing happened, then, without warning, Ryan Uriel Malcolm grabbed a fistful of her underwear and yanked them violently up, the fabric digging painfully into her butt and pussy in the most vicious of wedgies. "You forgot to count," he hissed.
Count?
Jesus, where was she? She tried to think but couldn't remember. How many times had he hit her? How many times had she had to thank him for the honor of being sexually assaulted? Five? Ten? She frantically searched her memory. "Thirteen," she said, "thank you."
She braced herself for more torment in case she was wrong, but she had apparently remembered correctly because instead of doing anything else, he let her panties go and they snapped back. Mercifully, he spanked her again. "Fourteen," she said, "thank you."
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. By now she was going numb and the blows no longer hurt as badly as they had in the beginning. She counted each one off in a broken monotone, and thanked him as profusely as she could, keeping the venom from her voice so that he would go easy on her. She had no idea what he would do to her when he was done, and she found herself dreading it. Would he let her go? Would he try something else? There was a very large part of her that didn't want the spanking to end because God alone knew what might come next. You know that old saying, "The devil you know is better than the devil you don't"? Well, at that moment, Fiona believed that wholeheartedly.
By the time the last blow came, she was shaky, weak, and breathing heavily. Ryan pulled her into a sitting position on his lap with her facing away from him and began to grope her breasts through her shirt. One hand snaked over her bare, creamy thigh, and the other squeezed and kneaded her breast. She was too weak and exhausted to fight back, and after the pain, he had inflicted on her, she found a sort of comparative pleasure in the groping. It was better than being hit, that was for sure, but if she had her way, he would do neither.
She expected him to try and go further, but he didn't. He shoved her off of his lap and she stumbled. Tangled in the jeans around her ankles, she spilled to the floor, landing hard on her hands and knees. "Alright," he said, "that's enough. Have you learned your lesson?"
Fiona swallowed and nodded. "Y-Yes."
"No you haven't," he said, cutting her off before the word was completely out of her mouth. "But you will. Oh, yes you will. Now get out of my sight."
Feeling as small as a mouse, Fiona got to her feet, yanked her pants up, and buttoned them. She scurried out of the office and went back to her station at the cash register.
This was going to happen again, she asked herself, wasn't it?
Something told her it was. He was going to continue doing this to her because he knew that she needed this job and couldn't afford to lose it. Would he be content to simply spank her the next time, or would he want to do something more, something worse?
Fiona didn't know, but she found herself hoping that being spanked was the only thing he would do to her. There was so much worse.
A customer came in, and hating herself - and him - she went to help them.
She knew one thing.
It wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.