Chapter 10: Power Play
She had become the mechanism itself. Sleep was not unconsciousness, but a shallow, vibrating lake she drifted upon. The collar’s memory buzzed in her bones. Dawn arrived as a grey smear against the windows, and with it, the soft chime of Jessie’s phone alarm. Brandy’s eyes opened. She was already awake.
Jessie stood at the foot of the bed, already dressed in a severe black suit, her hair a perfect copper wave. She held a garment bag. “Your uniform,” she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. She unzipped it to reveal Brandy’s own best work suit—a razor-sharp Armani trouser suit in charcoal wool. “Your board meets at ten. You will be flawless.”
The shower was a mechanical process. She soaped her body, avoiding the plug, which felt more a part of her now than a foreign object. The collar was waterproof. She patted the leather dry, the new weight of it a constant, sobering pressure on her throat. Dressing was a silent ritual performed under Jessie’s watchful eye. The suit fabric felt alien over her sensitized skin. She buttoned the crisp white shirt up to the collar’s edge, the leather peeking above like a secret tattoo.
“It’s remote activated,” Jessie said, tapping her smartphone screen. A faint, deep hum emanated from the collar against Brandy’s larynx. It was a subtle, internal vibration. Simultaneously, the plug inside her came alive, a low, insistent thrumming deep in her core. Brandy’s knees buckled slightly; she caught herself on the dresser. “The settings are variable. I can make you shudder. I can make you come. I can make you a damp, distracted mess in the middle of your quarterly report.” Jessie turned the vibrations off. The sudden stillness was a shock. “Now, the wheel.”
The black case sat open on the kitchen island. A new, smaller wheel was attached. Its face was simple, brutal: DURATION. The options were listed in hours: ONE. THREE. SIX. TWELVE. A PERPETUAL. The last was etched in the same deep black as the Open Protocol slot.
“This determines how long the remote protocol remains active today,” Jessie explained. She didn’t look at Brandy. Her focus was on the device. “It’s a test of integration. Of your ability to function while being fundamentally… altered. Spin.”
Brandy’s hand was steady now. A strange calm had settled in her gut. She turned the crank. The wheel spun with a quiet, professional whirr. It was a decision-maker for executives, she thought absurdly. It slowed, clicking past ONE, past THREE. It hovered at SIX, then slipped with a final, soft click onto PERPETUAL.
Jessie inhaled, a sharp, satisfied sound. “Continuous. No defined endpoint. The potential for activation exists throughout the entire day. It could happen at any moment. Or not at all. You will live inside that uncertainty.” She closed the case. “Your driver is waiting. Go to your meeting. Be brilliant.”
The car was a silent, black sedan. Her usual driver, Leo, gave her a brief nod. “Morning, Ms. Thompson.” His eyes flicked to the collar, then instantly away, fixed on the road. The city streamed past the tinted windows—a monochrome rush of concrete and glass that felt like a film playing over a different world. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the dormant potential of the plug. The collar was a snug, leather fist around her voice.
Her executive assistant, Chloe, met her in the lobby. Her eyes, sharp and always assessing, did a quick, full-body scan. They lingered for a microsecond on the collar. “Your 10 a.m. is confirmed. The Reynolds merger documents are on your desk. Coffee’s in your office.” Her tone was neutral, professional. Nothing was acknowledged. Everything was seen.
Brandy’s office was a monument to her old life: floor-to-ceiling windows, a minimalist steel desk, awards glowing under track lighting. It felt like a museum diorama. She sat, the leather of her chair creaking. The documents before her were a blur of legal jargon. Her mind kept snagging on the physics of her body—the solid weight in her ass, the band around her throat. She was a bomb wired with pleasure, her CEO the holder of the trigger.
The board meeting convened in the 40th-floor conference room. The view was spectacular, the air frosty with recycled oxygen. Five powerful men and two women took their seats around the polished granite table. Brandy took her place at the head.
“Let’s begin,” she said, her voice clear, authoritative. It vibrated slightly from the collar. She cleared her throat.
John Reynolds, from Legal, was droning on about liability clauses. His words were a flat, buzzing sound. Brandy nodded, making notes on her tablet. Then, a faint tickle began at her throat. It was the lightest possible vibration, a phantom itch. She ignored it. It intensified. Not enough to disrupt her speech, but enough to send a faint, humming current straight down her spine, resonating with the plug.
She shifted in her chair. The vibration deepened, settling into a steady, low purr. Her cunt, already sensitized from the last 24 hours, began to pulse in time with it. A slick warmth gathered between her legs. She crossed her ankles tightly under the table.
“Your thoughts, Brandy?” asked Sarah Chen, head of Finance.
Brandy focused on Sarah’s expectant face. “I think the liability rests squarely with their third-party vendor,” she said, her tone flawlessly analytical. Inside, the purr became a definite thrum. The plug seemed to grow warmer. She could feel her own heartbeat in her clit. “We need to push for indemnification in section 4.2.”
She continued speaking, outlining a complex negotiation strategy. All the while, the vibration climbed. It was a slow, inexorable ascent up the scale of sensation. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her stylus. A fine sheen of sweat pricked her upper lip. She was wet, profoundly wet. She could feel the dampness seeping into her silk underwear.
“Are you alright, Brandy?” Reynolds asked, peering at her. “You look flushed.”
“The room is warm,” she said smoothly, tapping the thermostat controls on the table. A blast of cold air hissed from the vents. The contrast against her heated skin was shocking. The vibration jumped another notch. It was no longer a purr. It was a demand. Her muscles in her lower abdomen began to tighten. An orgasm was building, a slow, insidious coil deep within her, independent of any touch but Jessie’s will.
She was mid-sentence, discussing escrow protocols, when the sensation peaked. The vibration in her collar and plug suddenly synced, slamming into a high, feverish frequency. It wasn’t frantic. It was deep, resonant, and utterly inescapable. Her anal muscles clenched rhythmically around the plug. Her cunt spasmed.
She did not moan. She did not break eye contact with the CFO. But her voice hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible catch. “Therefore… the capital… allocation…” The orgasm rolled through her, a silent, powerful wave that turned her vision grey at the edges. She rode it, her body rigid in the chair, while her mouth formed words about liquid assets and quarterly projections. Heat flooded her face. Her thighs trembled minutely.
As suddenly as it began, the vibration ceased. The abrupt silence inside her body was louder than the climax. She finished her sentence. “...must be finalized by Thursday.”
The meeting continued. She answered questions. She made decisions. The damp patch between her legs cooled, a secret, shameful medal. Her phone, face-down on the table, lit up with a single, unreadable notification. It was from Jessie.
The rest of the day was a long exercise in exquisite tension. The vibrations returned twice more: once as she was reviewing a contract with her head of mergers, a subtle, teasing buzz that made her lose her place twice; and again in the elevator alone, a sharp, thirty-second burst that forced her to brace herself against the wall, biting her fist to keep silent. Each time, her phone would light up afterward. No words. Just a single emoji: a spinning wheel.
By 6 PM, she was hollowed out, a vessel of frayed nerves and residual, low-grade arousal. Leo drove her back to the loft. She ascended in the elevator, her reflection in the brushed steel doors showing a impeccably dressed woman with a dark hollow in her eyes.
Jessie was waiting, leaning against the kitchen island. She had changed into loose linen pants and a tank top. “Report,” she said.
“The merger is on track,” Brandy said, her voice hoarse. “I finalized the terms with Reynolds.”
“I didn’t ask about the merger.” Jessie put her phone down. “I asked for a report. On your performance. On the integration.”
Brandy swallowed. The collar pressed against the motion. “It was… effective. I functioned.”
“You came.”
“Yes.”
“During the board meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And no one knew?”
“No.”
Jessie nodded slowly. A small, cruel smile touched her lips. “Good. The mechanism works in the world. Now, we stress-test it.” She gestured to the black case. “We spin again. A different wheel.”
This one was smaller, with only four options: ENDURANCE. PRECISION. EXHIBITION. EXCHANGE.
“This defines tonight’s focus,” Jessie said. “Spin.”
Brandy turned the crank. The wheel was stiff. It landed on EXCHANGE.
Jessie’s eyebrows raised. “Interesting. A transaction. A trade of power.” She walked to the window, thinking. “Margo has been requesting a follow-up. A demonstration of your… progress. Marcus is interested in the long-term stability of the asset.” She turned back. “You will be offered to them. For an evening. Under my supervision, but at their discretion.”
A cold spike drove through Brandy’s gut, cutting through the fog of arousal. “Offered?”
“A transfer of operational control. Temporary. To prove your adaptability. Your obedience isn’t just to me. It’s to the structure itself. You are a protocol. Protocols can be run by different operators.” Jessie picked up her phone. “I’m setting the terms now.”
An hour later, Margo arrived. Marcus was with her. They carried the scent of night air and expensive whiskey. Margo’s eyes went immediately to Brandy, who stood by the sofa in her suit, the collar visible. A hungry, appreciative smile spread across her face.
“The product looks… integrated,” Marcus said, his voice like dry leaves.
“She is,” Jessie replied. “The wheel landed on Exchange. For a period of four hours, she responds to your direct commands. Within the established safety parameters. No permanent marks. No irreversible harm.”
Margo stepped forward, circling Brandy. “And the parameters of the exchange?”
“You have the remote,” Jessie said, nodding to a second smartphone on the table. “You control the collar and plug. You issue the commands. I observe.”
Margo picked up the phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She looked at Brandy. “Kneel.”
Brandy’s body obeyed before her mind could form a protest. She sank to her knees on the rug, the wool coarse against her stockings.
Margo touched the screen. A low vibration started in the collar. Brandy flinched. It was different from Jessie’s. It felt more intrusive. Margo increased the intensity. The plug hummed to life inside her. “Stand,” Margo commanded.
Brandy stood, her legs unsteady under the dual assault.
“Remove your jacket. Slowly.”
Brandy did, letting the expensive wool drop to the floor.
“The shirt. Unbutton it.”
With trembling fingers, Brandy undid the buttons. She let the shirt fall open, revealing the caged leather harness she still wore beneath, the silver chain connecting her nipples glinting in the low light.
“Good,” Marcus murmured, settling into an armchair. “The corporate veneer over the foundational truth. A beautiful dichotomy.”
Margo’s eyes were gleaming. “Turn around. Bend over the back of the sofa. Present yourself.”
Brandy turned, bent. The position thrust her ass out, pulled the harness tight across her back. She heard the rustle of clothing behind her. Not Jessie. Margo.
“Such a pristine canvas,” Margo said. Her hand, cool and dry, ran over the swell of Brandy’s ass, down the back of her thigh. “Jessie’s work is so… clean. I prefer a little more color.” Her hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap. Brandy jolted. The vibrations in her collar and plug jumped in response, syncing with the pain. “See? A feedback loop.”
Another slap, harder. Then another. Margo painted Brandy’s ass and thighs with a series of sharp, measured blows. Each impact sent a shockwave through Brandy’s system, echoed and amplified by the relentless buzz inside her. The pain and the pleasure fused into a single, white-hot signal. She moaned, her face pressed into the velvet.
“She’s ready,” Margo said, her breath coming faster. “Marcus? Would you care to set the first operational command?”
Marcus’s voice was calm, dry. “I would. Instruct her to pleasure you. Orally. I want to see her technique. I want to see if her corporate discipline extends to her tongue.”
Margo’s hand tangled in Brandy’s hair, yanking her head up and turning her around. “You heard him. On your back. On the floor. Now.”
Brandy slid down onto the rug. Margo stood over her, unzipping her tailored trousers. She wasn’t wearing underwear. Her cunt was bare, neatly trimmed, glistening slightly. She placed a foot on either side of Brandy’s shoulders. “Get to work.”
The scent of her, musky and sharp, filled Brandy’s nose. The vibrations still thrummed through her, a maddening counterpoint. She leaned forward, her tongue extending. She tasted salt and skin. Margo’s hand remained fisted in her hair, guiding her, pushing her face deeper.
“Use your lips,” Margo instructed, her voice tight. “Suck. Harder.”
Brandy obeyed. She explored with her tongue, finding the hard nub of Margo’s clit. She sucked it into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue. The vibrations from her own collar seemed to travel down her spine, firing her nerves, making her own cunt ache with sympathetic need. She was servicing Margo while being remotely stimulated by her. It was a circuit of pure, debased feedback.
Margo began to move her hips, grinding against Brandy’s face. “Yes, just like that. You’re a quick study, aren’t you? A good little executive. You know how to apply yourself to a task.” Her breath hitched. “Now, stop.”
Brandy pulled back, her mouth wet, her lips swollen.
“Jessie,” Margo panted. “Increase the remote setting to maximum. Now.”
From her chair across the room, Jessie picked up the primary phone. Her thumb moved. Instantly, the vibration in Brandy’s collar and plug exploded into a furious, screaming intensity. It was unbearable. It was everywhere. Her body bowed up off the floor, a strangled scream caught in her vibratting throat.
“Now, make me come,” Margo demanded, shoving Brandy’s face back into her cunt. “Do it while you’re being torn apart from the inside.”
Brandy drowned. The world was reduced to the smell of Margo’s arousal, the brutal, buzzing violence in her own body, and the desperate, rhythmical work of her tongue and lips. She focused on the clit, sucking and licking with frantic dedication. Margo’s thighs tightened around her head. A high, sharp cry ripped from Margo’s throat as she came, grinding hard against Brandy’s mouth.
As Margo’s climax subsided, Jessie turned the remote off. The sudden silence was a physical vacuum. Brandy collapsed onto the rug, gasping, spit and Margo’s release smeared across her face.
Margo stepped back, zipping her trousers. She looked down at Brandy, panting on the floor. “Operational control confirmed,” she said
She had become the mechanism itself. The thought was her final lullaby. She slept deeply, dreamlessly, her body a hollowed-out shell cradling its two key components: the plugged ache and the collar’s persistent weight. Dawn came not with an alarm, but with the low, invasive hum of the vibrator in her throat and the deep, answering thrum from the plug. Her eyes flew open. The green LED on the collar’s module glowed steadily.
Across the room, Jessie was already dressed in a charcoal suit, sipping coffee from a porcelain cup while scrolling through her phone. She didn’t look up. “Your clothes are laid out. The same ensemble. Be quick.”
The vibrations continued, a maddening, constant stimulation that felt like a physical purr. It was impossible to ignore. It made her skin feel too tight, her focus scattered before she’d even stood up. Dressing was a clumsy ballet. Her fingers fumbled on the shirt buttons. The fine wool trousers felt abrasive against her sensitized skin. Every movement sent subtle shocks through her system.
“The remote has a half-mile range,” Jessie said conversationally, finally looking at her. “It’s linked to my phone. I could be at a cafe across the street, or in a meeting downtown. You’ll never know when I’m watching, when I’m adjusting the settings. You will simply be occupied.” She took a slow sip of coffee. “Your first board meeting is at ten. You’ll lead the discussion on the quarterly merger projections. I expect you to be flawless.”
The walk to the sleek glass tower of her office was an exercise in public composure. The late autumn air was sharp, but it did nothing to cool the heat building low in her belly. The dual vibrations were a private, relentless tide. Each step, each sway of her hips, made the plug shift and the collar buzz against her windpipe. She passed colleagues in the lobby. “Morning, Brandy.” “Ready for the ten o’clock?” She nodded, smiled thinly, her throat vibrating with a phantom response.
Her corner office was a sanctuary of cold order. She closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, breathing hard. She could feel a slickness already gathering, a betraying dampness on her underwear. The boardroom was down the hall, all polished mahogany and cold light. She sat at the head of the table, arranging her tablet, her notes. The other executives filed in: Steven from Legal, his eyes hawkish; Priya from Finance, sharp and unforgiving; old Mr. Greer, who missed nothing.
The meeting began. Brandy’s voice was steady, a miracle. She cited figures, pointed to projections on the screen. All the while, the collar buzzed, a faint, persistent tremor she felt in her teeth. The plug’s deeper vibration was a grounding hum, a base note to the clinical dissection of corporate strategy.
Then, without warning, the intensity shifted.
Jessie, somewhere in the city, turned the dial.
The vibrator in the collar surged, the pitch rising to a frantic whine that made her throat muscles constrict. The plug roared to life inside her, a sudden, violent jackhammering that smashed directly into her g-spot. A strangled gasp escaped her. Priya looked up from her notes, one eyebrow arched.
“Everything alright, Brandy? You seem… flushed.”
“Fine,” Brandy managed, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. “Just a slight… tickle in my throat.” The lie was absurd. Sweat beaded at her hairline. The jackhammering continued, a brutal, mechanical assault on her most intimate nerve endings. Her cunt clenched desperately around the invading steel, pulsing in a helpless, unwanted rhythm. She could feel an orgasm building, not as pleasure, but as a catastrophic systems failure.
She pushed on, her voice growing tighter, her sentences more clipped. She was talking about market shares and liquidity while her body screamed toward a very public, humiliating peak. The sensations were too much, too brutal. They were designed to overwhelm, to shatter control. She was seconds away from convulsing in her chair, from soaking her tailored trousers.
“Brandy?” Mr. Greer’s voice cut through the electric haze. “Your take on the regulatory risk in the European sector?”
It was the final straw. The precipice yawned open beneath her. The control she’d prided herself on, the persona she’d spent a decade building, was about to detonate in a room full of the most observant people she knew.
Her mouth went dry. The words wouldn’t come. The vibrations consumed her. She opened her mouth, a soft, desperate sound escaping that was not a corporate insight. It was a plea, torn from the very core of her unraveling.
“Please…” she whispered, the word barely audible, directed at no one in the room, at the universe, at the woman holding the phone. “Please, stop.”
The executives stared. Steven leaned forward, confusion on his face. “Brandy?”
“I… I need…” The jackhammering intensified. Her vision spotted. She was going to come. Right here. In front of them all. The humiliation would be absolute, professional annihilation. “Please… I’m begging…”
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased.
The silence was a physical shock, a vacuum. The vibrations stopped. The collar was just leather again. The plug was just cold, hard steel. She sat there, trembling violently, her breath coming in ragged, too-loud gulps. A profound, aching emptiness followed the storm. She was hollowed out, raw, and perilously close to tears.
The table was silent. Priya’s expression was a mix of concern and severe professional judgement. “Should we… adjourn?”
“No,” Brandy forced out, her voice hoarse. She straightened her spine, willed her hands to stop shaking. She was a ghost in her own skin, but the ghost had a script. “No. My apologies. A momentary… discomfort. Let’s proceed with the European regulatory overview.” She began speaking again, the numbers and terms falling from her lips by sheer, autopilot rote. The meeting continued, but the atmosphere had changed. She was no longer just their leader. She was a fragile thing, barely holding itself together, and they had all seen the cracks.
She survived the hour. When the room finally emptied, she remained seated, staring at the grain of the mahogany table. Her phone, her personal one, lit up with a single text from an unknown number.
Good. You understand the stakes. The begging was heard. It was noted. Now go to the filing annex on sub-level three. Room B. You have fifteen minutes.
She moved like an automaton. The sub-levels were fluorescent-lit and silent, the domain of records and forgotten data. Room B was a small, windowless space used for old physical archives. The air smelled of dust and disuse. She closed the door behind her. In the center of the room, a single, straight-backed chair had been placed.
Her phone buzzed again.
Sit.Skirt up. Underwear off. Legs spread.
Her fingers were numb. She obeyed, hiking the wool skirt around her waist, peeling the damp silk of her underwear down her thighs. The cool air of the room kissed her wet, exposed flesh. She sat on the hard chair, her knees forced apart, her cunt on display for the empty room. The position was one of utter vulnerability. She waited.
Five minutes passed.Ten. The silence was worse than the vibrations. It was a listening silence. Then, the door opened.
It wasn’t Jessie. It was Marcus. He closed the door softly behind him, his pale eyes taking in the scene with languid appreciation. He carried a small black duffel. “Jessie sends her regards,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “She felt today’s field test required a… hands-on audit from the client. To assess the product’s stability post-disruption.”
He set the duffel down, unzipped it. He didn’t remove a toy. He simply unbuckled his own belt, unfastened his trousers. His cock, thick and already hard, sprung free. “The report indicated you were nearing a critical failure in a high-stakes environment. The begging was a new data point. I’m here to stress-test the results.”
He walked toward her. He didn’t touch her otherwise. He simply guided himself to her slick, waiting entrance. He pushed in, a slow, filling invasion that made Brandy arch against the chair. He was bigger than Jessie’s strap, and flesh, hot and unyielding.
“You begged for it to stop in there,” Marcus murmured, beginning a slow, deep rhythm, his hands braced on the back of the chair on either side of her head. “Now you’ll beg for it to continue in here. That’s the audit.”
His fucking was methodical, relentless. It was a performance review conducted with his hips. He used her, his pace unwavering, his gaze fixed on her face, watching every flinch, every suppressed moan. The earlier denied orgasm had left her body a live wire. Each drag of his cock along her oversensitive walls was torture of a different kind. It stoked the embers the vibrations had left behind.
“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he observed, his breath even. He slowed, almost stopping, hovering at the brink of her climax. “After all that. Still so fucking eager.”
Tears of frustration welled in Brandy’s eyes. The need was a physical torment, a scream trapped in her bones. Her professionalism was ash. Her dignity was gone. All that remained was this raw, animal craving for release, worsened by his deliberate withholding.
“Please…” she heard herself whimper, the word dragged from the same ruined place as before.
“Please what?” he said, giving a single, shallow thrust.
“Please… don’t stop.”
“Inadequate.” He pulled almost all the way out, the head of his cock just teasing her swollen lips.
A sob ripped from her. The emptiness was agony. “Please fuck me. Please, just fuck me, make me come.” The words were filthy, desperate, tumbling out. “I need it. I’ll do anything. Please, just give it to me, I’m begging you, fuck me, fuck me, please!”
He drove back in, hard and deep, his rhythm breaking into a punishing, fast pace that gave her no quarter. “Better,” he grunted. “Now earn it.”
Her begging became a continuous, ragged chant. “Please, yes, please, there, please, don’t stop, please, I’m begging, pleasepleaseplease…” She was mindless, reduced to a series of pleas and the frantic clenching of her body around his. Her climax, when he finally allowed it, was a seismic surrender. It wracked her, bending her over the chair, a silent scream on her lips as her cunt milked his cock in violent, pulsing waves.
He came shortly after, his own release a hot flood inside her, his body shuddering against hers. He stayed there, buried, for a long moment. Then he withdrew, tucking himself away with a neat efficiency that made the violation feel even colder.
He zipped the duffel. “Audit complete. Product shows high resilience and… responsive incentivization. The begging protocol is a viable control mechanism.” He walked to the door, pausing. “Jessie will have your full report.”
He left. Brandy slid from the chair onto the dusty floor, her skirt still around her waist, his come leaking from her onto the linoleum. The quiet of the archives was absolute. She had begged in the boardroom. She had begged in this closet. The line between them was gone. There was only the begging, and what it bought her: a momentary, devastating fullness.
Her phone buzzed once more. The text was from Jessie.
Return to your office. Finish your day. The mechanism is functioning within all expected parameters.
BRANDY BEGS MORE.