Miss Yates

Miss Yates

Miss Yates got out of her car, in the underground car park of Duke and Earl, one of the most important financial companies of which normal people had never heard. She was running late. But it was her own fault, for having that extra cappuccino that morning.

She never heard the man step up behind her. He had been hiding behind one of the concrete pillars. The last thing she knew was a leather-gloved hand over her mouth, and a needle sliding into a vein in her neck.

The last thing… until she returned groggily to wakefulness.

She was strapped into a chair. The chair was like some metal version of a mad dentist’s chair, all shiny chrome and leather straps preventing her from moving. She was in some large office, high up, looking out over New York. Sitting behind the desk was Robert Duke Senior, the old man who had founded the company some fifty years ago. Miss Yates gasped. It was the first time she had seen the chairman, and now, for some bizarre reason, she was tied down to what passed for a chair in his office.

She and Robert Duke Senior were not the only people in the office, though. There was a hatchet-faced woman in her fifties, her greying hair pulled back into a severe bun. Miss Yates recognised the older woman as Ms Graves, Mr Duke’s personal assistant. The rumours were that she was a really nasty piece of work.

The last person was a woman who didn’t look to be more than nineteen years old. She was a busty blonde in a tight black miniskirt and a white blouse, which was losing the battle to contain the blonde’s large breasts.

Miss Yates, as she still slowly recovered her wits, saw some odd items on Mr Duke’s desk, not the sort of things that you expected to see on the desk of the chairman of one of the biggest companies in the world. There were a couple of old-fashioned hatpins, the metal of the pins being at least six inches long. There was a pair of pliers. There was something which looked like secateurs, with blades which looked to be very sharp. There was a small brown glass bottle. There were some scissors. And, finally, there was an unlit handheld oxyacetylene torch, of the sort that some workman might use.

“What… what’s going on?” Miss Yates asked.

“What is going on is that you are guilty of corporate espionage against my company.” Mr Duke said coldly, as he stared at Miss Yates, held captive in the chair. “You are going to provide us with the names of all your associates, and the information which you have passed to them. You will be tortured until you provide us with that information.”

“What? No, that’s crazy. Release me before I call the police.” Miss Yates implored, as she began to panic.

“No, it is not crazy. You joined this company as a temp purely to spy on us. And Maggie will get the information out of you. She takes great pleasure in torturing big-chested whores like you.”

“That I do.” Maggie Graves said, ominously, as she glanced at the items on Mr Duke’s desk.

“But first we have a few preparations to make. Miss Jones, please get into position, and do a good job, unless you want to exchange places with out corporate spy.”

“Yes, sir.” the young blonde woman said. Miss Yates watched in amazement as the woman began to disrobe. She folded her clothes as she took them off, placing them neatly on a chair. Soon she was entirely naked. Her pubic mound was devoid of any hair, and the way that her large breasts swung when she walked proved that she had had no need of a plastic surgeon.

Miss Jones walked to the front of Mr Duke’s desk. Then she got down on all fours and crawled under it. All that Miss Yates could see was the young woman’s cute quim and tight anus, pointing in her direction. There was the sound of a zip being pulled down. It became clear that the young woman was performing fellatio on the eighty-year old chairman.

“You’re sick.” Miss Yates declared. The next thing she knew was a hard slap across her face that almost loosened a few fillings. Maggie had slapped the younger woman, and she had not held back.

“Talk when you’re spoken to.” the old man said. “You can answer a question, when one is put to you. Otherwise I don’t want you to talk.”

The slap shocked Miss Yates into silence. This was really happening. It was not some nightmare from which she could awaken.

“Maggie, she’s wearing too many clothes. Prepare her for the interrogation.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

Maggie grabbed the front of Miss Yates’s smart white blouse. She pulled at the front, causing tiny plastic buttons to go flying as the shirt was opened, revealing Miss Yates’s lacy white bra. Maggie smiled grimly. Miss Yates was busty, with large breasts, while Maggie was flat-chested. Maggie hated women with large boobs, and she took great pleasure in bringing an insane amount of pain to women with large tits.

“Please, no.” Miss Yates gasped. Maggie slapped her again, no less hard than before. The silly bitch had to learn.

Maggie picked up the scissors off the desk. The blades had been sharpened to scalpel sharpness. The blades easily snipped through the bra, revealing Miss Yates’s breasts. They were larger than Maggie had thought. The bra must have restricted. As they tumbled out of the cups Maggie judged that they had to be at least a 38DD. Maggie sneered. She was going to enjoy destroying them, just like she had destroyed many before.

Maggie carried on cutting, removing not only the bra, but also all of Miss Yates’s blouse. By the time that Maggie was finished they were no more than scraps of cloth. But Miss Yates would never be wearing them again.

“All of her clothes, I think.” the old man said. “I think that we will have our spy entirely nude. It makes them feel so defenceless.” His voice had not changed, despite the blonde under his desk sucking on his semi-hard cock.

Miss Yates was too scared to say anything, as Maggie cut away first at her skirt, and then at her frilly white knickers. Soon all of Miss Yates clothes were no more than rags on the floor. Miss Yates briefly wondered what she would wear to drive home, as though she had a future after this interview. When the knickers were pulled away and thrown onto the floor it revealed that Miss Yates was entirely shaven in the pubic region.

“Slut.” Maggie said. “Can I use the blowtorch?” That question had been directed towards the old man.

“No, not yet.” the old man said. “Always with the blowtorch. Let’s start with something less permanent. Try the needles, first, I think, then see whether Miss Yates has something to tell us.”

“Yes, sir.” Maggie said. “May I heat the needles?”

“Oh, very well.” the old man said, almost nonchalantly. He watched as Maggie turned on the blowtorch, producing a wicked blue flame. His eyes gleamed. Miss Yates watched, as well, not believing that this was going to happen.

Maggie picked up one of the old-fashioned hat pins, by its plastic end. She held the metal point in the blue flame. Maggie held it there until the metal glowed red. She then walked over to stand before Miss Yates. Maggie stood to the side of the captive woman, so that Robert Duke would be able too see everything which occurred.

“Last chance.” the old man said. “Who are you working for? If you don’t tell us, then Maggie will force the needle into your breast. Maggie has done this many times, and is quite the expert at inflicting agony. She will insert the needles through your nipples, deep into your breasts. Maggie knows the biology of breasts, and these heated needles will destroy, forever, your ability to produce milk.”

“Please, I don’t know anything!” Miss Yates implored.

“Wrong answer. Maggie, you may proceed.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

And it was with sadistic pleasure that Maggie touched the glowing point of the needle to the very centre of Miss Yates’ nipple. Maggie had grasped the breast with one hand, bunching it up. Miss Yates screamed at the first touch of the red hot metal to her flesh. She screamed even louder as the red hot metal slid inexorably into her milk ducts. She fainted.

Smelling salts dragged Miss Yates back to consciousness.

“Please…” was all Miss Yates could say. She was ignored.

“The other hatpin, I think, Maggie.” Robert Duke said. “We want her breasts to match, after all.”

Maggie grinned. She was enjoying torturing this big-titted bitch. She wanted to utterly destroy Miss Yates’ breasts.

“I don’t know anything!” Miss Yates shouted.

“She is getting annoying.” Robert Duke said. “The stupid slit almost burst my eardrums with that. Gag her, Maggie.”

“Yes, sir.” Maggie said. Maggie was a little disappointed. She liked to hear them scream, rather than moan around a gag. Still, though, now that Miss Yates would be gagged they could drop the pretence that they sought information from her, and Maggie could get onto some serious breast mutilation… just as long as Robert Duke didn’t cum too quickly into the mouth of the slut under his desk.

Maggie got out a red plastic gag and forced it into Miss Yates’ mouth. Maggie made sure that it could not be expelled.

“Mmmph!”

“Too late to talk now, bitch.” Maggie taunted Miss Yates, the evil woman knowing full well that Miss Yates had nothing to say.

Maggie took the other hat pin, and heated that up, as well, until it was glowing. Miss Yates shook her head from side to side, knowing full well the agony which she was about to experience. Making sure that the old man had an unobstructed view. Maggie slid the hat pin deep into Miss Yates’ breast, only stopping when Miss Yates’ nipple touched the plastic end of the hatpin. Miss Yates began to feel hot, her old cunt getting wet as she tormented this bint. There was no mercy. There never was.

Miss Yates now had a hatpin buried deep into the flesh of each breast.

“Excellent.” Robert Duke said. His ancient penis was finally becoming hard, due to the desperate oral ministrations of the blonde slut under the desk. Miss Jones knew that if she did not make the old man cum – and at the correct moment – then it might be her turn to become the next victim in the chair.

“The pliers, next, I think.” the old man said.

Maggie picked up the pliers, and removed the hatpins from the breasts. She set to work on the nipples, spending long minutes squeezing and pulling on the sensitive flesh, causing incredible sounds to issue forth around the plastic gag.

“The acid, next, I think.” the old man said. “But just her clit this time. Let her keep her nipples for the moment.”

Maggie put the pliers away. She picked up the small brown glass bottle, and knelt down beside the chair.

“You are about to become a eunuch.” Maggie sneered. “You will never get to cum again.”

Maggie, being very careful, took the top of the bottle. There was the distinctive smell of sulphuric acid. Maggie spread Miss Yates’s clitoral hood, to reveal that tiny little button of pleasure. Being careful not to get any acid on her fingers, Maggie dropped acid onto the clit. Smoke rose from the wounded organ, as acid slowly melted the flesh away. Miss Yates, after a wild scream, sough refuge in fainting. But these sadists were not to be denied. The smelling salts returned her to consciousness.

“It won’t be long, now.” the old man said, referring to his orgasm. “I think that it is time to add a couple more nipples to your collection.”

Maggie picked up the secateurs. She placed the blades around one tortured nipple, and squeezed. The nipple came away easily, blood issuing from the wound. Miss Yates could only stare in tortured disbelief at where her nipple had been, as Maggie repeated the process with the other nipple.

“I don’t think we want to have Miss Yates bleed to death.” Robert Duke said, sounding a little strangled, he was so close to orgasm. “The blowtorch.”

Maggie grinned. This was the best part. She picked up the blowtorch and touched its bright blue flame to Miss Yates full breasts, holding the flame so close that it blackened the skin.. She played the flame all over Miss Yates tits, as the old man finally came into the mouth of Miss Jones. With some reluctance Maggie turned the blowtorch off. But Miss Yates had fainted again, anyway. There was no more fun to be had with her. And her breasts were now no more than stinking, blackened globes of ruined flesh.

As Miss Jones crawled out from under the desk Robert Duke picked up his telephone to make a call.

“Robert Duke here. You and your men can have what is left of Miss Yates. You can do anything you want to her, but she is not to be killed. When you bury her you are to make sure that she is alive, and conscious.”

Robert Duke put down the phone. He felt no guilt. After all, what are temps for?

The End.