<Reference ID="454541" Date="1 Jul 1984">

                        <Title> Slave Girl Convict [3] </Title>

                        <Author> Dolcetta (dolcetta AT grim_williams.co.uk ) </Author>

                        <Author> Grim Williams (gw AT grim_williams.co.uk) </Author>

                        <AudioTranscript>

                                Penthouse Office

                        </AudioTranscript>

                        <Channel> Five </Channel>

                        <Position> 2 hrs : 37 mins  </Position>

                        <Editor> Carolyn Brown </Editor>

                        <Text>

"It's my job is to look at women and you are a very attractive woman, Janet."

"Thank you, sir."

"You have good bones and a pretty face. I look at women. I know about such things."

"You're very kind, sir."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Sir?"

"A boyfriend. Do you have one?"

"Yes sir."

"And does he fuck you?"

"Please sir! That's not fair, sir. It's none of your business!"

"No. I suppose not. So what is my business?

"Your business? I don't understand, sir."

"My business, Janet. Think about it. Isn't my business to look at women?"

"Yes sir."

"So take off your clothes. You are a woman, Janet. A very attractive one. I want to look at you."

"Sir, I'll pretend I didn't hear that!"

"Take off your clothes."

"I'm your secretary, sir, not your whore. Your business is not to look at me. If you want, I can find you a girl. It's understandable that you have desires... I understand, but that doesn't make me your whore. What kind of woman do you want, sir? You've only to say the word..."

"I want you. You, Janet. You're the woman I go for. Entertain me. Show me your breasts."

"No sir."

"You want to show me, I can see it, Janet. Take off your skirt, your blouse... everything. Your bra... I want to look at you, to see what you look like. Everything, Janet. Including your panties."

"No, sir. Please, sir. I do office work, nothing more. You have no right."

"But you want to. Deny it! Tell me you have no desire to show me your body."

"No sir. I'll get you a whore. She will undress, do anything you want."

"I could make you, Janet."

"Please sir. There is work I should be doing..."

"It's my job, Janet. Have you any idea what would happen if there were a discrepancy?

"Please, sir."

"A discrepancy, Janet. Listen to me."

"Sir?"

"In the cash... the petty cash."

"How do you mean, sir? Why should there be a discrepancy?"

"The suspicion would fall on you..."

"But I haven't touched the petty cash!"

"Maybe not. Of course not."

"Is this a threat, sir?"

"Yes, that's what it is: a threat. Tell me, how would you prove your innocence? How, Janet? If you were lucky something might turn up, say after two or three days, something to suggest your innocence. But so much can happen in that time. Think, Janet.  How many times a woman can be raped. How many ways she can be tortured. Two or three days can seem a lifetime."

"That's blackmail, sir!"

"Not a nice word. Not nice at all. I suggest you undress for me. Prove you didn't mean it. You are a pretty girl, a very nice figure. I would like that. It's my job to look at women. After lunch, you can ask me for your clothes back, very nicely, of course."

"You're going to force me to undress?"

"I am, Janet."

"You're going to make me take off everything..."

"Yes, Janet."

"Oh God, sir. I'll hate that. Please don't make me."

"Drink your coffee, Janet. Drink it all down."

"Yes, sir."

"And then you can take off your clothes."

                        </Text>

</Reference>

<Reference ID="6480776" Date="1 Jul 1979">

                        <Publication> Medicin Online </Publication>

                        <Name> Flunitrazepam </Name>

                        <Text>

                        </Text>

</Reference>

<Fragment ID="825590" Date="8 Jul 1984">

                        <Name> Janet Tomkinson </Name>

                        <Location> CCTV Corporate Headquarters </Location>

                        <Collator> Saul Tobiah </Collator>

                        <Text>

"How do you like your coffee, Mr Tomlins?"

Janet waited expectantly for him to answer. "Black. Two sugars," he said at last.

There was a look of Shannon about her, in the way she held her head, her posture, how she walked. It was that same ambiguous aura of strength combined with vulnerability - feet of iron mingled with clay - that left you wondering whether you were dealing with someone as tough as old boots, or as flimsy as fine lace.

Janet handed him his coffee and he politely took it. Her perfectly manicured nails were decorated with bright dashes of colour. "Thank you," he said, pointing towards a second cup upon the tray. "Please. Be my guest. We should talk. Have one yourself."

She hesitated, not really wanting to, not quite knowing how to refuse.

"You want me to stay?"

"Absolutely. There are some things we should discuss. "

All he could think was how to get rid of her clothes.

He pulled up a chair and set it in front of her. "You are very pretty."

"Thank you, sir. I'm happy that I please you."

She could feel him staring at her thighs. He liked them. She lifted the hem of her skirt, letting him see her panties and the large wet patch that stained them. "If there's anything you want me to do sir, then please ask. Anything at all. While I'm working for you, please think of me as your whore. I'm entirely at your service..."

She pulled at the waistband of her panties, teasing him, stretching the fabric into a narrow string that cut into her tingling gash.

"Janet, you do understand what it means to work here. You can never leave. Never. When the time comes, you will make a farewell appearance on the show, your head hooded, your limbs bound, and no one will be any the wiser."

"Yes, sir. I know, sir."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"In a way it does, sir. But it also excites me too. You see, I've watched Public Justice since I was a girl, long before I understood about sex. I remember seeing it for the first time and being totally awestruck, watching this woman being bound and wanting it to be me, wanting to be dominated by a man."

"And you mean that? It's the truth?"

"Yes, sir. The truth. My friends, even my parents, none of them understand. But I had to come here, to work here. It's like a pilgrimage to touch the wench's chair, to sit in it, to kiss the hand of Linda Luscious. For me it's like a journey to Mecca."

"You're sure about that, Janet? It has nothing to do with the excessive salary we've offered you?"

"No, sir. Far from it. Not at all."

"In that case Janet, as a test of your words. I want you to undress and when you're naked, to go to the lady's room. It's fully wired and there are cameras in the cubicles. I want you to go there and masturbate for me. Do it special, like you're really having a good time. I shall be watching. When you're finished you may go back to the typing pool and get on with your work."

"You mean nude, sir? I must go to the typing pool and sit there naked?"

"Yes. Precisely. That's what I mean."

"Oh God, sir. That'll be so embarrassing. All the men looking at me."

"And touching."

"Sir?"

"And touching too. You must be sure to let them touch you, if they want."

"They will want. They will want to touch me, won't they sir?"

"Yes, Janet. I'm sure they will."

"They'll want to touch my breasts. Do I have to let them touch my breasts?"

"Yes, Janet."

"And my pussy, sir? Do I have to let them touch my pussy?"

"Yes, Janet. If they want to touch it, you must let them."

"Oh God, sir. Thank you sir."

                        </Text>

</Fragment>

<Reference ID="285692" Date="5 Feb 1982">

            <Publication> The Inquirer </Publication>

            <Page> Eight </Page>

            <ByLine> Andrew Mcdonald </ByLine>

            <Name> Love Lorne Tommy </Name>

            <Text>

                        </Text>

</Reference>

<Fragment ID="825590" Date="1 Jul 1984">

            <Name> Janet Tomkinson </Name>

            <Location> CCTV Corporate Headquarters </Location>

            <Collator> Lisa O'Connor </Collator>

            <Text>

Oh God!

What should she do? It was so hard and stiff.

Should she ignore or acknowledge it? What was the proper response? Janet's fingers were shaking. She looked down nervously, and began to arrange the cups and milk on the tray and to double-check that the water was piping hot. The cups clanked noisily in the saucers.

What was going on here?

She swallowed hard.

But she didn't dare move a muscle in case he might see her looking, looking at his swollen, erect, monstrous cock.

That would be mortifying.

At last she managed to get enough control of her emotions to head for the door. Get out of here! Safety lay outside. She crossed towards it quickly, her heart thumping, beating strong.

But then, he stopped her. God. She'd almost made it. She'd almost got out.

But now...

"Oh," he called absently, clicking his fingers. "One other thing," His spare hand was still caressing his swollen tool, rubbing the foreskin gently. She waited, watching him do it, pretending to look elsewhere, pretending she couldn't see.

"Janet," he continued. "Be a darling. Leave your clothes on the desk for me to inspect." He paused, stoking up some steam inside his glistening penis before continuing. "Then, once you've done that, collate last night's ratings for me. I haven't seen the network figures yet, only the local franchises."

Janet stiffened and her face turned red.

She panicked.

She didn't know whether to obey or to run.

His order had caught her unawares.

God!

Had she heard him right?

Leave her clothes on the desk for him to inspect! God! That couldn't be right!  She must have misheard. What was she supposed to wear? He couldn't expect her to work naked, her boobs and pussy on open display.

There were people out there, men, walking to and fro, right by her desk, where she had to work.

"Mr Tomlins?" she asked nervously. "I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you. Did you say...?"

"You heard me," he cut back, squeezing his cock. "Take off your clothes and leave them on my desk. Do you have a problem with that?"

She obviously had. "Please sir..."

"If you do, then you can jump back to wherever it was you came from. I'm after a secretary who'll go that extra mile... Oh, and Janet," he added, his cock twitching once more. "You won't forget to arrange the transportation for tonight's show. The penitentiary needs confirmation of the times at least six hours in advance... Have you got that? It's important."

Janet was stranded in the middle of the office, the mouth half open. A protest had lodged in her throat and her lips had opened to utter it. But there it had died. How could she argue with Adam Tomlins? She knew his reputation, everybody did.

It was a test, pure and simple. A test of her suitability.

He wanted her to undress. She must leave her clothes for him to enjoy with his coffee.

Oh God!

His back was facing her, his black hair neatly cut. HeÂ’d neither turned to watch her nor shown even the faintest interest in how she would react.

Janet didn't understand that.

Why had he asked her to strip if he wasn't interested in seeing it?

Why?

She saw him lean forward in his chair. The blonde he wanted in the show for tomorrow had begun to speak. She was talking to another woman, complaining how the police had manhandled her, that she was innocent, that she would complain, that she would never confess.

Never.

Not in a million years.

Excellent. A fighter with spirit. Good on her. It would inject a little controversy into the show. Controversy was Adam's friend. Controversy was good for the ratings.

He liked the sound of Susan's voice too. It was okay. No shrillness or coarse country accents. She'd do a treat. He'd book her for tomorrow.

He had Janet for tonight, and now Susan Howard for tomorrow.

"You still here?" he muttered irritably, realizing that Janet was still behind him. "Haven't you undressed yet? What do you think we're paying you for? To stand there gawping at the prisoners?"

He switched to another channel. He wanted to see Shannon again. Shannon was special. Where was she? Oh yes, in her cell. There she was. Now, how should he play this evening? Hit her with execution and try to rattle her, or do it the conventional way, make her produce a shortlist, and let the public choose which they preferred.

In his heart he knew that it would be none of these things. With this girl it would be something else, something special, something unique... and the plan had already formed was gestating nicely, almost about to come to fruition.

He mulled over the thought while behind him Janet undressed.

First her blouse and then her skirt.

What else could she do but obey?

It was either this or lose her job.

She slipped off her shoes and rolled down her stockings.

Everything, he'd said.

She was shaking with embarrassment. She was only nineteen and not yet comfortable with men seeing her body.

Everything.

She was to leave her clothes on the desk for him to inspect.

But why?

What was he searching for?

She straightened her stockings and then rolled then into a tight ball so they wouldn't snag. God. His attention was still focused on that damned monitor, concentrated and determined.

His cock was in his hand.

Her heart jumped with a flutter at the sight. What if someone came in? What if someone walked in right now and saw her in only bra and panties and Mr Tomlins with his penis exposed?

How would she explain?

What would they think?

"I'll never be able to look anybody in the face again," she panicked, releasing the clasp of her bra and pulling it from her breasts.

They were large, soft breasts with broad pink nipples. The skin was white and unbroken. They fell free, shaking nervously and nakedly. "They'll always be remembering me naked, the size of my tits, the splash on my belly, even if I live to be one hundred."

Janet was a pretty girl with nothing to be ashamed of, but even so, her embarrassment was excruciating. There were little goose bumps on the end of her teats.

Now, her panties.

Oh God.

She must pull them down, take them off.

And they were wet, dripping with her moisture. She couldn't leave them here!

She couldn't!

Mr. Tomlins would smell and think that she was excited.

Oh God!

What was she to do?

This was madness.

She should leave, run, get out of here.

She couldn't do this.

She couldn't go outside.

Not naked.

Not where there were men.

Men who would notice.

"Run, Janet!" a voice screamed. It shrieked from deep inside her head. "Get out! Take your things! Don't listen to this man! Don't!"

But she didn't obey that voice. She didn’t get out.

Instead, she picked up her clothes, folded them, and placed the little pile next to the coffee, her frivolous white bra and damp panties perched upon her skirt and more conservative blouse.

She covered her panties with the cups of her bra.

Finally, she lay her staid shoes, one either side of the pile.

She looked towards her boss.

Still he hadn't noticed.

He had a hanky in his hand and was masturbating. His cock was purple and enormous, swollen with arousal.

Janet shivered.

What was he looking at? She couldn't see.

But she was convinced that he must know. He must be aware that she was standing behind him, a naked woman white and shaking from fright. After all, he had demanded that she strip.

Her teeth were chattering.

Why wasn't he interested?

He was a man after all.

A man who according to the gossip was very interested in screwing women.

Didn't he fancy her?

Didn't he like the shape of her breasts? Her pussy?

Didn't he want to push her over his desk, spread her legs and fuck her?

She touched her breasts self-consciously, but recoiled in shock. Her tits were on fire.

She didn't understand.

They were so hot that she couldn't touch them.

This was worse than facing the pickets at the gates. At least they thought her attractive. At least they'd made her feel like a woman. One of them had rushed over and grabbed her, smirking obscenely, his fingers flurrying under her clothes, searching for her clit. For a moment he found it, he possessed it, until he was seized by two stern police officers and hauled away screaming abuse. He would have fucked her if given a chance. So why wouldn't Mr Tomlins take away this heat?

She felt rejected, ugly.

She wanted to be used, to have his teeth biting her nipples.

Her pussy was sopping wet.

Suppose someone saw how wet it was?

Someone outside? If she went out there...

One of the men?

What would she do?

"Run, Janet! You don't have to obey him! Pick up your clothes and run!"

She swallowed hard.

Her legs were as jelly, shaking, her groin was tense and aching. She gave one last sorrowful glance at her clothes, shuddered, and then with bowed head, crossed to the door.

She couldn't stop herself.

She would have done whatever he said.

Anything. Anything at all. She was his slave. She was so excited, and yet also frightened; aroused but terrified.

Opening the door carefully, she glanced to see whether anyone was passing.

There were two men standing at the other end of the corridor, talking to each other. God. She couldn't go out there! If she did, they'd see. They had only to turn, to look up...

And they would. It was only a matter of time: seconds at the most...

The thought filled her with a perverse pleasure. She was going to walk down this corridor, naked.  She must obey Mr Tomlins, for he was her master. Strange men were going to see her body and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

God.

She stepped out, hunched forward, naked, her hands covering herself self-consciously. She closed the door as quietly as she could. The men were still talking. They hadn't seen her.

She tiptoed away from them.

She had no choice. Adam Tomlins had ordered her to strip. That's what she would tell them. That would be her excuse.

They would understand.

They must.

Dear God.

She squeezed her legs together as she walked, the wetness dripping down her thighs,

Her nipples tingled, incredibly hard. She tried to cover them, to conceal her excitement. Where was she going? What was she doing? The bathroom, Mr Tomlins had ordered. She must go to the bathroom.

Oh God. This was someone else's life. It had to be. This was what other people did. Not her.

She could hear the men talking, discussing the allocation of tickets for that night's show. They had only t look up. A naked woman was in front of them, flushed, aroused. Any moment... Any moment...

Here it was.

She reached the bathroom door, only to find it was the Gents. The ladies room was the other side of the building. What to do? In panic, she hurried inside.

How would she explain? Was there anyone in here? She looked around, relieved to find it empty. Shit! What now? She rushed to a cubicle and locked the door, gasping with relief.

Where were the cameras? She couldn't see them, but they were there. Adam Tomlins would be watching. He hadn't shown interest when he had her in his parlour, but now she was on camera she knew she had his attention. She leaned back, opening her legs, her feet either side of the cubicle.

He'd said the ladies room, but this would have to do.

She was so hot: roasting. She couldn't breathe. She heard someone enter the bathroom and the sound of pee splattering against a urinal. Shit. It sounded so close. Just feet away there was a man, his cock in his hand...

She plunged her fingers into her gaping hole and did what she'd been told to do, what she needed to do, brought herself to the most almighty of climaxes.

Oh God, she thought dreamily.

This is CCTV.

                        </Text>

</Fragment>