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The Siren Song.

"Later today I will be promoting you," he announced suddenly.

What? Promoted!? Hadn't I only recently been promoted to PA to the CTO!? Was he serious? Another promotion? My heart skipped a beat.

"Are you... serious...?" I stuttered.

"I like people who take risks," he said. "Especially when they are as attractive as you are Elizabeth." He smiled amiably.

Wow! Really, I mean - Wow! Another promotion! I beamed at him with a mix of astonishment and joy.

"But first, Elizabeth, I would like you to dance a bit more for me. I don't remember asking you to stop..." His eyebrows arched mischievously. How curious: For one passing moment (and it was the first and last time I can remember ever thinking it) he appeared vaguely attractive.

Desperately trying to conceal my delight, I immediately started swaying my hips for him again, maintaining eye contact until he signaled with a twist of his forefinger that I should turn around. I turned away from him, wriggling eagerly, happily. Another promotion! Wow!

Without needing to be prompted I leant forwards to show off the curves of my skirt-wrapped bottom. I wriggled it for him. I placed my hands on my hips and rotated my shoulders. I tapped my heels, as if I were moving in time to the easy breezy Jazz of 'The Scrava'...

All of a sudden I felt the fingers of his right hand wrap firmly around my neck. His grip quickly tightened; his thumb pressing into the side of my throat. Instinctively I thrashed to release myself from his grip, but he held me firmly, masterfully.

"Keep dancing," he commanded. "I just want to hold you for a bit."

I swallowed. The grip on my neck didn't hurt particularly, but it was extremely uncomfortable. It felt controlled, like he was restraining his true strength, holding himself back from crushing my neck. These thoughts flooded through my mind, causing me to panic.

"Ow. Agh! Please... Sir," I choked," - Don't hurt me."

He snorted a laugh through his nostrils. "I'm not hurting you am I? Just dance a bit more for me. That's all I want."

This wasn't legal, surely!? Of course it wasn't. I could sue him. You can't treat your employees like this! It was a disgrace. But hang on - was I allowing him do this to me? Or was I being forced? Is there even a difference? I had, after all, started dancing for him of my own volition. I hadn't asked him to half strangle me though, had I? But then... was I actually resisting? It saddens be greatly to admit that I did not resist, I don't know why. I don't know why I let him to hold me like that... And I don't know why I kept wriggling my bottom for him... Rotating my hips...

I felt his legs rubbing up against the back of my thighs as he drew closer to me - to steady his grip, perhaps.

"Lunch at 'The Scrava' today," he whispered suddenly, his warm breath close to my ear. Too close. "And the promotion, of course."

I understood well. I had to take risks to get to the top. If I stopped, I would lose everything. The promotion. The visits to 'The Scrava'. Probably my job too. The end of any ambition I may have harboured.

I continued to writhe for him, prisoner to the grip he held around my neck. Was it my imagination, or was he slowly increasing the pressure? I tried to dismiss it from my mind - tried to concentrate on wriggling my bottom correctly for him, tapping the plastic coated lift floor as I worked my heels. I felt like a puppet. Like a doll. A doll - that was it. I was his doll. He was playing with me.

His left hand suddenly clamped itself around my left buttock, his fingers digging into the hem of my skirt and pulling it upwards. He kept it there and I danced into it. I wriggled my bottom obediently in his palm.

He pushed my neck forwards, forcing me to bend further forwards; my bottom sinking deeper into his palm. His grip on my neck was unyielding. He caressed my bum-cheeks through the material of my skirt with his fingers. He kneaded me, molded my bottom.

Horrified, I wondered abruptly what I would do if he started touching me.

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