Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 01

"I'll do anything, Mr. Jorgenson," I sniffled. "Please give me another chance. I'll show you I'm worth it."

He looked me up and down, and his breath seemed to come a little quicker. He set the laptop to one side and motioned to me. "Very well, Miss Ochs, if you're willing to accept your punishment, perhaps I can overlook your transgression." He beckoned me toward him.

"What is he saying?" I asked myself. "What does he mean?"

But I found myself shuffling hesitantly toward him until finally I was standing directly in front of him. I looked at him fearfully.

"Kneel down," he said. I must have hesitated because he roared "Kneel down" in a commanding voice that brooked no delay.

I sank to my knees before him, terrified at what might come next.

"Girls who won't follow instructions must be punished for their transgressions, punished so that they won't forget the next time. Now, bend over my lap."

My mind darted about wildly like a fly caught in a jar. I felt outraged and helpless, intimidated and humiliated. "This can't be real," I cried inwardly, "it must be a nightmare!" But I found myself complying with his order, even as another part of me screamed out to run.

Then my humiliation jumped to a new level as I felt him raise the hem of my skirt and drape it over my back, exposing my panties. Long suppressed memories of punishments when I was a young girl flashed through my mind. Then all rational thought disintegrated in pain as his hand slapped me hard on my right buttock. I tried to rise, to use my hands to protect myself, but his left arm pressed down on my back and held me in place.

When the next blow fell, I whimpered, and hot tears were forced out of my eyes. Two more slaps followed in quick succession, and my bottom began to burn. Then my pain and humiliation transformed into fear as I felt my panties being yanked down, baring my bottom to his eyes and removing the last scant layer of protection to my buttocks and my modesty.

Three more blows fell, hitting both cheeks simultaneously. Then his hand stopped and caressed my bottom, and I thought he had finished. But he was only toying with me: two more blows quickly rained down, this time catching the exposed lips of my vagina, bringing a gasp and a squeal from me.

Then he was caressing me again, the palm of his hand soothing the pain. His fingers ran over my vagina, which made me quiver. He laughed. "You're getting wet," he said with delight.

"No!" I thought, "That can't be." But when he slapped me twice more, I felt my whole body jerk as though an electric current had passed through me. When he paused to continue his caresses, I realized just how aroused I was.

Now he began to alternate his blows with strokes and caresses, probing inside me, then pulling his fingers out to rub my clitoris. I began to pant.

His next blow was not as hard, but it fell directly on my vagina, and this time the pain mingled with a sensation of surrender and desire.

Now his hand was roaming all over me in the most intimate of caresses, and I could do nothing but lay there helplessly on his lap. Suddenly he slipped his strong hands under my armpits and shifted me until I was bent over the sofa. I sensed rather than saw that he had moved and was kneeling between my legs. His motions seemed urgent, and then I felt his penis probing my backside and finding my vagina. I was so lubricated that he slid into me in a single thrust.

As he began to pump into me, I lay there with my eyes closed, holding on to the cushion of the sofa as though it were a life preserver. I remembered the fumbling efforts of my college boyfriend, but this felt nothing like that. I was helpless before his desire, and somehow it had become my desire as well. The burning of my bottom and his forceful thrusts combined to push me higher and higher up a mountain of sensation I had never before climbed. In amazement I heard myself moaning, and I wondered what was happening to me. Suddenly he slapped me once, twice on my bottom and the pain lifted me to the edge of the precipice and pushed me over. If I hadn't been draped over the sofa, I would have collapsed on the floor.

Mr. Jorgenson continued to thrust into me a few more times before giving a loud grunt followed by a few more thrusts. Then he collapsed on my back, pinning me to the sofa.

After a few long minutes, he pulled out and lifted himself off of me. I felt him pull my panties up from where they had fallen at my knees, and then he pulled my skirt down, covering my inflamed buttocks. He stood and, taking my arm, pulled me to my feet.

I stood there with my chin on my chest. I couldn't bear to look at him.

"Very well, Miss Ochs, you may go now. I'll expect the corrected asset valuations first thing in the morning."

Somehow I managed to stumble my way back to my room. As soon as I got the door closed and locked, I shed my clothes as quickly as I could and climbed into the shower, desperate to try to scrub away any trace of what had just happened.

As the water poured over me, I tried to make some sense of what had happened. "He raped you," a voice in my head shouted. "He used his position and his authority to force you to have unwanted sex with him."

"It's your own fault for being so careless and making such a botch of your assignment," another voice retorted. "You got what you deserved."

"He not only raped you, he beat you!" the first voice argued.

"Yes, and you loved every minute of it, you little slut!" came the response, "just like back at the orphanage."

With that I began to remember my experience in that unhappy place. The director of the orphanage was a stern man who strongly believed in the value of corporal punishment. I got my share of whippings while I lived there. There were never any shows of affection; in fact sometimes it seemed like a paddling was the only way you knew anyone cared about you, one way or the other.

I distinctly remember the last spanking I got. I must have been about thirteen at the time because I'd already had my first period. I'd been caught raiding the refrigerator for a snack one night, and the director ordered me across his lap and began to spank me. In the past, the spankings had been painful, but this time there was something more. I began to feel a tingling in my bottom and between my legs. Even though I was crying I began to twitch and jerk in a way I couldn't understand.

The director must have realized what was happening because he abruptly pushed me off his lap and shouted, "You dirty little slut!" Then he sent me off to bed. As I lay there in the dark, I felt between my legs and discovered I was wet. I thought at first I'd peed on myself, but when I smelled my fingers, the musky odor told me it must be something different. I didn't really understand what happened at the time, but I realized that I really must be a dirty girl.

After that incident, the director never spanked me again, and it wasn't much later that Mr. and Mrs. Sykes offered to take me into their home, so I never saw him again. I had tried to forget about that incident, but now it came back to me stronger than ever.

I ran my head under the shower to try to clear my thoughts, but it didn't help. Finally I turned off the water. I still didn't understand why I had let Mr. Jorgenson treat me like that; the fact that I didn't resist only added to my shame. The whole episode seemed like a nightmare, but when I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and saw my red, inflamed buttocks, I knew it was all too real.

Finally, in desperation I seated myself gingerly in front of my laptop, opened up the online standards and began to rework the report I had messed up so badly. Losing myself in the numbers and formulae was the only way I could take my mind off my turmoil.

I don't know what I looked like the next morning, but when Buffalo Bill saw me, a look of concern came over his face. "Are you alright, Annie?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm fine," I lied. "I just had trouble getting to sleep last night."

Bill let it go, but I noticed that he kept glancing at me throughout the morning.

When Mr. Jorgenson came in the room, I thought I would pass out, but he hardly even looked at me and made no mention of anything that had transpired the night before. By the time he was done, I had recovered somewhat. But as he was leaving, he looked at me and said, "Miss Ochs, I'll see you in my room after dinner."

I know I must have turned pale because Bill looked at me again with a troubled expression. But before he could say anything, Jerry began to tease me. "Annie Oakley's in trouble," he said in a child's singsong voice, "she's gonna get a spanking."

I slumped over in my chair and Bill angrily turned to Jerry. "Shut up, Jerry, you don't know a thing about it." Jerry sullenly turned back to his computer, and Bill came over to me.

"Are you sick, Annie Oakley? You're as pale as a ghost."

"No, I'm fine," I said desperately, groping for an explanation. "It's just . . . I think I may be starting my period."

Bill flushed in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, Annie. I didn't mean to pry. I just . . ."

"It's okay, Bill, I just need to go to the ladies' room," I said, and hurried out of the room.

Once I got to the restroom, I splashed cold water on my face, and that seemed to help a little. Somehow I managed to make it through the rest of the morning, but I only picked at my food over lunch. Later, the boys invited me to go out to dinner at a restaurant they'd found in Huntington, but I declined, telling them I was going to order room service. But I didn't; there was no way I could eat, knowing I would have to return to Mr. Jorgenson's room soon.

Somehow I managed to pull myself together by the time I was supposed to go. I made it a point to wear the only pants suit I'd brought with me in hopes that they would offer me some protection from whatever he had in mind. Then I was heading down the hall toward his room, feeling like a condemned prisoner walking the last mile.

When I entered Mr. Jorgenson's room, he was seated on the couch holding his computer in his lap. "I've reviewed the asset figures you amended last night. I'm pleased that everything seems to be in order, done according to COG standards."

A wave of relief came over me. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

His next words dashed my hopes. "Nevertheless, yesterday's error was very serious, and it must never happen again. It is incumbent upon me to insure you don't forget. Come here, Miss Ochs."

Tears began running down my cheeks as I reluctantly shuffled over to him. "Please don't do it, Mr. Jorgenson. Please don't spank me again."

"Kneel," was all he said.

I began to cry in earnest as I fell to my knees in front of him. Then he lifted the computer off his lap and I gasped when I saw that his fly was unzipped and his semi-erect penis was hanging out.

"Suck it," he commanded.

"I can't, Mr. Jorgenson," I protested, "I've never done that."

"Then this will be a good learning experience for you," he said, and put his hand in my hair and pulled my head toward his crotch.

As my face neared him, the situation must have aroused him because his penis began to harden and lift towards me. He pulled me onto it, and I reluctantly opened my mouth to take him in.

"No teeth," he warned menacingly, "or last night's spanking will seem mild in comparison."

I made sure my lips covered my teeth as he forced his penis into my mouth.

"Use your tongue," he ordered, and I hastened to comply.

I'd read about blowjobs, but this was not what I imagined. "If it was someone I cared about," I thought, "maybe this could be an act of love and sensuality. But I hate this, hate being used this way."

Nevertheless, I must have been doing something he liked because Mr. Jorgenson began using his hands to force my head up and down, and I heard him began to moan. Several times he thrust so deep into my mouth that I gagged, but he relented and found a limit I could accommodate.

Soon he had me bobbing up and down so rapidly that I was almost dizzy, when suddenly he pulled my mouth off of him and grabbed his penis with his hand. Before I realized what was happening he stroked it a few more times and then ejaculated into my face! I tried in vain to recoil, but he held me firmly in place until his spurts had ceased, and then he released me.

I sat there on my heels in shock: I'd never felt so demeaned and humiliated in my life.

He stared at me unsympathetically, and then abruptly said, "Go and wash your face. We don't want anyone seeing you like that."

When I'd stumbled to his bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was covered with his fluids, and they were running down my chin. "I guess this is what a whore looks like," I thought bitterly.

When I'd washed myself and returned, he'd zipped up his pants and was again working on his computer. "Good night, Miss Ochs," was all he said, and I knew I was dismissed.

Somehow I made it back to my room. But when I went to brush my teeth, I looked in the mirror and saw a blob of his stuff in my hair. Immediately I threw up in the sink. After I got the sink and myself cleaned up, I undressed and crawled into bed. I had never felt so low in my life. A part of me wanted to retreat to my parents' home and forget about everything, yet the thought of having to tell them what had happened filled me with dread. They had warned me and I had ignored them; if I went home I would not only have to feel their disappointment in me but also admit that they were right. I finally cried myself to sleep.

When the wake-up call came, I somehow managed to get out of bed and make myself presentable. The only thing that got me moving was the knowledge that we had a flight to catch to our next assignment that afternoon. I sure didn't want to be left behind in Charleston.

The normal routine was for Mr. Jorgenson to debrief us on the audit we were finishing and give us any instructions for our next assignment. The thought of having to face him filled me with panic, but as the morning went on, he never showed up. Instead, Bill got a phone call, and after he hung up he told us that Mr. Jorgenson had returned to Houston early. Even more unusual, Bill said that Mr. Jorgenson wouldn't be accompanying us on our next audit assignment. The three of us were supposed to fly to Oklahoma City and do a quickie audit of the COG office there.

"Why the hell are we going back to Oke City anyway?" Jerry griped. "We were there not that long ago."

"I have no idea," Bill replied, "but that's what the boss said, so that's where we're headed."

The fact was that Bill and Jerry had already been to our office in Oklahoma once this year. Moreover, the COG operation there was small and the last audit had uncovered no discrepancies. None of us could understand why another visit was required, but I was so relieved I wouldn't have to face Mr. Jorgenson that I didn't care.

On the long flight that afternoon, I was seated next to Buffalo Bill, and he kept watching me out of the corner of his eye. Several times I almost broke down and told him what had happened, but I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I couldn't bring myself to do so, even though keeping my secret felt like it was killing me. Besides, I thought, he has Denise to think about; the last thing he needs is for me to dump my problems on him. I felt terribly alone.

We arrived in Oke City late that afternoon. Jerry and I checked into the hotel while Bill, as our acting leader, went over to the COG offices to meet with the local controller.

Over dinner that night, he told us about the initial session. "Those guys think we're nuts," he told us bluntly. "The controller told me that nothing had changed in the last few months and that this was a waste of his time and ours. Frankly, the more I hear about the situation, the more I think he's right."

We continued to talk about it for the rest of the meal. It was too late to do anything that night, but we agreed that Bill would contact Jorgenson the next morning to advise him of the situation and find out if there was some issue we didn't know about.

When we got to the COG offices in the morning, Bill got on the phone and tried to call Mr. Jorgenson. When he hung up, he turned to us in frustration. "His secretary told me he's taking the day off," he said. "Now what do we do?"

Jerry and I were equally befuddled by the situation. The only thing we could think was to go to the site and proceed with the audit following our standard protocols. But even that plan didn't work when later that morning the onsite accounting system suddenly crashed. There was nothing we could do but sit around until Information Services could figure out what had happened and get the system back up and running.

After waiting an hour, we finally got an update. The mother board in the server that hosted the accounting system had gone out. They told us it would take two days to get a replacement board shipped in and the system restarted.

"That's it," Buffalo Bill said. "Let's head for the airport and see if we can catch a flight home. If they still want us to do this stupid audit, we can come back on Monday."

We made it to the airport just in time to catch a direct Southwest flight to Houston. As a result, we touched down in the early afternoon. Jerry immediately dashed off to retrieve his car and head home, but before I could go, Bill grabbed my arm. "Listen, I need to talk to you."

I tried to demur, but Bill insisted, and I just didn't have the energy to resist. Bill found a departure gate that wasn't being used and steered me to it.

"Okay, Annie, what's going on?" he demanded. "The last two days you've looked like death warmed over. What happened?"

"Nothing," I told him, "it's nothing."

He took both my hands and looked me straight in the eye. "I think I know you well enough by now to know something bad has happened to you. I'm your friend, Annie Oakley. Please let me help you."

I looked at him for a second and then all my resolve crumbled and I began to sob. He put his arm around me to comfort me and held me until I regained a measure of self-control. Then he held me at arms' length again and said "What is it? You can tell me."

And I did. It all came gushing out of me like some pocket of infection that had been lanced, complete with all the ugly, demeaning details. Once I started, I couldn't stop. As I spewed out the story, Bill's expression went from disbelief to shock to anger. "That sonuvabitch!" he erupted, when I finished my sordid little tale. "He raped you!"

"No," I cried, "I mean, it can't be rape if my body responded, can it?"

"That's irrelevant," he said angrily. "He forced you to have sex against your will. He used his authority to intimidate you into doing something you didn't want. He beat you, for God's sake!"

I couldn't look at him as I remembered the spanking Mr. Jorgenson had administered. "But it was my fault, Bill. If I hadn't screwed up those asset valuations, none of this would ever have happened," I told him.

"In the first place, even if you made a mistake, that's not such a big deal. We've all made mistakes at one time or another. Besides, you corrected them overnight, didn't you?" he insisted.

"Yes, but he was the one who caught my error. I let him down, I let the team down. I screwed up and I deserved to be punished."

"That's crazy," Bill snapped. "You might have deserved a reprimand at worst, but not to be sexually assaulted!"

Then his eyes narrowed. "You didn't come on to him, did you? You didn't say or do anything to indicate you were interested in him sexually, did you?"

"Of course not!" I said indignantly. Then I hesitated. "I was wearing a skirt that day instead of pants. Could he have read something into that? And besides, I would have thought that my skinny legs would have been a turn-off, not a come-on."