16 comments/  157658 views/  45 favorites

The Secretary

By: jus9tine



Author's Note: This is non-consent to the max. Please don't say I didn't warn you. I don't want any e-mails telling me I need counseling. I already know that.

The building dated back to the 1940's when the main concern was utility, not style. It was four stories tall and square with a red brick exterior. If there hadn't been a few windows installed it would have made a great warehouse.

It belonged to a big law firm which owned even older, but fancier, buildings on a neighboring street. That fact made the ugly, square building stand out even more. And the inside was no better. Attorneys and paralegals had the offices with windows. Secretaries—lots of secretaries—sat in row upon row of cubicles in the middle of the four floors.

And then there were the boxes. Boxes were everywhere...in the offices, in storage rooms and in the hallways. They were stacked six feet high in places. The paperless society promised so many years ago had not found this place.

It was in this unexciting place amid all the clutter that the beautiful Lisa Bowen worked all day. Lisa was a secretary. Her good looks, charm and constant smile alleviated some of the dreariness. And her dedication to the job made her a valuable asset to her boss, a partner in the firm.

Lisa was old enough, at thirty two, to know how to walk that fine line between appropriate and inappropriate attire...the line that separated sexy from slutty. Lisa was sexy. Very sexy. She knew how low a neckline could go without crossing that line. She knew how high a skirt hem could go.

Her height was above average; her hair was long and perfectly groomed; her body was curvy without being Barbi-esque; her legs were magnificent. Lisa was smart and witty. Her future was bright.

Lisa was single.

There's an unwritten rule in the law firm that attorneys do not date the secretaries. That was fine with Lisa, as she found more than enough interested men outside the firm to keep her satisfied. At least until about two months ago. Then she hit a dry spell.

Lisa had dates, but not with anybody she wanted to take home. It began to depress her to the point where she purposely worked extended hours to avoid lonely hours in her condo. The dry spell would come back to haunt her.

Wednesdays were not particularly busy days for Lisa and this one had been slower than most. Still, she found herself at her desk working at quarter past seven in the evening...long after everybody else on her floor had gone home. She almost enjoyed the quiet compared to the bustle of normal work hours. At seven thirty she would go home, she told herself.

Lisa was thinking about making one last set of copies when she heard something. It might have been a box falling. As many boxes as there were, they rarely fell. She instinctively left her cubicle and headed down the hall toward where she thought the sound came from. Her last job of the day, she thought, would be a simple clean-up.

She passed empty offices and cubicles left and right. Her eyes were locked straight ahead at the stacks within her sight. Nothing out of order, yet. She approached an intersection with another hallway.

That's when she was hurled sideways and face-first against the wall. She groaned as nearly all the air was crushed out of her from the weight of a body pressing her forward against the plaster. A gloved hand covered her mouth. She tasted and smelled the musty material as her senses returned.

"Don't make a sound." The voice was low and calm. A man's voice. "Who else is here?"

Lisa shook her head as much as she could.

"Nobody?"

Lisa nodded.

"If you're lying you'll die." She felt the cold edge of a knife, or something, at her neck.

She shook her head just a little, fearful of the blade.

"I'm going to take away my hand. If you make a single sound the last thing you'll ever see is your blood all over this wall. Got it?"

Lisa nodded and the hand slowly drew away. But the pressure on her body did not. She couldn't move if she wanted to and probably couldn't have made much of a sound if she dared.

"We're going to walk to your left and enter that next office. Not a sound. OK?" He spoke just above a whisper.

Lisa bobbed her head once again and was relieved to feel the pressure removed from her body. A firm hand gripped her by the arm and they quickly moved into the office. Only then, in the dim light, did she get her first look at her assailant.

He wore a ski mask with openings at the eyes and mouth. But even that was hardly enough to allow her to identify him later if she had to. How she hoped she would be alive for that to happen.

He was looking at her. He was looking at her blouse, and her cleavage, and her skirt and legs. Lisa felt herself trembling. This was not good.

The man pulled out a cell phone and flicked it open. His eyes scanned the little screen. "Seems we have one of your coworkers down on two. Maybe we can go visit her later. If you're cooperative, that is."

He closed the phone and shoved it into his pants pocket. Lisa was still digesting his last statement. Cooperative. How could such an undemanding word make her stomach hurt?

They stood in the middle of an attorney's office. There was a large desk, bookcases, and two overstuffed chairs for visitors. The desk was relatively clutter-free. Lisa knew, of course, who resided in this office and wished he was here now to protect her. He wasn't.

No lights were on. A little light shown in from outside and through the open door, but very little. The darkness only increased Lisa's anxiety.

When the man took a step toward her, Lisa noticed the knife still in his hand. He stopped directly in front of her, nearly touching her body with his. Then the knife was placed at the bottom of her chin. The tip hurt as it pricked Lisa's skin.

"You've been very good. Don't blow it." He put the broad side of the knife against Lisa's cheek. It was cold and hard. Then he touched her lips with it. Lisa's heart pounded.

She watched as the man leaned forward and kissed her lightly. She felt the mask before his lips finally found hers. He licked her gently.

"Very nice," he said in a whisper.

He moved the knife down her throat and into the opening of her blouse. Lisa felt him stop at the first button. She was looking straight ahead, fearful of glancing down with the knife so close.

The man put the knife below the button and pulled up, cutting through the thread as though it didn't exist. Every muscle in Lisa's body tensed up. Up until now she was just a captive. Suddenly, she was turning into a victim.

The knife touched the inside of Lisa's blouse and pushed it open, revealing the top of her breast and the sheer white bra that covered the remainder.

"Take it off," the man said in his roughest voice yet. He backed up a step.

Lisa's hands shook as she undid the next button. She purposely took her time, hoping beyond hope that somebody would come around the corner, enter the office and remove the masked man. She opened another button. They were still alone in the dark room.

The man stared at the full breasts being exposed as Lisa worked her way down the blouse. They weren't huge, just perfectly full and round and firm. He felt his cock twitch.

Lisa pulled the blouse out of her skirt and finished the buttons. She let it hang open with her arms at her side.

"I said take it off."

The secretary took off her blouse and laid it on the desk. The man's eyes were all over her. Lisa suddenly sensed a chill in the air and she felt naked. She dreaded what it would feel like when she finally was. And she accepted the fact it was likely to happen.

Once again, the knife was on her skin. This time it ran up her abdomen until reaching her bra. She expected the delicate garment to be ripped in half at any time.

"Take it off."

The words surprised her. Why was he being so gentle? Wasn't he supposed to be raping her? Shouldn't her clothes be in pieces while he fucked her like an animal? Where was anybody who could help her?

Lisa reached back and unclasped her bra. With one last moment of hesitation, she held it in place before finally pulling it off her shoulders and breasts. She tossed it onto the desk as if in protest.

The chill returned. And the nakedness was real.

The man put his knife in his back pocket and removed his gloves. Then he put his bare hands on the most beautiful set of breasts he had ever seen. He moved his palms in circles around the breasts, caressing them...lifting them...squeezing them.

Lisa was shocked to feel her body begin to warm. She was oddly aroused. The hands felt good. Stop it! she screamed inside her head. This man is about to rape you. Stop it!

The cool air and sudden arousal caused Lisa's nipples to expand. That didn't go unnoticed by her assailant and he rolled them between his fingers. Lisa tried to back away.

"Uh uh," he warned her. "Don't even think about it."

She wanted to scream out. She wanted somebody to come help her. She wanted this man to stop playing with her tits, causing her legs to weaken and her breathing to become short.

"Those are really something," the man said, once again cupping the breasts in his hands and admiring them. "Now let's see the rest."

Lisa's heart skipped a beat. She might have known it was coming, but the words still alarmed her. In her mind, the skirt was the last thing hiding her body from him. Once it was gone she was vulnerable. She didn't—or couldn't—move.

"Take off the fucking skirt!"

Lisa jumped at the command. Her head was spinning from fear, arousal, cold, darkness and a yearning for home. The voice brought her back to the present reality.

She unzipped the skirt, but held it up by the waistband. She had to think for a second what she had on underneath: bikini style panties, no pantyhose. She hated pantyhose. She hated stripping for this ogre.

Lisa let the skirt fall down her legs. She kicked it aside in anger.

He did his usual visual review of her body. Lisa held her shapely legs tightly together. He stared at the thin material stretched against the secretary's pussy. The bulge in his pants was becoming painful. He'd have to adjust it soon.

The man took the knife back out and put it under the thinnest part of the panties on Lisa's hip. One violent jerk tore the panties apart and Lisa jumped. By holding her legs together she kept the panties from falling. He cut the opposite side with another brutal rip. This time she let the panties fall to the floor.

For the first time, Lisa was glad it was dark. Unfortunately, she remained totally alone in an office with an armed masked stranger, intent on using her body for his pleasure. She watched as the man took the knife and jabbed it straight down into the top of the desk. It stood like a statue when he let it go and returned his gaze to her.

"Turn around," he said in a calmer tone.

Lisa turned until she faced the wall, waiting for his touch. It came quickly, but with the gentleness he displayed at the beginning of the ordeal. His fingers traced the outline of her ass. They pressed lightly against her flesh. He held her softly.

She squirmed as his fingers reached between her legs, forcing themselves forward and upward. Lisa had to take a step to each side.

Damn it. Damn it! Not there.

He touched her pussy, sliding one finger between the thin lips of skin.

I'm not wet because of you, asshole.

The finger found the opening to Lisa's cunt. It lingered, probing and seemingly soaking in the moisture. Then it was inside her. Just the tip. Still, Lisa gasped.

"Do you like that?" His voice was kind, like a lover's. "Do you want more?"

"Fuck you," Lisa said. It was her first words and she wanted to scream them, but couldn't.

"Uh uh," he said. "Quiet. Remember? You promised."

The finger was slowly rising inside Lisa's body. It stopped when his knuckles hit her. He circled the finger inside her cunt, hitting every spot he could find. Lisa fidgeted in an effort to escape the sensation...the wonderful sensation.

One hand was on her ass. The other continued to probe her. Then he withdrew the finger and slid it up to her clit. The finger was wet and warm. It rubbed her erect clit just the way she liked...the way SHE rubbed her clit at night.

And then a hand was on her breast. She hadn't even felt it leave her ass. But there it was, kneading her breast and twirling the nipple. Lisa's pussy ached with desire.

Oh, God. No! Don't let him do this! No!

Lisa's mouth was open but no words were coming out. Her ass pressed against his body, trying to escape his finger.

Oh, fuck. He's hard.

He ground the stiff shaft against her. He took one second to adjust it inside his pants, then pushed against her even harder. Lisa was only standing because he held her up.

"Do you feel that? You want it inside you, don't you? You want me to fuck you."

His words made her shiver, but not from fear. He was turning her on. Something deep inside this woman was excited by his words and actions. No, she didn't want him to fuck her. But she was stimulated.

"You're wet. Admit you want me to fuck you," he whispered into her ear.

"Fuck you," she replied.

"That's it. Talk dirty to me. Tell me you want my hard, thick cock inside your soaking wet cunt. C'mon. Tell me."

His hand was all over her pussy. First his fingers were inside her, then they were rubbing her own moisture over her throbbing clit.

Shit! Shit! No!

The man forced Lisa towards the desk. "Put your hands on top of the desk."

Lisa obeyed, glad to have something to lean against.

"Spread your legs."

This was it. He was going to rape her. And Lisa found herself wondering what his cock would feel like. Would it feel good? Would it arouse her even more? Worse yet, would she cum?

Please don't let me cum, God. Please.

As he pulled down his zipper, Lisa convinced herself it would hurt and she'd never cum. Not in this office. Not with this stranger. She heard him rustling behind her. She pictured his pants around his ankles and his hard cock pointing at her ass.

His hands were on her hips.

"Wider. Bend over."

Lisa stuck out her ass and waited. She felt the cock hit her cheeks before contacting the entrance to her cunt. She clung to the edge of the desk and surprisingly felt a hand on her right breast. He was playing with her nipple again. She felt a twinge in her pussy again.

"Now. Tell me you want me to fuck you and make you cum."

Lisa shook her head. He squeezed her nipple harder and pushed the head of his cock between her pussy lips.

"Tell me!"

A hand was on her clit. She wanted to explode. She wanted to cum.

"Say it!"

"Fuck me," she said.

"And..."

"Fuck me and make me cum," Lisa said.

"I know it turns you on, so listen to me. I'm going to take this cock and shove it into your wet cunt and fuck you with it until you cum so often you lose count."

All the while, the cock was inching itself deeper and deeper inside of Lisa. It didn't hurt. It felt...good. It went deeper and she spread her legs.

"Feel it? Feel the thick shaft stretching your cunt? You want it. You want me to make you cum."

He was fucking her now. The cock was big, but not so much it was uncomfortable. It filled Lisa perfectly and in the middle of it all she realized she was rocking her body in unison with his thrusts.

His hands played her breasts and clit like an instrument. First one, then the other. He seemed to be holding back on both until he knew she was ready. Ready to cum.

Lisa tried not to make a sound. Any sound she made would only be interpreted as approval. She hated what was happening. She hated this man taking her like he did. But the cock felt so good deep inside her cunt. His hands felt so good on her body.

He rubbed her clit exceptionally hard one time and drove his cock into her with extra force. Lisa moaned and lifted her head.

"That's it. Let it go. Enjoy the cock and let yourself cum."

Fuck you. I won't.

It was time. He rubbed Lisa's clit and pinched her nipple. Hard. He fucked her even faster. His body slapped against her ass with a sound she'd never heard before. Nor had she ever felt like this before while having sex. It took control of her.

No! Don't...don't cum.

She had no choice. She cried out before common sense told her not to. But there was no repercussion. Just more of his rigid cock driving in and out of her waiting cunt.

"Yes! Cum for me, bitch. Let me hear you cum!"

Lisa muttered something the man couldn't understand and she began to cum. He felt her entire body shake as her orgasm grew in strength. He grunted with each violent thrust of his cock. She accepted each one and waited for the next, perhaps even craving it as wave after wave of ecstasy flowed through her body.

Lisa couldn't believe it. She was cumming and didn't want to stop. She wanted his cock to push deeper and faster and harder. She wanted him to rub her clit just the right way. She wanted to keep cumming.

Sweat from her hands made the desk slippery. But she held on, pushing back against the force of the masked man's body. Her breasts swung back and forth, adding to the eroticism of the whole contemptible scene. She was beginning to feel unbelievably satisfied. At least sexually.

Then her attention was drawn to a new feeling...one she normally got great pleasure out of. That of the man inside her about to cum himself. She knew the signs. She recognized the sounds.

All that was missing was the warm liquid pouring into her cunt. That came quickly and in extraordinary quantity. The man's grunts and groans exceeded even her own. Spurt after spurt of cum hit the walls of Lisa's vagina. She stood there and took it, in awe of his stamina.

Then it was over. Lisa felt the heat emanating from both of their bodies. It wasn't cold in the office any more as the man pulled out his still semi-erect cock. She used both hands to brush back her hair, afraid of what she looked like. She was afraid to turn around...afraid of facing the man who just brought her to an extended orgasm and who emptied his balls into her wet cunt.

When the sound of the man getting dressed ended, Lisa peeked over her shoulder. He was looking at his phone again.

"Looks like we're wanted downstairs. Apparently they have somebody they want you to meet. Let's go."

Lisa grabbed the clothes on the desk.

"No. Leave the clothes. Let's go."

Wait! No. I'm naked.

The man stared at her, waiting for Lisa to move.

"But...I'm..."

"Let's go, I said," the man said angrily.

Lisa walked in front of him and toward the door. At the hallway she asked, "Which way?"

"You tell me. We need to go down one floor. And no tricks."

Lisa turned toward the nearest stairwell. She wanted to duck into a cubicle, an office, behind boxes, anywhere and hide. This was her office...her workplace...and she was walking around naked. She didn't care that nobody was there. It wasn't right.

If Lisa's nakedness discomforted her, it had the opposite effect on her captor. The man couldn't take his eyes off her swaying ass and hips, her beautiful back and smooth thighs. But especially her ass. God, it was perfect. And just moments ago he was pounding his cock into the luscious pussy that hid below it. He was sure the rest of the guys were going to enjoy what he was bringing them.

Lisa took them down a stairway and onto the second floor. "Where's the conference room?" the man asked.

Lisa pointed and started to walk that way. The floor was just as dark and quiet as the one they had left behind. But as they turned a corner, light illuminated the end of the hallway. Voices could be heard as they approached.

A series of floor-to-ceiling glass windows preceded the conference room's door. Curtains hid what was inside. Lisa stopped just short of the door, still fully aware of her nudity. The man poked her in the back. "Go on."


The Secretary



Lisa took a deep breath and entered the doorway. The scene in the conference room nearly took the breath away.

Two masked men stood next to the large conference table that filled the middle of the room. One was pulling up his zipper. But what stunned Lisa the most was what she saw on top of the table. A naked woman, each arm pulled to the side and tied to a table leg, lay at the end closest to the door. Her legs hung over the table, bent at the knees.

When Lisa finally had the chance to look at the woman's face, she immediately recognized Christine Smith, a young attorney. She was gagged and looked exhausted. Tears dripped down her face. Her blonde hair was mussed, with strands clinging to the perspiration on her brow. The attorney's breasts rose and fell from her quick breathing. The faint light glistened in the moisture between her legs.

"Damn, Jim. No wonder you took forever to get down here," one of the masked men said staring at Lisa, taking in every inch of her gorgeous naked body. "We really hit the jackpot this time between this one and yours. Damn."

"This one has a problem, though," the other man said, pointing to Christine. "We both fucked her and she hasn't cum yet. We thought maybe your woman could help her, if you know what we mean."

Lisa's captor laughed. "Maybe she's a les. She just needs a woman's touch."

"Or tongue," somebody said.

Lisa was pushed to the end of the table, between Christine's legs. She was extremely uncomfortable being so close to the attorney while they were both naked. When they made eye contact, each could see the fear in the other's face.

"Take off the gag," one of the men from the conference room said. His partner removed what looked to Lisa like a sleeve from Christine's dress from around her head. Christine took long, deep breaths.

"Move up to the edge of the table," Lisa was told. Christine had to spread her legs even wider to give the secretary enough room. Still, their legs touched and Lisa felt a shiver go up and down her spine.

"Now kiss her."

"No. I...I...," Lisa stammered.

"I said fucking kiss her," the apparent leader of the conference room pair yelled.

Lisa looked down. Christine was motionless and expressionless. She was beautiful, even under the circumstances. But that wasn't what made Lisa obey. Fear of dying made her obey.

Lisa bent over, leaned forward and aimed her lips at Christine's. She felt their bodies coming together right before their lips met. Lisa put both hands on the table to brace herself. The women's mouths came together at the same time their breasts did. Lisa was stunned by the electric feeling of it all. They kissed like two friends might.

"Come on," a voice said. "You can do better than that."

Lisa's mouth opened first. Her tongue hit Christine's lips. Then the attorney opened her mouth and Lisa turned her head slightly. The kiss began to develop, eventually turning into a full tongue-on-tongue exchange.

"Yeah, babe. I told ya."

The men watched the women for a few seconds before one of the men said, "OK. Move down to her tits. See if that likes that, too."

Oh, God. No. Fuck me some more, but not this. Lisa leaned back up. She looked around the room. Nobody said a thing, but the silence itself was a command. She gazed at Christine's marvelous, full breasts. Only then did she notice a few drops of white cum on them. Shit.

Lisa leaned over again and stuck out her tongue. She gave a few halfhearted licks of Christine's left breast, the first time she'd ever done so to another woman.

"Suck on it, bitch. Take it in your mouth. We want to see her cum."

Lisa put her lips around Christine's nipple. It was already bright pink and a little bit erect. She swore it grew after a few seconds of her attention. Lisa licked it. Then she opened her mouth wider and put even more of the breast inside. There was no doubt now that the nipple had grown and Lisa took some bizarre pleasure in the fact she was making it happen. She sucked on the breast like a pro.

"She's a natural." Lisa recognized the voice as her captor's. "Wait until you hear her cum."

Lisa's pleasure was short-lived. She hoped the rapes were over. Maybe not.

"Hold it in your hand. Suck both of them."

Lisa reluctantly put her hand around Christine's breast while she sucked on it. Then she moved to the other one. The salty taste of freshly produced cum hit her tongue. And there was no doubt that the nipples had grown. She was forced to continue for about two minutes.

"OK. It's time for the real deal. Get between her legs and make her cum," Lisa was told.

Shit. No. Anything...anything. No!

"Now, bitch! Between her legs!"

Christine had her head flat on the table looking up at the ceiling. Lisa wondered what the woman could be thinking. She'd obviously been attacked by the two men and now she had a secretary about to eat her pussy. Not a good day.

Lisa looked at the neatly shaven area between Christine's legs. The hair above her clit was fine and dark blonde, cut very short. The lips hiding her clit and vagina were small. The pink skin underneath shimmered with moisture left over from previous assaults. Lisa had to admit the attorney was an exceedingly sexy woman, unfortunate to be in this place at this time.

She didn't wait for any more commands. She leaned over and put her face above Christine's pussy. The attorney's thighs pressed against Lisa's head. Then Lisa put out her tongue and lightly touched the other woman's skin. She didn't aim for a certain spot. She just wanted to make that first contact and get it over with.

Christine's body flinched. The men were right: she had not cum during the sex that occurred earlier. Now she feared not being able to hold it back while being tended to by Lisa. Another tear slid down the side of her face.

Lisa got her first taste of another woman's sweet juices, combined with remnants from the men. She pressed her tongue harder against Christine's skin, refusing to let it enter the body. Instead, she moved up and found the clit. She knew what this would do to Christine. Should she stay there and make it happen fast or avoid it and save the attorney the embarrassment?

Almost instinctively, Lisa put her hands under Christine's little ass. Christine, in return, spread her legs a couple inches wider. Lisa's tongue worked on the clit. The men looked on intently. Then one of them unzipped his pants. Followed by another. Both men wrapped their hands around hardening cocks, stroking them without shame.

It had only been a couple minutes, but seemed like an eternity to Lisa, before Christine's body began to respond. The attorney arched her back, rising from the table with the help of Lisa's hands on her ass. She struggled against the restraints around her wrists. She wanted to crawl away from Lisa's face and tongue.

Worse yet—she wanted to cum.

Lisa put her lips around Christine's erect clit and sucked on it. Then she ran her tongue over it again and felt Christine's body tense up. She could only do what she knew she liked to have done to herself and hope for the best.

"Use that tongue like a cock," one of the men said. "Let's see it inside the babe's cunt. That should finish her off."

Just when Lisa was getting almost comfortable with her role, this new twist brought back the anxieties. She pulled away from Christine to take a breath and consider begging for mercy.

Then a loud smack echoed in the room as a hand slapped her in the ass.

"Let's go. Put that tongue to work."

Lisa touched the sore spot, rubbed it, and put her head back between Christine's legs. She probed the area first before putting her tongue at the entrance to Christine's cunt. She let the tip slide in. Once she was convinced she was in the right spot, she pressed forward. The taste and sensation was incredible. Lisa heard Christine moan for the first time.

Lisa began fucking the attorney with her tongue. She explored the inside of Christine's cunt, licking the sides and top and bottom. She was oblivious to the fact that all three men now had their cocks out. She was suddenly intent on making Christine cum.

The man who captured Lisa moved behind her. He placed his erection on top of her ass and let it slide back and forth across the girl's cheeks. He let it follow the crack down to her pussy before bringing it back up again. The other men stood on either side of Lisa, each with their own plan in mind.

Christine was squirming on the table like it was the top of a hot stove. She had no hope of escaping and her body was defying her mind. She successfully refused to cum for the men with the sickening cocks. But Lisa's tongue was driving her towards a place she didn't want to go.

Lisa was aware of the bodies surrounding her now. She felt the cock on her ass. She saw the legs of the men on either side. But her focus was on the sweet area between Christine's legs. She knew if she continued she'd make the attorney cum. There was no alternative.

Lisa listened to Christine's moans. She felt the body under her quiver with tension. She waited for all the signs to converge. When they did, she'd move up to Christine's clit.

"That's it. I think she's close. Stick that tongue in her cunt and eat her good."

The orders no longer frightened Lisa. She'd heard it all. It was a job and she was going to complete it.

A moment later Christine's cries were joined by a thrashing of her lower body. It was time to move up. Lisa withdrew her tongue and placed it on the attorney's clit. Then her entire mouth covered the area and she pressed down hard. Christine wailed loudly, to the delight of the men looking down on the scene.

"No! No! No!" Christine cried out.

Lisa kept sucking and licking. She pulled Christine even closer to her face, clutching at her ass.

Then Christine began to cum. Her moans were not words any more. With only her shoulders actually touching the table, she shook her head back and forth like she was having a seizure. And Lisa kept licking her clit. She bit it with her lips and felt Christine continue to cum.

The guys had been patient. Now they had no reason to stop from cumming. The man behind Lisa was first. He jerked himself rapidly until the first shot of cum flew from his cock and landed on Lisa's back. The subsequent spurts were aimed at her ass, resulting in a small pool of cum between her cheeks and streaks of white fluid streaming down each side.

The man to her right was next. Lisa heard his hoarse grunts right before seeing a spray of cum land on Christine's tits. Then another and another. Finally, the guy on her other side was ready.

"Here. See if this helps lube things up a bit."

Immediately after hearing this, Lisa felt cum hitting her face. It landed all around Christine's clit. She couldn't help but lick it as he poured several shots onto the area she was sucking. Under any other circumstances it would have been exceptionally arousing.

The next minute or two were filled with various sounds of sexually satisfied people. Cum was everywhere. Christine lay motionless on the table as if in a daze. Lisa wiped cum from her eyes and nose.

"OK. Tie this one up and let's get out of here," the apparent leader of the group said.

In one last act of humiliation, Lisa was forced up onto the table and placed in a sixty-nine position with Christine. Lisa's hands were tied the same as Christine's. Then the room was dark and silent. One ordeal was over, another was about to begin.



The Secretary



All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive constructive feedback and frequent "fives".

Ever jacked off into a public restroom urinal? Well, I have. You'd be very surprised what lecherous, hedonistic, pagan thoughts lurk behind the eyes of the average man. By all outward appearance I look like everyone else -- clean cut, well-groomed; a family man with happy kids. My neighbors would swear I'm the nicest guy they ever met, but most of the men would punch me out if they knew what lascivious thoughts I was thinking about their chubby, bubbly wives. I smile as I stand in line at the bank, and the whole time I'm fantasizing about crouching under the counter and eating the pretty young teller out while she tries to keep a straight face for her growing line of suspicious customers. When I meet a woman in business for the first time I try to picture what she looks like giving a blow job. Does she do it with happy, slobbering gusto, or make ugly faces and act like it's a chore?

You get the picture. Ladies, every guy you meet is smiling at you and exchanging platitudes, but behind those eyes he is most likely picturing you bent over the nearby table, or counter, or whatever, and fucking you silly. Gentlemen, what if you could actually fulfill one of those fantasies? What if fickle fate handed you a royal flush and you went all-in?

****

My secretary is beginning to piss me off. Maria Gomez is pretty, smart, undeniably beautiful, bilingual, prompt, and confidently competent at her job; but she sure spends an inordinate amount of time deeply involved in time consuming hushed conversations on her cell phone. Since it rarely seems to interfere with her getting her work done, I never make a big deal over it, but yesterday her conversation ended with her trembling, and a look of fear flashed in her smoky dark eyes as she flipped the phone closed.

"Something wrong, Miss Gomez?"

"Um, nothing, sir...just the usual -- family problems."

Her Hispanic accent is noticeable, reflecting her Mexican heritage. I know she has lived in the USA for several years; her green card says her home state is Oaxaca, somewhere down near Mexico City. She plans on taking her citizenship exam soon and is very proud to hopefully become an American.

On this particular day she looked ravishing as usual, tastefully dressed in a plush, velvety green skirt and silky cream blouse, definitely a color well suited to her dark chestnut hair and warm light chocolate complexion. Her skirt, when sitting down, often rides scandalously high up her slender, tanned thighs. She has a wonderful proclivity for short, stylish skirts. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of the tops of her sexy silk stockings peeking out from beneath her hem. I know she knows I am looking, because she will surreptitiously tug the hem down, and a blush creeps up her slim neck.

Maria doesn't try to dress or act provocatively -- it just comes naturally for her. She is one of those wholesome girl-next-door beauties who tries hard to downplay her stunning good looks, but it just makes her all the more alluring. She is about a petite size four I suppose, and if I had to guess, I would say her bra size is a 34-C. All I know is that when she wears a v-necked sweater, her cleavage is amazing. Not that she has enormous breasts, they just seem quite large on her small frame. And they defy gravity.

I gently patted her on the shoulder and turned to head back into my office.

"Let me know if I can help in any way, Miss Gomez."

Our relationship is very businesslike. I am chief operating officer of a mid-sized, publicly-traded national auto parts distributor whose clientel list includes names such as Ford, Chevrolet, Nissan, Toyota, and others. During office hours, I refer to Maria as "Miss Gomez," and she respectfully calls me "Sir" or "Mr. Winters." We rarely talk about issues outside of work, and even when I went through a tough divorce from my cheating wife of seventeen years, Maria kept her distance from me.

I can't help but notice Maria's stunning good looks. Her legs are long and shapely; her perfectly rounded ass taut and muscular under her tight, short skirts; her long, curly, chestnut brown hair lustrous and shiny. I try not to leer, as our company has strict sexual harassment rules, but sometimes I just can't help myself. She is an unattainable goddess, and I am an old, washed up, paunchy, balding man.

****

The secretive phone calls continued throughout the week, and Maria's demeanor darkened with each conversation. I was becoming increasingly irritated with the frequency of the calls, but I couldn't really comment on them, since her work continued without a hitch.

That is, until Thursday. In addition to being my personal secretary, Maria is also a purchasing clerk, helping out since recent budget cuts have all of us doing several jobs. On Thursday I watched her take $140 out of petty cash to pay one of our smaller vendors. When the invoice came across my desk to be signed later that day, I noticed a small smudge over the invoice total. Warning bells went off in my head, and I phoned the vendor and asked them to e-mail me a copy of the invoice in question. Sure enough, the invoice from the vendor was for $40, not $140.

Maria had altered the total and apparently pocketed the difference. My first thought was to call her in and fire her, but in the interests of building a bureaucratic "paper fortress" I decided to do a bit more snooping.

At five o'clock she packed up and headed out the door. I went directly to the hardcopy files and started perusing the smaller invoices, starting with the vendor from earlier. Sure enough, after about an hour I had a stack of invoices all with the same discrepancy. If I had to guess, just with the ones I had found, I was looking at $3,000 - $4,000 in theft.

I booted up her computer and started going through her files. Under "deleted items" in outlook express, I found an e-mail that sparked my interest:

__________________________

From: Julio Gomez

Date: November 2, 2009

To: Maria Gomez

Subject: Ayudame!

Maria,

I need more money! If I dont pay up by next week they gonna bust me up bad! That scam works great, but I need more! Call me!!!!

Julio

__________________________

I didn't know if the scam Julio was ayudame-ing about was her petty cash pilfering or something else entirely. I continued my search, looking for something bigger. I was just about to call it a night when an unfamiliar name caught my eye. Under a list of suppliers, a company jumped out at me: Halifax Imports, Ltd. I'd never heard of Halifax Imports, but on a spreadsheet in Maria's computer she listed them as a vendor to whom we had paid over $40,000.00 over the last few months.

I entered Halifax into a google desktop search and was surprised and chagrined to see over twenty invoices pop up. Each was for an average of around $2,000.00, and each was signed for payment by...me. At least that is what I thought at first. After closer scrutiny I realized that in each case Maria had expertly forged my signature. A slow burn crept up my scalp and set my teeth on edge.

I did an internet business search and looked up Halifax Imports, LTD. Nothing stood out about the company until I checked the primary contacts. Apparently one "Mariposa Gomez" was the president and sole proprietor of the company. Mariposa, as I recalled, was the name of Maria's elderly mother, over whom I knew she had financial power of attorney. Pretty sneaky. Maria had set up a shell company under her own mother's name, and was probably transferring the checks from Halifax's account to her own, or cashing them outright.

I printed off copies of the evidence and shut down her computer. Sitting at my desk in my office I pondered the situation. Embezzlement and grand larceny are pretty serious crimes. Maria would probably have to do some hard time for her theft, and most likely be deported back to Mexico after her ordeal. Not to mention that by using her mother's name she had unwittingly exposed her own mother to a potential lawsuit and legal recriminations.

I was starting to look at this from a blackmail angle. Maria was young and beautiful, and I was -- well, middle-aged and horny. An old saying my father taught me came to mind: old age and treachery defeats youth and enthusiasm every time. I whistled while I stacked up my copies of doctored petty cash invoices and phony Halifax invoices and placed them in a cream file folder.

****

The next day, Friday, I was in the office bright and early. I called the receptionist desk and informed them that I would be on a morning long conference call with one of our biggest customers and was not to be disturbed. I also told them that Miss Gomez would be sitting in on the call taking notes.

I was nervous, yet excited at the same time. Maria came in right at 8:30 on the dot, her normal time. She looked smoking hot, as usual, wearing a charcoal business suit complete with nice short skirt and black stockings -- the kind with that sexy black line that runs up the back of the leg. Her hair looked slightly rumpled, however, and when she looked in on me to ask if I wanted a cup of coffee, her eyes were red and streaked, her mascara running slightly, as if she had been crying and recently tried to fix it.

"Miss Gomez, come inside and shut the door behind you."

"Yes, sir," she almost whispered in response. Puzzled, she came in, shut the door, and stood nervously in front of me, as if waiting for me to tell her to sit down.

"Please sit," I gestured towards one of the comfortable chairs placed facing the front of my large mahogany desk. She settled down and sat with hands in her lap, long legs crossed at the ankles, her pretty face tight with tension. "Is something wrong, Miss Gomez?"

"I'm sorry, sir. My b-brother, I mean, my -- I'm having more f-family problems..." She could barely get the words out, stifling sobs as she softly spoke.

"Is your brother Julio in some sort of trouble?" I inquired, steepling my fingers in front of me.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, he owes some people, some bad people quite a lot of money. He had to go on the run -- I think he's somewhere back in Mexico."

I stood up and moved around to the front of the desk, leaning back on it and looked down at her. She peered up at me, her dark eyes knit in consternation, not knowing what I was up to. I reached out and picked up the manila folder off my desk and handed it to her. "Please look at these, if you would, Miss Gomez."

She opened the file and for a moment said nothing. Then she gasped and her hand flew to her open mouth. She made a strangled sound and the file folder slipped to the floor, the sheets scattering under her chair. Her eyes grew wide as saucers and tears began to form.

"As near as I can tell, you have embezzled something close to $50,000.00 in the last six months, Miss Gomez. That is quite a large sum, even for a company our size. The legal penalties would be rather drastic. You are looking at probably ten to twenty years hard time, plus deportation from the United States upon your release. Oh, and your mother is Mariposa Gomez, correct?"

Maria's mouth worked, but no sound came out. She sat there staring up at me in abject terror, her hands shaking like leafs, face as white as a freshly laundered sheet.

Knowing the outcome of this meeting, I had intentionally worn loose boxer shorts under my pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit pants. I could feel myself starting to grow and harden, and my manhood shifted in the crotch of my trousers. The movement caught her eye, and for a moment she gaped at the tent, gasping for breath. Her eyes rolled back up at me in panic.

"S-s-sir, please...I can't go to prison, I just can't. M-my parents wouldn't make it without me -- they are too old and have no one else..."

I sighed deeply and leaned back, my cock straining at the crotch of my fine, pressed slacks. Her eyes kept moving down to peer at the obscene bulge, then would dart away.

"I'd say you are in quite a desperate situation, Miss Gomez. With one phone call I could have cops crawling all over this place. With what I have here -- and by the way, copies of everything are with my lawyer in case anything happens to me -- with what I have here, the police would have no option but to search your home as well, possibly impound it, cordon it off until they search it thoroughly. It would be too bad if your elderly parents had to find somewhere else to live, wouldn't it? And using your mother as the owner of your shell company could mean prison time for her as well."

Tears began pouring out of her huge brown eyes; she alternated between looking imploringly up at me and casting sidelong glances down at the hard cock outlined by my wool pants. I could see her conscience battling, deciding if she should offer what she knew I was seeking, or make me drag it out of her. At my comment about her parents being thrown out of their own home she gasped again and her hands clutched at my thighs.

"Please, Mr. Winters, please. Don't call the police -- my parents are too old -- they would be homeless. My mother would die in prison. P-p-please, I had to do it -- th-they were going to hurt mi hermano bad. He-he said they would break his legs and cut up his f-f-face." Her voice lowered to a whisper, "I'll do anything -- anything at all."

She was clutching my thighs, her hands about six inches above my knees, her chin about eight inches from my trouser zipper. She looked up at me, tears streaming from her huge, dark eyes, her mussed hair thick and curly, and cascading down her back. Under her charcoal suit jacket she wore a thin, silky, silver-sheened blouse. Her ample chest heaved and I could see wetness from tears trickling into her cleavage.

Time stood still as I looked down at her. I cupped her chin with one hand, with the other I reached down and slowly unzipped myself. Her eyes grew wide and she gulped in nervousness as I slowly drew my cock out of my pants.

I stroked myself to my fully hard seven inches and pointed the fat, purple cockhead towards her lips just inches away.

"Open up, Miss Gomez. I need you to suck my cock -- suck it until I cum, and swallow everything."

She gulped, and with a final resigned ragged sob she tentatively opened her mouth and softly sucked the spongy head between her beautiful, red lips. Her tongue flicked the underside, and her hands clenched my thighs.

I grabbed a handful of her thick curly hair and began directing her with gentle tugs, moving her mouth up and down my shaft. She mewled as she sucked, the vibrations sending chills up and down my legs.

I pulled my full, taut balls out through the opening in my pants and pulled her mouth off my cock.

"Lick my balls, Maria, lick them thoroughly. I love having my balls slurped and licked."

She stifled a sob, and then began lathing my balls with her tongue, licking up and down each one, her tongue sometimes slurping under them, reaching back to my sensitive perineum. When she had licked them until they were shiny and wet I popped my fully distended fat cock head back into her mouth and pulled her down onto my throbbing shaft. "No hands...just use your mouth," I instructed. "Get on your knees, Miss Gomez, suck me off like a cheap back-alley five dollar whore."

I switched to a two-handed method and grasped her head tightly by two handfuls of thick, curly hair, pulling her mouth up and down. She gagged each time I pulled her face down, and struggled to pull her mouth off my cock. Having none of that, I forcefully fed her all seven inches, until she was gagging and weeping -- her mascara running in rivers down her cheeks. She would muffle protests with each downward push of her head, and strain to keep from choking on my shaft. Every few sucks I would push down on the back of her head, forcing her mouth down a little farther and causing her to grunt in shock. When I felt she was at her breaking point from lack of oxygen, tightly fisting a clump of unruly hair, I would yank her hot mouth off my cock and let her gasp for air for a few seconds, then thrust her face back down. Feeling my balls start to tingle I speeded up her sucks, forcing her up and down my hard shaft, my swollen balls making a wet smack, smack, smack staccato as they slapped her chin.

"Keep sucking, Miss Gomez, that's it...just... a ... little...MORE!"

At the word "more" I arched my back and exploded into her mouth, fountaining a gargantuan torrent of hot, salty cum down her throat. She gagged and pushed against my knees, trying to pull herself off, but I held her down by the top of her head.

"Suck it down, Miss Gomez! Swallow it all! Don't you dare let any cum get on my suit pants," I admonished harshly.

She was crying pitifully, her hands gripping my legs, sucking up and down my shaft as gush after gush of my salty seed poured into her hot mouth. I made her suck me until there was barely a drop left, then I popped my half-mast shaft out of her mouth. A couple milky white feeble spurts dribbled out and landed on her full lips and cheek. She gasped for air and panted, looking up at me through red, bloodshot eyes, black mascara caked under her big, dark eyes.

"Lick it, Miss Gomez, lick my shaft until it shines."

I held my cock shaft sideways in front of her and pulled her mouth to it. She groaned and reluctantly began licking it, slurping wetly up one side and down the other, until it was spotless and clean. She even spent a few minutes thoroughly licking my spent, hanging balls, until they tingled pleasantly.

Finally I stepped back and let go of her thick hair. She slumped to the floor, propping herself up precariously by one trembling hand and arm, her head hanging.

I let her sit on the floor panting for a few minutes, slowly stroking my slick cock, up and down. Seeing our reflections in my office wall-to-ceiling window (we were thirty stories up in a downtown high rise overlooking a river), I smiled. I looked as crisp and tidy as ever -- my dark blue Brooks Brothers suit immaculate as always, my thinning salt-and-pepper hair perfectly coiffed. The only thing out of place was the fat, shiny, wet erection poking obscenely out the front of my pants -- and the bedraggled Mexican girl crumpled at my feet.

Miss Gomez was a beaten, whipped puppy. Her business suit was wrinkled, her chest was heaving, her hair hanging wildly down over her eyes and draping the carpet underneath her.

I patted her on the head. "Good job, Miss Gomez. My ex-wife never sucked me dry like you just did." I reached down and gently took her by the elbow. "Stand up and let's get these clothes off of you now."

She didn't even resist as I stood her up and led her around my desk. I positioned her right in front of my enormous brown leather office chair, turned facing me, her beautiful ass pressing up against the edge of the desk. I sat down in front of her and reached up and began unbuttoning her suit jacket. She made a motion to try to stop me, grasping at my hands.

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Gomez. Keep your hands down -- just remember; one phone call and you'll be in prison for years." Within seconds I had her jacket off, her silky silver blouse completely unbuttoned and was staring with wonder at her beautiful tits practically bursting out of a black satin bra. The tops of her dark brown areolas peeked over the edges of the satiny cups, making my mouth water. I held back a desire to rip the garment off of her, deciding to make her do it herself.




The Secretary



"Unhook for me, Miss Gomez."

She sniffled and stifled a sob and glared defiantly at me through tangles of curly chestnut hair, her chest heaving. Finally, with unmasked resentment she reached behind herself and deftly unhooked the strap.

I could almost hear the poing! as it practically popped off her ample breasts.

"Take them off, Miss Gomez. NOW," I sternly demanded. The silk blouse slid off her arms, followed by the black satin bra. Her breasts were absolutely amazing, large and full, yet extremely buoyant. Her nipples stood at attention, puffy dark brown silver dollar sized areolas crinkling from the sudden chill or possibly arousal. I took them in my hands and gently squeezed them, squashing the large nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. She let out a soft moan and leaned back against the desk edge.

Her breasts were a nice, creamy café au lait in color, whereas the rest of her was slightly darker brown. She had distinct tan lines and obviously wore a bikini when she went to the beach. Her waist was tiny, and her tummy trim and flat with just a hint of muscle. She stood there in front of me, chest heaving, eyes narrowed in pure, unadulterated hate.

"Good girl, Miss Gomez. You want me to suck on them, don't you?" I gently kneaded them, squeezing the large sensitive nipples.

"Ohhh, god. Please stop, Mr. Winters...Ohhhh nooo. You bastard...pendejooo."

I leaned forward and sucked the end of one breast into my mouth, trying to slurp as much as possible. She moaned and arched her back instinctively. I wetly flicked my stiff tongue over her big, brown nipple, feeling it grow even larger in my mouth. Pulling off, I leaned back and studied her intently. In arousal, her nipples had grown to over a half an inch in length and almost as big around as a magic marker. Trailing my tongue wetly, I transferred my mouth to her other breast and slobbered and sucked it, eliciting a sigh and whimper.

"Take off the skirt," I demanded, leaning back in my chair.

Again she hesitated, her bottom lip quivering as she glared at me through her tangled hair. I sighed in irritation.

"Last warning, Miss Gomez. Defy me again and you'll be seeing your parents through a glass partition for the next twenty years. If they survive on their own without you. And I'll be sure they throw the book at your mother for good measure."

Her trembling hands slowly moved to the back of her skirt, and she sobbed softly as she tentatively undid the zipper. The short skirt dropped to the floor with a rustle, and she stood nervously in front of me in only black thigh high stockings and a pair of French cut black satin panties.

"Turn around." I made a circular gesture with my hand, indicating that she should twirl. "Slowly."

She slowly turned. At a distance of only a few feet I could smell nervous sweat and something else, something tangy and sweet. With a smirk I realized it was arousal.

When she had turned so that her back was to me and she was facing my desk, I said "Stop." She flinched and stopped moving, her back ramrod straight, her arms held stiff, hands clenched in fists at the tops of her creamy thighs.

"Now spread your legs." She slowly complied. Her legs were long and lean and tanned, her nicely rounded ass perfect in every way. Her panties were riding up her crack, showing ample cheek on each side. Goose pimples sprouted up as I leaned in and breathed her heady aroma.

"Bend over and put your hands on my desk." She whimpered and did as instructed.

With one hand I reached between her long legs and cupped her pudenda from behind. I could feel her heat and wetness through the soft satin material of her panties. I ran a finger over her slit and she moaned and dropped her head down.

"Please Mr. Winters...stop doing this...you are an evil man. Jefe diablo," she whispered even as she shuddered at my touch.

"Legs together. Good. Now let's take these off." I slowly pulled her panties down and had her kick them off her feet. I reached down and picked them up and stuffed them into my suit coat inside pocket.

"Never wear panties again in my presence. After today I want access to your naked pussy any time I want." As I spoke I used the outsides of my wingtips to push her feet wide again. Once again she was spread-eagled leaning forward, her hands splayed out on the desk in front of her. Wearing only the sheer black thigh high stockings, her clothes in a pile on the floor and her legs spread wide in supplication she must have finally reached her low point, as she began to softly sob. Her tears fell onto the desk blotter and her shoulders shook.

I placed my hand on the small of her back and pushed downward.

"Arch your back, Miss Gomez." She snuffled and complied and I sat back down, my eyes right at beautiful, wet pussy level. From behind, her pussy was glorious to behold. She apparently kept it trimmed, but not completely shaved, as a few dark brown strands of hair hung down, dripping with juices. Her lips were full and distended, and begged to be pulled and licked and stretched.

I leaned in and gripped her firmly by each beautiful, round ass cheek, pushing them wide open. Her crinkly brown asshole winked at me, and her full, wet, puffy pussy lips opened, revealing a rear view of her wet slit and juicy cunt.

I licked her, from the tip of her hard, knobby clit back up, dragging my hot tongue deeply through her steamy cleft. Her delicious pussy was dripping wet, and tasted tangy and sweet. She shuddered again as I lapped at her cunt like a dog, stopping every few licks to bite and nip at her trembling backside. Finally I made a "W" with my hands, and spread her cheeks as far as they would go. Using her dripping pussy juice as a lubricant, I stabbed at her musty bunghole with my rigid tongue, thrusting inside her as deep as I could. She grunted and whimpered in submission and pushed back against my face as I tongued her ass.

I alternated licking her delicious juicy pussy and tight tangy asshole for several minutes, with her getting more and more worked up with every flick of my tongue. I could tell she was getting close to cumming, as she tried to pull herself forward, away from my sticky, wet face.

"You bastard, Mr. Winters. You fucking hijo de madre. I can't help it -- you are making me cuuuuuum."

Her legs stiffened, and her ass jerked and vibrated against my face as I zeroed in on her stiff little clit. My nose was pressed deeply into her sloppy wet pussy, my forehead firmly up against her ass cheeks. I circled my hands around her thighs and pulled her back against my mouth, my tongue feverishly licking and sucking her hot, hard nub.

She cried out in ecstasy laced with outrage and bounced up and down on my face. I could taste a torrent of hot, tangy juice flood my mouth as she came on my tongue. I licked up every drop and slurped up and down the inside of her thighs, finishing with my hard tongue flicking over her tender asshole and wetly licking up and down the crack of her ass. Spent from the power of her orgasm, she groaned and fell onto the desk surface, her long slender legs still spread and her ass still up in the air in front of me. Panting and heaving, she turned her face around and glared at me in disgust through a tangle of sweaty, curly chestnut hair.

"Ugh. You made me cum. I never cum so hard before, you bastard."

I looked down at my cock, which had regained strength and once again stood up proudly, hot and waiting for attention.

"Miss Gomez, you made me hard again. Do you want to suck me off like before, or try something different?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she made a face, her mouth and nose crinkling in distaste.

"Ahhh, not a big fan of hot, salty cum, are you Miss Gomez? Too bad, because everything we do will end up with you swallowing my hot load."

She snorted in disgust and made to stand up, pushing off with her hands and arms.

"Stop. I didn't say you could move. Stay right where you are."

Amazingly, she stopped, and continued standing in front of me, her face down on the desk and her back arched with her pert ass up in the air. Her beautiful breasts hung down and her nipples dragged back and forth over the desktop under her. I could hear her labored breathing as she continued to come down from her climax.

I turned in my chair and opened up the mini refrigerator behind me. Inside was a small plastic tub of spreadable butter. As I peeled off the lid, the squelchy sound made her startle, and she turned back to peer uncertainly at me.

"This might be a bit cold at first, but believe me, you'll appreciate it in a few minutes."

I slathered a glob of cold, creamy butter on my index finger and proceeded to smear it up and down her ass crack. She gasped and gritted her teeth and shot daggers out her eyes at me. "Ohh, it's cold!" she exclaimed in protest. After a few minutes it began to warm up and I slid the tip of my finger into her tight juicy ass.

"Fuck you, Mr. Winters! Gahhhh, fuck you!" she exclaimed as I worked my finger in up to the first knuckle. I slid it back and forth inside her, then pulled out and ran my finger into the butter container again, getting it nice and creamy coated. This time I slid my finger into her tight little asshole up to my second knuckle, and she groaned and I heard a muffled exclamation as she pressed her mouth into my desk blotter. After a few seconds of stroking my finger in and out I plunged it all the way in, up to the third big knuckle.

"Owww, madre de dios! Please Mr. Winters, please, no more!" Two fingers really set her off.

"Ohhh, Ohhh, Owww! You motherfucking-pendejo-bastard-sonofabitch! What are you going to do!!?"

For the first time I saw what looked like fear in her eyes, as she glared back at me, eyes wide with panic. I continued to thrust my fingers inside her tight little ass, and with my thumb I stroked her hard, wet, buttery clit.

"Don't worry, Miss Gomez, we'll make sure your ass is nice and greasy before I make you sit on my hard cock."

Her eyes grew wide as saucers and her brow knit in fear and consternation. Her already tight anus clenched down on my fingers.

"Please, Mr. Winters. Please, no more -- I'll be good, I promise. Let me suck you again! I'll swallow it all! Please, just don't put it there!"

I smiled at her and patted her pert, delicious rear with my free hand. "Oh, you'll swallow my cum again, Miss Gomez. You'll beg to suck my cock right out of your ass, or your mother goes to prison, isn't that right?"

Defeated, tears trickling down her cheeks, she mumbled an affirmative and turned back around facing the front.

I liberally coated my turgid cock with copious amounts of creamy butter. After a few strokes it warmed up nicely and made me slick and greasy. After I considered myself sufficiently lubricated I scooped out a generous glob and smeared it around Maria's tight, crinkly hole. She gasped at the coldness and tensed up, and I could hear her muttering obscenities under her breath, but she didn't move or try to get away.

I wrapped my hands around her hips and gently pulled her back, until her beautiful, full bubble butt was poised over my straining manhood.

"Lower yourself onto me, Miss Gomez...sloooowly."

She held onto the desk edge in front of her and slowly lowered herself until the fat tip of my cock pressed up against her anus. She whimpered slightly and then pressed herself down, ever-so-tenderly. My throbbing mushroom head pierced her tight little rectum by about an inch and she gasped and flinched and pulled herself up.

"Owww, it hurts, Mr. Winters. Please, por favor, don't make me do this!" she exclaimed.

"Miss Gomez, you can either do it slowly at your own pace, or I can just bend you over the desk and shove it in you all in one thrust. Your choice, but make up your mind quickly, because I am losing my patience!"

She sniffled, but must have come to a conclusion, because she straightened her back and put her hands on the chair armrests on either side of me. Shoulders shaking, she lowered herself once more until my hot cock head nestled between her cheeks. I reached down and stroked myself a few times to get myself nice and rock hard and set the fat, purple head up against her brown hole.

This time she held her breath and lowered herself, pressing downward. Once again I popped through her sphincter and she gasped and tensed up, but didn't pull herself off. We both froze, locked together -- me with two inches thrust up her ass, her willing herself to relax. Her breath came out in heaves and shudders, but after fifteen seconds or so she must have gotten used to it, as she slowly began lowering herself again. She repeated this action -- lowering slightly, flinching and tensing up, then waiting until she relaxed -- for several minutes, until finally she sat in my lap, my full throbbing fat seven-plus inches deep up her quivering ass. She still sat gingerly, holding herself lightly on me with her hands gripping the armrests with white-knuckled intensity. She was trembling all over, and I could feel her anal muscles rippling and tightening on me as she tried to relax and control herself. She let out a whimper and a long wavery groan and slowly her body loosened up. A small bead of sweat slowly inched its way down between her shoulder blades and bumped its way down her exquisite spine.

"Raise and lower yourself, Miss Gomez. Just a bit at first."

She grunted and groaned again and then very slowly raised herself up a bit -- maybe an inch, then let herself down gingerly. My impossibly hard cock throbbed in her incredibly tight ass, and I had to will myself not to cum too quickly. She shook her head like a willful mare and her long curly chestnut hair bounced like a mane.

Again she raised herself, this time several inches, and then lowered herself. She started to pick up the pace a bit and I reached around and stroked her breasts from behind. Her nipples were rock hard and erect, and at my touch she leaned back against me and let out a long, sustained trembling moan.

I lifted her ass up until just my mushroom head was poking her rectum and slathered another glob of now slightly warm butter on my shaft. With a gentle tug I pulled her back down, and this time she moaned and shivered as she sat all the way down. My cock must have been buried all the way into her colon as my hairy balls pressed up against her cheeks.

"Fuck you, Mr. Winters! Gahhhhh, you fucking bastard," she moaned, even as she plunged herself down on me again and again, picking up speed and building up a nice froth of butter and pussy juice between our bodies.

She sat down completely and wriggled her ass back and forth a few times, massaging my cock like I've never felt before. Her nipples grew impossibly harder and she mewled and arched her back against me, groaning in ecstasy and pain. Normally I would have exploded way before now, but since I had just cum in her mouth a few minutes earlier I knew I could hold off for a while. With her leaning back against me, sitting on my lap with my cock sheathed in her hot, tight ass, I reached around and down and began stroking her hard, wet, butter-soaked clit.

"Ahhhhh, Senor Winters, stop, please -- don't touch me there."

Holding her on my lap, I swiveled the chair around with my hard cock still buried balls deep in her ass and opened a cabinet. Inside was a small vibrator, one of those tiny ones that women carry around in their purse. This one was about four inches in length, with a rubber tip covered in tiny bumps. The retail name of this little gem was "The Pocket Rocket". Back in my married days my wife used to keep one in her bedside table for us to play with while we fucked. Unfortunately, toward the end of our marriage it only got used about every six months.

I turned it on, and it buzzed with evil intensity. Maria looked down at it in my hands and tensed up. My cock spasmed as she froze, causing her to wince.

"Oh no, Mr. Winters...nooooo," she cried as I ran the vibrating tip over her rock hard nipples. Again, her ass clenched down on my cock, and again she flinched in pain.

I reached around with both hands. With one I held her down by her hip, holding her flush against me, with the other I ran the buzzing tip of the vibrator across the front of her pussy. She gasped and clenched as a quick spasm ripped through her whole body and her tight ass squeezed down on me mercilessly.

"Madre de diooooooooos," she moaned through clenched teeth.

"Here, use this on your clit while I fuck your ass, Miss Gomez." I pressed the vibrator into her hand and reached under her thighs. I started by lifting her up and down slightly on me while she obediently ran the vibrator over her pussy lips.

"Try not to think about my cock up your ass, Miss Gomez. Instead, focus on the pleasure of the vibrator on your clit."

I speeded up my tugs on her ass and we got into a nice rhythm -- her bouncing up and down on my cock while the little vibrator thrummed and whined. She began rubbing the tip up and down her slit, stopping every pass to vibrate wetly against her clit. Each time she touched herself there her ass muscles would ripple tightly, massaging my cock intensely.

Once again I could tell she was close to cumming, as she pressed herself down on me as far as she could and her entire body tensed up. She began to quiver and shake violently, and she let out a long groan and leaned back against me.

"Unh,uhn,uhn -- Oh Diiiiiooooooooooos!" She exclaimed as an incredibly intense climax crashed through her body. I reached up and tightly cupped her breasts and lightly pinched her hard nipples while she moaned and convulsed on my lap. As the waves of orgasm spasmed through her body her ass clenched and unclenched repeatedly, practically milking me with her inner muscles. After several shuddering minutes she was finally spent and the vibrator slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor with a thud, shutting off.

Still rock hard and close to cumming, I lifted her off my cock and stood her up, face down on my desk. She was as limp as a rosy-cheeked marionette and laid down, breasts pressed flat against my desk top, breath coming in gasps and heaves.

I lined up my rock hard cock with her now ravaged anus and pressed into her insistently until my balls were nestled up against coarse pussy hair. She groaned again and splayed out her hands on the desk surface. Once fully inside her I began stroking in and out, in and out. She grunted and pushed back against me, her ass muscles once again squeezing me relentlessly.

I fucked her mercilessly, smacking her ass as I pounded away, sweat flying in all directions, my suit pants in a rumpled heap at my feet. One hand was fisted tightly in her hair, pulling her head back painfully, the other was pinching and smacking her pert cheeks.

When I couldn't take any more I pulled my cock out of her ass and grabbed her by one shoulder and a fistful of hair and spun her around and forced her to her knees.

"Jerk me off -- jerk me off onto your face, Miss Gomez. Do it!"

She grabbed me and stroked me, my fat, purple cock head poised over her mouth, bobbing up and down. Her hand practically flew over my butter-slick shaft.

"Suck the head while you stroke it, Miss Gomez. Suck it!"

She grimaced and glared at me in absolute hatred, but her mouth popped over the crown of my cock, her tongue swirling around and around. This added sensation put me over the top and without warning I shot a hot load into her mouth and onto her licking tongue. She gagged and retched and pulled her mouth off, but continued stroking. Gush after gush fountained out of my cock and splashed across her nose and forehead, running in rivulets down her face. I took over stroking my cock for her and held her face under my straining cockhead with one hand, rubbing the fat head over her pretty face with the other.




The Secretary



"You know what to do, Miss Gomez...do it now."

Without my having to tell her twice she reluctantly took my shaft into her hand and proceeded to lick up and down my cock, cleaning it thoroughly. Her hot mouth moved over the crown and she sucked her way up and down the shaft, coaxing the last few drops out of my balls.

Totally spent, I fell back into my chair, my cock falling limply to the side. Maria slumped on her knees in front of me, her hands resting on my thighs, her face obscenely glazed, with cum dripping off her chin.

I used my fingers to scoop up gobs of cum and pressed them into her waiting mouth. She would grimace and make ugly faces, but she slurped up everything I gave her, until her face was at least presentable. I handed her my handkerchief and she spent a few moments cleaning herself off.

Finally she peered up at me, her eyes limpid brown pools, and whispered, "Are we good now? If I do this for you, you know, whenever you want, you will keep the police out of it?"

"Yes, Miss Gomez -- as long as you are my sex slave I won't call the police. Now go use the rest room and clean up your face. Oh, and I have a conference call this afternoon with my wife and her lawyer at 2 pm. I want you under my desk and licking my balls by 1:55, do you understand?"

She cast her eyes down to the floor and a flush crept up her neck and cheeks. "Yes, sir. I understand."

As she hustled out of my office I flipped open my day-runner. Running my finger down the page I stopped at 6pm. I drummed my finger over the appointment and smiled.

Friday, November 6. Detective Hugo V. Pollack, White Collar Crimes

I chuckled and relished seeing the look on Maria's face when the police came knocking at her door. Nobody fucks with Wulf Winters and gets away with it.

THE END



The Secretary



This story was inspired by the movie, "The Secretary," starring Maggie Gyllenhall and James Spader. The movie was reviewed for this site some time ago by SexyChele, who didn't like it. However, the short story that inspired the movie was reviewed subsequently by Decayed Angel who liked both the story and the movie. I would encourage you to watch the movie before you read the story, although I do so with some reluctance as this story will not do it justice. My story is placed within the Celebrity section because it definitely needs to be there, given the identity of the characters. However, the story, like the movie, involves substantial submission, reluctance, and humiliation. If stories with this theme are not to your liking, and certainly if you find them abhorrent or appalling, then you really should not read it. You won't like it! Finally, all of the characters are at least 18 years old.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Maggie Gyllenhall had always wanted to be a secretary. It was her life's dream. This is not a dream for many a young lady. It was perhaps a bit unusual. Most young women aspire for much greater greatness, to be a lawyer, a politician, a leader of business or industry. Maggie's aspirations were considerably more modest, likely inspired by the fact that her mother had been a very successful secretary for a very successful, well respected, and powerful man, and Maggie admired her mother so very much.

Her mother would say that being a secretary was in fact a very honorable profession. She was "his girl Friday," the lady behind a great man, helping him reach the pinnacle of his career, helping him to accomplish so many things, some of which could have important and significant benefits to all of society, or at least a good part of it.

Of course, this was not meant to imply that a woman could not also be the person who became a leader of business, law, politics, or medicine, needing herself a secretary, perhaps even a male secretary, to act as her assistant. But, that was not for Maggie. She found considerable satisfaction, fulfillment, and pleasure, in being the assistant.

Maggie though had no expectation of ever reaching her mother's potential, of matching her achievements. Her mother eventually became a secretary for one of the top advertising firms in New York that developed some of the most influential ad campaigns the country had ever seen (e.g., Maidenform's "I dreamed I came to work in my Maidenform bra;" see "Ad Men"). It was said that their campaign for Dupont nylons ("If only skirts were shorter") was a major factor in bringing on the age of miniskirts.

Any such expectations for Maggie, had they even been there, were dashed when she found herself working within a large secretarial pool for the municipal tax office. Typing all day long can be pretty boring. It didn't help when what one was typing was inherently boring.

She felt that she had prepared well, or at least well enough. She had received a certificate from Weston College indicating that she had completed their training to become an Executive Assistant, including courses in Keyboard Essentials (KEY 105), Keyboard Skill Development (KEY 110), Information Processing (CSC 104), Administrative Office Transcription (AOM 200), Office Troubleshooting (CSC 227), Web Programming (CSC 322), Advanced Telecommunications & Networking (CSC 405), and Legal Office Transcription (LSS 200). Her mother hadn't done anything like that. She had learned how to type from her own mother and then just answered an ad.

Of course, times were much different now. Secretaries nowadays had to have quite a few skills, and the down economy made finding any job so terribly difficult. So, she kept telling herself that it could be worse, that she could be unemployed.

But, one day an opportunity did arise, and it was very intriguing, if not impressive.

Mr. James Spader was looking for a new secretary.

Maggie immediately applied.

Mr. Spader was a very well known, highly regarded, and quite successful lawyer. However, it was also known that there was a good reason that he was hiring. Mr. Spader was a very exacting, precise, stern, and strict employer. He did not suffer fools gladly, expecting his secretaries to be as punctilious, painstaking, and persnickety as himself.

This did not concern Maggie. This was in fact an opportunity for her to rise above all other secretaries. If she could make it with Mr. Spader, she could make it anywhere.

Plus, when she met him she discovered that there was an additional benefit in being Mr. Spader's executive assistant. He was a rather good looking man; in fact, really quite strikingly handsome. He was a fit five foot ten inches, with short, well styled light brown hair, sharp facial features and, most impressive of all, really dreamy blue eyes. There was just something about his eyes, as they often looked a bit melancholy and troubled, although at times mysteriously distant, yet when he smiled they seemed to sparkle mischievously.

He was also very impeccably dressed and groomed. He wore the finest hand-tailored Gucci, Armani, and Donna Vinci suits and, on this day, when he was interviewing applicants, he wore his finest suit, his pin-striped blue Alexander Amosu, a blend of Himalayan Pashmina, Qiviuk and Vicuna, with nine 18-carat gold and pave set diamond buttons. The suit made it clear that he was a very successful man. Yes, she could work for this man, no matter his peccadillos.

Well, there was one peccadillo that he made very clear. He was an avid collector of antiques, and he did not simply display them. He continued to use them, and he expected his employees to do likewise. More specifically, his secretary could not use a word processor. She would have to use a typewriter.

Maggie was nonplused. Now, that did seem strange indeed.

Mr. Spader looked dispassionately at his seventh interviewee that day. "Will that be a problem..." His eyes went to her application form. "...Miss Gyllenhall?"

"Oh, no sir," Maggie quickly replied. It would indeed be a significant problem, but what person would admit to such a concern, such a skills deficit, during a job interview? One might as well not have even shown up for the interview! And, besides, her mother had never used a word processor. If she wished to achieve as much as her mother had done, then she could do it too. In fact, as she thought about it, using a typewriter just like her mother made the job all the more attractive. "I won an award, sir."

"An award?"

"At college...for typing."

"You won an award for typing...at college." Mr. Spader didn't realize that a college would give such an award.

"Yes sir," she softly replied. She glanced around the room. She was feeling a bit self-conscious.

The phone rang. Mr. Spader picked it up.

'How odd,' Maggie thought. His phone was a large, heavy, black molded Bakelite handset Western Electric desk phone, with the round dial. She hadn't seen one of those in years. Actually, she had only seen them on old television shows. "Operator," was printed over the number zero. Maggie wondered if you really would get an operator if you dialed it.

"Please," he said to Maggie as he covered the receiver with his hand, "get me some coffee?"

"Absolutely sir, yes sir, immediately." She left to get Mr. Spader's coffee.

She thought she lost any chance for the job though when she tried to make the coffee. It wasn't really that easy, as he used a Mirromatic percolator. It took her awhile to figure it out. She spilled some water on the front of her blouse as she clumsily tried to fill it. She did her best to dry the blouse, but all the rubbing only made her nipple poke out even further. She tried to keep it hidden during the rest of the interview, but she seriously doubted that she was entirely successful. Maggie was hired, albeit she didn't really understand why. It could have been her unambiguous confidence with a typewriter. She would have imagined many other applicants balking at such a requirement. She felt good that she had been so positive and assertive.

On her first day she wore one of her best outfits, a bright red St. John slub knit jacket with princess seaming, a high collar and low V-neckline, and front button closure and patch pockets, with a matching elasticized waist, slubbed knit sleek pencil skirt that went just below her knees. The skirt hugged her body well, perhaps though a bit tight. Beneath the jacket she wore a very frilly violet silk blouse. She felt she looked both femininely pretty yet also business serious.

She kind of hoped that he would pay her a compliment for her dress and appearance on the first day, as she felt that she had never looked better. Her make-up was impeccable, she was having a real nice hair day, and she was wearing her most favorite perfume, Knowing, by Estee Lauder.

But, he barely acknowledged her existence, let alone presence. He just provided a curt good morning as he headed out for some sort of meeting, and indicated that she needed to type up a recording of a deposition, as soon as possible.

Well, she supposed that she shouldn't be too surprised. None of her outfits would ever compare to his.

She worked very hard on the deposition, not wanting it to contain one single error, which really wasn't that easy without a word processor. Her mother often spoke of the perfect performance, hitting a true 10 in secretarial achievement. Her mother said that she did at times achieve such moments of perfection but it had required a considerable amount of care and concentration.

Maggie was at least relieved to see that her typewriter wasn't a complete antique. It was actually one of the more "modern" Smith-Corona electric typewriters with a self-correcting tape so that she wouldn't have to scroll up the paper to try to erase an error or use white-out. 

When Maggie was finished she left the document on Mr. Spader's desk for when he returned.

He apparently came back later through a back door directly into his office as she had not noticed his arrival. She was in fact startled by his voice suddenly appearing on her desk through his more truly antique Webster Electric Teletalk office intercom.

Maggie pushed down the switch to speak. She leaned in close, not sure how sensitive was the microphone, wherever it might be. "Yes, Mr. Spader, is there anything you want, sir?"

"Yes, Miss Gyllenhall, could you come in here please?"

"Will I need my pencil and pad, sir?"

There was a moment of silence. She couldn't tell if he was considering the option or was simply annoyed with the question. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Yes sir," she replied. He didn't sound happy. He sounded a bit stern. But, of course, his usual tone was neither chipper nor cheerful. He was always very businesslike and dispassionate in his manner, perhaps even somewhat somber and solemn.

She hurriedly made her way into his office, albeit not before she checked her hair, make-up, jacket and skirt. When everything seemed to be in order she took a deep breath and entered through the very heavy, thick, mahogany door. Mr. Spader paid dearly to have the door be truly, entirely mahogany, not simply mahogany veneer glued to pine.

Maggie had been in Mr. Spader's office a few times now, but it takes more than just a few visits to truly appreciate it.

Mr. Spader had a large, dimly lit, and quite luxurious office, filled with "modern" art from the first half of the twentieth century, a dark Safavid East Persia rug from the late 16th century (the charcoals were a bit oxidized), and, of course, an impressive collection of antique furniture, including a Mexican copper inlaid Pablo 6-Drawer coffee table. Behind the desk were dark antique Japanese wall scrolls depicting villagers at a market, farmers loading bails of some crop, and bathers within a pond. All the way across the room was an orchid garden, enclosed in glass to provide precisely the correct degree of moisture and temperature. Mr. Spader would occasionally flip a switch on his desk to mist the flowers, provide a gentle rainfall or, behind them, as a backdrop, a peaceful relaxing waterfall.

His pride and joy was a classic, antique mahogany partners desk from the first half of the 19th century by the London firm of M. Wilson. The desk was 5 foot 6 inches wide, made with well figured mahogany timbers. The top had a black hide writing surface with gilt and blind tooling surrounded by a cross band of mahogany with a thumb molded edge. All drawers had mahogany linings with hand cut dovetail joints, ogee moldings to the front edge, turned mahogany pull handles, and the original brass locks and escutcheons. It was really very impressive.

And, sitting front and perfectly centered on his princely desk was the deposition that Maggie had typed. It was hard to miss, as it was the only thing on the desk, other than the Tiffany lotus lamp.

Mr. Spader was standing to the side of the desk, a dispassionate expression on his face, his hands clasped before him. He let go of his hands to gesture slowly toward the deposition. "Miss Gyllenhall," he solemnly announced, "there are a number of errors within this deposition. I wonder, perhaps, if you might wish to correct them."

"Oh my goodness, Mr. Spader. I'm so sorry! Yes, yes, of course." She made her way quickly to the desk and the deposition, lying there patiently, waiting for her.

But, she stopped when she arrived. She wondered if she should pick it up. Of course, she probably should. How else was she going to read it? But, this was her first day on the job, and Mr. Spader was notoriously finicky. Shouldn't she ask his permission first to take something from his desk? She glanced at him, and then realized that she was being far more timid and uncertain than was necessary.

Mr. Spader's office had that effect on a person, intimidating opposing lawyers with its atmosphere of power and authority.

Mr. Spader noticed his secretary's hesitation. He had naturally assumed that she would just pick up the document, and then return to her desk. Why was she just standing there? Was she so incompetent that she didn't know what to do next? She needs to be told to pick up the papers? Serious doubts as to his decision to hire this young lady swept over him. He wondered if perhaps he had been too heavily influenced by her physical appeal.

Mr. Spader did always consider physical attractiveness when hiring a secretarial assistant. He did not find that to be in any way inappropriate. One would not hire a secretary who gave little consideration to her physical appearance. Nobody would question such a decision. If she gave little attention to her own appearance, what attention would she give to the job? In addition, an appealing, even elegant, physical presence was important, as the secretary would be the first person whom new potential clients would meet when they arrived. She was a visual representation of his firm, his taste, his choices. Why not then have this person be especially attractive and pleasing to the eye. First impressions are really terribly important.

Plus, it just made her presence all the more pleasant and pleasing. A secretary can do far more than just type. She can brighten up the office with her presence, provide some cheer, beautification, and flourish to an otherwise dull and frustrating day of dreary briefs and depositions.

And, Maggie was very attractive indeed. She had dark flowing brown hair, pink full cheeks, smooth, impeccable skin, and a perky cute nose. Particularly endearing were her lips, which were often slightly open, revealing just her top two front teeth. It seemed to provide her with this innocent, self-conscious adorableness, magnified even further when she would nervously bite her lower lip, which she did so often. Plus, there was a hint of a dimple when she smiled.

But, what was most distinctive about her were her eyes. She had these saucer-shaped light blue eyes that were so darned expressive. They suggested a winsome coyness, yet also an alluring seductiveness. One just wasn't sure, yet one couldn't look away. One could just sit there and gaze upon them, if not for the fact that one had nothing to say and it was obviously terribly awkward to be staring at her, simply because one found her eyes so mesmerizing, so beguiling.

Mr. Spader realized that he was himself quiet for some time, lost in thought as his new secretary seemed uncertain what to do. "Miss Gyllenhall, if you would..." He paused. "If you could, please find your three errors. I assume that you have the capability of recognizing that they are indeed errors."

Well, no pressure there. If she had made the errors it was certainly quite possible that she would be unable to identify them now. "Yes sir," she softly replied, and leaned forward to get a closer look, still hesitant to actually pick up the document from his desk.

Mr. Spader furrowed his brow. How so very unusual, he thought. Well, if she apparently did not wish to pick up the deposition, perhaps she shouldn't. "Please, Miss Gyllenhall, if you would, leave the document resting on the desk."

Maggie was relieved. There was no longer any uncertainty, any ambiguity. She leaned over further, bringing her eyes closer to the deposition. She was just a bit near-sighted and so had to lean over quite a bit to be able to read the 9-point font. She wondered if her back might stiffen. "Sir, um, may I, well, please, rest my elbows...on the desk?"

He nodded affirmatively. "Yes, yes, certainly. Whatever makes you most comfortable."

Maggie was again relieved. She rested her hands and elbows on both sides of the document, her eyes just inches away from its pages. She began to carefully study the words, the grammar, the structure.

Proofing a document is not an easy task. It not only requires knowledge as to correct spelling and grammar, but also the ability not to be drawn into the content. Errors are at times missed because one's mind corrects what the eyes see as one quickly reads through the sentences, absorbing the material, not wanting to be delayed or distracted by minor, technical errors in spelling or grammar. One of her colleagues at the tax office would even go so far as to read documents backwards, that way one would not have any appreciation whatsoever what was being written and could fully concentrate on spelling. However, reading sentences backwards was not particularly effective in discovering grammatical errors.

Maggie didn't find one mistake on the first page, and began to feel a bit nervous. What if she went through the entire document never to discover any errors at all? Would he fire her on the spot?

She glanced over at him, waiting for him to give approval that she be allowed to touch the document, to turn the page.

He nodded affirmatively, in his dispassionate, aloof manner.

He was not though displeased. It was just his usual manner of expression. He found it quite important within a courtroom to remain dispassionate, never showing any expression in response to the testimony of a witness, or to the outlandish charges of an opposing attorney. Of course, when an expressive reaction to a witness would serve the interests of his client then he would accommodate, which was all the more striking to the jury as he was otherwise so stoic, so unmoved. 

He shifted his position, moving away from the desk to stand behind Miss Gyllenhall as she continued to study the deposition.

Maggie paused as she noticed him stepping behind her.

She suddenly realized the potential awkwardness of her position. Her business skirt was conservative but still quite feminine. The sleek pencil skirt was already a bit tight around the derriere and now even more so bent over as she was, her bottom thrusting out behind her. The position was really quite suggestive. She couldn't help but wonder if he was now gazing at her bottom, studying it as closely as she was studying the document. Well, of course, that really couldn't be true. Mr. Spader had far more important things on his mind than the curves of her derriere. She returned her attention to the document.




The Secretary



Mr. Spader gazed upon the tight round curves of the young lady's derriere. There was something strangely appealing about a woman's bottom. He couldn't really understand why. The bottom was not a primary sex organ. It was just padding for sitting down. Still, he could not help but be strangely attracted to its roundness, its fullness, its provocative thrusting back away from her body, toward him.

Perhaps that was it, that the position gave the impression that the young lady was presenting herself to him, as the female member of the Hominidae species may have done in our ancestral years. He could feel himself swelling within his slacks.

"OH!" Maggie suddenly exclaimed. "I found one! I found one, sir," she again exclaimed, turning her head back to look at Mr. Spader, who quickly tore his eyes away from the girl's butt, but not before she noticed the true direction of his gaze.

"Excuse me? Yes? What is it, dear?"

Maggie hesitated to answer, still processing the fact that Mr. Spader had apparently been staring at her bottom. After a moment she responded, "Sir, an error. I found one: in the throws of passion."

"What?"

"A homonym, sir. I typed 'throws' of passion rather than 'throes.'" It was an understandable error, so she felt. Of course, it was a rather silly, if not poor, error. Why hadn't she noticed it? She clearly knew the difference between "throws" and "throes." Most likely her mind just made the spelling correction as her eyes quickly scanned the sentence.

"Yes, well," he replied, "you do understand the difference between 'throws' and 'throes,' do you not?"

Maggie's eyes widened with concern. Gracious, he thinks that I might not? "Oh sir, yes sir, of course! It was just an inadvertent mistake." It seemed a bit weird to continue to speak to him like this, bent over, looking back over her shoulder, presenting her bottom to him as he spoke. But she also felt it might be presumptive to just stand up and face him. Plus, she would have to return to the document anyway.

"A lack of due attention?" Mr. Spader inquired.

She answered more quietly, "Yes sir. Yes it was," she acknowledged.

"Yes, indeed. Well, there are two more errors."

"Yes sir. I'll find them, sir. I promise." It was a dangerous promise and she could feel her heart racing. What if she didn't find them? What if she discovered an additional error that he had missed? Would that also count against her? Still, that was unlikely, wasn't it? She was in any case impressed by his apparent self-confidence that he had discovered all of the possible errors.

She did not discover an additional error for the next seven pages. With some trepidation she turned to the next page.

"Take your time, dear," Mr. Spader quietly suggested. Normally he would by now have returned to his chair to work on his own papers rather than waste the time supervising this new secretary's proof reading. But, Mr. Spader was in no hurry. He did indeed have work to do, but given the amount he billed by the hour he could afford a few minutes. Plus, proof-reading was itself billable. There was no point in doing a poor job, and nothing that was released from his office should ever have any form of mistake, legal or otherwise. Lastly, he had to admit that he was enjoying himself. This young lady had such an appealingly curved derriere.

Maggie wondered if she was reading too fast. Had she in fact missed an error? Would he let her retrace her steps once she finished the document? Or, would she be given only one chance to find all three? She slowed the pace. Proof reading should be very, very careful and precise. She had probably been rushing, compelled by her agitated state of distress and anxiety. Plus, she was having a bit of difficulty getting it out of her head that he was probably staring at her butt. She nervously shifted her feet, but realized that she was then moving and shifting her bottom in such a way that might be perceived as suggestive.

Mr. Spader had naturally been instantly attracted by the young lady's eyes, but it was now apparent that there was more to this young lady's beauty, her appeal, than simply one particular feature. Miss Gyllenhall had a terribly sweet bum, so perky, so round, so delectably inviting. Perhaps our primitive ancestors had it correct when they routinely mounted their mates from behind. Of course, this was not how a lawyer as successful, as prominent, as Mr. Spader should be considering his secretarial assistant, but it was just so difficult to ignore.

"Jasons!" Maggie suddenly squealed.

"Excuse me?"

Maggie again looked back at him. She did not this time catch his eyes admiring her bum, but she was at least reminded again of where he was standing. It was unlikely to be without purpose, without intent. Mr. Spader was a very meticulous, precise man. There would be few things accidental in his behavior. "'Jasons,'" she explained. "I typed 'Jasons' rather than 'Jason.' It should have been singular."

"Yes, that would be correct, Miss Gyllenhall. Very good. Perhaps you can find the third error."

Maggie smiled triumphantly back at him, not in such a way that she felt she had triumphed over him. It was more like she was just so pleased and proud, looking to him for some sign that he shared her pleasure, like a daughter seeking the approval, the pride, of her father.

A partial, weak smile creased the corner of Mr. Spader's lips. 

Maggie smiled more broadly. He was pleased. She could see that. Her so very pretty blue eyes twinkled with delight. She returned to the document with renewed vigor and confidence.

But, the latter quickly dissipated as time again passed with no apparent success. Maggie wondered if the third error was simply an extra space after a period. Could he be that picky? Well, of course, he would be, but it can be so hard to find those, particularly without the assistance of a word processor. She began to study the spacing more carefully, albeit knowing that if this was indeed the error she had most likely missed it somewhere within the first half of the document.

Mr. Spader quietly stepped up to his secretary, and leaned over from the waist, looking down over her shoulder.

Maggie sensed his presence, detecting the scent of his cologne. She considered looking back to verify her impression, but if he was as close as he seemed to be, peering over her shoulder, she might find it somewhat uncomfortable to turn to speak to him. It was troubling in more ways than one. She was reminded of when her math teacher, Mr. E. Edward Grey, would stand behind her, studying closely her work as she labored over some complicated algebraic equation. He considered his presence to be a help, in that he could offer some suggestions if she was having difficulty, but it only made her feel more self-conscious and uncertain, as any failure, any error, would be observed instantly. Rather than attempt various possible solutions she was immobilized, staring at the equation, trying to process it solely within her head.

Mr. Spader's presence was also troubling in that he was bending over her as she was bending over the desk. She could not ignore the implications. She couldn't get them out of her head. Perhaps it was Mr. Spader's cologne, so sweetly masculine. She forced her mind to resume concentrating on the task at hand. She only had to find one more error and she will have met his challenge.

Joy swept through her. "I found it!"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Spader inched up a bit to get a closer look, leaning over even further, resting his right hand on the gentle curve of her right bottom cheek.

Maggie lifted up her head. She stared forward at Mr. Spader's leather desk chair, her eyes wide with disconcertion, her lips somewhat parted, her impeccable top two front teeth appearing between her deliciously red, moist lips. Should she say something? Was it not inappropriate for him to be resting his hand there? It wasn't though like he was in fact copping a feel. He wasn't fondling or caressing her. He was just resting his hand to help maintain his position, his balance. There was nothing sexual about it whatsoever, was there?

"Miss Gyllenhall?" Mr. Spader prompted her.

"Oh, yes sir, yes. Um, 'the damn burst.'" Another homonym. "It should have been 'the dam burst.'"

"Yes, correct, Miss Gyllenhall," leaning down even more closely to speak softly into her ear. "This was a particularly egregious error, Miss Gyllenhall, as you would not want me to be suggesting that the client was somehow cursing, using foul language."

She naturally turned her head to speak to him, to discover his face was just inches from her own. He was even more handsome this close. Their faces were as if two lovers were about to kiss. Her face suddenly reddened, and she quickly turned away, hoping that he hadn't noticed. "No sir, of course not sir, it won't happen again."

Mr. Spader suggested, "Perhaps I should invest in a word processor. Would that make your job easier?"

"Oh, no sir! That will not be necessary. And, well, frankly, word processors will not detect homonyms. You must find these yourself." She really didn't want him to get a word processor on her account. He would clearly be very disappointed that she would need such a crutch.

Mr. Spader wondered if what she said was true, but he wouldn't really know. He lacked the skills of a typist.

He stepped away, but not before he gave her bottom a couple light pats of reassurance. "Yes, well, please be more careful, Miss Gyllenhall. This firm does have a degree of respect within the Asheville community, and errors such as these are rather incongruent with our reputation." He made his way around his desk and back to his chair, hoping that his secretary would not notice the bulge within his slacks.

He knew he probably should not have placed his hand on her bottom, and most definitely should not have given her a few pats. As a lawyer he knew he had opened himself up to a charge of sexual harassment. Of course, he really shouldn't worry about that. It's not like he wasn't effective, to say the least, in defending himself in court. Plus, there was nothing overtly sexual in the contact. That wasn't how his cock felt about it, but his dick was unlikely to be called as a witness. As long as she hadn't noticed his erection he would be fine. And, frankly, she was, of course, unlikely to file any complaint in the first place. He slipped into his chair and pretended to be looking for something within his top right drawer.

He glanced up at his secretary and noticed that she was still prone over his desk, her round blue alluring eyes looking plaintively at him. "Yes yes, you can go now, Miss Gyllenhall. That will be all."

"Yes sir," Maggie softly replied and stood back up, her back feeling a bit stiff. She had been hoping for some statement of congratulation, of appreciation for her fine work. Perhaps that had been the pat on her bottom? She turned and made her way out of his office.

It was a rather long walk to the door, his office being so expansive. But, perhaps that was just her perception. With each step she could not help but feel Mr. Spader's eyes following the sway of her bottom. She wondered if she should try to keep down the swing of her hips, but that might just make her appear awkward and clumsy, and that could hardly make a good impression. She opted to just let nature take its course, letting her hips swing and sway as she strode to the door.

She did though glance back as she opened the door.

He was sitting at his desk, a half-smile on his face, revealing nothing. He wasn't necessarily looking at her bottom. His eyes were on hers, but it was clear that he had at least been watching.

"Thank you, sir," she softly exclaimed, smiling appreciatively, although not entirely sure what she was thanking him for. "You're welcome, Miss Gyllenhall," Mr. Spader replied and then turned his attention back to a document he had retrieved from his desk drawer.

Maggie had not been asked to type any additional material for the rest of the day, much to her disappointment. She had wanted a second chance. She felt quite pleased with herself for having found the three errors, but of course she was equally disappointed in having committed the errors in the first place. She would like to demonstrate, particularly the first day on the job, that her performance could in fact be impeccable, could in fact meet his standards of excellence. But, instead, he had her researching some lawsuit, which she found to be more interesting than simply typing, but hardly a true test of her skills.

She in fact appeared to be performing rather well for the next few days, as there were no calls to review her work, no lectures as to the quality of her performance. She was naturally pleased, of course, but she also found the days to be rather routine, if not tedious. Mr. Spader was most definitely not a talkative, gregarious man. He was all business, if not stern and cold. Still, she was most definitely pleased that he was apparently pleased, or at least satisfied, which was a considerable relief given how much time she had been taking to proof her own work before she turned it in. If there had been a mistake in any of her work she would probably have had a considerably difficult time finding it.

She was feeling so comfortable that today she had worn one of her more feminine dresses, a nicely form fitting yellow cotton summer dress, all sprinkled with white daises. It outlined her breasts well, evident by the heads of men which naturally turned as she made her way down the hall to Mr. Spader's wing of the refurbished townhouse, carrying a little yellow vase filled with daisies. She was quite the sight as her heels clicked and clacked down the long hardwood floor.

It was apparent that she even caught Mr. Spader's eye as he passed her desk to enter his office. He didn't just flop down on her desk a stack of work that he had developed the previous evening. Instead, he actually briefly paused, noticing the matching dress and flower vase. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. She had clearly made an impression, and hopefully a good one. After he entered his office she wondered if perhaps her outfit was too informal, too feminine. Maybe his look was one of disapproval!

"Miss Gyllenhall, could you come in here please?"

It was from her intercom. He was calling her in, once again. She did not, however, expect any difficulty. He was now calling her in numerous times each day. She retrieved her pad and pressed down the switch to respond, "Shall I bring my pad, sir?"

"No, no," she could hear him responding, his voice kind of scratchy through the old speaker. "That won't be necessary."

"Yes sir," she responded, but she brought the pad and pen anyway, just in case she might need it.

She entered his office, only to see her latest work lying on the desk, front and center, Mr. Spader standing once again to the side.

He noticed the pad. "Miss Gyllenhall, did I not tell you not to bring the pad? That it would not be necessary."

"Yes sir," she softly acknowledged.

"Do you feel that I am not capable of making this judgment?"

She shook her head. "I'll but it back, sir," she offered.

"No, no," he replied, waving her forward.

She quickly made her way to the desk. Once she arrived she asked, "Shall I leave the pad here, sir?" She gestured to the right side of his desk.

He silently nodded.

She carefully laid the pad and pen down and then shifted over so that she was standing a couple of feet from the desk, right in front of the document. "How many errors were there, Mr. Spader?"

"Just two this time, Miss Gyllenhall," he quietly replied. It was good that she fully understood his concern, and the necessary recompense.

Well, that wasn't many, but it was clearly two many too much. She slowly leaned forward, bending at her waist, until her hands and elbows rested on either side of the document. It was a contract for the purchase of a rare oil painting, which required considerable detail given that the party receiving the painting wanted quite a few stipulations for its transfer and transportation. She began to slowly and carefully study the initial sentence as Mr. Spader made his way around so that he stood just to her left, by her out thrust bottom.

Maggie's dress clung to more than just her breasts. It also outlined very well the curves of her sweet apple bottom. It might as well have been painted on, as it traced so nicely the graceful curve of her round tush, thrusting out and then curving back down to her thighs. It was such a soft little delightful pillow. Mr. Spader could even detect the curving down into the valley of her crack. He had to wonder if perhaps she had worn this dress on purpose, knowing that she had committed some typographic errors on the Kellerman contract, perhaps even committing the errors purposely? Well, that was probably going too far, but it can be difficult not to believe, not to at least wonder, if this pretty girl was purposely dressing provocatively precisely to draw his attention and interest. Otherwise, why dress in such a manner? His cock once again swelled in satisfaction at the sight of such a spell. His hand was yearning for an excuse to touch the soft sloping curves. He considered letting his hand absentmindedly lie across the gentle cheeks. Would she object?

Maggie wondered if Mr. Spader could see the outline of her panties through her dress. The cotton was fairly thin. She now had serious doubts as to the soundness of her decision in what to wear. It clearly had not helped in avoiding his disappointment.

"Goodness!" She suddenly exclaimed, "considerant." 

"Yes, Miss Gyllenhall, what precisely is 'considerant'?"

"Well, sir, of course, 'considerant' isn't anything. I should have typed, 'considerate.'" 

"So, you do know how to spell 'considerate'?"

Maggie was mortified. "Of course, sir. I was just typing so fast that apparently it just came out that way." However, in all honesty, the error was in fact due to her failure, at the moment, to recognize the correct spelling. The spelling she had provided just seemed to better fit the sound of the word. But, now that it had been pointed out to her, it was clearly wrong. This was a pretty bad mistake.

"Yes sir, absolutely sir, it won't happen again, sir."

He gave her bottom a few pats. He just couldn't help himself. How could any reasonable man? And her cheeks felt so precious through the thin fabric of the summer dress. "Yes, well, let's see if you can find the second error."

Maggie looked around in front of her, not looking at anything in particular but wondering how to react to the gentle pats on her bottom. These pats felt a bit more personal, a bit more intimate, than the ones a few days ago, although perhaps it was simply a reflection of the thinness of her dress, allowing a bit more intimacy in the touch. "Thank you, sir," she replied, shifting her attention away from his hand, and her bottom, to the contract.

She studied it further, and then quickly discovered the error. "I should have typed 'admissable' instead of 'admissible'!'" She has been pretty sure 'admissible' was correct but no longer entirely sure.

THWACK!

Maggie lurched forward and her face rose up in shock. The room was filled with a deathly silence. She froze in place.

Was that really what she thought it was?! Clearly it was. It couldn't be anything else. Mr. Spader had actually given her a whack on her bottom?! Well, yes, most definitely he had!

She didn't know quite what to say or how to respond. Did he do this with all his secretaries? She was speechless and dumfounded. This just didn't seem right for so many reasons. Her mouth was open, her large pretty blue eyes were wide in wonder and concern, staring straight out in front of her, wondering what to say or do.





The Secretary



Mr. Spader finally spoke. "No, Miss Gyllenhall, that was not correct." This was an error compounding the original error. He felt it deserved more than just simply a verbal reprimand. Still, he also knew that once the spank had been released it could not be taken back. It was now out there. He had never done any such thing with a secretary before. Of course, no secretary had ever presented herself in such a manner before. He waited anxiously for her reaction.

Maggie realized that this was a moment of truth. Perhaps this was in part why Mr. Spader had previously gone through so many secretaries. Perhaps this was the hurdle over which she would have to leap that none had previously been able to surmount. She wondered if her mother had ever been spanked by one of her executive employers. The most successful and powerful businessmen are likely to be the most quirky and unconventional.

"Sorry, sir," she eventually responded, her voice subdued and contrite. She arched her back, providing a more receptive, clearer target.

Mr. Spader took a deep breath of relief. Apparently she wasn't going to simply walk out of the office in outrage and protest. In fact, not only did she not object she was providing a clearer, more provocative pose.

Maggie continued to read, and then suggested, "I should have typed 'council' here rather than 'counsel'."

THWACK!

The thwack again jolted Maggie forward. Apparently that wasn't the error. She took a deep breath. It would seem that she was going to get a spank every time she guessed wrong. Well, that was only just. Mr. Spader was a very busy man who charged hundreds of dollars an hour. She could not have him waste his time by asking about most every word she had typed. She would have to be more careful in the future.

Mr. Spader suppressed a smile. The feel of his hand on the young lady's bottom the previous day had been so nice. The pats had been even more delightful. The spanks though were at an entirely new level. He had never actually spanked a woman before. It wasn't that it had not crossed his mind. The opportunity had presented itself rather often on many different occasions. Perhaps the most appropriate time would have been when he was doing it with a girl from behind, but he had never felt the courage, the honesty, to try a spank, assuming, perhaps correctly, that she would not have been receptive to the gesture. He therefore had limited himself to affectionate little pats. He now knew what he had been missing, and he sorely regretted never once having made the attempt, if not at least the suggestion. His cock was rock hard in his slacks.

He actually found himself hoping that she would make another mistake.

Maggie very tentatively said, "I typed 'quash' rather than 'squash.'"

THWAP!

Apparently not.

This time Mr. Spader let his hand rest against Maggie's bottom after its sharp collision with her butt. It wasn't the traditional way to spank a girl, wherein one quickly removes the hand for another smack, perhaps even just a glancing blow. There might be somewhat less force behind a spank when it simply collides with the butt, but this approach also allowed Mr. Spader to momentarily clasp the curves of Miss Gyllenhall's sweet soft round ass within his hand.

Maggie didn't feel that the spanks actually hurt. He was swinging his hand pretty hard but it was through her dress, panty hose and panties. It was more embarrassing than anything else. But, gracious, he was now just leaving his hand there, even clutching her butt. She certainly hoped nobody would come into his office right now! Of course, they would knock first, wouldn't they? Everyone knew better than to just step into Mr. Spader's office.

Mr. Spader stepped up a bit closer to Maggie, close enough that the very tip of his swollen knob made contact with the curve of her derriere.

Maggie again paused in her reading. Was that what she thought it was? This time it wasn't really clear, or at least it just seemed too bizarre to believe. It was difficult to imagine it was anything else. It couldn't be his knee. It was unlikely to be a knuckle. It could be something in his pants pocket. Perhaps a cell phone? But, he wouldn't carry it there. He was always too immaculately dressed to have bulky objects in his pockets. He did not like to detract from the smooth lines of his suit. Still, could it really be what she was thinking? No, that just couldn't be. Mr. Spader was too professional for that. She needed to take her mind out of the gutter and back into the contract.

"Oh! I see it!" Maggie suddenly announced with pride and confidence. "I typed that his face was beat red, and it should have been beet, with two e's." Another homonym error. Those were just so easy to commit and so hard to notice!

Mr. Spader was disappointed, although he should be pleased that Miss Gyllenhall had discovered the second error. "Yes, well, that is indeed correct." He slid his hand across the delicious curves of Maggie's bottom. Her dress was thinner than her business skirt and he had let his hand linger there awhile. He gave her a little caress as he said, "Excellent, well, why don't you head back to your desk and make those corrections. I will let you know if I need you for anything else."

Maggie could sense the disappointment in his voice and she was troubled. Hadn't she done a good job? Well, perhaps not. Three times she had failed to identify the second error. Maybe he was disappointed about that. Well, of course he was, as she had been spanked each time. She picked up her pen and pad and slowly made her way across his office, feeling quite disappointed in herself, and again wondering if his eyes were following her bottom.

Just before she left she turned her face back to him, stuck her bottom out just a little bit, not enough so that it was clearly intentional or obvious, just enough that he was likely to notice it, and said, "Thank you for the spanking, sir. I know I deserved it. I'll do better the next time."

Mr. Spader was by now behind his desk, his expressionless eyes fixed in her direction, not revealing what was truly on his mind. "Yes, well, very good then. Back to work now."

"Yes sir," Maggie quietly replied and extricated herself from Mr. Spader's office.

However, as soon as she returned to her desk she wanted to return to him. She felt strangely uncomfortable, unable to sit still in her seat. It wasn't that her bottom stung or anything like that. It had only been three whacks and each one through three layers of clothing. No, her bottom was not stinging. She just felt so on fire, so excited.

Excited? Was she really? She looked around her. There was nobody within eyesight. She felt such an urge to touch herself but, of course, she dare not. Gracious, what if somebody walked in? Nobody knocked before they entered her area. And, what if Mr. Spader came through the door while her fingers were up her skirt? Masturbating on the job would most definitely be cause for dismissal in any employee's handbook, and rather embarrassing as well. How would she explain that to her mother?!

But, the urge was just so intense, so severe. She desperately concentrated on her work and, with time, the fire began to diminish, becoming only a tingly warmth, and then eventually flickering out altogether.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day Maggie's heart raced a bit as she made her way to her desk. The outfit she was wearing was a bit risque, at least for a secretary who might have to bend over a desk. It was a rather short cocktail dress, very thin and clingy, albeit also very delicate and feminine. A cocktail dress was a bit over the top for a secretary, but it wasn't easy keeping up with the designer suits of Mr. Spader. It did cling nicely to her breasts, or more accurately seemed to tightly wrap each one rather than cover them. She wondered though if Mr. Spader would even notice. He hadn't seemed to notice them before, which was perhaps understandable as they were not very big. But, in this dress they would really be very difficult to ignore. Well, at least that's how Maggie felt about it.

Of course, she wasn't so sure she should wear such a thing, or even for certain why she was wearing it. Perhaps he would appreciate that it was too risque for a spanking. Perhaps he would find it so appealing, so attractive, that he would forgo a spanking that day. Or, on the contrary, perhaps it was just inviting trouble, which might in fact be her true intention. Mr. Spader might not have been finding the spanking to be particularly arousing, although she certainly had. She had not had a more troubled sleep in quite some time, being continually awakened by rather disturbing dreams; ones that she most definitely wouldn't tell anyone, not even a professional psychiatrist.

Well, in any case, she was wearing a dress today in which she would most definitely feel the spanks.

Mr. Spader though did not seem to even notice her outfit as he passed her desk repeatedly throughout the morning. She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed. She was definitely disappointed that he apparently did not found her attractive. A woman who is wearing a provocative cocktail dress does not want to go unnoticed. But, she was pleased that he had not called her in for a spanking, but then again, maybe she was even disappointed in that.

"Miss Gyllenhall," the intercom crackled, "Would you come in here, please?"

"Oh yes sir!" Maggie quickly replied, a smile crossing her face. She left her notepad behind her, scampered to his door, and then paused to brush and straighten her dress. With the smile still gracing her lips she entered his office.

Mr. Spader watched without apparent reaction as Maggie approached his desk, the document resting in its usual position.

But, Mr. Spader would not be a man if he had not admired her beauty. He had indeed noticed her dress earlier, in fact repeatedly passing her desk to enjoy another look.

Maggie's dress was so terribly feminine and delicate. It was a bright yellow, with little green vines traversing her entire body, wrapping around her breasts, sprouting purple and red orchids. Orchids didn't actually grow on vines, but perhaps they should as it was really quite pretty. Plus, the dress did indeed cling to her figure so deliciously. Her hips swung and swayed with each step, the hem of the skirt bouncing with the movement of her thighs.

But, if there was one thing that a lawyer can do, it is to maintain a straight face in the face of severe provocation, and Mr. Spader was a very, very good lawyer.

Maggie stopped when she reached the document, and then gradually bent over, keeping those lovely blue eyes fixed on his as she slowly assumed the position, the cleavage of her top falling open to reveal to his eyes that she was wearing a matching yellow brassiere.

There was something so nice, so sweet, so enticing, about getting a peek down into the bodice of a dress. You know you were seeing something that was supposed to be hidden from view, something personal and intimate. Mr. Spader let his eyes linger on his secretary's alluring titties for a moment, admiring what little of them he could see.

Maggie saw where he was looking and wondered if she should reach down and pull her cleavage open further.

Mr. Spader lifted his eyes to Maggie's, their eyes meeting, Mr. Spader realizing that Maggie had caught him peeking down into her dress. There was a moment of acknowledgment, of recognition, but it did not last long. He got up from his desk and made his way around to take his position behind her behind.

He wondered if his secretary was more attractive from behind. It was an odd thought and of course not really true, as Maggie was such a pretty woman with such an expressively adorable face. But, she also had such a perky round tush, and this dress hugged her curves like the thinnest of tissue paper. Plus, it was so short that it now just barely covered her panties. He wondered if they matched her brassiere. He imagined that must be true, and wondered further if he did indeed have to imagine. Perhaps he could get a peek beneath her skirt? Yellow panties. That sounded so nice.

He stepped up to her and reached for the hem of her skirt. A skirt that short was meant to be lifted, wasn't it?

But, his hand paused just as his fingers were about to make contact with the thin, delicate fabric. He pulled his hand way.

Instead, he said, "Just one error today, Miss Gyllenhall."

"Yes sir," Maggie replied, wondering what was going on behind her. It was such a strangely erotic position to be in, to have the guy be able to see so much, to be able to do so much, yet she would not be the least bit aware.

She felt such a strong urge to look behind her, to see what he was looking at, what he was doing, but her eyes focused instead on the document, carefully studying it.

One error, only one. That should be easier, shouldn't it? She only had to find one. She only had to find one error rather than three. However, in one regard it was in fact more difficult. With three errors one had three chances of finding the first one. One error, in contrast, was like a needle in a haystack, which wasn't far from the truth, as this document was 38 pages long, including close to 17,000 words, only one of which was apparently misspelled. Of course, finding the second and third errors made finding all three ultimately more difficult than finding one, but at the moment Maggie was concerned with only one error and it seemed much more difficult than she had experienced before.

Maggie studied the document for quite some time, at times reading out loud, at times reading to herself, all the while Mr. Spader stood quietly behind her, studying the soft, tender, curves of his secretary's derriere. It did not take long for his cock to come to full erection, thrusting out his pants like a blunt club. He slipped his left hand into his pocket to grasp hold of it; not so much to squeeze and fondle it, but to pull it back tight against his abdomen in case Maggie looked back at him.

Maggie very tentatively suggested, "It's the word, 'n0rp.'"

THWAP!

Clearly not, she thought, as her body jolted forward with the thwap. She should have known better. Mr. Spader had been very clear about the spelling of "n0rp." She had difficulty believing it at the time, and had now wondered if he had purposely misled her, giving her a misspelled word that he could then punish her for later. Well, apparently she had been wrong, but she still didn't understand what it meant. 

She squirmed her bottom a bit and wondered if the squirming was making her skirt rise up. The thin cocktail dress was not nearly as protective as a business skirt, but that was not the only problem. She could also feel another sort of tingling.

She tried to remain still as she returned her attention to the document.

Mr. Spader revealed a hint of a smile as his hand rested upon Miss Gyllenhall's bottom. He now appreciated his secretary's choice of apparel even more, as his palm and fingers felt so much closer than ever before to Miss Gyllenhall's soft curved bottom. He clearly detected her panties through the skirt, again wondering if they were a match to her brassiere. He gave her delicate round tush a little squeeze, his cock swelling and yearning within his pants as his fingers gripped that girlish fanny. 

"'Pwned.'" That had to be a mistake.

THWAP!

Maggie's body thrust forward again with the sharp, forceful collision of the spank. She squeezed her sphincter.

Mr. Spader admonished her for the second error. "Miss Gyllenhall, I explained n0rp and pwned to you when I dictated the letter." His hand rubbed and gripped her right cheek. "Are you suggesting that it was I who had made a mistake."

"Oh, no sir, not at all. I just, well, I had not, um, seen these words before."

Mr. Spader's eyes were fixed on Maggie's derriere. The movement of his hand had caused her dress to slip up just a bit higher. He leaned over to the right, tilted his head, and nodded. Yes, she was indeed wearing matching yellow panties. "Yes, well, try to be a bit more careful, shall you?"

"Oh, yes sir," Maggie replied, and continued to study the manuscript.

With considerable reluctance Mr. Spader released his hand from Maggie's rump. However, he used it to press down a bit on her lower back. He quietly instructed, "Arch a bit more, if you would, Miss Gyllenhall."

"Yes sir," Maggie replied, providing her bottom with a bit more lift, a bit more thrust, increasing the obscene implications of her pose, her presentation.

Mr. Spader though walked away, slowly making his away to the other side of the room, releasing now his left hand from his pocket to let his cock jut out his pants. When he reached his orchid garden he studied the sight of Maggie's thrusting bottom in the reflection of the glass. Her orchid dress complemented well the orchids within his garden, albeit he had to admit that her yellow panties peeking out from beneath her skirt were really much more beautiful than any of the flowers.

Knock Knock.

Mr. Spader turned calmly toward his office door, his hands clasped in front of his crotch. "Yes, please, come in," he instructed, loud enough to be heard through the thick mahogany.

Maggie jerked her head up from the document, her eyes wide with shock and concern. She quickly looked back at Mr. Spader, her eyes now stricken with fright. Was he serious? Would he let someone come in now?

Mr. Spader though wasn't even acknowledging her concern. He was just standing there, calmly, indifferently waiting for whomever might now enter his office.

Maggie strained to look back at her bottom, not taking her hands from his desk, wondering how much she was exposing, how lewd she appeared. She could see that her dress had risen up a bit. She so, so hoped that it had not risen so far as to reveal her panties. But, even if that wasn't true, it was still a very compromising pose.

She turned, just her face, to see who was entering the office.

The young man said, "Excuse me?"

Maggie quickly turned her face away. It was Steff McKee, the supply boy. He wasn't really a boy. He was eighteen or nineteen years old. Maggie wasn't sure which, but he did remind her of a boy, as he looked so young for his age. Steff was as uncomfortable about this as Maggie, perhaps even more so. He could clearly see that he should not have opened the door, as Miss Gyllenhall was bent over Mr. Spader's desk, thrusting her bottom out, a bit of yellow panty clearly evident. Something was wrong here, very wrong indeed!

"Steff," Mr. Spader spoke calmly from the other side of the opened door. "Do you have something for me?"

"Um," Steff turned his face away from the sight of Miss Gyllenhall. He was reminded of when he had accidentally stepped in on his sister as she was fixing her make-up after a shower, her naked body covered only by a tightly wrapped towel. He had felt so, so mortified. He knew he should have knocked first. His sister didn't help by giggling at his obvious embarrassment and discomfort. "Yes sir," he called out loudly. "I have the, um..." He glanced down at his left hand, having momentarily forgotten precisely what he was delivering. "The, um...Montblac pens."

"Yes, yes, excellent," Mr. Spader replied. "Bring them in please."

"Yes sir," Steff replied, pushing the door open further, just enough for him to step into the office and look around the door, to find Mr. Spader standing by his orchid garden, his hands remaining clasped before him.

He pushed the door all the way open and made his way toward Mr. Spader, holding out the box of pens for him to take.

Mr. Spader did not himself use Montblac pens. He preferred his Graf Von Faber-Castell pen. But, he would purchase a set of personalized Montblacs engraved with the name of his firm. Clients and colleagues enjoyed walking off with them, as if he didn't notice. 




The Secretary



"Steff," he asked when the boy was about halfway to him, "Do you think I want to use them right now?"

Steff stopped. "Oh...um, yes, no, of course not."

"Correct," Mr. Spader replied, tilting his head toward his desk, "Now, if you would, place them on my desk."

"Oh, yes sir, of course, sir," Steff replied and turned to his left to take the box to Mr. Spader's desk, as he instructed.

As he made his way to the desk his eyes fixed on Miss Gyllenhall's bottom, so delightfully, so lewdly, jutting out toward him, seeming to get bigger and bigger the closer he got. His eyes were particularly fascinated with the glimpse of yellow panty, and it was at the location, the place, that was the very best part of a panty: the soft, rounded curve of her cunnie mound, tightly wrapped in bright yellow cotton.

His penis began to swell within his briefs. He tried to think of something else, tried not to notice the lovely shape of her long, curved legs, the delicious roundness of her bottom, the silky smoothness of her womanly thighs, the enticing seductive cunnie pouch peeking out just below the hem of her skirt. But, he couldn't do it. He had noticed previously the prettiness of Miss Gyllenhall's eyes, her lips, her skin. He could not really be expected to look away now. But, if he were in fact to develop an erection, one noticed by the secretary, or even worse by Mr. Spader, he would most likely be out of a job.

Maggie could hear the young man approaching her. She felt such an intense, urgent, compelling demand to at least decrease the arch in her back, to lower her bottom, but Mr. Spader had given her no such directive. On the contrary, he had been quite clear and explicit in his instruction to raise her bottom up. She could not, would not, disappoint him now. But, she felt so, so exposed, so ashamed, so humiliated.

Perhaps she could at least adjust her skirt, pull the hem down to ensure that her panties were indeed still hidden. That would be the demure, the polite thing to do. Her hands felt like they were burning, like the wood was on fire, but she kept them firmly stuck to the mahogany finish. She softly whimpered her distress.

Steff stopped when he reached Miss Gyllenhall's bottom, and Mr. Spader's desk. He gently laid the box on the corner nearest him. He wondered if he should say hello to Miss Gyllenhall. He normally would. It would be the polite thing to do. It would be rude not to do so. "Good morning, Miss Gyllenhall," he quietly offered.

"Yes," Maggie replied, not turning her beet red face, "Yes, yes it is." As soon as she said it she realized that her response was actually a non sequitur. He was just saying hello. He wasn't making an observation about anything. But, to correct herself at this point would only draw further attention to her error.

"The other side," Mr. Spader instructed the young man from across the room.

"Oh, yes," Steff replied. He carefully stepped around Miss Gyllenhall's thrusting butt, trying to keep his eyes averted, not just because her sweet delicious tush would cause his dick to further swell but also to avoid letting Mr. Spader notice that he was looking at his secretary's jutting rump.

Steff had no idea what had been going on in this office prior to his arrival. It was most definitely clear that it was something not appropriate. Still, it was not his position, as supply guy, to pass any judgment. Heck, he couldn't, shouldn't, even acknowledge that he was noticing anything. Hence another reason to lose the erection.

However, what was Mr. Spader doing on the far side of the office if something inappropriate was going on, and why didn't Miss Gyllenhall do anything to hide the fact? Maybe this was all just completely innocent? Maybe. Everyone does say that Mr. Spader was some strange dude. He placed the box on the other corner of his desk. He glanced at Miss Gyllenhall's face, not entirely sure that he really wanted to make eye contact, but perhaps some understanding would arise if he did.

Miss Gyllenhall though was staring straight ahead, another indication that something very strange was going on here, something that perhaps he had interrupted and should quickly extricate himself from. "Yes, well, um..." He turned away from Miss Gyllenhall, with both reluctance and relief, fixing his eyes on the floor as he quickly strode toward the office door. "I've got a lot of supplies to, um...organize." He did though at least stop at the door to ask, "Is there anything else, Mr. Spader?"

There was a moment of silence, a moment much too long for both Maggie and Steff.

Mr. Spader finally responded, "No, Steff, that will be fine."

"Yes sir, thank-you sir," he replied and immediately removed himself from Mr. Spader's office.

Maggie took a deep breath of relief. Thank goodness that was over. But, she knew it really wasn't. Her face would most definitely redden the next few times she would see Steff. She wondered if she should, or even could, explain it to him later. Not likely. It was probably best to just pretend that it never happened.

Mr. Spader strode up to Maggie, or more accurately, her bottom.

He leaned down over her back, looking over her shoulder. "Have you found the error yet, Miss Gyllenhall?"

"No sir, no I haven't." Clearly she had not, and his so very close presence wasn't helping matters. She felt under considerable pressure, her boss peering so intently over her shoulder, and there was again yet another pressure he was providing, one against her bottom, one that was more physical than psychological, yet also came with considerable emotional pressure as well: she could again feel Mr. Spader's swollen knob pressing against her butt.

"Well, keep looking, although I am not so sure it was on this particular page."

"Yes sir," she replied, turning the page. Apparently it wasn't on that page. She smiled. It was really quite nice of him to help her like that. Gracious, the documented contained 38 pages!

Maggie wondered if he knew that he was touching her with his penis. One would think that he would. If she could feel it then it could feel her. He must be feeling her soft bottom pressing against the head of his hard, stiff penis. But, sometimes one person is more aware of a physical contact than another.

One of her instructors at Weston College, Mr. Shore, would often reach around her body from behind while instructing her on proper typing and shorthand. His arm would occasionally press against the side of her breast. She most definitely noticed it but she never felt that he did. He was a very dignified, upright, and moral gentleman. He would never intentionally do anything like that.

This was clearly different. This was the head of an erect penis. Mr. Shore would certainly have noticed if his erect penis was touching her breast. Maggie suppressed a smile at such a thought.

She pointed at what could be the error. "This isn't it, is it, sir."

She was pointing at the phrase, "In forma pauperis." She was pretty sure she had gotten it correct, but was no longer at all certain.

Mr. Spader pressed his cock more tightly against her butt cheek and lifted his hand, as if he was about to give her a spank.

Maggie bit her lip and looked around at nothing in particular, waiting for her bottom to be smacked.

But, no spank arrived.

Mr. Spader slowly lowered his hand.

Maggie had been rather clever. She had phrased her statement quite carefully, like a good lawyer would. She had not proposed that "In forma pauperis" was the error. On the contrary, she had proposed that it was not. If he had said it was, then she could identify it as the error. But, it was no error on her part to indicate that it was correct.

"Yes, quite right, Miss Gyllenhall. That isn't it."

He shifted his line of vision from over her left side to over her right, gliding his knob along her bottom as he did so, momentarily breaking contact when the crown crossed the crack of her ass. "I suspect you shall need to keep looking," he added as he pressed his cock even tighter against her butt.

"Yes sir," Maggie softly replied.

Mr. Spader continued to read along with her, over her shoulder, at times leaning in closer, at times pulling back, at times shifting left, or right, each movement accompanied by a concomitant shifting in the position of his stiff dick against her soft round bottom.

Maggie's heart was racing. What was happening was now unmistakable. She had felt this once before, on a subway car, during a trip to Los Angeles. She at first denied what she seemed to be feeling. Most any girl couldn't really imagine that a guy would do such a thing.

But, it soon became very evident on the train that it was indeed true. Some strange guy was pressing his erection against her butt! She was naturally shocked. How could a guy do such a thing (but see "Riding coach" for an explanation).

She had reached back with her hand to brush the man away, but that only resulted in her fingers briefly making contact with his erection. Once she touched it she quickly pulled it back, not wanting him to think that she had done that on purpose, that she was trying to encourage him.

She considered turning to confront him, to angrily demand that he cease and desist such effrontery, such impudence, but she feared as well such a confrontation. Plus, he could simply deny it, and she might come across as the crazy, looney, irrational girl. 

And, then, an older woman, standing in front of her, gently laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 

As she looked up at her, beyond her large thrusting breasts, she saw that the woman was smiling down at her, knowingly. She asked, "Doesn't it feel nice?" or more like announced rather than asked.

"What's he doing?" Maggie had softly whimpered.

"What any sweet girl like yourself would want him to do, if she was brave enough to ask."

"Oh my," Maggie had softly exclaimed, and stayed quite still, as he continued to rub and thrust his hard-on against her butt, as the older woman pressed her breasts into her face.

It was so terribly humiliating, and even more so when she began to realize that she was getting wet and aroused, eventually squirming her bottom against the man's hard cock, albeit as subtly and discretely as one could, or should, on public transportation. She so wished she could take the older woman's nipple within her mouth.

When her stop arrived she quickly extricated herself from the train, reaching back behind her to discover a very evident wet stain on the back of her skirt.

Mr. Spader suddenly wrapped his hand around Maggie's waist and pulled her bottom tightly against his crotch.

"Waste!" Maggie suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" Mr. Spader responded, releasing his hand from Maggie's waist, albeit his cock was still pressed against her soft, pliant butt. "Another homonym. I typed 'waste' rather than 'waist.'"

Mr. Spader hesitated for a moment, actually contemplating whether he could lie, telling her that was not the correct error, that there was an additional error. But, that would be dishonest and disrespectfully manipulative. Of course, he was a lawyer, so it hardly was outside of his norm to do such a thing. Perhaps more importantly, he would get caught in the end, for there was not in fact another error. Any continued search would be in vain.

He stepped back from his secretary and made his way around the desk to his chair.

Maggie glanced to her left, although keeping her head still so that Mr. Spader wouldn't notice. Her eyes widened with shock at the very clear, large bulge protruding from Mr. Spader's grey D'Orsi slacks. She wasn't shocked to see it. She had clearly known it was there, although it was a bit startling to now actually see it. But, what shocked her most was that it was clear Mr. Spader was not a small man.

As Mr. Spader sat back down into his chair he quietly acknowledged, "Yes, that was indeed correct, Miss Gyllenhall. You can return to your desk and resume your duties."

"Yes sir," Maggie replied, hesitating though, just a bit, just in case he might indeed change his mind.

But, Mr. Spader opened a file and began to closely peruse the material contained therein, no longer even acknowledging Maggie's presence.

Maggie slowly pushed herself up from his desk, her back again feeling a bit stiff, her cunnie so terribly inflamed. She licked her lips, turned around, and slowly made her way out of his office.

As she did so Mr. Spader did finally look up, his eyes following the swinging of her hips and bottom.

This time Maggie did not look back. She knew where he was looking. She didn't want to embarrass him by catching him ogling her derriere. But, she couldn't stop clenching her cheeks.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day Maggie was wearing one of her more conservative business suits. She had wondered if perhaps she had been dressing too provocatively, seeming to actually be flirting with Mr. Spader, perhaps even enticing him into spanking her. It was now clear to her that a part of her, a deep, dark, secret part, was finding some pleasure in what he had been doing, and she was not proud of that. The recollection of her experience on the train had confirmed that suspicion.

She did not want to provoke Mr. Spader any further. She did not want to keep this job simply because she was providing eye candy for her boss, a tactic clearly used by some secretaries she had known.

So, today, she was wearing a dark jacket, dark skirt, black nylons, and heels. The length of the skirt would hide her panties well, even if she was spanked. Beneath the jacket though was a pink silk blouse. It was important to have at least some color.

The tactic appeared to be working as it was a rather dull morning, by that meaning there had been no chastisement, no castigation, no spanking. She wasn't exactly sure though how she felt about it, albeit also admonishing herself for actually contemplating the possibility that perhaps she missed the discipline.

Of course, its absence might have been due simply to the fact that Mr. Spader's schedule was so packed with meetings, with current clients, opposing lawyers, potential clients, and even judges. It seemed like there was an endless stream entering and leaving his office.

"Miss Gyllenhall." It was Mr. Spader's crackling voice through the intercom. "Would you come in here, please?"

"Yes sir!" Her heart raced. Had she committed some errors? She most definitely hoped not, but then a part of her kind of hoped there had been. She should probably be spanked just for having such a desire!

However, as she opened the door she realized that, of course, he was still within the middle of a meeting. Sitting on the couch and chairs around the coffee table were senior executives from the Bluestar industrial firm.

She paused at the door. "Sir? You want me? Now?"

"Yes, yes," Mr. Spader impatiently replied. "If you would please, come in here," waving her in as an order more than a request.

"Yes sir," Maggie replied, wondering what this was about, and then realized that they probably just wanted some coffee or something. She glanced over at the bar. There was coffee already available. Perhaps he wanted her to serve the men? That would be reasonable. His clients aren't paying Mr. Spader hundreds of dollars so they could serve themselves coffee. Maggie asked, "Would you like some coffee, sir?" She made her way to the bar.

"No, no, if you wouldn't mind, please, you can stay right there."

She wasn't near anything in particular at the moment. She was just standing in the middle of the room, feeling rather uncertain, and frankly a bit self-conscious. "Sir, is there anything wrong? Anything I can do?" "Well, Miss Gyllenhall, Mr. Barnes here has just informed me that they did not receive the Butterfield report yesterday."

Oops. She had forgotten to take it over to their office, as Mr. Spader had instructed. "Sir, I'm sorry. I totally forgot. I was, um...well, a little distracted yesterday."

"Distracted? You were distracted?"

She realized that being distracted was not a particularly good explanation. "Yes sir," she softly replied. "I can get it right now, sir. It's on my desk."

"No, no, Miss Gyllenhall, I have already provided them with my own copy."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Maggie wondered if she should just apologize, again, and extricate herself from the office. She knew though that once these men left he would most likely want her to return.

Mr. Spader eventually asked, "Do you realize the potential cost to our clients, to us, to the firm, of this...distraction?"

"Yes sir," she replied very quietly, her head bowed contritely, her hands clasped before her, looking as guilty, penitent, and remorseful as she could.

Mr. Barnes, the CEO of Bluestar, actually felt rather sorry for her. She was such a pretty young thing. He felt like reassuring her that it was alright, that there had been no real harm.

Mr. Spader got up from his chair and made his way over to stand near her, not quite by her side, but almost within arm's reach. He gestured with his hands, arms out, palms up and open. "Miss Gyllenhall, you've really left me with no choice. I must demonstrate to Mr. Barnes that we, this firm, cannot, and do not, tolerate such errors, such mistakes...such distractions. Do you understand?"

She thought she did. She figured she did. But her heart was again racing as she considered it. She felt a little light headed, a little faint. She glanced nervously over at the three men. She turned back to Mr. Spader. He really wasn't going to have her do this in front of strangers, was he? "Yes sir," she softly answered, not entirely sure she really did understand.

He instructed her in his typical business-like, dispassionate, almost indifferent tone, "If you would please, take the position."

Mr. Barnes' ears perked up, his eyes widened. What did Mr. Spader mean by that?

Maggie felt so nervous, and now so very much distracted and confused. "At the desk, sir?" "No, no," he replied, "where you are right now will be fine."

She was not real certain what she should do. Mr. Spader was so precise and exacting. She would hate to make a mistake now. This was perhaps her true test as a secretary. She turned around and faced away from the men sitting at the coffee table, presenting them her back, and backside. 

She slowly bent over, her bottom gradually becoming increasingly larger and rounder, the back of her skirt rising a bit up her thighs. She placed her hands on her knees, and arched her back, thrusting back her full, round rump.

The men's eyes widened with shock, and excitement. They were expecting some sort of apology, or perhaps even a valid explanation. They were not expecting Mr. Spader's strikingly attractive and alluring secretary to bend over for them, presenting her bottom in such a clearly enticing manner. Perhaps this was why Mr. Spader and his staff so rarely made mistakes. Cocks instantly began to swell. One of the men immediately crossed his legs. Hands shifted into laps to hide any tell-tale bulge.

"Mr. Barnes, would you do the honor?"

Maggie looked over at Mr. Spader, a worried and embarrassed look in her eyes. He was going to have one of them spank her? Was this really fair?

Mr. Barnes, however, wasn't entirely sure he understood. "Excuse me?"

"Given it was your company that suffered the consequences of Miss Gyllenhall's...distraction. I believe it is only appropriate that you provide the punishment." He gestured toward Maggie's upraised and jutting bottom. "I believe ten would do." He turned to Maggie. "Would you not agree, Miss Gyllenhall?"

"Yes sir," she softly replied, her alluring saucer-shaped light blue eyes looking so plaintive. "Ten seems...reasonable." She looked out in front of her, at a painting across the room: an original Louise O'Murphy, "Girl reclining." The girl was lying on her stomach across a love seat, naked, her bottom a very warm sensual delight. Maggie bit her lip expectantly, warmth developing within her thighs. She shifted her feet a bit and arched her back even further so that Mr. Barnes would have a clear and ready target. This was just so, so humiliating, but so very exciting. Had her mother ever done anything like this? She did wonder.




The Secretary



She heard the gentleman get up from his chair and make his way over to her left side. She glanced back at him.

He had brought with him a folder. She wondered if he was intending on rolling it up rather than using his hand. That would be understandable. Ten whacks could result in a bit of a sting for his hand. And, from her own perspective, a rolled up folder is probably preferable to the intimacy, and strength, of a man's hand. But, she was mistaken. He was using the folder as a means to hide his own embarrassment, keeping the folder in front of him, in front of his crotch. He tried to make it look natural, but the intention was rather apparent. And, from Maggie's angle she could still see his problem. Her face flushed at the sight of his bulge. She quickly looked away, the warmth building to a bit of heat.

WHAP!

"Oh my goodness," Maggie softly exclaimed as the force of the spank made her lurch forward. Mr. Barnes' spank was a bit harder than Mr. Spader's, perhaps because he did it the more traditional way, his hand glancing off her rump rather than colliding against it.

WHAP! WHAP!

It took all of his willpower for Mr. Barnes not to smile. He knew he shouldn't. This was strictly business, not personal. He was delivering the recompense for the damages done by Mr. Spader's negligent secretary.

But, he had to admit, he was finding this amazingly pleasurable, wondering if his wife might want to try this sometime. He would let her spank him first, if that might help with any insecurity she might have over such a thing.

WHAP! WHAP!

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Barnes," Maggie exclaimed, the sincerity very clearly evident in her tone of voice, as well as position.

Mr. Spader raised his hand for Mr. Barnes to stop.

Mr. Barnes wondered if he was smacking her too hard. He certainly didn't want to inflict any real pain.

Maggie glanced over at Mr. Spader as well. Was she doing something wrong?

It wasn't so much that she was doing anything wrong. It was just that she could do so much better. Mr. Spader wanted his secretary to be all that she could be. "If you would, dear, please..." He gestured with his right hand, indicating that she was to bend over further.

Maggie did as he instructed, bending down even further and jutting her bottom up higher.

Mr. Spader though shook his head. He said quietly, "If you would, please, cross your legs and grasp your ankles."

"Oh," Maggie, just as quietly, replied. She crossed her legs and then bent all the way over, trying hard to keep her crossed legs straight. She took hold of an ankle with each hand, crossing her arms as well.

Maggie wondered what she looked like from behind. Did her skirt rise up so far as to reveal her panties? They did at least match her blouse; pink silk beneath the black panty hose.

But, she had nothing to fear in that regard. Her black skirt did rise up quite a bit, but it stopped just short of revealing her bum. However, what was revealed was still terribly enticing, as the position highlighted well the shapely curves of Maggie's legs, sublimely ensconced within her sheer black nylons. The black stripe of the seam of her panty hose peeked out from the back of her black high heels, traveled up her ankles, her calves, across the back of her knees, and all the way up her shapely thighs, to disappear within the tight black curtain of her black business skirt, that so tightly wrapped her full round bottom. It was like she was a giant ice cream cone, topped by a big round mound of black licorice cream. This would also make a very nice painting, or at least a picture, titled, "The secretary."

"Yes, that will do," Mr. Spader concluded.

Maggie smiled. It was nice to hear that Mr. Spader approved. It wasn't an easy position, particularly with her legs crossed and largely straight. She could not bend over any further. Holding onto her ankles though helped as she would otherwise be unable to maintain the pose.

Mr. Barnes, and his colleagues, approved as well. None had ever seen a girl bent over this far, at least not in real life. They wondered if their wives could actually do such a thing, let along be willing to do so. The girl looked so impressive, even majestic, like a life-sized statuette. They also wondered how their cocks might fit in the young lady's cunt, positioned that way.

Mr. Spader instructed, "You can proceed now, Mr. Barnes."

WHAP!

"Oh my," Maggie exclaimed. She gripped her ankles tighter.

WHAP! WHAP!

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes," Maggie gasped. "I know I deserve it." Heat and moisture were rising rapidly within her tightly clenched thighs.

WHAP!

"And, please don't blame, Mr. Spader," she pleaded. "He was relying on me." WHAP!!!

The tenth and final spank was delivered with a bit more vigor. Maggie almost lost her footing.

Mr. Spader asked, "Are you satisfied, Mr. Barnes?"

"Yes, yes indeed, Mr. Spader. Quite so." In a sense he really wasn't. He was now so fucking hard and horny. He knew that he and his colleagues would be making a quick stop at a gentleman's club on the way back to their headquarters. But, with respect to Mr. Spader's services, he was quite satisfied, particularly as the missing document wasn't really that important anyway.

"You can return to your desk now, Miss Gyllenhall," Mr. Spader instructed.

"Yes sir," Maggie replied, letting go of her ankles to straighten her body. Before she left though she first pulled on her skirt to get it back into place, sliding her hands along her bottom to straighten it out, as well as to massage her tush. It didn't really hurt but there was a bit of a tingle. She turned her head back to Mr. Spader as her hands clutched her derriere to ask, "Are you sure, sir? Nothing else?"

The gentlemen from Bluestar wondered precisely what more this young lady might in fact provide. They looked to Mr. Spader for the answer.

"No, that will be fine, Maggie. We need to finish our business here. You're dismissed."

"Yes sir," Maggie replied, and promptly extricated herself from his office, the eyes of the gentlemen all following closely that swaying bottom so sadly departing from their sight.

Maggie returned to her desk, finding it again so uncomfortable to have to just sit there, waiting for the fire to extinguish on its own.

It wasn't too long before the men from Bluestar stepped out from Mr. Spader's office. The two who had just been watching avoided eye contact, feeling rather embarrassed at what they had seen. Mr. Barnes, though, made a point to stop by Miss Gyllenhall's desk to suggest that if she was ever interested, he would most definitely find her a position with him at Bluestar.

Maggie thanked the man for his interest, but made it clear that she was quite happy with Mr. Spader, as he was treating her very well.  Gracious, it wasn't that long ago that she was lost within a secretarial pool four county accountants. Now rich and powerful executives were offering her raises to come to work for them. She felt so proud of herself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The next day Maggie arrived wearing a lovely loose feminine white blouse with little black polka dots and a large tie-neck closure, along with a tight black skirt that was slit up one thigh, almost halfway up her white thigh-high nylons.

As she typed through the morning she could not help but consider intentionally making an error. She was having such wicked thoughts, and dreams. She didn't know what she really wanted anymore.

But, she certainly did not want to risk losing her job simply to get a spanking. Clearly Mr. Spader would prefer that she not make errors, but could he really be disinterested in her spanking? Would he be disappointed if he was unable to spank her, if he had no reason to do so?

He certainly seemed to be enjoying it the other day, his large swollen knob touching her little soft bottom. But, the next time he delegated the authority to someone else, apparently having no interest in doing it at all.

Most importantly she wanted to do her best work, to demonstrate to Mr. Spader that she deserved to be his secretary, that she was the best he ever had. There was really no way that she should purposely make an error, intentionally appear inadequate, perhaps even incompetent.

She wasn't sure what to do. Her choice though was apparently made for her. In the late afternoon she heard, "Miss Gyllenhall, could you please come in here?"

"Yes sir!" Maggie quickly responded, a gay and grateful smile sweeping across her face. She almost dashed to his office door, but paused before she opened it, gathering her composure, calming her demeanor.

She slowly opened the door and peeked inside. "You wish to see me, sir?"

Mr. Spader looked up from his desk, struck again by the prettiness of Maggie's eyes, the femininity of her voice. Even from this distance, and despite the relative darkness of his office, he could see that she was wearing peach eye shadow. It was entrancing. "Please, yes, come in."

"Yes sir," Maggie demurely replied, noticing one of the documents she had typed earlier resting on that special spot of his desk, front and center. She made her way toward it.

Mr. Spader noticed how his secretary's white nylon thigh momentarily came into view with each step and then as quickly disappeared as she strode up to the front of his desk.

She did not need to be instructed. She got into the position, her hands and elbows resting on either side of the papers, her bottom jutting back behind her. She quietly asked, "How many errors are there, sir?" He gazed into those adorable eyes gazing into his. He wondered if he could tell her to always use peach eye shadow. It was really very fetching. "Two," he quietly replied as he got up from his desk and strolled around to get into position behind her, albeit a few feet back.

Maggie looked back at him. He wasn't close enough to provide a spanking. Was she disappointed? She wasn't sure. She looked into his eyes, trying to read his expression, which was really quite impossible. She looked back at the document and began to study it.

It didn't take her long to find the first error. "Sir, yes, I found one."

"And, what is it?" His eyes were fixed on that soft round bottom. What makes the bottom so appealing he wondered. It was really a work of fine art.

"I should have typed 'new' rather than 'knew,' without the 'k.'"

"Yes," he blandly replied, "that is correct. One more."

She looked back at him and smiled. "I did good, didn't I, sir."

He smiled back, and nodded.

She turned her attention back to the document, fully appreciating the fact that he had smiled at her, for her. Her heart seemed to briefly flutter as she carefully studied her typing.

"Oh! Yes!" She suddenly exclaimed. "'Abatement.' It should be an 'a' rather than an 'e.'"

There was a moment of silence before he replied. "No, that is not correct. That is, your originally spelling was correct."

"Oh," she replied, biting her lower lip, waiting for the spank.

But, there was nothing. She looked back at him to ask, "No spank, sir?"

Mr. Spader did not respond. He was thinking of something else, something a bit different. He just wasn't sure he should. It could be crossing a very delicate and inappropriate line. If only he could read the expression of her face, assess her willingness, her dedication.

Maggie smiled.

Mr. Spader instructed, "Pull your skirt up."

Her already large eyes opened up even wider. "What?" "Do I need to repeat myself?"

She turned her face away. Well, this was perhaps most definitely going too far. A spanking was one thing. Spanking is clearly for punishment and discipline. Raising one's skirt was simply licentious. Her breasts were rising and falling within her blouse. This just didn't seem right. He wasn't even her boyfriend or anything. He was a lawyer for goodness sake. Doesn't he know that this must be illegal or something? You can't require a secretary do something like this!

She slowly reached back with her hands to take hold of her skirt. She again hesitated when she realized that he could already see fully the lacy tops of her white-thigh high nylons. She wondered if he would approve of her choice in nylons, and then pulled the skirt the rest of the way over her bottom.

It wasn't that easy as her skirt was so tight around her butt. She had to wriggle and squirm to get it up and over.

She wasn't particularly pleased with the panty choice she had made that morning. Her mother had always said to wear a pair of panties that would not embarrass her in front of a doctor. One never knows when a doctor is going to look under your skirt. Her mother should have made the same point with respect to the boss.

This particular pair was not frayed, worn, or dirty. They were quite fresh and new. Nevertheless, she knew what a stickler Mr. Spader was for proper, stylish dress.

She was wearing bright yellow cotton panties decorated all over with all sorts of spots in as many different sizes as there were different colors. It sort of matched her blouse, in that both had spots, at least that's what she thought that morning. But, they were rather cheap Wallmart panties, nothing that would impress Mr. Spader, and she would hate to make a bad impression the first time he looked beneath her skirt. She reached back to pull them more tightly across her bottom. She certainly didn't want them to appear sloppy, loose, or bunched up.

Mr. Spader was duly impressed. It was so intriguing to see how gaily colorful his secretary was beneath her conservative business skirt. His cock was as big as it could possibly grow. He reached down to shift it into a more comfortable position, hoping that she would not notice. He began to breathe deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself, to keep himself from doing something he knew he should not. "Continue," he calmly instructed.

Maggie tried to concentrate, but it wasn't easy. It was just so embarrassing to do so with her skirt raised, knowing that her boss, Mr. Spader, was gazing upon her panty clad bottom. She wondered if she might have pulled them too tightly across her cunnie.

"'Affidavit' should have an 'a' rather than an 'i'?"

She waited to hear if she was correct, her saucer-shaped eyes glancing nervously around her, eventually fixing on the Japanese wall scrolls. The bathing women looked so naked, so exposed.

"Pull down your panties."

Maggie's heart raced. She was wrong, and apparently with each error there would be further exposure, rather than a spanking. She much preferred the spanking. She could feel moisture within the palm of her hands, as well as her pussy. She turned her head back to look at Mr. Spader, her apprehension, her uncertainty, her concern so clearly evident within her lovely blue eyes.

But, Mr. Spader just stood there, expressionless, his hands clasped before him, right in front of his crotch.

He was at least a few feet away, too far to touch her, to take advantage of her. He apparently just wanted to look. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

She turned her face away and reached back to slip her thumbs under the waistband of her panties. She couldn't believe she was really going to do this.

Mr. Spader stood passively behind her, as if he was in fact entirely disinterested in what he was about to see, his eyes though fixed on her lovely round derriere.

Maggie slowly pulled her panties down, gradually revealing more and more of the lily white curves of her bottom, and that deep crack that split her pale round moon right down the middle.

Mr. Spader admired the young lady's crack, struck by how the skin appeared a bit darker down inside, due largely just to the shade that the fissure provided, as if there was something dark and mysterious deep down in that valley, which of course there was.

And, once her panties reached the bottom of her butt an even more delightful crevice appeared, the more delicate one that split her feminine mound. A cunt from behind was just so, so enticing, and this one was glistening with dew, even within the relatively dim lighting of Mr. Spader's office.

Maggie wondered if her boss could see her vagina. She surely hoped not, as she knew that the moisture would be so clearly evident. She certainly didn't want him to recognize, to know, how excited this made her. She squeezed her thighs together, albeit that only made it more difficult to get her panties down. She briefly opened her thighs to allow passage.

A little smiled creased Mr. Spader's lips. It looked as if his secretary was opening her thighs a bit to give him a better peek at her cunt. Maggie quickly closed her thighs again once the panties were clear. She rolled them down only to the top of her nylons. She certainly didn't want to take them all the way off.

She tried to concentrate on the document, but it was now so terribly, terribly difficult. Her face was as red as her bottom was white. What if someone came in now? They couldn't come in without knocking but maybe Mr. Spader would let them in. He apparently didn't mind having the executives from Bluestar spank her. He didn't mind Steff seeing her bent over the desk. But, this was clearly different. She was now literally bare-ass naked! No secretary should have to expose her naked bottom to clients or colleagues.

Or, frankly, to her boss, for that matter. She wondered what he was thinking. It was so disconcerting to be so exposed, to have him standing right behind her, his eyes clearly focused on her nakedness, yet he wasn't saying anything. He was just quietly gazing. Well, she could probably guess what was on his mind, and her face flushed with more heat, as did her cunnie, the latter further escalating her embarrassment, which only seemed to heat her honeypot even further.

She again tried to focus her attention on what she was reading, but her mind just kept going back to her exposure, and Mr. Spader's eyes watching, scrutinizing, studying her bottom, and perhaps something else.

She wondered, 'Can he see my anus?' How embarrassing would that be! She squeezed her sphincter. It wasn't as if she felt that would help hide it. It was just a gesture of self-consciousness.

Mr. Spader could see her cunnie lips, which he sorely admired and appreciated, but he could not see her little puckered rosebud. He was rather curious about it. He reached down to grasp his stiff cock through his slacks.

Maggie was feeling so flustered, so confused. "'Eyesight.' It's two words." She just didn't know anymore. She was so confused.

Mr. Spader squeezed his cock. He quietly instructed, "Open up your cheeks, Miss Gyllenhall."

As Maggie's head slowly turned Mr. Spader quickly let go of his cock and resumed just clasping his hands in front of his pants.

When she met his eyes Maggie asked, "Mr. Spader, is that really necessary?" She had to assert herself. She had to stand up for herself, for her rights as a secretary.

"Are your errors really necessary, Miss Gyllenhall?"

Her lips opened a bit, revealing these beguiling two front teeth. "Well, no, no, I guess not." "You guess?"

"No, of course not. The errors are not necessary."

"And neither is opening up your cheeks."

That didn't really seem to Maggie to be much of an explanation. But, perhaps it did make some sense. She just didn't know. Lawyers were so good at confusing rhetoric.

She had never done such a thing for a guy before. No guy had actually ever asked her to do such a thing, to spread open her bottom cheeks so that he could see inside. But, then again, no boyfriend had ever been her boss.

She turned her face away, releasing her hands from the desk, her chin and breasts resting fully on the desk, her eyes fixed on the Japanese bathers as she reached back to take hold of each cheek with her hands. She hesitated, biting her lip, then spread them open, her facing becoming beet red as her comparably red anus came fully into view.




The Secretary



My name is Melody and I love my job. It wasn't always like that. Before old man Hawking retired I had the most boring secretarial job in the company. Then my new boss showed up, and all that changed. We were wondering what he'd be like. All we knew was that his name was Mr. Johnson, and that he was relocating from our London office. I was particularly worried, not knowing if I would be kept on or be sent back down to the secretarial pool.

Finally the big day came. I wore my best suit. Midnight blue to bring out my eyes, and custom tailored to fit like a glove. He stormed past my desk and into his office, slamming the door behind him, and I knew I was in trouble. 

I heard not a peep from him for the next several hours, then was abruptly summoned into his office. He slowly walked around me several times, taking in every detail as he asked me questions. How long I had been with the company, whether I liked it here or not, what my duties for Mr. Hawking entailed... 

Suddenly, he stopped in front of me and began to unbutton my jacket. I froze as he slipped it from my shoulders and stared at my breasts. I don't know if it was the way he looked at me or the chill from the air conditioning, but my nipples became erect and strained at the silk of my blouse. He smiled, then returned to his desk and sat down.

I stood there, not knowing what to do or say as he continued to stare at my body. Then he spoke, "Unbutton your blouse and remove your bra." I remained motionless, my mind whirling. Not wanting to comply, yet unwilling to lose my job. "NOW!" he said. With trembling hands I did as he asked. As I dropped my bra onto the chair, he began to rub the growing erection in his pants. 

"Beautiful." he said, "Now get on your hands and knees and crawl to me. And do not look me in the eyes unless I tell you to, bitch." Until that day I had never been spoken to like that. But something began to stir inside me. I lowered myself to the floor, pulled my skirt up slightly, and crawled to him. When I reached him he ordered me to straighten, place my hands in my lap, and keep my eyes lowered. I did so and heard, rather than saw, him releasing his penis from his trousers.

He then started to roughly fondle my breasts as he spoke. "You have a very desirable body Melody; let's see if you know how to use it properly. I have not cum since leaving England. My balls are full and I need release. You will suck my cock, you will allow me to ejaculate into your mouth, and you will swallow every drop. How well you do so will determine whether or not you still have a job. Is that clear, slut?" 

I whispered "Yes, Sir" and took his penis into my mouth. He was rough, grabbing my hair and thrusting himself in and out of my mouth. I began to choke, but he only laughed and pushed himself deeper. My throat muscles began to open, stretching around his throbbing member.

He started to moan as his balls hit my chin. I licked, sucked, fucked his cock with my mouth, and within minutes it began to spasm. He growled "Swallow it, Bitch!", and stream after stream of the sweetest cum I had ever tasted began to explode down the back of my throat.

I swallowed furiously to keep up, and milked his swollen balls for him. When he had spent himself he told me to get dressed and get back to work. As I left his office he said "Be here at the usual time tomorrow. And you are not allowed to wear panties to work from now on. Shut the door behind you."

That was two years ago. And in those two years, Mr. Johnson has used and abused my body on a daily basis, and I wouldn't have it any other way! But all good things must come to an end. I'm getting married next month and will be moving away. But before I go I must find a replacement for myself. One that will be suitable for Mr. Johnson's special needs. 

It hasn't been easy, and Mr. Johnson requires me to pre-screen all the candidates, to save him the trouble of having to interview them all himself. That's what I'm doing today. The waiting room is full of women applying for the position, but I have my eye on one on particular.

She's young and very pretty. Petite with large, full breasts, just the way he likes them. She hasn't much experience, and is obviously eager to impress me. But as she waits, she sees one woman after another being dismissed, and is getting more nervous by the minute.

I message Mr. Johnson to tell him to be ready for an interview. And I know his cock is getting hard already. I finally motion her to the seat at my desk, and make a show of perusing her resume. She fidgets, and it's all I can do to keep from smiling at her discomfort. 

Finally, I speak, "This is a very prestigious position, and the job description encompasses many things." She interrupts, and begins to stammer about how she knows she's young, and doesn't have the qualifications of the other candidates.

I hold up my hand to silence her. "Actually" I say, "assuming she has the basic skills for the job, Mr. Johnson prefers to train his secretary to accommodate his personal business style. How badly do you want this job?" 

Her face lights up, and she stammers "More than I can tell you! I need this job so badly, and I am willing to learn from the ground up!"

I smile. "That's exactly how you will be trained, from the ground up. And if you are willing to do what he asks, rest assured, you will get the job. Follow me." I knock once on the office door and lead her in by the elbow. "Mr. Johnson, this is Tina. She says she is willing to learn this job from the ground up, just as I did."

He rises and walks over to her. She is too nervous to meet his gaze. Perfect. I step aside to allow him to circle her slowly, just as he did me that first day. The growing bulge in his pants tells me I have chosen well. He removes a pen from his breast pocket, stops behind her and uses it to lift the hem of her skirt. She gasps and whirls around. "Stand still!" I command, "Do you want this job, or not?"

Trembling, she whispers "Yes", and Mr. Johnson returns to his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. I lead her over to his desk and stand close behind her. I reach around and begin to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. 

She stiffens, and I whisper in her ear "I know how you feel because I was in your position once. But just relax and let this happen. One day very soon you will be glad you did. I promise."

I continue until the last button is released, then gently slide her dress off her shoulders and push it over her hips to fall to the floor. She whimpers sweetly when she feels my fingers unhook her bra, but does not resist. 

I reach around to the front and ease the undergarment from her full, firm breasts. Sir smiles his approval and says "Exquisite. How hard do her nipples get?" I pinch them lightly between my fingers and roll them back and forth. They harden immediately at my touch and jut out invitingly.

When I glance at my Boss, he is slowly rubbing his cock through his pants. "Now, show me her fuck holes." he says. I slip my thumbs inside the waistband of her panties and lower myself to the floor, pulling them down with me. I rise, hold the crotch down with the toe of my shoe, and tell her to step out of them. She mutely complies and nearly falls, as her knees are so weak. I grab her waist to steady her. Then run my hands slowly down her smooth, flat belly to her inner thighs, and gently press outwards.

I whisper in her ear "Show him what you have to offer, sweetheart." She does as she is told, parting her legs. I tilt her back slightly to lean against me and pull her open wide to show my boss both of her holes. Sir rises and comes to us, then looks at me over her shoulder and gives a curt nod in my direction. I step back and begin to quickly undress as he explores her young body with his hands.

When I am naked but for my heels, he tells me to sit in his chair, spread my legs and prop them over the arms of the chair. When I have done so, he says to Tina "Do you see those holes? She has used them to make me very happy, as she has also done by bringing you to me. I wish to reward her now. Kneel between her legs."

She sinks slowly to her knees and looks up at me. "But I've never... I don't know how!" I smile and wrap my fingers in her hair, pulling her face to my aching pussy. She begins to lick tentatively at first, then with more enthusiasm. I moan and sink back into the chair as my clit begins to swell, and just before my eyes close, I see my Sir unzipping his pants.

I hear him quietly move to stand behind me, and a moment later his hands are on my breasts, grabbing them roughly and squeezing. His touch sends a thrill through me, and I pull the girls face tighter against me and start to grind my wet pussy onto her mouth. The Boss laughs and tells her to suck on my clit. 

As soon as she does I begin to cum, my cunt squirting juice until it runs down the crack of my ass. Sir releases my tits and swiftly moves around behind the girl. I release her hair just in time for the Boss to use it to pull her to her feet, then grab my arm and pull me to mine.

He spins her around and shoves her head down onto the desk, using his foot to force her legs apart. He pushes his cock between her legs, and then draws back in disgust. "She's hardly wet!" he growls. "Open YOUR legs! I know YOUR fucking cunt is dripping right now!" I immediately prop one foot up on the desk top, brace myself, and lean back to allow him easy access.

He steps between my legs, cock in hand, and uses the head of it to part my swollen pussy lips. He thrusts violently forward, slamming his cock all the way into me, 1, 2, 3 times. Then he pulls quickly out and says "Thanks for the lube, cunt. Now guide me to that bitch's fuck hole!"

I grasp the base of his penis and feel it throbbing strongly as he positions himself back behind Tina. I rub his dick up and down her slit to lubricate it and part the lips, then position the fat, shiny head against her hole and say "Ready Sir." 

He pushes forward. She squeals in pain as his prick stretches her open. He moans "Ohhhhh. Good job cunt. Her little fuck hole is even tighter than yours!"

A twinge of jealousy passes through me, but I reply "Thank you Sir." He reaches forward, clamps a hand over her mouth, and rams his cock all the way in. It's obvious her muffled screams excite him even more, as he starts to pound more furiously into her young cunt. I know my job well after 2 years in his service, and drop to my knees behind him to fondle his cum-filled balls as he fucks her.

His balls begin to tighten and I know he's close to shooting his load into her. Another twinge of jealousy hits me. This one unnecessary, as he then says to me "I'm going to save her virgin asshole for another day. Assume the position next to her." I rise swiftly, joy filling my heart, and bend over the desk at her side. He uses her for a few more strokes, then pulls out and steps behind me. I reach pack to pull the cheeks of my ass open. I know he likes a good view. 

He presses his pussy-slick cock to my asshole and forces it open. I moan, and shudder with delight as he fills me completely and fucks me like the bitch in heat that I am. I rock my hips in perfect rhythm to his thrusts, making sure to stroke the entire length of his cock with my tight little ass. Then I look over at Tina, lying next to me, tears still drying on her face. I smile. She smiles back. And I know that my job is done.

Sir begins to moan, his cock swells and I tighten my muscles to grab it even better for him. I feel it begin to jerk, then spasm rhythmically as he pumps his thick, hot sperm deep inside my ass. I savor the feeling knowing it will be the last time I ever experience it. 

I continue to rock my hips, slowly milking him of every last drop of his precious seed. When he's finally finished cumming he pulls his now satisfied prick from my well-fucked hole and gives me a pat on the ass. "Good girl" he says. "Show Tina what to do next." I slide from the desk to the floor and lovingly lick his cock clean before gently putting it back into his pants for him.

He sits at his desk, and resumes working. Not even glancing at us as we quickly and quietly dress. We head for the door, and without looking up he mutters "Goodbye and good luck, Melody." The tears in my eyes make it difficult to see as I fumble the office door open and walk out.

Just before the door closes, the Boss says "Melody?" I turn and see him staring into my eyes. "I've decided this won't be our last fuck after all. On your wedding day you will stop here on your way to the church. I've always thought you looked good in white."



The Secretary



Just a short fantasy...

The other girls in the office don't see what I see. You know the ones I mean, the young women who still call themselves secretaries as opposed to personal or executive assistants. The ones who want to work for the young, handsome executives or the dashing, successful older ones. The ones who dress in the clingy blouses and tight little pencil skirts. The ones who want the younger ones are looking for boyfriends or husbands. The ones who want the older ones want to become little pieces on the side, kept women whose bills get paid by virtue of their ability to make old men feel young again without pharmaceutical assistance. 

They don't understand how happy I am to be working for you. To them, all they see is someone in middle management. Someone nearing middle age but without the company Cadillac or vacation house down the shore to show for it. Someone with grey hair and a little too much of a midsection. Someone who isn't a sugar daddy or the kind of husband you can brag about to sorority sisters. 

That's because they don't get it. I don't want a new necklace and I don't want to start planning a wedding. I just want to get fucked. And I want to get fucked by you. 

I didn't even understand it myself at first. I remember on my first day here, being all shy and nervous. I needed the job and didn't want to screw things up. People all seemed friendly at first, then I got introduced to you. You'd barely gotten done shaking my hand that you grumbled about having to waste time getting me up to speed and how you needed me to "hit the ground running". I didn't even understand it that night as I lay in bed, my hands under the waistband of my panties. I fucked myself for hours that night, until I was sore and raw and my sheets were soaked through.

I didn't really understand it until later that week. You looked constantly angry. Everything you said was always joined by some annoyed or exasperated remark. Anger at the "bootlickers" who'd been promoted ahead of you or the "morons" you supervised. Little remarks about how they don't pay you enough or how under appreciated you are. About how your wife and daughters were giving you hell. Finally, after one shouting match on the phone, I remember hearing you say the words that helped me put the heat I felt into words. 

"One of these days," you said, "I'm just going to explode."

I remember you saying those words and my mouth going dry and my panties getting soaked. One of these days all of your frustrations, the ones that had been building for 25 years at this job and 23 years of marriage, were going to bubble up and over. And I wanted to be the one you lost control around. The one that you lost your composure with. I wanted every little drop of resentment you'd ever felt as you climbed the corporate ladder, every little bit of energy you saved when you swallowed your tongue instead of telling your wife to fuck off, the rage at every incompetent employee or slow bank teller or speeding ticket. I wanted it all to just rush out of you as you used my body. To have all that accumulated tension channelled into your cock and pounded into my dripping pussy. To be a sort of human stress ball that just absorbed all of it when you, after fucking me with a savage intensity and roughness, blew a huge load of hot, sticky cum into the very depths of my cunt.

I'd cum, you know. You wouldn't notice or care but with my skirt hiked up, panties yanked to one side and bent over your desk I'd cum screaming as you fucked me. Cumming for me, well, it's a mental thing. And this fantasy has me more excited than any charming smile from a pretty boy ever has. I used to be like other girls, you know, I'd go to the movies or the beach and see a great looking guy with a well toned body and that would be in my fantasies for a while. But that's gone now. Now in my mind's eye I'm being angrily fucked by a middle aged man and my fingers are bringing me off faster and more often than ever before.

I can hear it, you know, the frustration in your voice. I hear it when you buzz me and say, in that gruff demanding voice, "Tara, get in here". I can really hear it when you have no use for familiarities and say "Ms. Devereaux, get in here now". I can feel myself get wet when you say that, feel it drip to my thighs as I walk into your office to take notes or be sent on an errand. Every time I hope you look at me with naked lust and let me know that the reason you called me in was so I could get on my knees and open my mouth wide as you stuff every inch of your cock into my throat but, no, so far it's just the usual stuff. 

It's not like I'm the first one who's noticed this either. The way you chew out your subordinates is legendary. They're terrified of you. I've heard it, you know, one of them screws up in even some minor way. Ranting and raving about their incompetence and their stupidity at the top of your voice. I've seen men leave your office looking shell-shocked and women on the verge of tears. I try not to catch their eyes, though. I'm too busy doing my best to not leave a wet spot on my chair. 

I've never made an error like that but I picture it. I picture getting an important date or name wrong and you just absolutely losing it with me. Yelling at me all the things you yell at them. Only when I picture it I'm naked, my hands bound behind my back with your necktie and my wet panties stuffed into my mouth. Your heavy cock is inside of me, spearing me again and again until, you say, I'll learn. 

I know you've noticed me. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm blonde, by all accounts pleasing to the eye and young enough to be your daughter. Most men can and do look. I know you think I haven't caught it but every now and then I catch you looking at me before you avert your eyes, probably afraid of a sexual harassment lawsuit. If you only knew. I've done my best to encourage it. Nothing indecent. My hemlines are a little higher maybe, my sweaters and blouses hug the curves of my breasts a little tighter. And underneath, well, every day it might be the day, right? So I'm sure you'd understand that on that fateful day when you do tear my clothes off of me you'll find a slinky little thong or a black lace set. Somedays I think about just going without but...well, I'll save that. I like to imagine that I'll have plenty of time to sit at my desk without my panties, my hair dishevelled, my sweater slightly torn, a fresh batch of your hot cum leaking out of me. 

But you noticing me raises an interesting question. I've cum thinking about you, have you cum thinking about me? Has that wife of yours gotten a particularly energetic fucking of late as you pictured it was me your dick was pounding into? I bet she has, the lucky cow. I've talked to her on the phone. She sounds like a bit of a cold fish. The type that just lies there and maybe gives you a half-hearted blow job on your birthday. If I was in that bed and you told me you wanted me to fuck you I'd slam my cunt up and down your cock until I passed out from exhaustion. 

And with the frustration you carry, I know she doesn't fuck you enough. I bet a lot of nights it's a dark room, internet porn and your own hand. It's such a waste. It could be me, on my knees, looking up at you with my big brown eyes as my lips lock around first one ball, then the other, before sucking your cock into my mouth. Not stopping until you were to ready to explode and then letting you just burst onto my face, covering me with every drop you'd been saving up. Feeling it splash against my skin before I greedily scoop it into my mouth.

I could do that all the time. Wouldn't you like that? Instead of glowering through those conference calls I could be under your desk, looking every bit the immaculate professional woman except for my lips stretched obscenely around the head of your cock as I jacked you off into my mouth. And when you were done you could just send me back out, to sit at my desk with the taste of your semen still on my tongue. You could call me in like that three, four times a day and every time I'd be hungry for more. 

But you know when you get the angriest? When I see you almost burst and I get the closest to believing the day may come? When your daughters call. You've got two. The older one is getting married and the younger one just graduated college. Each time after one of them calls you tell me to get your banker on the phone. I know it's because you're paying for the one's wedding and you're paying the other one's rent. I know the younger one calls you up to beg her daddy for more of an allowance while the younger one whines and cries about having the perfect wedding no matter how much it costs. 

You could definitely work out those frustrations with me. I know I even look a little bit like them. I'm right in between their ages and they're blondes with tight little bodies like me. I'd be happy to call you daddy and beg for more. I'd just be doing it with your cock buried deep in my ass and I'd be begging you to make sure every drop of your cum gets blasted into my tight little asshole. Or I could dress up like a bride for you. After all, you're paying for things. Shouldn't you be the one who gets to yank up that pristine white dress, rip off my bridal panties and be the first man to blast a huge load of sperm into my unprotected pussy? I think so. In fact, I'd insist on it. 

It just makes me sad. You look like you could use a dirty little fuck toy. You've got a perfect one right outside your office if you'd just use me for what I was built for. I want it so badly, sir. I fuck myself thinking about it but my fingers are no substitute for a thick, hard cock just slamming into me harder and harder until I just can't take it anymore. Please sir, I'd be such a dedicated little whore. Won't you please give me what I need?



The Secretary



She had spent too long waiting for a long promised fuck but tonight was the night. Even though she was in a relationship, for her the best sex was with others - the lustful dark fucking that she would only dare to do with others. He had been teasing her for the past year and she had finally told him to fuck her or fuck off. She was going to a conference where he would be and they had arranged to accidentally have adjoining rooms. It was the best cover for both of them. 

 The worst part was waiting during work for the appointed hour. From showering first thing in the morning until now her cunt was soaking wet in anticipation. Problem was it was only lunchtime. 

Luckily with her status as head of school she had an office to herself. There were no meetings in her schedule for the next two hours. It was time to take matters into her own hands. 

 Imagining the fucking that was coming here way she subconsciously moved her hands towards her wet hot cunt. Slipping her manicured nails under the waist band of her skirt. Her hands were cold as the heating was not yet on in her office. The cold fingers reaching out for her clit were electric against the most lustful heat that came from her cunt. She leaned back on her chair and emitted a low moan not to draw attention from her secretary that was working in the anti room to her office on the corridor.

 However her body was going under to the wave of ecstasy that was taking over her body. Her clit was engorged and wanted attention. Slowly circling her clit with her fingers was getting her more moist. She slipped her fingers into her cunt while working on her clit with her thumb. She had to hitch up her skirt over her hips to give her more purchase on her pleasure. It was so wrong to be fucking herself on the clock but it was also so right. 

 She heard her door click open but she was lost to the moment. It was her secretary. She was obviously louder than she had thought. He was about 5 years younger than her. She has specifically requested him as his dark good looks always made the day easier. "Do you need some help with that" he asked with a dark sexual look on his face and his eyes were flashing. Luckily she had her desk positioned to the door so he didn't see her actual state of undress but saw the flushed look on her face which could only mean one thing. He proceed to walk up to her desk and sat on the edge. By this stage he had full view of her soaking wet cunt. He got back up and locked the door she said "good idea, I can see the other side of your discretion now". He walked back to the desk with a knowing smile on his face. 

 The both knew was was going to happen now. She sat up on the desk facing him and he sat down in her chair. She used the heels of her stilettos to hook the back of the office chair and she pulled him close to her sitting open legged on her desk. Presenting her shaved cunt to his lips but buried under her skirt. 

 He ran his hands up her stockinged legs moving his hands to her inner thighs as he reached her cunt. His song hands got to work where she had left off. Rubbing gently but firmly to increase her developing orgasm. But he could feel the longing in her for more. He moved closer and ran his tongue up her slit feeling the flood of juices that had already arrived through their mutual work. He ran his tongue around her clit and gently placed his teeth around it making her moan more. The then proceed to put his fingers inside her slowly, rhythmically bringing her on. He then placed another finger inside increasing the speed and then another until his whole hand was inside. The feeling was intense. It was like her cervix was being gently punched and her cunt was so full it was beautiful. He knew that she needed a proper fucking. 

 They switched positions so he was now sitting on the desk and had slipped down his trousers and shorts so his engorged cock was standing to attention. She was surprised by both the length and breath and got down on her knees to suck that wonderful cock that would soon be inside her. It was already leaking pre cum which she greedily swallowed up. But he wanted to come inside her so he pulled her up to kiss her roughly and she knelt up on her desk she moved down on his body slowly taking in his big cock inside her. He sucked on her neck gently so as not to leave any visible marks. She moved herself up and down on him quickly and roughly. She wanted to beat his juices out of him. 

 Just then the phone in her office rang. She glanced at the caller id. It was her boss. She answered the phone with him still inside her. He was on his way over, one flight down and needed to speak to her urgently. He knew from the online work calendars that she was free. In a panic she pulled down her skirt opened the lock and tried to tidy herself up. At that minute her boss walked through the door. Her secretary ducked under her desk, the were both about to come at that moment and still needed to see through their lust. Her manager walked in an sat down in the chair across from her desk. It was at that moment that she noticed that her panties had somehow ended up on top of the bookcase that she was looking at. At least they were black so they were not obvious. Meanwhile she didn't have much leg room as her half naked secretary was under her desk at her feet with a raging hard on. She could feel her wetness as she squirmed in her chair. Her manager proceeded to talk about amendments to programmes and other administrative issues but she managed to keep the quick meeting as truncated as possible. Lucky she did as her secretary a started to run his fingers up her legs which was not helping her concentrate and look professional. As her manager droned on, his fingers got higher until his was fingering her covertly. 

 Her boss got a call on his mobile, something more urgent that preventing her orgasm had come up. He made his apologies and quickly left the room. She promised him a follow up email on the issues. Once the door was shut again. She locked it firmly and put a chair against it. They both started laughing but she told him that he had to be punished for what he didn't during the meeting. She grabbed him and pushed him to the desk and slapped him. He moaned with every strike. He then pulled her to the floor and pushed her skirt back up again and freed her breasts from her black bra. He sucked on each one and then, as his cock was still erect, pushed himself back into her. Her cervix spasmed with the deep thrusts of his engorged cock. She had never been fucked so deliciously roughly before. Then without warning she felt his fingers enter her anus. It was so good and she wanted more. She wriggled out from under him and lay on her stomach so her could penetrate her from behind. He wanted to see her face when she came so he got her to stand by the door where there was a mirror. She leaned forward so her ass was primed and her hands against the wall in front the mirror. She took a quick look at what they were doing and it turned her on even more. His cock in her tight ass. She wondered why she had never done this before. But her cunt wanted action too. She started to finger herself but it wasn't enough. There was a presentation bottle of champagne on her book case that she received for a research prize. It was never opened but the neck of the bottle was roughly the size of her vibrator at home. Her secretary realised what she was up to and helped her to ram it into her cunt. She was being penetrated by champagne and a cock. She could feel both rubbing inside her and she came like never before. They collapsed in a heap of spent but satisfying sexual energy; panting and exhausted but satisfied.

 Her secretary took that bottle of champagne and opened it. As it had just been used to fuck her it was very fizzy and spilled over her cunt which he dutifully licked up. They toasted the development of their professional relationship by taking gulps out of the bottle for lack of glasses. She knew right then that she had made the right hiring decision.