I gave Mr. Alden a beseeching look. The terrible indignity of the position he had commanded struck me as a punishment above and beyond the paddle itself. The expression on his face made my heart jump—and it told me that the wand’s effect didn’t rely on words alone from the man who used it. I could feel it, almost literally, how the set of my new boss’ brow made me start to turn and start to bend.
I tried, as my body helplessly obeyed the humiliating command, to make it seem graceful in some small way. I didn’t know why, but it seemed important to me in the moment that I display myself to Mr. Alden attractively. Insanity, but it felt like he might punish me for not doing my best to present myself for the paddle in a ladylike manner. He obviously wanted to get as much enjoyment as possible out of disciplining me and so, the hot, dark part of my mind said, the bare backside I offered to him, framed by my red garter belt and white stockings, should look pretty.
I could feel, though, just how ungainly I must appear as I bent my knees and stretched my arms, feeling the tension in my back and my thighs. I lowered my head for a moment and got a slightly dizzying view between my knees, of Mr. Alden’s trousered legs, the contrast with my nakedness making my heart beat faster with embarrassment. I lifted my chin to avoid looking at him and stared across the carpet toward his desk, waves of hot blood surging into my face with every heartbeat.
At least he let me keep the thong on, I thought. He can’t see everything. I watched my hands curl into fists and then open again, so that I could obey his instructions fully and literally touch my toes.
“I think I’ll take those panties down after all, sweetheart,” he said.
I let out a whimper, and then it grew into a sob as I felt his hands on my hips, stretching the waistband of the tiny garment. He started to pull it down, a dismayingly unique feeling underneath the suspenders that ran from the garter belt to my nylons. The thong remained stretched and taut around my thighs as Mr. Alden lowered it all the way to the tops of my stockings.
“When you wear a garter belt, from now on,” he told me as if it were the most natural thing in the world for an executive to give his secretary this sort of command, “you’ll wear your panties over the suspenders to make it easier for me to take them down—if I give you permission to wear panties at all. It’s important that I have access to your ass and your cunt whenever I want it.”
But… The word rose into my throat. But you can’t say that. But that’s… horrible… shameful… and I won’t…
Mr. Alden hadn’t asked me a question, though. I couldn’t say any of it, and my tummy flipped as I remembered to my horror once again what he had told me about the operation of the wand. If he had told me the truth, the real reason I couldn’t object to his instructions about my future conduct with respect to my underwear lay in my own dark needs.
I bit my lip at the terrible realization, and I closed my eyes, wanting to find some way of escape into somewhere, anywhere else. I realized too late the effect it would have on my balance, and by the time I opened my eyes I had already started to topple over.
Mr. Alden’s left hand took hold of my hip and kept me upright. I started to straighten up a little, in order to regain my balance. Then I felt the puff of air that I had already become much too familiar with, the one a wooden blade generated, even one with three sizable holes in it, as it approached a girl’s bottom at high speed.
I let out a little cry, and my body seemed to try to do a hundred things at once, each of them poised between the effect of the compliance wand and the overwhelming terror and shame of the degrading punishment. My hands tried to travel back to cover my bottom and all the secrets my boss had exposed to his view when he lowered my panties. My back tried to straighten up, as if maybe I could attempt to run away. My legs tried to twist around, as if in hope that I could make Mr. Alden miss with the awful paddle.
None of it worked, because he had told me, with his words and with his face and now with that steadying, restraining hand on my hip, that I must touch my toes so that he could deliver the terrible lesson he meant to deliver.
I heard the gunshot report of the paddle on my bottom, and I felt the impact just as pressure, full across both my little cheeks. He struck so hard that I could even feel it, just as a touch, on the tender cleft of my private part’s outer lips.
I gasped, and then I cried out, as the pain started, then built into agony, and then I sensed Mr. Alden’s weight shifting and I felt the puff again, just a little lower.
I screamed at the burning fire in my backside as the second swat echoed in the corners of the huge office and the pain just got worse. He clearly didn’t want to give my backside time to recover; he meant to punish me, to make certain I understood what I should and shouldn’t do, to teach me proper office behavior. I would learn, today.
The next time he told me to take off my clothes I would do so without hesitation, even without the help of his horrid wand. If my boss had told me I wasn’t permitted panties that day, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference; I would step out of my skirt and display my smooth, hairless cunt to him, waxed for his greater enjoyment in making me show it to him.
I screamed at all of it: the burning pain in my bottom and upper thighs, the terrible conflict in my mind and heart, the unwelcome but somehow reassuring hand on my hip that kept me in place for my first correction by my dominant new boss.
The shift and the puff and the crack of the blade against my backside came a third time, a fourth. I screamed, and I knew for certain everyone in the office could hear that the new secretary was being punished. Cathy at the reception desk could hear, of course; she knew that the new girl would emerge from Mr. Alden’s office wincing as she walked, thoroughly paddled and thoroughly fucked, and stop at her workstation to set up an appointment for her first Brazilian wax.
The fifth swat struck where the first one had. Without my boss’ strong hand holding me up, I would have fallen straight to the floor simply from the violent tremors the pain sent shooting through my limbs. My bottom-cheeks clenched, my hips jerked, all without seeming to take away the slightest bit of the flaming agony.
“One more, sweetheart,” Mr. Alden said. For a moment I thought he would pause, to give me time to reflect. I welcomed it despite the mortification of the idea, just because it seemed to offer a tiny respite from the pain. But the sixth swat arrived in the same cadence as the other five, and seemed to turn every nerve ending in my lower body into a fiery torment.
“On your knees, Ingrid,” his voice said as his hand enforced the order. “Face down, ass up. I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Oh… oh… oh…” seemed to represent the only sounds I could make with my mouth as my limbs automatically assumed the posture into which he guided me. He pushed down on the back of my head with his left hand and then he took hold of my backside with the other and raised it. The hand on my head moved to my back, pressing to make me arch there and, to my utter mortification, to tilt my bottom and my private part upward.
“Get used to this position, sweetheart,” Mr. Alden told me. “You’re going to spend a lot of time in it.”
[divider]
I let out a deep, wrenching sob. Some remaining reasonable voice in my brain kept repeating, I don’t understand… I don’t understand…
Deep down, though, I knew it was a lie. I did understand. Mr. Alden’s right hand on my bottom, his fingers pressing between my thighs, the burning of my poor little rear end… all of them forced me to understand against my will, because they all made me long for a man’s hardness inside me as I never had before.
Jake… I felt like I couldn’t even think of him as an ex-boyfriend anymore, because in my mind a boyfriend was supposed to…
What? Do this? Degrade me… punish me… use me…?
Another sob pulled itself from my chest.
Yes. And the horrible compliance wand had made it possible for Mr. Alden to show me the truth of that part of my imagination, my needs.
Mr. Alden… Mr. Joseph Alden…
I blinked as I stared down at the carpet, humiliatingly only a millimeter from my nose, so close that I caught the not-unpleasant scent of a particular foaming cleanser my family had used in our house growing up. I hadn’t even realized that I had registered his first name. It must have appeared somewhere in the email telling me Selecta had chosen me for an interview.
Joseph.
His fingers, between my legs, probed casually into the entrance of my vagina. Casually, it felt like because he made no fuss about it; Joseph Alden simply exercised the right he obviously felt he had to put his fingers into the private part of a girl like me. Casually, frankly, boldly… arrogantly, dominantly… all of those things that made me whimper toward the carpet as I felt him discover just how much wetness a slutty young secretary like me could produce, when made to yield to his authority.
The tips of them, those knowing fingers, pressed in further, deeper into the place where I had only had a penis twice, and a man’s fingers only a few times more than that.
Never fingers like these, though, the hot, dark voice said. Even my own… my hesitant, embarrassed fingers, those very few times I had dared to do some naughty exploration… they didn’t feel like this.
Another sob, and my body tried to rebel. I managed to push up on my elbows, against the restraint of Mr. Alden’s left hand, about six inches. A thrill of surprise went through me as I understood that I had disobeyed a command, and then—to my horror—another emotion came right behind: worry and anxiety. Shouldn’t the wand’s effect keep me in place?
My new boss’ hand on my back had no difficulty doing it anyway, though; he pressed me back down, and the surge of arousal that shot outward from my clit, making me clench around his thrusting fingers, told me that my body hadn’t somehow changed its mind.
“No, sweetheart,” Mr. Alden murmured. “Stay there. The compliance wand is wearing off a little, right on schedule. You’re going to have to consent to your fucking without its help. This is a very important moment for you.”
“Oh,” I said, moving my jaw, then my lips, as if rediscovering them. “Oh… I…”
The fingers in my private part, covered in the slick proof of my helpless need for a rigid penis, withdrew and spread my natural lubrication forward, to make his touch on my clit so lewdly pleasurable that I cried out, bucking, trying again to rise only to find that Mr. Alden’s grip held me securely in place.
“Shh, Ingrid. Shh. I know how hard this is going to be. I’ll make it as easy as I can.”
Abruptly his hands were gone. I sensed, rather than saw, that he had stood up. As I attempted to process what had happened, wondering whether I could, or should, try to stand up… try to run to the locked door or pound on the plate glass of the window, I heard a jingling that could only represent the sound of Mr. Alden unbuckling his belt.
“You probably have the physical ability to disobey me now, Ingrid,” he said. “But you really shouldn’t think so much of that.”
I heard a sort of clicking sound. His zipper. My heart jumped, and I swallowed hard.
“After all, I have the ability and the authority to paddle you as long as I want, and then send you home unemployed. Unfucked, perhaps, also—but definitely without a job.”
Then his hand returned to my body, atop my back, pressing firmly but without real force, as if to remind me to hold my degrading posture, flaming bottom up and face down. To my momentary confusion I felt fabric rustle against my flanks, and then I realized Mr. Alden had lowered himself into a sort of crouch, straddling me.
The picture of it rose, hot and red, in my mind’s eye: the literal domination of the tall older man, fully clothed but for the lewdest, most arrogant part of his body, stooping like a beast of prey to ravage the prostrate girl he had stripped to her slutty lingerie and then punished until her rear end glowed like a sunrise.
I had no choice. That was the important thing. Not the way his masterful hands had turned me into a quivering, aching creature in danger of begging her boss to fuck her needy cunt until she couldn’t walk comfortably for a week. The wand didn’t matter—it just sort of symbolized Joseph Alden’s actual power over me, didn’t it?
I clenched hard as I felt something new, not a fingertip but something broader and slightly more yielding, rubbing up and down, along the whole length of my private cleft, inside the delicate, sensitive petals there, up to the tingling nub that made my hips jerk backwards.
Hardness. Joseph Alden’s hardness. His manhood. His…
His cock. His huge, rigid cock. The thing he’s going to put inside you because he likes to fuck. He likes to fuck slutty, submissive young women with his long, thick penis.
The idea that I hadn’t seen it, or touched it… that I didn’t even get to see the cock that my boss would thrust into my desperately aching cunt… roiled inside me. I had a flash of memory, about Jake—the way I had blushed the first time I had stolen a look at his rigid manhood, the way I had stroked it so hesitantly and felt so naughty doing it. I should have thanked Mr. Alden, a prudish voice tried to say in my mind, for not making me touch his thing, or see it.
But to have my face lowered to the carpet, with his big, restraining hand on my back to keep it there—it felt as if I hadn’t yet earned the privilege of seeing or touching his manhood. Mr. Alden would decide when I would become more intimate and knowledgeable about the private parts of his body, and how he would make me serve him.
Just as he had decided when he would touch my bottom, paddle me, press his fingers into me. How he would command that my private parts be bared for him. How he would lodge the head of the rigid shaft inside the entrance to the hot, wet sheath he had gotten ready for his use.
“Oh, this little cunt is going to be so nice and tight,” he said, his voice a little hoarse with what I knew must be the pleasure my private part gave to his manhood. My cheeks blazed with heat. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together, Ingrid Vogel.”
I bit my lip hard, but the sob of pleasure mixed with abject shame came out of my chest nevertheless. We… How could he say it that way? How could this be anything like fun for me?
I felt him move the tip of his cock out just a little. My hips jerked backwards uncontrollably and I whimpered as my vagina tried despite my mortification to impale me on my boss’ rigid penis. He pushed it in again, just a little further this time, and the noise that came from my throat seemed the mirror image of the last one: a soft cry of gratitude for Mr. Alden’s mercy.
Fun? Could that word have anything to do with this feeling? It seemed so much greater, so much more essential. And how could it be ‘fun’ for me to learn how desperately I needed to yield myself to my boss’ every humiliating whim? To know that I would have to be bare, down there, from now on, because he liked a girl’s cunt to be smooth for him? To know that from now on I would serve as Mr. Alden’s submissive fuck toy, to be used, panties down, however and whenever he wanted to have ‘fun’ with my helpless body?
And yet as I felt his hands move to encircle my waist over the naughty garter belt, and I understood that he intended to keep my private part just where he liked it, for thrusting in at full length, I felt a little glimmer of an unexpected, even shocking joy. It hardly seemed possible, but a splinter of me, somewhere in the far distance, could see what Mr. Alden meant about fun: it… well, it seemed kind of like a game, almost.
I felt my eyes go wide at the thought… and then even wider because the huge, stiff shaft of my new boss’ erection thrust hard into my needy vagina. I tried to rise, even to get away, because the pleasure crashed through my body so violently that it felt like pain, too—like Mr. Alden fucking me actually represented the culmination of my punishment rather than a reward for accepting it, or even a simple sequel to it, decreed by him because he had gotten aroused in paddling me, and had the right to satisfy his lust in his new secretary’s cunt.
He kept me in the posture he wanted, moving his right hand to the small of my back, atop my bra strap, to forbid me from straightening more than a centimeter. He entered me at full length, until I felt his muscular lap come up against my paddled bottom cheeks. Then he held himself inside me, filling me—possessing me.
Desperately, shamefully, I tried to move on his hardness. His grip on my waist prevented me from finding more than a tiny bit of the friction I craved. I sobbed in frustration and humiliation. I tried again, and Mr. Alden held me even more tightly.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll decide.”
His hand stroked my back, taming me… soothing me. The primal nature of what he had done, crouching over me to ravish me in my slutty lingerie, like an animal in harness, sent a wave of heat surging through my body. I felt my vagina contract around his huge cock and I cried out as again the pleasure seemed so intense it became almost painful.
“Shh. You need a good, hard fucking, don’t you?”
Something in the tone of his voice brought back to my mind the strange idea I had found a moment ago, before all thought had flown away with the deep thrust of his hardness into me. A game… a joyful game. One we play together.
I bit my lip. I hadn’t responded to his question, had I? The wand’s effect had gone away, and yet here I was, even more naked than I would have felt without the lacy red underwear, obedient under the hands and the manhood of my new boss. A game?
“Oh, God…” I moaned. “Oh… sir…”
The word had come out on its own, without the compulsion from the wand.
“Answer me,” Mr. Alden commanded. “Do you need a good, hard fucking, you little slut?”
I could hear it, somehow, in his voice. He meant it—he meant the degradation and he meant the dominance—and yet he still wanted me to have fun, too.
“Yes, sir,” I sobbed.
[divider]
His left hand tightened on my waist. The garter belt dug into my hip a little, reminding me how naughty a girl I had decided to be when I had put on the lacy red lingerie that morning. I felt him start to fuck me, to enjoy me, to give me what I needed. The warm, stiff length of him receded and then slammed back into my vagina so forcefully that I could feel how firmly his hands held me, ensuring that the cunt he meant to use stayed exactly where he wanted it.
His upper thighs and his hips slapped against my bottom like a reminder of my paddling. The sensation inside my womb and the yawning need for more of it, all of it, seemed to dwarf the lingering soreness from the paddle. The warmth in my backside, though, reinforced the pleasure—and at the same time the memory of how I had gotten punished for disobedience… how I had been made to take off my clothes anyway… how I had ended up with my face in the carpet and my new boss’ rigid penis in my needy vagina… it came together to make me feel faint with lust.
I kept trying to move my hips, instinctively attempting to match Mr. Alden’s hard, rapid thrusting into me. I realized distantly that in fact my body tried all the harder because he held me so firmly in place. With a hot blush I realized that I wanted to feel restrained.
I cried out as I understood, and the cry seemed to make Mr. Alden thrust even harder into me. I had never been fucked like this, of course; I hadn’t even known that a man could possess a woman this way, or maybe I hadn’t understood that she could enjoy it, as shameful as that kind of pleasure felt.
An orgasm started to build inside me, like nothing I’d ever felt. The sheer embarrassment at the new fact that had become blindingly evident—that as much as I wanted to deny it, I liked my boss pounding his manhood into me like a wild animal ravaging his prey—fueled the need with incredible urgency. I knew I would come within a few seconds if Mr. Alden just kept fucking me.
My whole body tensed, and from somewhere I found an extra surge of strength so that when I pushed back against his next thrust, I actually managed to move a few centimeters and get his cock deeper inside me, so deep that I cried out at the breathtaking sensation. The little stab of discomfort reinforced the idea that Mr. Alden meant to punish me with his rigid penis, as much as to give me pleasure.
I cried out again, trying to push up on my elbows out of sheer instinct, to change the angle at which the enormous shaft penetrated my desperate sheath. Mr. Alden clearly liked that angle just as it was, though; he pressed down on my back hard to keep me in place.
“Are you going to come, Ingrid?” he growled. “Are you going to come on your boss’ cock?”
“Oh… oh, God…” I sobbed. Suddenly I felt as if maybe I didn’t want to let the orgasm happen… as if it would simply be too mortifying to yield to him that way, with the utter helplessness of the ecstasy that seemed to rush toward me like a tidal wave.
He withdrew his manhood until only the head remained inside me, and he stopped there.
“Oh, no…” I moaned. Helpless and humiliating or not, I needed to come much, much too badly to do anything but beg. “Please… please, sir…”
“I asked you a question, you little slut. Are you going to come on my cock now?”
“Yes!” I sobbed. “Yes, sir!”
Instantly he rewarded me for answering him with such evident obedience. He pressed down on my back, gripped my hip hard, and he started to fuck me again, like a jackhammer, thrusting at full length over and over, in what felt like a blindingly fast rhythm.
I started to come at the first thrust, and then I just kept climaxing, writhing in his strong hands but held so tightly that each movement of my muscles seemed to feed tension back into the spasms of my soaking vagina around his hot, surging cock. Every clench between my legs sent more pleasure crashing into my nervous system, until I screamed with pleasure—and the knowledge that everyone in this apparently insane office must know exactly what was happening to the new secretary only made the orgasms stronger.
It seemed to go on for hours, but I could tell, somewhere in my distant sense of reason and logic, that time had lost a good deal of its meaning for me. It probably only took a minute or two; I felt my body go limp under Mr. Alden’s crouching form, spent with the terrible pleasure. From a long way away, it seemed, I felt him pull his cock out of my vagina.
“Kneel up, sweetheart,” he ordered, enforcing the command with his hands. He wound his right forearm under my chest and pulled me upright. His left hand went between my legs and held me there, possessively—as if as a reminder that from now on I belonged to him, down there.
“Wh—” I started, turning my head in confusion to try to figure out what he intended—how this degrading lesson would continue.
“You’re going to taste yourself on my cock,” he murmured into my ear, “and I’m going to come on your face.”