Page 32 of His Naughty Secretary

“Ingrid, Joseph wants to see you in his office,” Martin announced with a knowing look from his seat by the window. My heart skipped a beat. Despite the frequency of these summons, I still hadn’t grown used to the flush of excitement—and dread—that accompanied them.

“Thank you, Martin,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. As I made my way to Joseph’s office, I could feel the eyes of the junior executives following me, their gazes filled with a mix of envy and amusement.

Joseph’s office door was ajar, and I knocked softly before entering. He looked up from his desk, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine with a possessive intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Close the door, Ingrid,” he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. I obeyed without hesitation, feeling the familiar thrill of submission wash over me.

“On your knees,” he ordered, pushing back from his desk to make room for me. My face burned with embarrassment, but I dropped to my knees, the plush carpet soft beneath me. His cock was already hard, straining against the fabric of his tailored trousers, and I reached up to free him from their confines.

“Good girl,” he murmured as I took him into my mouth, the taste of him filling my senses. I worked diligently, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock, savoring the sounds of his approval. He seized my head, as he always did, holding my mouth in place so that he could thrust to the back of my throat, raising his hips forcefully from his desk chair. When he finally came, I swallowed every drop, my body aching with need.

“Stand up,” he instructed, pulling me to my feet and bending me over his desk. He lifted my skirt to my waist to reveal the black thong he had given me the previous night, worn over the suspenders of the matching garter belt.

His hand slid between my thighs with a murmur of approval. His fingers worked their way inside the panties’ gusset and found me wet and ready. When he plunged his thumb inside my needy sheath, the soreness there from his daily use only increased the warmth.

“I’ll fuck you here this afternoon, sweetheart,” he growled. “I promise. If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you come. You may go.”

I smoothed down my dress and slipped out of his office, my legs trembling. The walk to the bathroom was a gauntlet, the junior executives’ smirks and whispers adding to my humiliation. But crazily and ambiguously, beneath it all, I had a sense of… of belonging, that I realized I had always craved. I belonged to Joseph, yes—I even belonged to the office, to the bro-ish junior executives. But I belonged with them, too; I had become part of something bigger than myself.

In the bathroom, I fixed my hair and straightened my clothes, my mind racing. Yes, despite everything, I felt strangely at home here. The mid-morning coffee breaks, the afternoon cake runs—these rituals had become a comforting routine. And though the demands of my sexual service to Joseph were intense and often left me sore, I found myself craving his touch more and more.

As I returned to my desk, Cathy caught my eye and gave me a small, understanding nod, as if to reassure me that though I might still find it mortifying, my sexual service to my powerful boss represented no more than the expectation for a Selecta secretary. It wasn’t much, really, but it helped me. I felt like we were all in this together, navigating the hot, dark, bizarro world of Selecta Corporation.

Today, like every day around three o’clock, Joseph called me into his office again. The intercom buzzed with his crisp command, “Ingrid, my office. Now.” My heart would skip a beat at the sound of his voice, that possessive, dominant tone that sent a shiver down my spine.

My mouth in the morning, if Joseph had time. My pussy in the afternoon, unless he was on the road. He had missed his afternoon fuck on only a handful of days since the first time he had used me as the climax of my ‘interview.’

I crossed the ten feet of carpet between my cubicle and my master’s office. When I arrived and closed the door behind me, Joseph looked up from his desk with the same intense, authoritative gaze I had gotten to know so well. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, and I felt an electric thrill course through my body. Afternoons were more urgent than mornings, as if my master needed to take the frustrations of the corporate day out on my pussy.

“Have you been a good girl?” he asked, standing up.

I swallowed hard, thinking about all the things those two words could mean.

“Yes, sir,” I told him. “I got the You and Selecta campaign overview done and sent to marketing.”

He smiled, and I could tell despite the evident lust in his eyes that he was genuinely impressed.

“Well done, sweetheart,” he said. “I think you’ll get to come.”

I swallowed again, my cheeks flushing. Coming under Joseph’s massive, driving cock made me scream, which I felt certain could be heard in the bullpen despite the soundproofing of the office.

He pointed to the couch.

“Sit,” he commanded. “Legs up, skirt up.”

Despite my unwavering obedience to his instruction that I wear my panties over my suspenders, when he allowed me panties, Joseph liked to fuck me with my underwear still on.

Once he had covered the distance between his desk and where I sat, humiliatingly exposing myself, he lowered his trousers and briefs, tugged the soaking gusset of my panties aside, and plunged deeply into me.

Each thrust was powerful and relentless, driving me to the edge of pleasure and pain. His hands closed around my waist, holding my vagina in place for his enjoyment. My body ached from the constant use, but the soreness only heightened my arousal, making me more needy, more desperate for his touch. I closed my eyes, whimpering at every surge of his manhood, clinging to my knees, trying to open myself even more fully.

“Look at me,” Joseph commanded. My eyes flew open as if he had touched me with the compliance wand, though I hadn’t seen it since the day I had kissed the junior executives’ cocks. I looked into my master’s piercing eyes, seeing his pleasure in me, the value he put on me that only grew with every degradation.

“This is a tight little cunt,” he growled, making me clench, making me start to come just at the sound of his voice. “I like fucking it. Who does this little cunt belong to?”

“You, sir,” I sobbed. “You.”

After work, like every evening since our dinner at Saint L’O and the defloration of my anus, Joseph’s limo awaited us. The ride to his high-rise apartment was spent in silence on my part, generally, as Joseph usually checked in with Cathy to button up the day.

---