Page 5 of His Naughty Secretary

“They… they let corporations…” I felt my cheeks blaze with heat, “um… do stuff.”

Function as little governments, I think they’d said, in my civics class. Which made so much sense, because they had gotten so big they had to be able to… to make their own laws, kind of.

My breathing sped way, way up. I tried to remember what my civics teacher had said about conflicts, between real laws and the corporate laws. How the company’s laws only applied to their employees.

“I’m not a Selecta employee!” I blurted out, my voice sounding absurdly triumphant given the terrible situation.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ingrid. We hired you an hour ago. You’re under Selecta’s jurisdiction now.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t sign anything.”

“You don’t have to, sweetheart. That’s part of the corporate laws. It makes it easier for us to help people, by immediately giving them the steady work everyone needs in our difficult economic circumstances. Congratulations, Ingrid, you’re the new executive secretary for my unit. Now go back to the desk and bend over it. You have a paddling coming, before I break your tight little pussy in properly with my cock.”

I stared at him, my cheeks burning like a furnace. Bad language wasn’t a thing for me—in terms of using it, anyway. I just didn’t, and I didn’t like to hear it. I’d never known why it made me so uncomfortable. It seemed especially odd given that, as the awful Mr. Alden had apparently learned somehow, I had proven myself willing to take naughty pictures of myself in racy lingerie.

I just didn’t use swear words, though, and I didn’t like it when other people did. I never made a fuss about it—I considered myself reasonably strong-willed and very independent, but why try to get other people to stop saying the kind of obscenities that made me blush, rather than just avoiding those people?

I didn’t know why Mr. Alden suddenly talking about my private parts and his… his manhood had struck me so hard. I realized that before this last, most obscene statement he had casually mentioned—more than once—his plans to have sex with me. He had used the f-word as if it were just a regular verb. For some reason that hadn’t bothered me in the same way. Maybe my reaction had concerned itself entirely with trying to figure out what kind of joke he was trying to make, or what kind of test he intended to administer. Maybe he just hadn’t said it while standing so close to me, my back against the locked door and my hands held out in front of my chest to defend myself.

With him gazing directly into my face, though, the cornflower blue eyes in his gorgeous, masculine face narrowing a little as he gauged my response, I seemed to get the full effect of his filthy words. Break your tight little pussy in properly with my cock. My face had flooded with heat, and I let out a little sob as I realized that down between my thighs my body had decided to let me in on an extremely unwelcome secret. The reason I avoided bad language clearly lay in its potential to arouse me in ways I didn’t enjoy.

I felt my brow furrow deeply. I knew I had just tried—valiantly, I thought—to tell myself a bald-faced lie. I did enjoy it. I enjoyed it way, way too much. So much that the raging conflict between my mind and my body forced tears to spring, practically, from the corners of my eyes.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please… I don’t want…”

“Shh, sweet Ingrid,” Mr. Alden said, his voice low and soothing, the kind of voice an animal trainer uses to calm a frightened creature who’s forgotten that her real purpose is to serve him. “Shh. You don’t want it now. But you most definitely need it now. And you’re going to get it. All of it.”

“Oh, God,” I whispered, as I felt myself clench down there and my hips jerk mortifyingly. My still-smarting bottom pressed so hard into the door that it rattled in its jamb.

“Here,” he said, holding the silvery thing up a little higher, almost level with my face, and reaching it out a few inches more, so that I could see it clearly in his beautifully manicured hand. It was three or four inches long, oblong, its surface as reflective as a mirror’s. It had a button, it looked like, where Mr. Alden’s thumb rested. “This will help.”

As I blinked, and before I could react, he pressed the thing gently against the side of my neck. I heard a click and I felt a kind of tingle travel through my whole body. It made me jump, but it didn’t hurt and in fact, rather to my dismay, it felt good, almost like a massage.

Mr. Alden pulled the device away, gazing into my eyes as he replaced it in his inside breast pocket. I felt my own eyes go wide as I realized that something had changed inside me—in my mind, or in my body, I couldn’t tell at first, and then I thought that maybe the change had happened in the connection between them somehow.

I tried to marshal my thoughts to give an exact name to what the little wand thing had done, but my brain seemed to go off onto a different track from the one I wanted it to travel.

“Ingrid,” Mr. Alden said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “Go over to the desk and bend over it, just like you were before, on your elbows. I’m going to paddle you now. You may not speak unless I give you explicit permission.” He stepped back, as if to let me follow his instructions.

I had something like a nanosecond of confusion, as the rational part of my mind tried to figure out why he would just repeat himself like that, when I had made it so very clear that I had no intention of obeying him without compulsion. Then, as if they belonged to someone else, my legs started to move.

My lips parted, but no sound came out; all I could seem to do was form the beginning of a wh word. My brain wouldn’t even tell me which wh word I meant to say. Somewhere I knew that I didn’t want to be walking toward Mr. Alden’s desk, that I didn’t want to bend over and rest my weight on my elbows… and yet I did those things.

“It’s called a compliance wand,” I heard him say from behind me. “The secret is that it can’t make you do anything you don’t, deep down, really want to do.”

I blinked. I turned my head over my shoulder to see him advancing slowly toward me. My tummy flipped, and an impulse to try again to flee formed in my mind. It went nowhere.

“Eyes forward, Ingrid,” Mr. Alden said, in the same easy but frighteningly authoritative tone. “You may not look me in the eye when I am disciplining you.”

CHAPTER 4

Joseph

I hadn’t wanted to use the compliance wand on Ingrid Vogel so soon. I had no doubt that the wand would represent an important part of her training, of course. Her psychosexual profile identified her as a nearly perfect candidate both for the position as my unit’s executive secretary and for the kind of erotic discipline that the device had brought to a new state of perfection. But my dominant instincts, shaped by millions of years of human evolution before technology got involved, urged me to do my utmost with older, more natural means.

The most recent directive from corporate about the compliance wand, however, left me with no choice, really: they wanted the training of new secretaries expedited, and they considered the wand the best solution.

The secretarial program has proven immensely popular and highly effective throughout the organization, the latest memo had read. The transition from the traditional work of data entry, calendaring, and correspondence allowed by the rapid growth of automation has become an opportunity for Selecta to grow our core business to an unexpected extent, with the help of a growing secretarial pool: young women who can assist in managing executives’ increased portfolios and at the same time provide a needed boost in morale via their submissive sexuality.

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