Page 15 of His Naughty Secretary

I knew it was early to fuck Ingrid’s face that way, but I simply couldn’t help myself. It felt too good, and she looked too adorable, her brow deeply creased as she gazed up into my eyes, clearly searching my face for signs of approval and pleasure.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “Good girl. I’ll come very soon. Go ahead and play with your pussy for me. Make yourself feel good.”

I was certain I could have found in her dossier, as prepared by human resources, a good deal of information on her masturbatory habits—or, my gut told me, lack thereof. The way her eyes went wider at the naughty suggestion, and the rosy hue in her cheeks got suddenly darker, told me what I needed to know, however: Ingrid Vogel might have touched herself down there once or twice in her life, but she had certainly never made herself come that way.

My cock gave a little jump at the evidence of her embarrassment, even as I held her head in place and moved my rigid manhood in and out between her lips in an easy, deeply enjoyable rhythm. I could see in her gorgeous face just how shameful it felt to yield to me, and to give me pleasure this way. The corners of her eyes seemed to show me the depth of conflict in her mind and her body.

Another little glow of warmth sprang up like a spark in my chest as I thought about how far she had come in such a short time, here in my office. I had thought I would have to use both the paddle and the wand again before she opened her mouth to receive me, but the strength of her need—or maybe, I wondered, the evident chemistry between us—had clearly overwhelmed her.

Even as I took my pleasure like a wicked nobleman in some ancient erotic tale, I considered the responsibility Ingrid’s obedience placed on me, and the way it seemed to have stirred my emotions to an unexpected degree. I never proceeded with an interview if I didn’t like the girl, but I could already tell that my feelings for Ingrid might well put me in danger of something more. Looking down into her face, watching her struggle to accommodate my surging erection, I found myself wanting to make absolutely certain she understood how deeply a good boss appreciates the services of a properly submissive secretary.

“I want you to make yourself come again,” I told her. “Put your right hand between your legs and your left hand on your ass. Touch your bottom hole. I’m going to fuck you there, too, before too long.”

She cried out around my thrusting hardness as she obeyed, a look of helpless arousal in her beautiful blue eyes. I watched her put her left hand back, saw her body shudder as she parted the adorable little cheeks with her fingers and touched the forbidden place. The sight aroused me so thoroughly that I felt my own orgasm seethe in my balls. I pulled my cock from between her lips and shifted my right hand to hold her chin as I pumped my iron-hard shaft in my left.

Ingrid closed her eyes, rubbing frantically at her little clit, sobbing into an almost instant climax just as my seed started to spurt onto her forehead, then her right cheek, then her nose. I hadn’t come so hard in a long time, and the sight of my sperm splashing onto my new secretary’s pretty face seemed to draw the pleasure out, jet after jet showing the thoroughness of my authority over her.

“Good girl,” I said, my voice hoarse with the lingering pleasure. A sudden urge to hug her—an idea very foreign to the way I’d behaved with previous secretaries—almost compelled me, but reason won out. I didn’t want Ingrid Vogel to get any dangerous ideas. I said, “You may get dressed. The washroom is down the hall. I’ll see you at nine tomorrow morning. I’d like you to try to get your pussy waxed today; I’ll inspect you tomorrow in any case. No panties until I say you can wear them again.”

Ingrid

The aesthetician where Cathy the receptionist had booked my appointment was across the street from my apartment. It looked like an ordinary storefront, and I tried to tell myself that none of the other women in the nondescript waiting area had any idea why I had come. Then I found myself blushing and worrying my lower lip between my teeth as I wondered whether I was actually the only one whose boss had commanded them to bare herself between her thighs and bottom-cheeks for him.

The wait seemed interminable, but at last a pleasant-looking dark-haired aesthetician, a little older than me, emerged from the door that led into the back of the salon.

“Ingrid?” she asked, looking straight at me. New heat surged into my face; she knew why I had come, I felt certain. I thought I could see it in her eyes. Not just that Cathy had booked me for a full Brazilian, but that the Selecta girls who got full Brazilians were the sexual playthings of their bosses.

That knowing look in the woman’s eyes faded almost immediately, replaced by an expression of sympathy that almost made me feel more mortified.

“I’m Samantha,” she told me. “You can follow me.”

I followed Samantha into the treatment room, feeling a mix of anxiety and shame swirling inside me. The room was dimly lit with soothing music playing in the background, creating an atmosphere that should have been relaxing under different circumstances. Samantha gestured for me to have a seat on the massage table, covered in faux leather and draped with a length of crisp white paper that crinkled under my jeans when I sat.

I winced and blushed at the same time as I remembered yet again that I had no panties on. Back at my apartment after the degrading, overwhelming interview I had considered disobeying Mr. Alden’s command. I told myself that I had obeyed only because the aesthetician, for all I knew, might report back to Cathy and Mr. Alden about whether I had followed his humiliating instruction.

Samantha handed me a soft robe.

“Go ahead and get undressed,” she told me.

I waited for her to leave, but instead she sat down and began to do something with the unfamiliar equipment.

“Are you…?” I said, certain that my meaning would come across.

Samantha looked up with a frown.

“Going to leave? No, Ingrid. For Selecta girls we don’t leave.”

I felt my face blush deep crimson. I had known she would see the bruises on my backside that I had observed with mingled horror and helpless arousal in the mirror at home, but the thought of having to expose them to her made my heart beat like a drum.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and turned around to face the wall. This way I would get it over with, I told myself. And I wouldn’t have to see the other woman’s face when I lowered my jeans.

I took off my t-shirt and dropped it on a nearby table. Keeping my eyes lowered, I unbuttoned my jeans. I pulled them down, feeling like I was confessing it all to Samantha—that I had behaved badly at my new job and received the just, old-fashioned reward from my boss’ paddle.

When I finally stood there exposed, I found to my distress that I couldn’t help letting my gaze steal to a mirror a little off to the side. I swallowed hard as I saw the purple bruises on my bottom cheeks and upper thighs, stark against my pale skin.

Worse, I saw Samantha looking frankly at my backside, as if assessing Mr. Alden’s handiwork.

My cheeks burning, I grabbed the robe and struggled into it. For a moment, my eyes met Samantha’s in the mirror. I saw a blush come into her cheeks, and I felt obscurely grateful for it.

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