Page 33 of His Naughty Secretary

Once inside, we nearly always dined on expensive takeout. Joseph delighted in introducing my innocent palate to new tastes. The exquisite flavors of all the different ethnic cuisines inflamed my senses, as if my master meant to ready me, tune my body for the forbidden, ambiguous pleasures he drew from my helpless body afterward.

“Strip,” he ordered once we’d finished, his voice brooking no dissent.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, my hands trembling slightly as I undressed beside the big, polished oak table, revealing the lacy lingerie he’d chosen for me that morning.

Joseph had taken me to a boutique the previous Saturday, and accompanied me to the dressing room as if that were a completely natural thing to do, so he could watch me try on the lacy things he clearly liked best. We had left with several bra-and-panty sets, a teddy, and a babydoll nightgown. He generally worked through the weekend and left me to my own devices, but that night he had made me wear three different outfits and fucked me hard in each one.

“Black suits you best, I think,” he said, his eyes raking over my body with satisfaction. He had given me white, purple, and a new red set, as well as the black, and he enjoyed evaluating the effects of the different styles and colors on the curves of my body. “On the bed. Offer your adorable little ass in those naughty panties.”

He approached as he did almost every night and stripped the delicate fabric down to my knees. He lubed my anus with practiced ease. The cool gel made me shiver, and then he was behind me, entering me slowly, claiming me completely.

“May I play with myself, sir?” I moaned, the discomfort bringing tears to my eyes as his massive shaft stretched my little bottom much too full. Joseph made me wear a butt plug on Sundays to train me to take him more submissively, but it still hurt when he used me that way.

“Not tonight,” he told me, his voice hoarse with his pleasure, his demanding rhythm in my anus continuing. “You came this afternoon… you little whore… and we have… an important meeting tomorrow… I want you… needy.”

Denying me pleasure always seemed to increase Joseph’s own pleasure—and that paradox, in turn, made me feel—yet more paradoxically, it seemed to me—aroused… proud of myself even. I cried out as his hardness invaded me, my pussy clenching, and the crazy pride in my chest got even warmer as I felt my master’s cock spurt with his seed into the tiny hole he had claimed for a prized possession.

When Joseph finally held me in his arms, exhaustion and soreness settling into my bones, I felt an odd sense of peace despite the continuing ache between my thighs. Despite the constant embarrassment, the physical toll, the emotional conflict, I had—insane though it still seemed to my rational mind—never felt so alive, so desired, so loved.

“Sleep well, Ingrid,” he whispered, his voice softening as he stroked my hair.

“Goodnight, sir,” I murmured, my eyes drifting closed. In his embrace, I found a strange comfort, a fulfillment I hadn’t known I was missing. And as sleep claimed me, I knew that despite everything, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

CHAPTER 20

Ingrid

I arrived at work feeling an electric restlessness coursing through my veins that the sleek, modern lobby only seemed to intensify with its promise of corporate power politics. The previous night’s denial had left me on edge, a molten core of frustration simmering beneath my calm exterior.

The memory of Joseph forbidding me to touch myself as he used me lingered distractingly. The sound of his commanding voice as he held me down, thrusting mercilessly into my tightest place, echoed in my mind. The remembered sound alone made me clench down there as I approached Cathy’s station, the intense sensation between my thighs bringing a deep blush to my face.

Joseph and I usually arrived together, taking the special elevator up from the executive garage where the limo dropped us off. Today he had woken before me and come to the office early to get ready for the meeting with John Grappler, the CEO of our division, so I didn’t even have his presence to steady me as I contemplated the day ahead.

“Morning, Ingrid.” Cathy greeted me with a professional smile, her fingers tapping briskly on her keyboard.

“Morning,” I replied, hearing surliness in my tone and not caring. I had the right to treat these people however I wanted, didn’t I? I was the one who had to take the punishing thrusts of Joseph Alden’s massive cock morning, noon, and night.

Cathy’s reproachful look at my failure to give her my usual bright greeting stirred a similarly scolding voice inside me. Really the office manager had always shown me kindness and sympathy.

Who gives a fuck? asked the rebellious part of me. Seriously… who gave a fuck about her so-called ‘kindness’ when it meant making sure my pussy and ass crack got waxed once a week for Joseph’s pleasure?

As I walked toward my cubicle, I felt the familiar weight of my old-fashioned paper notepad in my bag. With the super-important, but inevitably also super-boring ‘You and Selecta’ meeting this morning, I knew I would need to do some serious doodling to make it through. The escape of my pen on the ruled paper always seemed to channel my nervous energy and restless thoughts. Today, it held a special promise, maybe because I had such an obvious need for some semblance of control in the chaos of my desires.

I settled into my chair, the leather cool against the exposed skin of my shoulders and arms. The big meeting loomed ahead, but I couldn’t focus. Instead, I found myself opening my email, scrolling through the same messages over and over. My thoughts drifted back to Joseph’s piercing blue eyes, the firm grip of his hands, the way he commanded every inch of my being.

Hey, Ingrid, you got those numbers for me?

Sarah from accounting messaged me, the little pop-up in the lower-right corner of my screen breaking my reverie. Right: Grappler had asked for hard data on how much Joseph planned to spend on the rollout of ‘You and Selecta,’ and accounting needed to verify our numbers.

Yeah, just finishing up, I answered, glad that Sarah couldn’t hear the resentful tone of the words in my head. I felt like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap.

I typed furiously, the rhythm of the keys a poor substitute for the release I craved.

Communications estimates pubic response to the campaign will stay within this range. Thanks for your help, Ingrid.

I read it back, and I caught the typo, though in my current mood it barely brought a smile: public, not pubic. On another day, I might even have blushed. Not today.

On the verge of fixing it, I had the sudden urge to click Send instead. The whole team was cc’d on this mail, so we would be on the same page for the meeting. Joseph was a stickler for good editing. Cathy had even told me that my predecessor in the role of executive secretary had been paddled for typos several times.

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