Page 37 of His Naughty Secretary

“Good girl,” Joseph murmured, his gaze raking over my nearly naked form.

I felt their eyes on me, burning into my skin, consuming me with their desire and dominance.

“Remember why you’re here,” Joseph said, his voice softer now, almost a caress. “You caused embarrassment, and now you must face your own.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and arousal.

Joseph turned to the junior executives, his team. “Gentlemen, observe closely. Ingrid is about to learn a valuable lesson.”

Terror gnawed at my insides but my heart warmed with another realization of the depth of his care for me. The punishment, the humiliation—he really did mean it to help me, to mold and shape me into someone stronger, someone better.

“Remove your panties and give them to me,” Joseph’s command cut through the heavy silence with an authoritative growl that sent a new shiver down my spine. My face burned with humiliation, my fingers trembling as they hooked into the delicate lace at my hips.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, barely audible, feeling the weight of every gaze fixed on me. Slowly, agonizingly, I slid the black panties down my legs, my skin prickling with the cold air and the heat of their collective stares. Finally I stood with the cleft of my smooth pussy exposed to their lewd gazes, framed by the garter belt and its suspenders. I handed the fragile garment to Joseph, a humiliating offering in front of Kevin, Louis, and Martin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone full of authority and approval, making my heart race. He took the panties from my quivering hand and tucked them into his pocket, a possessive gleam in his icy eyes. “Now, bend over my desk.”

My reason recoiled at the thought, yet the hot, dark thrill coursed through me nevertheless, arising from and then mingling inextricably with the shame. I turned slowly, trying to steady my breath. The polished wood and leather of Joseph’s desk loomed before me like an altar of submission.

I reached it on halting steps. I bent over, stretching my hands across the cool surface, my knees instinctively pressing together in a futile attempt at modesty.

“Spread your feet,” Joseph’s voice demanded, each word a lash of control. My legs wobbled as I shuffled them wider, my body quivering with the mix of need, mortification, fear. The dark polished wood beneath my fingertips felt like ice against my heated skin.

“Perfect,” Joseph declared, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Gentlemen, why don’t you get up and come closer so that you can have a look at this pretty cunt and this tight little anus.”

My mortification soared to unimaginable heights as I heard them obey. I heard them moving toward me, felt their eyes devouring the sight of my exposed body. I sensed their gazes burning into me, with a heady mixture of lust and aggression. The air felt thick with forbidden sexuality, the room alive with the terrible promise of what lay in store for me.

“See how she trembles,” Joseph commented, his voice a dark caress. “The embarrassment fuels her arousal. Isn’t that right, Ingrid?”

“Oh, God,” I sobbed. Do I really have to admit it?

Then, “Y-yes, sir,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted like surrender on my tongue, and I suddenly hated how much they excited me as much as I loved it. Then, a moment later, I felt a surge of pride as I accepted the two emotions as part of the same deeply seated element of my very identity: simply, who I was.

“Kevin, Louis, Martin.” Joseph had taken a stand over me, I realized, his voice coming from almost directly overhead as he addressed the junior executives. His voice was honed with a cruel edge that I could hear even in the way he pronounced their names.

The Game, I realized, capitalizing it in my mind for the first time. He knows how to play the Game.

“I find this cunt and this anus extremely pleasurable on my cock. As Louis knows, her mouth is obedient as well. You’ve done very well this quarter. I’m certain you will enjoy fucking her in all her holes after her paddling.”

CHAPTER 22

Ingrid

Joseph’s words hung in the air, each syllable its own little hot stab of shame, making a mockery of any thought of dignity I might have had.

I enjoy fucking her cunt, anus, and mouth, he had said, the casual objectification leaving me breathless. My cheeks burned with shame, my eyes stinging as I looked down at the polished wood of his desk.

I felt the junior executives’ eyes boring into me. I could see the eagerness, the hunger glinting in their gazes. Kevin, Louis, and Martin… my colleagues, my fellow team members… the men with whom Joseph had decided to share me like a new golf club… like a favorite beer.

Shame washed over me, mingling with the ghost of the anger my reason told me I should feel—simmering wrath that should threaten to boil over into rage.

How dare he speak of me like that? the rational voice demanded. Like a golf club! Like a beer!

But the hotter, redder, darker place swallowed the tepid heat of anger. Crimson need twisted in a coil within me farther down and more basic, in a helpless, undeniable response to the power Joseph wielded so effortlessly.

Silence fell. For an instant I wondered what had happened, and a thrill of mingled hope and perverse disappointment rose in my chest at the thought that perhaps Joseph would call it all off. Then I understood, because I felt the pressure of the air that I hadn’t sensed for the past three weeks, but that I remembered much too well.

The first stroke of the paddle landed with a resounding crack, the sharp pain exploding across my ass. I gasped, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk. The leather inset felt cold against my flushed cheek, a stark contrast to the heat blossoming where the paddle had struck. The pain took a moment to bloom, then started radiating outward in waves that left me breathless.

---