I’m not sure why it is, but as soon as I cum, I need to
lay back and relax. So when I slid out of Mandy’s sweet
little pussy and leaned back against the headboard of
the bed, I couldn’t help smiling about my current
situation. Mandy, typical to her status in our
relationship, immediately twisted around from where I
had been fucking her doggie-style to start cleaning my
cock.
I don’t even remember how or when that started; it just
seems as if almost from the beginning, she knew that
she was expected to clean my cock whenever I fucked
her. And, believe me, there’s nothing better in this
world than sitting back and having your softening cock
lovingly licked and sucked on; having all the fuck-
juices from us both cleaned off of you. And there’s
nothing more submissive, in my mind, than watching a
woman do exactly that.
The first day she walked into my office, reporting from
the secretarial pool, it was obvious there was
potential there. Mandy’s not your stereotypical
secretary that you normally read about in stories like
this. She’s plain. She’s not ugly, but there are no
really stand-out features, either. Her nose is too big
for her to be beautiful, and it has a bump on it. It’s
not a zit, just a bump about half way down the length
of her nose.
She wears glasses and her eyes seem too big for her
face. And ears, poor girl, that look as if you stuck a
cable up her ass, you’d get HBO. There’s no body in her
hair and it just hangs straight down, when she wears it
down, but it’s often up in a ’50s-style bun.
Over all, her face seems long and drawn and…plain.
She’s thin and, while not anorexic, really too thin.
There’s no ass and she’s almost completely flat. On a
side-note, I actually like small breasted women with a
tight little ass, but DAMN! There such a thing as too
much of a good thing. To top it all off, there’s her
personality. She has none. No laughter, no bubble, and
she speaks softly, when she does speak. She’s your
stereotypical librarian and even goes so far as to
dress like one.
So, how did we get from that first day of her walking
into my office with me thinking she may not be there at
the end of the day to now, with her lovingly running
her tongue over my nut-sac while holding one hand over
her pussy so my seeping cum didn’t drip out onto the
bed? Simple; I saw the potential that she may be a real
fire-cracker in the sack. Oh, and she’s an incredible
secretary.
Ever watch one of those movies where the boss is
reading something and wants to make notes and half-way
through asking his secretary for a pen, he realizes
she’s handing him one? Yeah. That’s really fucking
annoying, by the way. By the end of the first month,
she knew where everything in my office was located. No
matter what I asked for, she would tell me exactly
where it was or go and get it for me.
One day, when she had just retrieved a file that I
asked for (yeah, it was in my office), I jokingly said,
“Now if you could just find my keys…” She turned and
walked away without saying a word. I thought I had
pissed her off. A moment later, she returned with my
keys from who-knows-where in my office. I was amazed…
and intrigued.
“Sir, perhaps you should give them to me in the morning
when you come in and that way you wouldn’t have to find
them when you’re ready to leave.”
That was the first time anything personal had come up
between us in the month she had been working for me.
Oh, I’d tried to start conversations, but it seemed as
if I were intruding. All got were one-word answers. At
that point, I knew she was not married (divorced, I
thought but I wasn’t sure at the time) and had a soon-
to-be-teenaged daughter.
I responded with my legendary witty repartee, “OK.”
Wow, talking about your snappy come-backs. I could
charm the boss’ personal Executive Assistant (not to be
confused with ‘secretary’) out of her panties, and had
on occasion, but this woman took all my game away.
How’d that happen? Anyway, that was the start of it
all. I never thought I’d be one of those bosses whose
secretary picked up my dry-cleaning and fetched me
lunch and such, but somehow, over the course of several
more months, that’s exactly what happened. The next
thing I knew, she was making reservations for me.
It started out business-related; dinner with a client,
flight and hotel reservations when I had to attend
conferences, things like that. The next thing I knew,
she was making reservations for my dates; dinner and a
play, weekend get-a-ways with flights, a cabin and a
car. She had all my credit card information and kept me
straight on the company-related expenses as well as my
personal expenses. All this within the first six
months. It was almost scary how natural it was to rely
on her for practically everything.
Three things happened at the eight-month-mark that were
rather significant. First, Mandy’s daughter, Cynthia,
had a birthday coming up. To this day, I have no idea
how I knew, but somehow, looking through some
information, I had come across it and the date had
stuck. So, it seemed perfectly natural to me, I bought
her a present. Nothing outrageous, just a CD and
brought it to the office wrapped up one morning.
When I gave it to Mandy and told her that it was for
her daughter, she was completely dumb-founded. She
stumbled over the “you didn’t have to do that” line
several different ways until I was finally able to
reassure her that it was no big deal. She acted like no
one had ever taken an interest in her, and certainly
not her daughter.
And then, she started to open it, which brought about
the second significant act. I reached up and popped her
hand, playfully, I thought, and scolded her, telling
her that it was for Cynthia, not Mandy.
“How do you know her name?” she asked.
Now, before you go down the conspiracy-theory path, no,
I’m not telepathic/clairvoyant/have ESP. If anything,
I’m closer to the idiot-savant. Pieces of seeming
useless information sticks in my head for some unknown
reason. Don’t play Trivial Pursuit with me; it’s not
pretty.
“Well, Mandy, I’m the boss. I know everything.”
She looked up at me as if she were ready to cry, and
slowly said, “Yes, sir.”
I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t anything she had
to worry about, the artist was some popular female
vocalist at the time and there shouldn’t be anything
inappropriate, but if there was, just let me know and
I’d find something else. Talk about ‘no good deed going
unpunished’.
The third, and most drastic even came the morning Mandy
came into work, actually crying. I had just finished a
major project the day before, a week ahead of schedule,
and given Mandy my noted and files to put together into
a presentation for the VP. If all worked out, it would
mean a nice bonus and another rung on the ladder for
me. Mandy had accidentally destroyed the vast majority
of my work. Most of my notes were gone; the memory
stick with several write-ups was not working and the
sketches of several proposals was unreadable.
It was a comedy of errors, starting the previous
evening when it was raining and someone had
accidentally knocked the file out of her hands on her
way home from work and culminated with a bowl of
spaghetti falling on what was laid out to dry. I kid
you not, ‘the dog ate it’. Yeah, her dog went after the
spaghetti and two pages of notes were now somewhere in
the digestive track of a Golden Retriever.
Ready for this? No big deal. The electronic data I
already had a copy of on my computer at work; it just
needed to be prettied up. The notes and such were more
for reinforcing the ideas and information I already had
and therefore weren’t key to the project. They, like
the sketches, could be reconstructed without too much
effort. All in all, instead of being a week ahead of
schedule, I would be on-time. But no matter how much I
tried to explain that to Mandy, she seemed to be on the
verge of a complete collapse.
Finally, I’d had enough of trying to console her and my
patients wore out. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I
shook her hard enough to snap her head back and forth.
“Knock that shit off! If you want, I’ll beat you later
this afternoon, but right now, I need you to help me
start putting the packet back together.”
Ok, somewhere between grabbing hold of her, which, up
to this point I’d never even touched her, and telling
her I would beat her later, I probably crossed the line
and images of lawsuits started shooting across my mind.
Oddly enough, it seems not only was it not
inappropriate, it was exactly what she needed. She
stopped crying, gathered her composure, looked me in
the eye and said “Yes, sir.” Turning around, she walked
out of my office to her desk and for the rest of the
day she was a flurry of activity. By the end of the
day, we were probably a third of where we needed to be.
I had started my routine of preparing to leave when
Mandy walked in and stood docilely in front of my desk.
“Come for your beating?” I said jokingly, continuing to
get ready to leave for the day.
“Yes, sir.”
Huh? I’m usually pretty good on my feet, but I’ve gotta
admit, that caught me off-guard. She wasn’t joking. So
I stopped what I was doing and gave her my full,
undivided attention.
Looking down at my desk, she started in her soft voice.
“I know I should be fired for what I did, and if I had
any self-respect at all, I’d quit for having ruined
your project. But I need this job. I have to have it.
But I also know I need to be punished. So if you want
to beat me, I’m ready.”
Right. I was back to seeing those flashes of lawsuits.
Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe it was something
else… “Blackmail” is such an ugly word…
“Mandy, I was just joking. There’s no way…” She cut
me off.
“No, sir! What I did was careless and wrong and I must
be punished. I know I should at the very least be
docked pay, but I can’t afford that. I’ll work this
weekend without being on the clock, but that’s
recompense for what I’ve done. It was a childish,
inconsiderate thing for me to not take proper care of
such an important project so it’s only right that I
receive the punishment of a child. I must be beaten.”
I’m a fairly intelligent guy; you don’t have to hit me
with a baseball bat to get an idea through to me. You
don’t have to, but sometimes it helps. This wasn’t for
me; it was for her. She needed absolution.
“All right, Mandy, if you think that’s what’s
necessary. But this is neither the time, nor the place.
Go gather your things, get your car and meet me at the
gas station down on the corner. You can follow me to my
place where we can continue this conversation. I don’t
need the rest of the office hearing my belt smacking
against your ass.”
“I-I… didn’t think… I’m so stupid…”
She stood there babbling. This chick had no self-esteem
what-so-ever. She had just told me I could… should
beat her and now was apologizing to me because she
hadn’t thought about the rest of the office hearing me
beat her. My cock was so hard I thought I would pass
out from the blood-loss.
“Sir?” she said meekly, “I don’t have a car. I take the
bus into work everyday.”
Sometimes, I’m such a retard. Here she had worked for
me for nearly a year and I had no idea she didn’t even
own a car. Mr. Compassionate and Considerate, huh?
Maybe not.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You don’t own a car?” It
slipped out, ok? I didn’t mean it the way it sounded;
it just took me off-guard that she didn’t own a car. I
mean, how did I not know she didn’t own a car after
nearly a year of working together? How was she going
nearly every day to get me lunch, do my shopping, get
my laundry if she didn’t own a car? Help me out here…
She was barely whispering. “No, sir. I’m sorry. I-I…”
“Gather your things and be ready to go in five minutes.
You’ll ride home with me and I’ll put you in a taxi
when I’m done with you.”
“I’ll pay you back for the taxi…” she trailed off.
“No, you won’t” I said as a matter-of-fact. “I think
we’ve already established that you can’t afford it.” So
far, there had been no real indiscretion in all of
this. Ok, maybe the part about the beating was
bordering on it, but we really hadn’t crossed the line
of no return…yet. “If you feel obligated to pay me
back for the taxi, then you’ll do what I tell you, when
I tell you.”
“For how long?” she asked.
Ok, I was thinking this was going to be a very
enjoyable night. Truth be told, I’m kinda into the
whole bdsm thing. It’s never been the staple of my
existence, but I’ve always enjoyed it on those
occasions when I’ve found someone else that enjoyed it.
But at the same time, I wanted to leave her an out, in
case she changed her mind somewhere along the way. I
thought I would take her home, slap her ass a little
bit, fuck the shit outta her and then put her in a
taxi.
I would worry about the awkwardness of tomorrow morning
tomorrow morning. As the old saying goes, there’s only
enough blood in a man’s body to run one head at a time,
and right now, the lit’l buddy was doing all of my
thinking for me. So I answered her question by saying
“How long? Until you feel you’ve sufficiently paid me
back.”
The instant change in her was absolutely amazing. “Yes,
sir.” was all she said before turning and walking out
to her desk. All the indecisiveness and
apprehensiveness was gone and in its place was the
focused employee that she always seemed to be when she
had a purpose and knew what it was she had to do. I
realized that, socially, she was a sheep. She needed
someone to make her decisions for her and once made,
she could perform under someone else’s direction. It
was a revelation to me.
Ten minutes later, I strolled out of my office, not
completely sure what to say. Mandy stood up from her
desk and moved past me to secure my office. It never
dawned on me before, but she was always there when I
arrived in the morning with a fresh cup of coffee on my
desk as if it had just been made. And she was always
there when I left in the evening. Obviously, she was
adept at tiding up after me and securing my office; she
did it with a practiced ease. Minutes later, we were
riding the elevator to the garage with neither of us
having spoken a word.
I’d like to think it’s chivalry that causes me to open
doors for women. Feminist have said that it’s the male
contempt for women that causes it; a display of
superiority, attempting to reinforce the antiquated
notion that women are helpless without a man to perform
such simple tasks as opening a door. I think most
feminist just need to get laid. I do it as a very
simple expression of appreciation for a woman that I
respect.
Here was a woman about to get into my car to ride to my
house so I could beat her ass and probably suck my
cock, as well as most likely fuck me, and I thought the
very least I could do was open the door for her to get
it. It was obvious she was not used to such treatment.
She looked at me almost as if she half-expected me to
slam the door on her as some sort of joke as she was
trying to get in. If she hadn’t been mistreated in her
life, it was obvious no one had ever treated her well.
I suddenly felt very sorry for her, this plain-Jane
sitting in my car as we headed towards my place. And a
bit of guilt that I was about to take advantage of her
as it seemed so many others have. But just for a
moment, and then the lit’l head reminded me that this
girl probably hadn’t had a cock in her in years. It
would probably be as tight as fucking a virgin. Yep,
only enough blood in the male body to run one head at a
time…
Amazing, all this way and she never said a word. She
didn’t look around or seem remorseful or regretful.
Purposeful. That’s what it was, she had a purpose; a
focus. And she was completely acceptant in it. For
thirty minutes, through stop and go traffic, she never
said a word or looked around. Amazing. I couldn’t help
stealing glances at here. Now, I was more intrigued
than anything else. I kept thinking that at some point,
she’d put a stop to this. She’d open up the door while
we were stopped and hop out, or ask me to pull over so
she could catch a cab. And then we were pulling into my
driveway.
I have a nice house. I’ve done pretty well for myself
in the few years since college and getting my MBA.
Nothing outrageous, but not to shabby. I have a 3,000
square foot place with a fantastic kitchen (I like to
cook) and a sunken great room that I’ve turned into
something of an entertainment area; a TV big enough to
make you feel like you’re actually IN the football
game, not just watching it. The stereo can make you
hearing-impaired for several days.
There are a couple of different game-systems, depending
on who’s over and what we want to play. And my bar,
nicely stocked with all the good stuff (for display, I
usually have cheap-stuff under the counter for large
groups).
Yep, I have a kegerator. Heineken on tap. And, in case
you’re wondering, no, I’ve never been married. Does it
show? The house has four bedrooms; the master suit is
overhead, in a loft-style, then there’s a guest suit on
one end of the house and two bedrooms with a bathroom
at the other end of the house. One bedroom I turned
into an office, of sorts. Like I said, nothing
outrageous, but I do all right.
Mandy followed me into the great room, then turned and
stared at me. I’m not sure which of us was more
awkward. So I offered her a drink. Sometimes I’m such a
dork. “Hey, I know you’re here for me to whip your ass,
but would you care for a Coke first? Glass of water?
Nothing? You’re good?” Yeah, it didn’t come out like
that. It was more like “Uhhhh, would you
like…uhhhh…thirsty? I have some, ummm, I have
some…” and I couldn’t think of a single thing I had.
“I think we should go ahead and get this over with. I
need to get home to my daughter.”
Wow. Talk about getting a face full of cold water. I
didn’t get it. It was her idea. Why was she now acting
like she was doing me some sort of favor? It kinda
pissed me off a bit. Suddenly, I got the feeling as if
she were treating me like a perv that was coercing her
into something.
“Fine. Let’s get it over with then. Turn around, bend
over the back of the couch and put your hands flat on
the seat cushion.” Amazingly, she did just what I told
her. She never even hesitated and I started to think
maybe she’d done this a time or two before. Yeah, I
know, ‘glaring glimpse of the obvious’, but I was
beginning to get the feeling that, maybe not for me,
and maybe not now, but maybe this girl got into the
whole ‘beating” thing.
Maybe this wasn’t absolution, maybe she was just horny.
Yeah, all along I had been pretty sure I was gonna get
laid outta this whole thing, but now I was beginning to
think she was gonna get laid outta this, too. Know what
I mean?
So I decided to play with it a bit to see how far this
would go. Bending over the couch had caused her skirt
to ride up a bit, but not enough. Quickly reaching
down, I grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up
and over her ass, exposing a pair of white granny-
panties. Not much of a surprise there. But it did get a
reaction from her. She gasped and started to straighten
up when I put a hand on her back and held her in place.
“Now, seriously, you didn’t think this was gonna be
with your skirt in place, did you? Seriously?”
Nothing from her. Good.
“Since you’re about half gun-shy, why don’t you reach
back and pull your panties down, yourself. That way, I
can get a good appreciation of that tight little ass of
yours.” Ok, here’s the line. If she pulls down her own
panties, she knows she’s getting fucked…and she wants
it to happen, pretty much the way it’s playing out. If
she balks, I have to figure out a good cover story…
Turning her head, she looked at me over her shoulder
and I could see I’d called it right. She was making a
decision. And there was something else; a mixture of
anger and fear…and desire? She turned back, looking
straight forward as if she were hiding by looking away.
“If I can’t see you, you can’t see me, either.” And
then she slid her panties down. Not far, about half way
down her thighs, but it was enough. “Yep, she’s mine.”
I thought.
Wow, what a view. For not having much of an ass, she
had a fantastic ass. Ever see one of those women that
seemed to be made for ass-fucking? I mean, whatever
they do, it seems like their cheeks spread apart and
opens up that sweet little puck as if it’s an
invitation? “When’s the last time you were fucked?”
Naa, I didn’t think, it just came out.
She bolted straight up, whipped around about to say
something when my hand flew up and caught her flat on
the side of her face. I hadn’t really intended to do
it, it just came naturally. She had done something I
didn’t want her to do, and on top of that, she was
confronting me. If I didn’t stop that now, it was gonna
be a different kind of night than what was running
through my head (no pun intended, of course).
I have to admit, it kinda took me by as much surprise
as it seemed to take her. And now she was sitting on
the floor, holding her cheek and looking at me as if I
had just… well, as if I had just slapped her.
“Stand up, turn around and lean over the couch with
your hands flat on the cushion.” I sounded very calm.
Inside, I was still trying to figure out what I had
done. Better yet, what should I do next? But on the
outside, I was ice cool. And, as surprising as the slap
had been, she was just as surprising when she stood up,
made a show of deliberately turning around and bending
over the couch.
She made one small change to my orders, though. Before
putting her hands on the cushion, she very purposefully
pulled her skirt up and bunched it around her waist.
She was letting me know she could take anything I could
give her. Nice, a challenge; I like a good challenge.
“Let’s try this again, shall we? When’s the last time
you had a thick, hard cock sliding in and out of your
tight, wet” and then I leaned close to her ear, “cunt?
You know, hands on your hips, pile-driving in and out
of you?” Standing back up, I started undoing my belt
and pulling it out. “Getting the shit banged out of
you? A man pumping your pussy until his cock starts
throbbing and pulsing, and he fills you with his seed?”
Doubling my belt, I let the first one fall, not hard,
just a little attention-getter. “When’s the last time
you were fucked?”
Meekly, barely more than a whisper, “About a year and a
half ago, sir. Just before I started working at the
company.”
Ahh, such sweet music. Another swat, this time a little
harder but still not bad; just enough to make her jump
a little. “And who was the guy? A boyfriend? Your
husband? Or are you a slut that takes in one-night-
stands? I mean, here you are, bare-assed, panties half
way down to the floor, skirt flipped up on your back,
bent over, waiting for the next swing of my belt,
knowing I’m gonna fuck the shit outta ya. So who was
the last guy?” And this swing put a mark on her ass.
She jumped. She yipped. But her hands never left the
cushion.
She was almost sobbing. A little sniffle, like a kid
trying not to cry. “I’ve never been married, sir. He
was my boyfriend. He took me and Cynthia in and in
return, I cooked, cleaned and let him have me whenever
he wanted.”
Did you, now? Well, that was interesting. “Really? So
he took you in and in return, you let him fuck you
whenever he wanted? And did he have you suck his cock a
lot, too?” This one landed low, just off the butt,
right where it meets the thigh. And it curled around,
popping the edge of her pussy. She may have cum, right
then. I know it hurt, but at the same time, the way she
bucked and hunched, it was like she was either on the
verge of cumming, or did.
Without even realizing it, we had worked into a rhythm.
I’d ask a question, or a series of questions, and then
marked when she was supposed to respond by giving her a
swat from my belt. I still find it amazing the natural
order of things, even when you don’t try.
“Yes, sir.”
“‘Yes, sir’? That’s it? Come on, now, you’re smarter
than that. You don’t think that deserves a better
answer than that? Maybe a bit more detail?” And then I
started swinging. Each swat punctuated a statement. I
was swinging hard, too. She had to know I expected more
from her so I couldn’t let her get away with a pile of
shit like this. “You sucked his cock.” A swat. “How
often?” A swat. “Are you a cum-whore?” A swat. “I know
you drank down his seed.” A swat. “I can see you’re a
submissive little bitch.” A swat. “But tell me how much
you enjoyed it.” A swat. “Tell me how much you enjoyed
pleasing your man.”
I was getting into it, now. My cock was like a hound-
dog, straining to get out. And her ass was absolutely
beautiful, with thick, red welts popping up in a mosaic
across her ass and down the tops of her thighs. She was
openly, freely crying now, jumping and twisting with
every swat, but she’d grabbed hold of the cushion and
never let go; never got up. My belt rained down on her,
crossing back and forth on her ass. I made sure that
every so often, I popped her pussy, as well. And each
time, it was exactly what she wanted; what she needed.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tore open my
pants, dropped the belt and, just as my pants hit the
floor, I grabbed hold of her hips and shoved inside her
as I pulled her back onto me. An animalistic
grunt/growl came out of me as I rammed into her;
sheathing myself inside of her. It was absolute bliss,
but it was a bit of pain, as well, shoving myself into
her that way. At the same time, she screamed out,
probably for the same reasons, and for the first time,
let go of the cushion.
She stood up, my cock still deep within her, and fitted
herself to my body. And started convulsing as if she
were having a seizure! I swear if felt as if she were
pissing all over me. Maybe she was, but she was
cumming, too. An earth-shattering, defining-experience
kinda cum. And that’s all I needed. I started pumping
inside of her, shooting my cum as far up into her as I
could get myself. It felt like I came for fifteen
minutes. When the euphoria finally started to subside
and I was getting my breathing back under control, I
realized she had one hand wrapped up around my head,
pulling me in to her, and the other was holding my ass,
as if she were trying to keep me lodged inside of her.
All I could hear was a quiet “thank you, thank you,
thank you” over and over. At first, I thought I was
imagining it, or it was something my head was
producing, but I realized it was her. Yeah, here I was,
just beat her ass ’til she’d probably be black and blue
in the morning, fucked her for about thirty seconds and
dumped a huge load up inside of her and she was
thanking me.
“Holy fuck, that was incredible!” Yeah, that’s what I
wanted to say, but what came out was “I need to sit
down.” And it wasn’t too powerful.
“Yes, sir.” is all she said and then turned around,
popping my cock out of her pussy, took my arm and
guided me around so I could sit on the couch. She
wasn’t trite or pissed or sarcastic. She was just back
to being in the role she knew. As I sat down, she
walked off (I realized somewhere in the tussle, she’d
lost her panties) towards the kitchen. When she came
back, she handed me a glass of juice, kneeling down,
onto the floor.
I was just about to tell her she should sit on the
couch with me when she took my cock into her mouth and
started cleaning me…