Private Secretary

by Sindra van Yssel

  “As long as the marks are coverable with normal clothes, no. Not my face or neck, please, or my calves, or hands.”

  He smiled. That was even less restrictive than needing to avoid anything that couldn’t be covered by a swimsuit. And it reassured him that she didn’t have a husband or a significant other, at least one who objected to her playing. “This is my first time here. Where can we find a spanking bench?”

  “May I show you, Sir?”

  “Yes.”

  She got up from his lap but didn’t immediately go elsewhere. Instead she bent to straighten her clothes and put them in a small, neat pile on the table. As she bent over he had a perfect view of her ass. He reached out and caressed the curve between butt cheek and thigh. I’m going to enjoy spanking her.

  He got up when she’d finished and let her lead him downstairs. First, they entered a racquetball court full of dungeon equipment. There was a spanking bench there, but it was in use, as was every play station in the crowded room. She backed out and continued to a side room. It looked like it was intended for quiet TV watching. There was a couch, and a computer on a desk, reminders that the house was lived in and not just a bondage club. But in the middle of the room was a spanking bench made of dark wood and padded with purple leather.

  She said nothing but looked to him for his approval. She didn’t seem to like to speak. He wondered about that. “This will do nicely. I need to get my gear, but I don’t want to lose the station. Kneel next to it until I get back.”

  There were bottoms who would happily agree to a caning but would balk at a request to kneel, and Blake was curious as to how C would respond. A look of bliss came over her face. She knelt, then toed her heels off. She smiled up at him. He’d done a lot of casual play over the last few years, but it had been a long time since he’d had a submissive kneeling naked in front of him, and it pulled on his heart. She was beautiful.

  He turned away. There was no place for thoughts of taking this girl home and letting her kneel on his floor. He hadn’t even seen her face, or heard her name. Her submission was an illusion, a kind of play-acting of emotions a woman simply could not feel for a man she’d just met and hadn’t even had a real conversation with. And he shouldn’t get carried away either.

  He climbed the stairs and went out to his car to get his toys.

  “Be back in ten minutes, bro,” warned the man at the door. “After that we lock up.”

  He nodded. It wasn’t going to take him ten minutes. He got his bag and carried it back. When he’d first started exploring BDSM, he had been concerned he was something less than mentally healthy. He enjoyed inflicting pain. There had to be something wrong with that. But he really only enjoyed it when with women who wanted to receive, and once he realized that limit was firmly in place, he had come to peace with himself. I’m an ethical sadist.

  Yet with C, for some reason, he hadn’t asked if she would enjoy it. He’d asked if she objected, which wasn’t the same thing. Perhaps she was only willing. His bag in hand, he realized the idea that she would submit to something she didn’t enjoy had a deep effect on him. It aroused him. He wanted to push that line, beyond masochism into submission. And why, with someone he’d just met?

  The striptease had gotten to him. The way her voice quivered when she talked. The Yes, Sirs. The mask, too, creating anonymity but also making it easier to see her as a lovely body and less as a person. But she is a person, mask or not. He was sure he could make it worth her while, but still he felt conflicted in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

  He walked down the stairs and into the little den. There she was, just as he left her, waiting patiently. The only difference was that now her head was down, looking at the floor rather than him. When he entered he saw her glance dart over, but she continued not to raise her head.

  Next to some condoms and Chux, there was a plastic container of antiseptic wipes on the desk. He pulled them out, wiping the bench down in case the previous users hadn’t bothered. She was silent, waiting. He liked that.

  “C,” he asked when he was done, “Are you happy to take a beating for me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “May I be gagged, please?”

  He had a gag he hardly ever used in this bag. It removed her another step from him, for her not to be able to talk. Made her more of an object. But it was her request, and if it helped her, he would oblige. It fit with the mask. She wants to be treated less personally. Intimate actions without intimacy. That should suit me.

  “If you wish to be gagged, tell me about your limits now.” And don’t tell me you don’t have any.

  “Wear a condom if you want to fuck me. No anal. Don’t break the skin.”

  Fucking her hadn’t been on his agenda, but it was now. “I won’t break the skin. Anything else?”

  “Not if we’re just doing impact play and sex, Sir.”

  “Oral?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Do you object to being restrained?”

  “No, please do.”

  He handed her a metal ball. Inside the ball was another, and if dropped it would make a sharp chiming sound that would get his attention. “Your safe word. Drop it, and I’ll stop and ungag you, and find out what’s wrong. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She gripped the ball tightly.

  He wrapped the gag around her head, fixing the red rubber ball in place and then buckling the strap securely. If she had more to say, the time for it had passed. He stepped back.

  “Get on the bench.” Blake Andrews’ words filled Carrie’s ears, and she scrambled to obey. The gag tasted of rubber and stretched her lips. Saliva was beginning to build up in her mouth and she would soon be drooling. But at least now she had an excuse for not talking, and she wouldn’t have to worry that he was going to recognize her voice.

  She was looking forward to being restrained, as well. Faceless, voiceless, helpless, she would be something he could do what he wished to. And in her head she would be able to pretend he wanted to do all those things to her, his secretary, rather than to some random woman he found in a club.

  She would have had a much longer list of limits for a stranger. With Blake, she had been tempted to say he could do whatever he wished, but she knew that was foolish, and besides, it would make him lose respect for her. As far as he knew, they had just met, and she had no reason to trust him. He didn’t know that she would not have let a stranger bind her in so private a space, although she might have in the racquetball court. Nor would a stranger be allowed to fuck her. And she would have insisted on a condom for oral sex. But for Blake her guard was down, and even the sensible limits felt negotiable, yieldable. She’d been fantasizing about him for way too long.

  She mounted the bench. It had two cushions for her knees, one on each side, forcing her legs apart. It was ridged so that it pressed firmly against her clit when she stretched herself out on it. It broadened and flattened out farther forward, and her breasts squished as she let her weight settle. There was no place to put her hands. She dangled them over the edge on either side. The leather was cool against her skin. She turned her head so her cheek rested on it. Her pussy was bare and available to him, just over the edge, and her ass was skyward.

  There was a wide leather strap at the base of the bench. He wrapped it around her waist, holding her in position. She tried to lift herself but couldn’t.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of cuffs, which he wrapped around each wrist. Then he used a clip to attach them to rings at the base of the bench.

  Another pair of straps went around her thighs, and still another around her calves. He pulled each one tight. They didn’t cut off circulation, but she knew she wasn’t going to be moving anywhere. He could do what he wanted with her.

  He started with his hand, caressing and squeezing her bottom. She could feel the tugging on her labia, and his fingers drifted close to her pussy but then skipped away. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the gentleness of it. Then he slapped her on the bottom
. It wasn’t hard, but she would have cried out from the surprise of it had it not been for her gag. He had lulled her into a false sense of security.

  He spanked her more, sometimes squarely on one butt cheek, but also right in the middle, his fingers wrapping around and pressing against the lips of her pussy. She yearned for those, even though they stung. She’d waited a long time for an intimate touch from Blake, and she wanted more, even if it hurt.

  Maybe especially if it hurt. All the long hours she’d put in for him came from the same impulse. She wanted to suffer for him. And she wanted him to love her for it. In a way, perhaps he did. After all, he wanted her back.

  He bumped up against her hip. She didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but it let her know he was hard. If her suffering did that, it was all she needed to know. If she could speak, she would have told him to hit her harder, if it aroused him. But perhaps he would regard that as topping from below, and the enforced silence served her well.

  She felt a breeze near her face and heard a swish. She opened her eyes. She hadn’t intended to, but it was an instinct impossible to suppress when something neared her face. She saw a black leather flogger and knew it wasn’t a gentle toy. It could be worse. The tails were flat and broad, but they were also of leather that was shiny on one side, and that tended to mean more sting.

  If it aroused him, she welcomed it. Strapped as she was, he could do whatever he pleased.

  He pulled the flogger back and moved toward her ass again. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. If she breathed rhythmically, she could take more pain. Tensed muscles hurt more than relaxed ones did.

  The first stroke of the flogger against her ass was light, but the second stung just as much as she expected. Random lines of sting combined with the force of each blow, which pressed her hard against the bench and forced her clit to grind against it. She knew she was wet. She wondered if she was dripping. The bench would have to be cleaned thoroughly when they were done. Perhaps he would order her to do the work, the way he did when some menial task had to be done around the office. She realized she bristled when her new boss did that, but she never had with Blake.

  I have always been his submissive.

  The flogger was exchanged for a leather paddle that hurt even more, but at least the sting was spread out over her bottom. Even when he flicked it at her center, it didn’t curl around like his fingers did. She heard someone come into the room. She was used to being watched and she didn’t look to see who it was or how many of them there were.

  He set the paddle down, and his fingers entered her. He curled them, stroking her G-spot. She felt her pleasure coil inside her, eager for release.

  “Don’t come,” he said. “Not until you’ve felt the crop.”

  She bit down on the gag. She wanted to come. She was ready. His fingers were urging her on, and she wasn’t even sure she could obey if she wanted to. Part of her did want to. Part of her wondered what he would do if she disobeyed, and what punishment he would inflict on her. Would he enjoy punishing her? She thought he might, from the way he had been so hard earlier.

  She tried not to think about it, because it would be her undoing. She was going to come, in spite of his command.

  Then he pulled his fingers abruptly away, just as he had in the living room, leaving her pussy feeling suddenly empty. Grrr.

  “Good little submissive,” he said to her, and the anger inside her melted away. If his frustration pleased him, she could be frustrated a while longer. Until after the crop. Until after more pain.

  As you wish, Sir.

  She closed her eyes again.

  She felt the tap of the crop on her ass. Pain, she knew, would come in a thin line across her ass, and the tip would inflict the worst of it. She welcomed it. He could make her feel it for a week if he wanted to. Doms had done that to her before, and every time she sat at her desk at work and felt the bruises, she imagined she was feeling them for Blake―not that he had inflicted them, but at least she sat in his service.

  The first sharp blow felt like fire, just above her thighs. I can take this. It was intense enough that it took her attention away from her arousal, and only as it faded was she reminded of how wet and needy she was.

  He put a hand on her back. She breathed through her nose, as rhythmically as she could manage.

  “They will come in threes,” he said.

  She nodded to let him know she had heard.

  He swung again. Three hard lines, three jolts of pain. She couldn’t scream with the gag in, but she wanted to. Knowing that after three she would have a breather made it easier to take. There were more to come, but there would only be three. And then maybe another three. She didn’t know how many threes or have any control over that. But three was all she had to concentrate on.

  The endorphins were starting to kick in, and she felt fuzzy and high. The next set of three were harder but paradoxically didn’t bother her as much. She was aware they were painful, but it didn’t seem as important. She smiled, floating.

  She couldn’t count how many sets there were. He tickled her pussy with the end of the crop, and that brought her back. Not there. Please don’t hit me there. But she clutched the ball even tighter. She wasn’t going to let it drop, no matter what he did. She wouldn’t disappoint him. But she couldn’t relax into that either. It would hurt like hell.

  He replaced the crop with his fingers. He stroked twice, starting at her clit. Then he plunged his fingers inside. Two strokes of her G-spot and everything that had coiled inside her let loose. She couldn’t move, but her toes curled and her hands clenched. Every muscle in her body twitched, starting with her pussy and working outward. Her whole self felt electric, as wave after wave rolled through her.

  She felt like she could barely breathe when he finally pulled his fingers out. It was always harder, with a gag in. She wanted to feel him again. Maybe he would replace the gag with his cock.

  Instead, something pressed against her pussy. His cock. She couldn’t feel for sure whether it had a rubber on or not, nor could she twist to see or ask, but she presumed it did. She trusted Blake, but she indulged for a moment the fantasy that he would use her without one, knowing it was ridiculous. He wasn’t that kind of man. And she was no longer the kind of woman who welcomed those risks. Once, when she had just wanted to die, but no longer.

  He entered her with one smooth thrust, filling her to the hilt. Strapped as she was, she could only give him the smallest of movements to aid him. That was freeing in a way. He would set the pace. He would take his pleasure as he wished. His pleasure was all that mattered.

  She wouldn’t come again, unless he ordered it. She felt the pressure rising in her core with each thrust, but she was determined that it wouldn’t be about her. She bit down hard on the ball gag, willing herself to resist. His pleasure. Not mine. His. She repeated it over and over.

  “Come for me now,” he ordered, and all her resolve gave way. She came so hard her hands shook, and the ball in her hand jingled. She couldn’t still it, even though she was concerned it might make him stop. Then he joined her, his cock pulsing inside her, a grunt of pleasure coming from his lips. He held himself deep within her until the last spasms of her orgasm faded.

  For a moment he rested his weight against her. Then she felt his hand against her pussy, holding the condom on while he withdrew from her. He felt good inside, and she didn’t want him to leave, but the assurance that he’d used protection was welcome. She knew that withdrawing before he got soft was the safe, responsible thing to do. He’s Blake. I can trust him.

  Oh my god, I was just fucked by my boss.

  After tossing the condom into a wastebasket, he ran his hands over her. His touch soothed as he rubbed cool lotion over her ass, even though he pressed against the bruises and made her hurt. She lay there motionless while he unstrapped her. She was in a daze. She didn’t know what to say, so she was grateful for the gag.

  Then he removed that, as well. Uncurling her finger
s, he took the metal ball from her hand and put it away in his bag. He lifted her from the bench and carried her to the crouch, where he cradled her in his lap. Her vision cleared a little. She noticed a large wet spot on the Chux he’d laid below the bench, and blushed. Normally she only did that when she was by herself.

  “That was good, Sir,” she said, her mouth feeling dry.

  “I noticed.” He sounded as certain of his abilities in sex as he was in business. She granted that he had reason. His confidence was part of what attracted her.

  She wanted the gag back. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him. It was too dangerous. She usually refused cuddling after play because the Dom wasn’t Blake, wasn’t the man she’d been in love with. Now she wanted out because he was.

  I’ve fallen in love with him again. She knew, with a helpless certainty, that she was going to accept his job offer.

  “Will you let me serve you again, Sir?” she asked. She could feel his leg bones hard against her ass. The sting reminded her that what they had just done was real. He fucked me.

  “Yes. What’s your phone number?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him and realized she couldn’t. He already had her numbers on his phone. “I have an email address, if that’s okay?”

  “It will do for now.”

  She gave him the address she used in the scene.

  “Thank you, C.”

  “May I be excused now, Sir?”

  He gave her an odd look, and shook his head. “We need to clean up first. I want your help.”

  “I will do it for you, Sir.” She slipped off his lap and onto the floor and crawled back to the bench. I will show him how submissive I am.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Although you’re welcome to stay and cuddle.”

  She stayed on her hands and knees while she cleaned up the Chux and used the wipes to clean off the lower parts of the bench. She stood only to clean off the rest. She was aware of his eyes on her as her mind raced. How do I end this? It’s too much.