Private Secretary

by Sindra van Yssel

  Knowing he was close urged her on. She resisted the temptation to take more of him inside, even though she wanted him to fuck her throat. Gagging wouldn’t be sexy, and she wanted to finish him. His scent, musky and strong, filled every breath she took. She felt his hand move to the back of her head. Her wig shifted a little, but it was stable enough. She pressed her tongue hard against the underside of his cock and pressed a little harder with the hand stroking his taint.

  That was too much for him. He swelled in her mouth and then a moment later shot warm hot cum deep into her throat. She swallowed desperately, trying to keep up, the strong salty taste of him filling her. He gushed more, and she barely stopped it from leaking out. Maybe he’d have found that sexy. She could ask, she supposed. Would he ask her to walk around like that, a blob of cum dripped onto her chest and letting everyone know what she’d been doing?

  Then again, everyone can see anyway.

  His cock stopped pulsing, but it was still hard. She licked the shaft lovingly, wanting to get every taste and not wanting it to all be over. She didn’t know what he’d do next. Maybe, sated, he’d want to go play with someone else. Maybe he’d want to cuddle. She had no idea what to expect. She relaxed her mind even as she suckled on him like a baby. She wasn’t in control, after all. Nor did she want to be.

  “Good girl,” he said to her, stroking her cheek. She wanted to look up at him, but she wasn’t sure she was permitted. Only when he nudged her chin up did she look into his eyes.

  “Did you enjoy having an audience?” he asked, glancing down through the window.

  She nodded. Having her mouth full was the perfect excuse not to talk.

  “Would you like me to mark your pretty skin again?”

  She nodded again. His cock was getting harder in her mouth. His recovery time was impressive. She enjoyed making him twitch and grow as she slid up and down on it. Closing her eyes, she imagined they were next to his desk, at work, and she wondered if she could get him to sit down to further the illusion. Maybe I’ll call in sick next week and then have C offer to come over to help him relieve some stress.

  “Then you’re going to have to stop sucking on my cock, sweet little slut.” He tapped her cheek, not a slap but still a reminder of who was in control. She pulled off. His cock, even not fully erect, was magnificent, and she parted from it reluctantly.

  He reached for her hands, and when she gave them to him, he helped her to her feet. Then he kissed her, deeply. It was unexpected, and maybe it startled him to, because he pulled back suddenly after a few seconds as if he hadn’t intended that kind of intimacy.

  “Sir,” she said, not knowing what else to say. She wanted more. But she wanted it to mean something, and as C, it never would. She was just an anonymous woman in a mask, which she’d always wanted to be. And now she wanted more. She couldn’t settle for this.

  “Little sub,” he said, his voice affectionate. But his next words were cold, distant. “We’ll be looking for a St. Andrew’s cross, and I expect there will be a wait. Put your clothes back on. Not your underwear, just your skirt and that see-through blouse. You have beautiful breasts, and I see no reason to hide them completely. Do you need to freshen up?”

  She nodded. “And may I get a drink?” She didn’t want to wash that taste of him out of her mouth, but she wondered if it was that which made him stop the kiss. She didn’t think so. The kiss had gone on more than long enough for him to taste himself on her before he pulled away. But just in case.

  “One, yes. I don’t play with drunk subs.”

  “One drink won’t make me drunk, Sir.”

  “Good. Meet me downstairs, by the racquetball court.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She bent down to pick up her clothes.

  He stood and waited while she got her clothes on. She had no illusion she was decent in the translucent shirt. Her nipples would be shrouded but clearly visible. She had to suppress a giggle that this same man had instructed her to cover up when she was wearing a lot more, earlier in the week. The amusement did not stay, however. It had seemed like such a good idea to get what she couldn’t have as Carrie, as C. Now the fact that she still couldn’t have it as herself bugged the hell out of her.

  “What’s wrong, C?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “My pain is my own,” she said and turned to go.

  He grabbed her arm. “Your pain is my pain,” he said.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  He loosened his grip without letting her go. “Case in point,” he said. “I’m going to make you scream, C. I’m going to mark you so that you’ll be reminded for a week, every time you sit down. If you’re in pain―”

  “This has nothing to do with the scene,” she lied. “Just something else. It will go away when you beat me.”

  He looked doubtfully at her.

  “Please, Sir, I have to go pee.”

  He let go. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She hurried off.

  She retrieved her purse as she stashed her undies in the closet where everyone kept things. In the bathroom, she refreshed her lipstick and straightened her wig. Everything was in place. She was excited about the idea of him spanking her or flogging her or caning her even. Whatever he had in mind. The uncertainty was part of the excitement. The fact that he’d be getting turned on by it would make it even better. And she could hope that the intense sensations would drown out the new pain she felt. It seemed like a betrayal of her daughter, in a way, that she should be seeking to mask something new, but she honestly felt that at this point the whole confusion with Blake was hurting her more than her memories. They hadn’t healed, hadn’t even really faded, but she’d learned to live with them somehow. Playing as C had brought her passion for Blake to a whole new level, and she wasn’t sure how to cope.

  Maybe I should just take off the mask and wig and go show him who I really am. That way I’d know. He’ll find out eventually. Might as well fast forward and find out how it all ends.

  She took off her mask and looked at herself in the mirror. Plain old Carrie, even with a wig.

  I can’t do it.

  She stretched the band over her head to fit the mask in place and headed back out, trying to ignore her unease. Garrett, one of Meg’s Doms, was manning the bar.

  “May I have a strawberry daiquiri please?”

  “Sure, C,” said Garrett. “How’s it going?”

  “Well, thank you, Sir.” She believed in showing respect for Dominants, even when they weren’t hers.

  Garrett ran the blender to crush the ice, and conversation ceased for a moment because of the noise. When he turned it off, he said, “That was a hot scene. Haven’t seen people use that spot as a play area before.”

  Carrie smiled. “That would be my mast—my Dom for the night’s call.” She’d almost called him her Master. That was straight from her fantasies, and it wouldn’t be fair to Blake. It implied they were in a relationship, for one thing. Which we aren’t.

  “He’s pretty new. Seems to know what he’s doing.”

  Garrett had to know he was a friend of Meg’s, so C wasn’t sure why the conversation was heading this way, although maybe he knew nothing about Blake as a Dom. “He does indeed, Sir.”

  “I’ll have a Scotch, neat,” said a gray-haired Dom who came up alongside her as Garret passed her drink across the bar. The older man had a big walking staff with a giant metal crescent at the end, and he reminded her of Gandalf from Lord of the Rings, which was probably intentional. He looked like he was spry enough to walk without the staff, and it was too big to be a toy, so it was pure affectation. “And a gin and tonic for my sub.”

  The way he said it, Carrie felt as though the point was to say, “hey, look at me, I have a sub.” Didn’t mean he was a bad guy, but it meant despite his age the man was probably new to the scene. Carrie had seen him around a couple of times. Normally, a new Dom would be worth a few flirty lines, but right now she felt taken. She knew it was silly. Blake had made
no promises, and he never would unless she opened up to him. And she couldn’t open up.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said to Garrett, and turned to go.

  The man adjusted his staff, and the crescent on top caught her wig. She felt it yank where it was pinned to her hair.

  “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.”

  She shook her head and adjusted the wig back on, then righted her mask, which had been knocked slightly askew as well. “Don’t worry about it. It was an accident.” She looked at Garrett. “Is it on straight?”

  Garrett smiled and reached out. “May I?”

  “Please.” She could go back to the bathroom, but she felt like she’d already spent a fair amount of time in there and should be getting back to Blake’s side as soon as possible.

  Garrett adjusted it. “Perfect.”

  “Thank you.” She was a little less certain it would stay, but hopefully Blake would be careful. And if it doesn’t, well, maybe my dreams will come true.

  She picked up her drink again and walked through the living room. Meg was there, with Karl. Hart had a naked Vanessa over his knee and was spanking the sexy Latina. Her café au lait skin had turned a pretty pink.

  She headed down the stairs. She was almost to the landing when something snapped. Her mask fell down the remaining steps, skittered across the ground, bounced off a wall and disappeared around the corner.

  The band must have been weakened by that guy with the staff. But it didn’t matter why, exactly. She froze. She couldn’t think of any way to hold it on. And while the stairs themselves were blocked from view of the basement by a wall, the mask was at the bottom where a number of people would be able to see her, possibly including Blake. Even if she had a way to put it back on, and maybe some clever Dominant had parachute cord and could tie it on for the evening securely, she couldn’t retrieve it without risking exposure.

  Well, a risk worth taking. She took a step down. I bet Master Hart can fix it up, and he lives here so he probably has something that will work.

  “I’ve got it, C,” said a very familiar voice.

  She saw just Blake’s head, with its mane of beautiful blond hair, as he bent down to pick the mask off the floor.

  She turned to run.

  “Wait!” he called after her.

  “Don’t follow!” she yelled, as she kept going. She didn’t know if he’d honor her request or not. He certainly didn’t have to. She put her hand in front of her face and ran to the door, banging her drink onto a table on the way. She thought she heard his footsteps, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She kept going, although she dropped her hand once she passed Chuck and Sandra outside, running all the way to her car. She knew she made a sight, but she could hardly stop to get her underwear or her overcoat. If she got arrested on the way home, well, she’d just have to deal with that, but the inside of the car would be dark and she wouldn’t be too obvious. Thank goodness he didn’t make me walk around naked.

  She got in the car and gunned for home. My license and credit card are in the secret pocket of that coat. I’ll have to email Hart and find out how I can get them back. And in the meantime, drive carefully and do not attract attention. She slowed down to the speed limit.

  Blake stood in the doorway holding the mask as the car pulled away, down the driveway. His keen memory for numbers was part of what made him good at his job. BHF 7756, he read, and knew he’d seen that number before. It took him only a few seconds to realize where.

  Carrie. It’s been you the whole time.

  He stood there staring, feeling helpless, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t fire her. He couldn’t ethically keep playing with her. Although―he wasn’t exactly an employer taking advantage of his employee anymore. She had taken advantage of him, knowing full well who he was and setting out to seduce him.

  He frowned. Meg had invited him to Iron Butterfly. Did she know who C really was? Garrett and Karl weren’t going to let him interrogate his former boss, and Meg wouldn’t crack anyway unless she wanted to. But it would be just like Meg to set him up. She always thought she knew the best way to do everything, and admittedly, she was usually right.

  I owe you, Meg Quinn. What it is I owe you, I’m not sure yet, but we’ll find out.

  He walked back into the house and watched for a while, his mind not really on what he was seeing. It hadn’t ever been merely the fact that Carrie was an employee that held him back from dating her. It was the way he liked his sex. To some people, maybe most, BDSM was abuse, and a flogging was someone getting beat up. Carrie had always struck him as a bit innocent although lately he’d started to wonder. But to think she’d be into the same kind of kinky sex that he liked had been a fantasy to jack off to, not a serious possibility. Now it was a certainty.

  She must have sent him some of the emails C sent straight from her desk, or used her phone. Did she watch him for his reaction afterward? Or…and this seemed to fit the facts…did Carrie flirt with him to make it so he was in the right frame of mind to accept C’s offers? And C telling him he should act out his fantasies about Carrie with her took on a whole new light.

  Why didn’t you just tell me?

  In any case, he now knew, and she didn’t know he knew. The next move was clearly his. He was in charge, just the way he liked it.

  Chapter Six

  As soon as she got home, Carrie sent Blake an email. She apologized for running, but explained that she didn’t want him to see her scars. It was even true, in a way, although the scars were on the inside rather than on her face. She stayed up for a while after that, hunting the internet for a new mask and hoping that by the time she finished Blake would respond. But it was considered rude to take out a cell phone at a play party because no one wanted their picture taken, and most likely Blake wouldn’t check until he got home. By the time two hours passed it was clear Blake had not gone straight home after she left.

  He probably found someone else to play with. Carrie was usually pretty confident in her abilities as a submissive. She had a very high pain threshold and she felt her oral skills were second to none. But now all she could imagine was that Blake had found someone prettier, or better in bed.

  She went to her own lonely bed. Usually, if she went to a club or a play party and left unsatisfied, she at least had erotic images to play in her head while she masturbated, and she drifted off into a nice peaceful sleep. The images in her head were erotic enough, but they troubled her, and she couldn’t manage to focus on them enough to enjoy touching. She closed her eyes and willed sleep to come, and eventually it did, but her night was disturbed by dreams of her daughter screaming and of her ex-husband mocking her for the situation she found herself in. Why would anyone want you? he said.

  Of course, that’s because he’s an asshole, she reminded herself.

  She checked C’s email in the morning as soon as she woke up. Still nothing from Blake. Maybe he not only found a play partner, he took her home and to his bed. She decided to go to the gym and get some exercise. Like a good scene, exercise could leave her exhausted and full of endorphins. And then I can go home and collapse.

  By the evening, there was still nothing from Blake. She checked all her accounts, just in case he’d spotted her and sent something to her as Carrie. Not a peep. She debated calling him up, but as who? And if she called as C, and he recognized her voice as Carrie, or even the other way around…no. A voice without the mask was way too risky.

  Sunday she caught a double feature and went shopping. She knew that keeping busy was the best way to settle her nerves. Blake was upset with her, and she understood that. On Monday she would be back to the office and everything would be back to normal. If he didn’t respond to C eventually, maybe she’d have to tell him the truth and risk being banished from his presence forever. But hopefully, he’d give in.

  Especially if she wore the top she’d found. It fit her perfectly, emphasizing the curve of her breasts, showing a little cleavage, and yet minimizing her waist, it was half camisole and
half bustier. Worn under a suit jacket, with a short skirt, it would still be decent for office wear, but it was very sexy. She’d send him a little message at lunchtime as C offering to let him punish her for running away, and hopefully he’d be more receptive by then.

  She was at her desk on Monday morning when he arrived, but he barely glanced at her. “Good Morning, Carrie,” he said, but he was past her by the time she said good morning back.

  She wasn’t sure if he’d even noticed her outfit. He came out a few minutes later with a stack of work to do on the Longdale account. Apparently the old man had requested some follow-up, and while the continued work was good for Blake’s company, it was going to keep them involved all morning in order to have the report out by noon, so Carrie would have to shelve her plans to drive Blake crazy until after the task was done. He would not be in a receptive mood, she suspected, if she was distracting him from really important work with a deadline.

  Finally, at eleven-fifty, it was all done.

  Blake appeared in the doorway. “Would you mind coming in my office, Miss Keller?”

  She wasn’t sure what it meant that he was talking to her so formally, but it didn’t sound good. Neither did Blake wait for an answer before returning to his desk, so he was seated behind it by the time she entered.

  “Close the door behind you. We need to talk,” he said.

  She nodded and went to pull up the yellow leather chair that was nearby, which clients usually sat in.

  “No, Miss Keller, please stand.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. How odd. He usually offered her a chair, if she was going to be there for any time. Sometimes even pulled one up for her.