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Secretary Training

You've been reading Fifty Shades of Grey...again. I've been watching the film Secretary...again. We both like to role play. I ask you if you want to have a trial as my new secretary. You know what I mean. You know what this means. You nod. Obediently.

Go and get changed, I say.

I sit at my desk and wait. I wonder what you will wear, I wonder what I shall do to you, I wonder what you want me to do to you. I begin to get aroused at what is about to unfold. You keep me waiting. It is frustrating. Is this part of the scenario? Are you such a bad secretary that it takes you this long to prepare, or are you doing it on purpose? Provoking me, teasing me, taunting me.

After what seems an eternity you enter the room. I hear you before I see you, your heels announcing your arrival as they tap out your progress on my polished floor. You are wearing a white shirt and a short, black skirt. I recognise the skirt; it was short to begin with but somehow you have made it shorter. You are wearing a black bra which I can make out under your shirt. I presume you are wearing black panties. You are wearing black stockings and black heels, the ones that I could hear as you walked down the corridor. You have deliberately put on too much lipstick, making yourself look slutty. I love the way you look. I begin to grow hard at the sight of you.

You're late, I say.

Mmm, sorry, the traffic was bad.

I push myself away from my desk in my office chair. It rolls smoothly across the floor. I have deliberately made my desk untidy and precarious; folders bursting with too many documents, loose papers perilously stacked, pens poised to roll off the edge.

I tell you to tidy my desk. You take to your task quite well. Initially. I sit and watch you as you stand slightly too far away from the files and the papers, resulting in you having to bend and stretch. You work slowly; deliberately leaning first this way then that. Your skirt, already far too short, begins to ride up your bottom as you stretch and bend and reach across the desk. First of all I see the tops of your stockings, tightly hugging your thighs, the nylon glistening and shining and catching the light as you move. Next, as you arch further forwards, your panties come into full view, black as I suspected, stretching across your beautiful behind, the outline of your buttocks and the line between them visible through the semi-transparency of your underwear. I want to kiss you on your backside then and there.

Then, disaster.

You knock a pile of papers onto the floor. I am not amused. They were all in order and of great importance. You apologise and squat down to pick them up. You make sure that you are facing towards me as you begin the process of collecting them. As you bend forward to pick up a paper in front of you, I can see down your shirt to the tops of your breasts, to your cleavage and to your bra. As you turn to pick up a paper at your side, I am able to see between your legs, up your stockings, to the black panties concealing your pussy. You twist this way and that, accidentally on purpose making sure that I can see what I want to see, what you want me to see.

I am so turned on.

You collect the papers, straighten the bundle, and place them back on the desk. You reach and stretch once again to place them at the far corner, allowing me another teasing glimpse up your skirt as you do so. But now...calamity. In the act of stretching you accidentally knock over my pen holder; pens and pencils fall and spin, tumbling noisily to the ground, rolling across the floor.

Pick them up, I say.

You scramble on the floor for my pencils and pens. On your hands and knees, crawling, bending, stretching, reaching. I imagine you naked as I watch you. In truth, your clothing leaves little to the imagination; your arse is barely concealed by your skirt, your breasts stretch the material of your shirt. I want you so much.

You stand and go to place my pens back in their holder on the desk. I tell you to stop. I want you to put them somewhere else and clear my desk. You do as you are told. You put the pens and pencils on a nearby cupboard and remove all of the papers and folders from my desk, also putting them on the cupboard. My desk is now empty.

This job requires concentration and discipline, I tell you. All you have demonstrated is ineptitude and clumsiness. You will only learn by being punished. You can take your punishment or you can leave now.

The choice is yours.

You look at me for a moment, head slightly bowed. I want to be your secretary, you say. I need you to punish me.

I tell you to lean over the empty surface of my desk. You are not allowed to remove your hands from the desk until I give you permission. You stretch your arms so that your hands grip the sides. You hold on, lean forward and spread your feet wide as far as possible. You stretch out your back, forcing your bottom upwards towards me.

I glide up behind you in my office chair and lift what little bit of skirt needs lifting to reveal your bottom. I place a hand on your raised arse, stroking it, lovingly. I linger there for a moment, lulling you into a false sense of security. Suddenly, without warning, I grab hold of youur panties and pull them down. I pull them hard and with force. You gasp. With your legs spread wide, your panties go down as far as your knees before resistng. I leave them there. I push my fingers roughly between your legs and feel you there. I feel you squirm.

I move to the cupboard and open it. Inside is a two foot long, black, leather riding crop. I take it out and slap it against my palm, making sure you can hear the noise it makes. I touch your bottom with it, slowly circling your cheeks, and then push it between your legs. I move it backwards and forwards, rubbing its length up and down across your naked pussy lips. I flick it up against you, between your legs, once, twice, three times.

You shudder.

I ask if you are ready to take your punishment. You nod.

I pull back the crop and make a few practice strokes in air the, carving whooshing sounds as it bends back and forth. Practice over I take aim and connect hard with your backside. It makes a delicious, loud smacking noise on your skin. You gasp; a gasp of shock and a gasp of pleasure.

Strike two follows quickly. Harder this time, the noise louder, the crop quivering after it hits you. You shake and tremble slightly, letting out a soft groan. Faint, red, glowing stripes begin to appear on your cheeks.

I check that your hands are still gripping the desk as instructed, and that your feet remain as wide apart as possible. Your half lowered panties remain stretched between your knees.

A third strike. My aim is becoming more expert and I make contact in the fleshy centre of your cheeks. You let out a small cry.

I ask you if you want more. You moan a yes to me.

I pull back the riding crop and whip it through the air. You hear the thrashing noise and prepare yourself, clenching your buttocks, waiting for the impact. This time I deliberately don't make contact. Playing with you, toying and teasing you, watching you squirm in anticipation.

Strikes four and five follow in quick succession, hardly giving you time to recover your composure between each stroke. You are gasping heavily, your arse becoming redder. Deliciously red. Glowing. I can almost feel it burning.

I put my fingers between your legs and touch you. Wet, hot, throbbing. I put my fingers to my mouth and taste you; I have never tasted you this sweet before.

I take aim for the last time. I tell you this will be the last one and that I want you to relax. I don't want you to clench for this one. I pull back the crop, flick it through the air and connect with you. You shake as it strikes you for the sixth and final time, stinging, biting into your flesh, drawing a line across your beautiful buttocks. You shake and let out a loud moan.

I put down the riding crop and gaze at your bottom. Pale flesh reddened, hot, stinging sensations running through you. Six thin lines drawn across you, thin lines between pleasure and pain, perfectly drawn. I lean forward and kiss your arse cheeks, licking delicately along the stripes that I have made. Loving you.

You stand up, turn to face me, pull your panties up and straighten your clothing. There is a hot flush on your face and a glazed look in your eyes. A smile forms on your lips.

You open your mouth to speak.

Did I pass the test?You've been reading Fifty Shades of Grey...again. I've been watching the film Secretary...again. We both like to role play. I ask you if you want to have a trial as my new secretary. You know what I mean. You know what this means. You nod. Obediently.

Go and get changed, I say.

I sit at my desk and wait. I wonder what you will wear, I wonder what I shall do to you, I wonder what you want me to do to you. I begin to get aroused at what is about to unfold. You keep me waiting. It is frustrating. Is this part of the scenario? Are you such a bad secretary that it takes you this long to prepare, or are you doing it on purpose? Provoking me, teasing me, taunting me.

After what seems an eternity you enter the room. I hear you before I see you, your heels announcing your arrival as they tap out your progress on my polished floor. You are wearing a white shirt and a short, black skirt. I recognise the skirt; it was short to begin with but somehow you have made it shorter. You are wearing a black bra which I can make out under your shirt. I presume you are wearing black panties. You are wearing black stockings and black heels, the ones that I could hear as you walked down the corridor. You have deliberately put on too much lipstick, making yourself look slutty. I love the way you look. I begin to grow hard at the sight of you.

You're late, I say.

Mmm, sorry, the traffic was bad.

I push myself away from my desk in my office chair. It rolls smoothly across the floor. I have deliberately made my desk untidy and precarious; folders bursting with too many documents, loose papers perilously stacked, pens poised to roll off the edge.

I tell you to tidy my desk. You take to your task quite well. Initially. I sit and watch you as you stand slightly too far away from the files and the papers, resulting in you having to bend and stretch. You work slowly; deliberately leaning first this way then that. Your skirt, already far too short, begins to ride up your bottom as you stretch and bend and reach across the desk. First of all I see the tops of your stockings, tightly hugging your thighs, the nylon glistening and shining and catching the light as you move. Next, as you arch further forwards, your panties come into full view, black as I suspected, stretching across your beautiful behind, the outline of your buttocks and the line between them visible through the semi-transparency of your underwear. I want to kiss you on your backside then and there.

Then, disaster.

You knock a pile of papers onto the floor. I am not amused. They were all in order and of great importance. You apologise and squat down to pick them up. You make sure that you are facing towards me as you begin the process of collecting them. As you bend forward to pick up a paper in front of you, I can see down your shirt to the tops of your breasts, to your cleavage and to your bra. As you turn to pick up a paper at your side, I am able to see between your legs, up your stockings, to the black panties concealing your pussy. You twist this way and that, accidentally on purpose making sure that I can see what I want to see, what you want me to see.

I am so turned on.

You collect the papers, straighten the bundle, and place them back on the desk. You reach and stretch once again to place them at the far corner, allowing me another teasing glimpse up your skirt as you do so. But now...calamity. In the act of stretching you accidentally knock over my pen holder; pens and pencils fall and spin, tumbling noisily to the ground, rolling across the floor.

Pick them up, I say.

You scramble on the floor for my pencils and pens. On your hands and knees, crawling, bending, stretching, reaching. I imagine you naked as I watch you. In truth, your clothing leaves little to the imagination; your arse is barely concealed by your skirt, your breasts stretch the material of your shirt. I want you so much.

You stand and go to place my pens back in their holder on the desk. I tell you to stop. I want you to put them somewhere else and clear my desk. You do as you are told. You put the pens and pencils on a nearby cupboard and remove all of the papers and folders from my desk, also putting them on the cupboard. My desk is now empty.

This job requires concentration and discipline, I tell you. All you have demonstrated is ineptitude and clumsiness. You will only learn by being punished. You can take your punishment or you can leave now.

The choice is yours.

You look at me for a moment, head slightly bowed. I want to be your secretary, you say. I need you to punish me.

I tell you to lean over the empty surface of my desk. You are not allowed to remove your hands from the desk until I give you permission. You stretch your arms so that your hands grip the sides. You hold on, lean forward and spread your feet wide as far as possible. You stretch out your back, forcing your bottom upwards towards me.

I glide up behind you in my office chair and lift what little bit of skirt needs lifting to reveal your bottom. I place a hand on your raised arse, stroking it, lovingly. I linger there for a moment, lulling you into a false sense of security. Suddenly, without warning, I grab hold of youur panties and pull them down. I pull them hard and with force. You gasp. With your legs spread wide, your panties go down as far as your knees before resistng. I leave them there. I push my fingers roughly between your legs and feel you there. I feel you squirm.

I move to the cupboard and open it. Inside is a two foot long, black, leather riding crop. I take it out and slap it against my palm, making sure you can hear the noise it makes. I touch your bottom with it, slowly circling your cheeks, and then push it between your legs. I move it backwards and forwards, rubbing its length up and down across your naked pussy lips. I flick it up against you, between your legs, once, twice, three times.

You shudder.

I ask if you are ready to take your punishment. You nod.

I pull back the crop and make a few practice strokes in air the, carving whooshing sounds as it bends back and forth. Practice over I take aim and connect hard with your backside. It makes a delicious, loud smacking noise on your skin. You gasp; a gasp of shock and a gasp of pleasure.

Strike two follows quickly. Harder this time, the noise louder, the crop quivering after it hits you. You shake and tremble slightly, letting out a soft groan. Faint, red, glowing stripes begin to appear on your cheeks.

I check that your hands are still gripping the desk as instructed, and that your feet remain as wide apart as possible. Your half lowered panties remain stretched between your knees.

A third strike. My aim is becoming more expert and I make contact in the fleshy centre of your cheeks. You let out a small cry.

I ask you if you want more. You moan a yes to me.

I pull back the riding crop and whip it through the air. You hear the thrashing noise and prepare yourself, clenching your buttocks, waiting for the impact. This time I deliberately don't make contact. Playing with you, toying and teasing you, watching you squirm in anticipation.

Strikes four and five follow in quick succession, hardly giving you time to recover your composure between each stroke. You are gasping heavily, your arse becoming redder. Deliciously red. Glowing. I can almost feel it burning.

I put my fingers between your legs and touch you. Wet, hot, throbbing. I put my fingers to my mouth and taste you; I have never tasted you this sweet before.

I take aim for the last time. I tell you this will be the last one and that I want you to relax. I don't want you to clench for this one. I pull back the crop, flick it through the air and connect with you. You shake as it strikes you for the sixth and final time, stinging, biting into your flesh, drawing a line across your beautiful buttocks. You shake and let out a loud moan.

I put down the riding crop and gaze at your bottom. Pale flesh reddened, hot, stinging sensations running through you. Six thin lines drawn across you, thin lines between pleasure and pain, perfectly drawn. I lean forward and kiss your arse cheeks, licking delicately along the stripes that I have made. Loving you.

You stand up, turn to face me, pull your panties up and straighten your clothing. There is a hot flush on your face and a glazed look in your eyes. A smile forms on your lips.

You open your mouth to speak.

Did I pass the test?

secretary   training  

Feb 10, 2018 in bdsm

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