Blackmailed Secretary: Part 1

I never thought my carefully constructed life could unravel from something as mundane as a forgotten phone. But then again, I never thought I'd be the kind of woman who would end up on her knees begging for her boss's son to cum down her throat while he filmed the whole thing for his private collection.

My name is Vivian Carrington, and for the past eight years, I've been the executive assistant to Richard Sterling, CEO of Sterling Capital Investments. At forty-two years old, I've maintained the image of the perfect professional woman—impeccably dressed, always punctual, and completely devoted to my career. What no one knew, what I had buried so deep that even I sometimes forgot, was the woman I had been before.

In my twenties, I was what polite society would call "troubled" and what my former friends would call "the biggest slut in Chicago." I fucked my way through half the city, taking on multiple men in a single night, letting strangers use my body in filthy alleyways and expensive hotel suites alike. I was insatiable, depraved, and completely unashamed. I did things that would make a porn star blush—gangbangs in underground clubs, public humiliation scenes at fetish parties, weekends spent as a willing sex slave for dominant men who treated me like the worthless whore I knew I was.

But that was a lifetime ago. When I met Richard at a charity gala, I saw my escape from that life. He was wealthy, respectable, and most importantly, completely vanilla in the bedroom. He wanted a trophy wife to complement his image, and I wanted legitimacy. I transformed myself, shedding my wild past like a snake shedding its skin. I learned which fork to use at dinner parties, how to make polite conversation with board members' wives, and how to suppress my filthy desires until they were nothing more than distant memories.

Or so I thought.

Richard had a son from his first marriage—Marcus. When I married Richard five years ago, Marcus was twenty-one and already showing signs of being trouble. He had his father's good looks—tall, dark-haired, with piercing green eyes—but none of his discipline. He drifted from one failed venture to another, living off his father's generosity while pretending to be an entrepreneur. Richard indulged him, of course, giving him an office at the company and a title that meant nothing.

I did my best to avoid Marcus. There was something about the way he looked at me—like he could see through my designer suits and expensive jewelry to the dirty girl underneath—that made me uncomfortable. I told myself it was just my imagination, that I was projecting my own guilt onto him. I was wrong.

It was a Thursday evening when everything changed. Richard was in Tokyo on business, and I had stayed late to finish some reports. I was in the private bathroom adjoining my office, talking to my best friend Sarah on speakerphone while I touched up my makeup. Sarah and I had been wild together in our youth, and she was the only person who knew about my past.

"So, are you going to tell me the truth?" Sarah asked, her voice echoing in the tiled room. "Don't lie to me, Viv. I know you still think about it."

"Think about what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant.

"Don't play dumb. I know you still fantasize about being used like the filthy cumslut you used to be. I saw your browser history last time I visited, remember? All those gangbang videos, the rough sex compilations, the 'submissive secretary dominated by boss' porn?"

My face flushed. "Sarah, please. That was a long time ago. I'm a different person now."

"Bullshit. You can put on the Chanel suits and the pearl necklaces, but I know you, Vivian Carrington. Deep down, you're still the same cock-hungry whore who let six guys run a train on her at that warehouse party in '99. You miss it. You miss being treated like a piece of fuckmeat, don't you?"

I should have hung up. I should have known better than to engage. But Sarah knew exactly which buttons to push, and the wine I'd had with dinner had lowered my inhibitions.

"Fine," I hissed, checking that the door was locked. "Yes, okay? Yes, I miss it sometimes. I miss the feeling of being completely owned, of having a man—or men—use my body however they wanted. I miss the degradation, the filthy names, the way they would spit on me and call me their worthless cumdumpster. I miss having my asshole stretched out while another cock choked me in my throat. I miss being covered in cum, smelling like sex, feeling like the dirty whore I really am deep down."

"There's my girl," Sarah laughed. "So why don't you do something about it? Richard's gone. Go find some rough trade and let them wreck your holes. You know you want to."

"I can't," I moaned, my hand unconsciously moving to press between my legs. "I have a reputation to maintain. I'm Mrs. Vivian Carrington now, not some gutter slut."

"You could be both," Sarah suggested slyly. "Plenty of married women have their dirty little secrets. You could find a dominant young stud to keep you in line, someone who would force you to be the nasty bitch you really are. Someone who would make you crawl and beg and debase yourself for his pleasure."

The idea sent a shiver through me, and I felt my panties growing damp. "God, Sarah, stop. You're making me crazy."

"Admit it. You'd love to have some arrogant young stud blackmail you into submission, make you his personal fucktoy. You'd love to be forced to service him whenever he wanted, to be his obedient little cumslut secretary. He could make you do all the filthy things Richard never would—fuck your face until you gagged, pound your ass raw, share you with his friends. You'd be his whore, Viv. His owned piece of property."

I was breathing hard now, my fingers rubbing my clit through my silk panties. "Yes," I whispered. "God, yes. I want that. I want to be owned again, to be used and abused and treated like the worthless fuckhole I am. I want a man to break me, to make me his submissive slut slave. I want to be forced to my knees and made to worship cock like the dirty cocksucker I used to be."

"That's it, baby. Tell me what else you'd do for him."

"I'd let him pimp me out to his friends," I gasped, my fingers working faster. "I'd let them all use me, one after another, filling every hole with their cum. I'd be their gangbang whore, their free use slut. I'd suck their cocks clean after they fucked my ass, lick their balls while they called me names. I'd beg for their cum, beg to be covered in it, marked as their property. I'd be a complete and total whore for him, doing anything he commanded, no matter how degrading."

I was close to orgasm now, my hips bucking against my hand. "I'd wear what he told me to wear—slutty outfits, lingerie, nothing at all. I'd crawl for him, bark like a dog, drink his piss if he wanted. I'd be his complete and utter bitch, his obedient fuckpig, his personal cum dumpster. God, Sarah, I'm going to cum just thinking about it—"

The bathroom door burst open.

I screamed, yanking my hand from my panties, my phone clattering to the floor. Marcus Sterling stood in the doorway, his phone held up in recording position, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Isn't this interesting? My stepmother, the prim and proper Mrs. Carrington, fingering her cunt and talking about what a nasty whore she wants to be. And I got it all on video."

I was frozen, my mind blank with horror. "Marcus, please—"

"Please what?" He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and locking it. "Please delete the video? Please forget what I just heard? Please don't tell Daddy that his perfect wife is actually a filthy slut who wants to be pissed on and gangbanged?"

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Marcus, you don't understand. That was just—just talk. Just fantasies. I'm not really like that."

"Aren't you?" He tapped his phone screen, and my voice filled the small room, breathy and desperate: "I'd be his complete and utter bitch, his obedient fuckpig, his personal cum dumpster..."

"Stop," I whispered.

"Why should I?" Marcus moved closer, towering over me. At twenty-six, he had filled out into a impressive man—broad shoulders, muscular arms, the kind of presence that commanded attention. "I've been watching you for years, Vivian. I knew there was something dirty underneath all that polish. The way you walk, the way you look at men when you think no one's watching. You're a predator in designer clothing. But now I know the truth—you're not a predator. You're prey. You want to be hunted. You want to be caught."

"Please, Marcus," I begged, hating how my voice shook. "I'll do anything. Just delete that video. I'll give you money, I'll—"

"I don't want your money," he interrupted, his green eyes burning into mine. "I want what you just offered up so freely. I want my own personal slut. My own obedient fucktoy secretary who'll do anything I command."

My heart hammered in my chest. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly serious." He held up his phone. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to agree to be my submissive whore, available to me whenever I want, however I want. You'll follow my commands without question, no matter how degrading. You'll service me, pleasure me, submit to me completely. In exchange, I'll keep this video to myself. I'll even delete the backup copies I already emailed to my private server."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then Daddy gets to see exactly what kind of woman he married. And so does the board of directors. And so does every gossip blog in the city. Your reputation will be destroyed. You'll be the laughingstock of Chicago, the slutty secretary who married her boss for his money while fantasizing about being a piss-drinking gangbang whore."

The blood drained from my face. He had me completely. One video, and my entire life would be ruined.

"So what's it going to be, Vivian?" Marcus asked softly, reaching out to trace a finger along my jawline. "Are you going to be my good little slut? Or are you going to be exposed as the filthy cumdumpster you really are?"

I looked up at him, at the arrogant confidence in his eyes, and felt something shift inside me. The fear was still there, but beneath it, coiling in my belly like a snake, was arousal. This was what Sarah had described—a dominant young stud forcing me to be the nasty bitch I really was. The thought should have horrified me. Instead, it made my pussy clench with need.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes what?"

"Yes... sir. I'll be your slut. Your obedient fucktoy. I'll do whatever you want."

Marcus smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who has caught his prey. "Good girl. Now let's start with something simple. Get on your knees."

My legs trembled as I lowered myself to the cold tile floor. I was eye-level with his crotch now, and I could see the substantial bulge in his tailored trousers. Marcus was hard—hard for me, for my humiliation, for the power he now held over me.

"Unzip me," he commanded.

My hands shook as I reached for his zipper. I pulled it down slowly, revealing dark boxer briefs straining to contain his erection. I could smell him now—masculine, musky, intoxicating.

"Take it out."

I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his underwear and pulled down, freeing his cock. It was magnificent—thick and long, easily nine inches, with a fat head that was already leaking precum. It was bigger than Richard's, bigger than most of the men I'd been with in my wild youth. The sight of it made my mouth water despite my fear.

"Look at that," Marcus said, grasping his shaft and slapping it against my cheek. "Look at what you do to me, you filthy whore. I've wanted to fuck your face since the first time I saw you. Now you're going to make up for all those years of teasing me with your tight skirts and your fuck-me heels."

He pressed the head of his cock against my lips. "Open up, slut. Show me what that dirty mouth can do."

I parted my lips, and he pushed inside, filling my mouth with his hot, heavy flesh. I hadn't sucked cock in years, but my body remembered. I swirled my tongue around his head, tasting his saltiness, and hollowed my cheeks to create suction.

"That's it," Marcus groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head. "Just like that, you nasty bitch. Suck my cock like the cum-hungry whore you are."

His words should have demeaned me, but instead they sent electricity through my veins. I was doing it. I was being used, degraded, treated like a piece of meat. And God help me, I loved it.