Blackmailed Secretary: Part 2

Marcus lived in a penthouse apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, paid for by his father's generosity. It was sleek and modern, all glass and steel and expensive leather, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city lights.

But I wasn't there to admire the view.

"Strip," Marcus commanded the moment we entered. "And this time, fold your clothes neatly. You're not just some random slut off the street—you're my slut, and you'll learn to present yourself properly."

I obeyed, removing my clothes with trembling hands and folding them into a neat pile on the expensive sofa. When I was naked, I stood before him, my hands clasped behind my back, my eyes downcast.

"Better," Marcus said, circling me like a shark. "Now, let's establish some ground rules. First, when we're alone, you will address me as Sir or Master. You will speak only when spoken to, unless you're begging for my cock or thanking me for using you. You will be naked at all times unless I give you permission to dress. You will service me whenever and however I demand, no matter how degrading or painful. And you will never, under any circumstances, refuse me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"Good. Second rule: your body belongs to me now. That means you don't touch yourself without permission. You don't cum without permission. Your pleasure is mine to give or withhold as I see fit. If you're a good little slut, I might let you orgasm occasionally. If you're disobedient, you'll be denied until you're begging for relief like the desperate whore you are."

My pussy clenched at his words. The thought of being denied, of being kept on the edge while he used me for his own satisfaction, was perversely exciting.

"Third rule," Marcus continued, stopping in front of me and grasping my chin. "You will be honest with me about what you want, what you need, what terrifies you. I own you completely, Vivian. That means I want to know everything—the darkest fantasies you never told anyone, the shameful desires you hid even from yourself. Do you understand?"

I looked into his green eyes and saw something there—intelligence, cruelty, and a hunger that matched my own. "Yes, Master," I said. "I'll tell you everything."

"Good girl." He released my chin and walked to a cabinet across the room. When he returned, he was carrying a black leather collar with a silver ring in the front. "This is your collar. When you wear it, you're my property. Kneel."

I dropped to my knees, my heart pounding. Marcus fastened the collar around my neck, tight enough that I could feel it with every swallow, and attached a thin silver chain to the ring.

"Perfect," he said, giving the chain a tug that made me gasp. "Now crawl. Follow me to the bedroom."

I crawled on my hands and knees across the hardwood floor, the chain trailing from my neck, my breasts swinging with each movement. It was humiliating and degrading and exactly what I craved.

Marcus's bedroom was dominated by a massive king-sized bed with black silk sheets. But it was what was on the bed that made my breath catch—a collection of toys and restraints that spoke to serious kink. There were leather cuffs, a spreader bar, various dildos and vibrators, bottles of lube, and a paddle that looked like it could deliver serious pain.

"On the bed," Marcus ordered. "On your back, arms and legs spread."

I climbed onto the bed and positioned myself as instructed. Marcus moved quickly, fastening leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, then attaching them to the bedposts so that I was spread-eagled and completely vulnerable.

"Now," he said, picking up the paddle and slapping it against his palm, "we're going to establish your pain tolerance. You've been a very bad girl, Vivian—hiding your true nature, pretending to be something you're not. You deserve to be punished, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," I whimpered. "I've been bad. Please punish me."

The first strike landed on my inner thigh, sharp and stinging. I cried out, my body jerking against the restraints.

"Count," Marcus commanded.

"One, Master!"

Another strike, this one on my other thigh. "Two, Master!"

He worked methodically, covering my thighs, my stomach, my breasts with sharp smacks of the paddle. By the time he reached ten, my skin was pink and sensitive, every nerve ending alive with sensation. But beneath the pain was pleasure—dull, throbbing pleasure that made my hips buck and my pussy drip onto the silk sheets.

"Look at you," Marcus said, running his hand over my heated flesh. "So responsive. So desperate. You love this, don't you? You love being hurt, being used, being treated like a worthless piece of fuckmeat."

"Yes," I sobbed. "I love it. I need it. Please, Master, please use me—"

"Not yet." He set down the paddle and picked up a large, realistic dildo. "First, I want to see how much you can take. We're going to stretch that tight cunt of yours until you can take anything I want to put inside you."

He lubed up the dildo and positioned it at my entrance. I was wet, but the toy was thick—thicker than any cock I'd had in years. He pushed slowly, forcing my muscles to yield, until the head popped inside.

"Oh god," I moaned, my head falling back. "It's so big—"

"Quiet," Marcus snapped. "Take it like the slut you are."

He worked it deeper, inch by inch, until I was stuffed full of silicone cock. Then he began to fuck me with it, slow, deep strokes that made me see stars.

"Please," I begged, my hips trying to meet his thrusts. "Please, Master, let me cum—"

"No." He pulled the dildo out completely, leaving me empty and aching. "You don't cum until I say. And right now, I want to see how that ass handles being filled."

I whimpered as he lubed up a smaller plug, but I didn't protest. I wanted this—I wanted to be completely filled, completely owned. He pressed the plug against my asshole, and I forced myself to relax, to accept the invasion. It slid in slowly, the widest part stretching me open before my muscles closed around the narrow neck.

"Good girl," Marcus praised, giving the plug a twist that made me moan. "Now you're properly prepared. Three holes, all ready for my use. Which one should I fuck first?"

"Whatever you want, Master," I panted. "Please, just fuck me. I need your cock—"

"So desperate," he laughed. "I think I'll start with that whore mouth of yours. I want to see you gag on my cock while that plug stretches your ass."

He climbed onto the bed and straddled my chest, his cock—already hard again—hovering over my face. "Open wide, slut. Show me how much you love being throat-fucked."

He pushed inside, and I welcomed him, relaxing my throat to take him deep. With the plug in my ass and his cock in my throat, I was completely filled, completely possessed. I was nothing but a vessel for his pleasure, a collection of holes for him to use.

Marcus fucked my face with abandon, his hips snapping as he drove himself down my throat. I gagged and choked, tears streaming from my eyes, saliva pooling on my face, but I didn't try to stop him. I took it all, just like I'd promised, just like the obedient slut I was becoming.

When he pulled out, I was gasping, my chest heaving, my face a mess of fluids. "Please," I croaked. "Please fuck me, Master. I need your cock in my pussy—"

"Not yet." He moved down my body, his mouth finding my nipples. He bit down hard, making me scream, then soothed the pain with his tongue. He worked his way down, over my stomach, my hips, until his face was hovering over my dripping cunt.

"Please," I whispered.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with lust. "You taste like submission," he said. "Like desperation. Like a whore who knows she's exactly where she belongs."