It was five to eleven, just like almost every morning, when Mr. Harlan stuck his disgusting face through the door and barked:
“Claire, I want a coffee. Now.”
Then he disappeared back into his office. The sideways looks, the quiet laughs and the muttered comments from my coworkers made my face burn, even though I should have been used to it by now.
I didn’t waste time. I stood up and made his coffee with milk exactly the way he liked it. Tray in hand, I walked toward his door. I could feel every pair of eyes locked on my ass. It’s big, and he forces me to wear a tight, ridiculously short miniskirt. My blouse is thin and semi-transparent, worn untucked, with several buttons left open so most of my tits are on display. My nipples always show through the fabric. On my feet I wear the cheapest kind of high-heeled sandals — just two thin leather straps. My hair has been cut very short since last week. Fingernails and toenails are always painted bright red and kept short. I’m not wearing any underwear. He doesn’t allow it.
I knocked twice, softly, and waited. After what felt like hours I heard:
“Come in.”
I opened the door with one hand, balancing the tray with the other.
“May I come in, Mr. Harlan?”
He was sitting behind his desk, huge belly resting on his thighs.
“Get in here. You’re getting slower every day. And fatter.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Harlan.”
“Skip the apologies and give me the damn coffee. We don’t have all day.”
I walked around the desk and dropped to my knees in front of him as he turned his chair to face me. Eyes down, I held out the tray. He took the cup. Without waiting for further instructions I set the tray aside, carefully unzipped his pants, and pulled out his soft cock.
“With your permission, Mr. Harlan.”
It smelled foul and tasted worse. The pig never washes, and God only knows where he sticks it at night. Even soft it was thick, dark, and warm. When I peeled back the foreskin there were still dried white smears around the head. Filthy.
I started working it with my tongue like it was candy. Slowly it began to thicken. Once it was half-hard I started bobbing my head. After a good twenty minutes my jaw was already aching, but he finally reached full size — which was considerable. I could only take about half of it on my own.
He finished his coffee, leaned back in the chair for a better angle, grabbed my short hair with both hands and started forcing my head all the way down. The second the head hit the back of my throat the gagging started and tears spilled down my face.
“If I have to help you again you won’t sit for a week.”
I knew the threat was real, so I began working frantically — swallowing him to the root on every stroke, sucking hard on the way up, kissing and licking the head before taking him deep again. Every time I bottomed out the retching was violent. My eyes streamed. The position, the heat in the office, the lingering taste of whatever filth had been on his cock, all of it was making me dizzy and nauseous.
Without much warning he started unloading straight down my throat. The moment I felt the first pulse I forced myself all the way down, crushing my face into his belly and pubic hair, and stayed there until he finished. I swallowed every drop.
After a while I heard him say:
“Not bad, but you still tire out too fast. Next time you’d better put in more effort or you’re going to regret it.”
I couldn’t answer properly with his cock still lodged in my throat.
“Mm’sorry, Mr. Harlan…”
“Stop gulping like a greedy cow and get back to work, you lazy slut.”
“Right away, Mr. Harlan. Always at your service. Whatever you order.”
When I stepped out of the office my face was burning. Everyone knew, or at least strongly suspected, what I had been doing for the last half hour. If anyone still had doubts, the completely ruined lipstick, the smeared mascara and my hair wrecked from his fists were proof enough.
I went to the bathroom to rinse my mouth and fix my makeup. Looking at myself in the mirror I couldn’t stop the tears.
“If only I’d been smarter and never gotten caught…”
Then the guilt hit.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. I never wanted to cheat on you. I only ever wanted you. When is this going to end?”
Because this is my punishment.
I am forced to work as the full-service secretary of my own husband as penance for cheating on him. I’ve already served six months. I have six more to go.
And the worst part of the day still hasn’t started.
Tonight, when we get home, he’ll make me clean the entire house on my knees — especially the floors — while he sits on the couch drinking the whiskey I’ll have to prepare for him. After he finishes dinner (I’ll be fasting), he’ll order me to strip naked and give me a proper strapping.
“So you’ll sleep nice and warm, sweetheart.”
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