Written by jandb2008

BDSM
24 Mar 2009


The Director runs a tight office. He gives clear instructions and expects them to be carried out. He loathes tardiness, detests impertinence and abhors disobedience. Some say he is a hard task master but they don't know him as I do.

Everyday I try to meet his stringent requirements. Still, after five years, he frequently chastises me for my failings. Only the other day he came into my office as soon as Jack Kehoe, my latest client, had left.

"My office, now," he said in a deep clipped tone and I knew he was displeased.

I followed him to the elevator. His office is secluded on the top floor. When the doors of the elevator closed he grabbed me by the waist and pulled up my skirt. Then he shoved his rock hard penis against my exposed skin so I could feel his bulge and the roughness of the fabric of his trousers.

When he started to slowly run his fingers over my naked pussy, his fingertips massaging Jack Kehoe's dripping cum into my sex lips, I felt weak with desire. My knees buckled but he just tightened his grip and hauled me back onto my feet

"Now Sally, what are we going to do with you?" he said evenly as he placed a finger under my chin and tipped my head back so I was forced to look up into his cold, stern eyes.

My belly clenched in fear. I don't understand. Why is he always angry with me after I service a client? He decides who fucks me. He vets them when they are in reception and then comes to my office with his recommendation.

"Your next client appears dispirited," he might say. "I want him to leave this office feeling good about himself. Do whatever you have to do. Don't disappoint me."

Sometimes I think he purposely picks men he thinks will be rough with me. Jack Kehoe is a builder, a bear of a man. Unemployed like so many these days. It's my job to help them find employment. The Director says it is my duty to do everything I can to keep their spirits up, until this recession is over.

Kehoe is fit and strong, with hands like shovels. They felt like sandpaper when he rubbed my clit. And his shaft was massive. I felt so stretched when he plunged it into my fuck hole from behind. He kept pumping me, to the hilt, his paws mauling my breasts, squeezing my nipples. It hurt so bad but felt so good. Even now, as I remember the feel of him fucking me and then making me ride him, up and down on his meaty rod I can't help it, I feel all liquid inside, so very wet, so desperately horny.

In his office the Director makes me view the CCTV tape. He arranged for some of the offices to be strategically fitted with cameras. I see a lot of men in the privacy of my office. I feel safe knowing the Director can monitor my visitors. He can also review my cases and that is what we are doing now.

"Look, here," he growls pointing at the TV screen. "You're enjoying him fuck you. How can you take pleasure in that poor man's misfortune? He needs release from the monotony of unemployment and you are leeching off his sexual energy. He does not come here to please you. It is your job to please him."

Of course the Director is right. I hang my head in shame. I did not know I was a sex slut until he showed me. I never realised I harboured such wanton desires until he released them from inside me. Now he tutors me, teaching me control over my salacious nature. He guides me in every aspect of my life because he knows I lack self-discipline. I am a wanton slut and I crave being fucked. Every moment of my existence is haunted by my sexual desire for cock.

The Director even chose my husband. My parents were appalled when I told them I was marrying Seamus, the Director's cousin, who has a remote farm in the next county. He is a lot older than me. The Director said Seamus would have a steadying influence on my life. But I fear my lust for sex has corrupted him.

When we were first married he was a timid, polite man. He only fucked me at night with the light off. Now, after the Director phones me in the morning, telling me what to wear, Seamus helps pick out my lingerie. Then sits on the bed and masturbates, watching me dress. It drives me wild, seeing his flaccid cock grow harder in his hand and it makes my fuck juices flow. I can't help myself, the glistening of his pre-cum on the tip of his cock is too alluring. I kneel before him and suck him off, revelling in the bitter taste of his creamy semen as it spurts down my throat.

The Director says that perhaps if I am stuffed with cock, frequently, then my lust for it might subside. It can happen. That is why he says I must encourage the clients he selects to fuck me. But it's not happening. There was a time when I was ignorant of my weakness for sex, now I feel nothing but desire to be fucked. My pussy is constantly wet. I shave it clean so that my juices flow freely between my thighs, dripping between my slit, making my ass stick to my leather seat. Even men on the street arouse me. I pass a stranger and wonder what his cock would feel like? Would it fill me up? Would it satisfy my craving?

I know what will happen next. The Director must punish me for my lack of self-discipline. It is for my own good. He makes me bend over his knee and he spanks me hard so that the stinging from his blows make my pussy clench in dire need of a rigid cock again. I can feel the bulge of his erection against my belly and wish it was inside me. But the Director has never fucked me.

When he first came to our office we had dinner a few times. I thought he fancied me. Perhaps he did, then. But when we started to get intimate and he discovered my shameful hunger for cock he said I needed help. He said he would help me and so began my training.


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