The Secretary
- 2 years ago
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A Special Secretary free porn video
I look up as the suave middle-aged man waltzes into the office, suit
immaculate and just enough stubble to appear roguish, but not unkempt.
"Rogers. Harrison Rogers," he says to me, frowning slightly. He is
surprised - they always are. Why on earth would a successful businessman
like Gerald Hammersmith have a male secretary, after all? I watch as
Rogers's eyes narrow, then he gives the usual slight shake of his head,
and then a shrug. They all go through the same thought process: is Gerald
actually gay and the womanizer reputation a fake? No, if he was then he
would have a much more attractive male secretary than the slightly
overweight and incredibly plain young man I am. In the end, they don't
care. They're here to the see the man himself after all, and at personal
invitation no less.
"Thank you Mr. Rogers," I reply with a professional smile, gesturing to a
white couch. "I will let him know you're here."
Rogers frowns again, clearly not used to being kept waiting, but after a
moment's pause he does as I ask.
Rising from behind my desk with a slight groan - I actually went to the
gym yesterday and my body is reminding me with unabridged enthusiasm how
rarely I do this- I walk over to the leatherbound doors leading to
Hammersmith's office. Producing a keycard from around my neck I slip it
into the groove and, after a quick pause, hear the door unlock. I open it
as little as possible and then slip inside to where Hammersmith sits
behind his simple wooden desk. A bed dominates the right hand side of the
room and I do my best not to look at it.
"Harrison Rogers is here sir," I say, not waiting for my boss to deign to
acknowledge me. It is an unusual working relationship, but in the last few
years I've come to appreciate its uniqueness.
"Thank you Jason," he says in his deep, soft baritone. "I think this one
will be troublesome. Do you want him?"
My heart begins to pound in my chest as I swallow and nod, "yes sir. Thank
you sir."
Hammersmith had Power. Full blown capital P level Power. I don't know how
he got it, or what his ultimate goal beyond the accumulation of power and
wealth was, but I do know that I occasionally get to enjoy the benefits.
You see, Hammersmith can reshape people any way he wants. He did it to
himself, to make himself handsome enough to automatically be received well
in any business dealings. He also used it to dominate business in some
corner of the world where he built his first fortune, in another life and
another identity. I know, I know, you don't believe me. Magic, the
supernatural, none of that exists. People don't just have Powers. That's
what I thought too, until the first time I actually saw it done. I know
better now, of course. It's how he stays atop the heap. He proposes deals
and, either through blackmail, extortion, or outright compulsion he gets
what he wants. That's why Rogers is here. His father owns a business that
Hammersmith has taken an interest in, and what's about to happen to him is
going to convince his father to change his mind.
I'm Hammersmith's secretary because I'm actually bloody good at the job,
and he hasn't changed me because, according to him, he's bored with doing
that to those who work with him on a daily basis. That doesn't mean I
don't get to see it happen, and occasionally I get to enjoy some
additional benefit beyond my rather sizeable salary.
I step back through the doorway to see Rogers no longer seated, but
standing impatiently; arms folded across his chest and expensive shoes
tapping on the carpet.
"He will see you now," I say to the man. I don't smile, I don't warn him
what's coming. There's no point. Hammersmith has his mind made up and
there's no force between heaven and earth that I've yet seen that can
alter it.
"About fucking time," he growled, pushing past me and striding into the
office.
Thinking of the bed I sigh and close the door behind him. Poor choice of
words.
I return to my desk and work on finalising some summaries of Hammersmith's
British holdings, trying to concentrate on the task at hand rather than
thinking about what would be happening behind the closed door.
About fifteen minutes later the door opens and a gorgeous brunette steps
out of his office. She has curves in all the places that he knows I like.
I look her up and down and lick my lips, thinking back to the man she'd
been, feeling my dick start to strain against my pants.
"I..." she stammers, one hand gently caressing her own thigh.
She's breathing heavy, those beautiful tits rising and falling.
"You are breathtaking," I assure her, standing up.
She seems to see me for the first time, her eyelids heavy. I can see her
nipples through the outfit Hammersmith conjured for her and can see the
stain at her crotch. She is confused and horny, as usual.
"I have tits," she says softly, a hand going higher and lightly touching
the underside of one of her breasts.
"I think you'd be more comfortable without that dress," I suggest, and she
happily begins to slip it off, purring slightly as her hands touch her
tits.
"They feel good, don't they?" I ask taking a step closer and unzipping my
fly.
"Uhhhh," is all she is able to manage, letting the top half of her dress
fall as she squeezes her breasts. She stares at them in wonder, moaning as
she can't stop fondling herself.
"How about you lose the rest of those clothes?" I ask, starting to stroke
myself.
She struggles to stop touching herself long enough to remove the rest of
her dress, but eventually manages to strip naked.
She turns to me, panting softly, her nipples hard enough to cut glass and
her pussy glistening.
"How?" she asks, putting her hands on her hips to try and stop them moving
up to her tits or down to her cleft.
"I don't know," I reply honestly.
"Are you...are you going to fuck me?" she says, half lidded eyes needy.
"No," I reply.
My soul has always been torn by what Hammersmith does, but I know there is
no authority I can report him to. So I serve, but I don't take advantage
of the women he sends me. Briefly I wonder if he knows that I don't fuck
them. She wants it, I can tell, but she's not in her right mind. But I
can't deny my own horniness, so I point at the couch.
"Sit down, and enjoy something new," I tell her.
She sits, frowning, her ardour momentarily cooling, until I give her a new
instruction.
"Pick up one of your beautiful breasts," I tell her, "and do what comes
naturally."
She needs no further encouragement and begins to greedily nuzzle, lick,
suck and bite at her own tits as I sit on the couch opposite, my hand
increasing its speed at my crotch.
"Yes," I encourage her, "don't forget about that lovely new pussy of
yours."
Her hips buck as she brings herself to a miniature orgasm from her tit
play alone, until one hand slips down to her crotch and begins to finger
fuck herself in earnest.
For what it's worth, Harrison Rogers must have been a hell of a lay for
any woman, because his fingers knew exactly what to do to bring her new
feminine self to a blinding orgasm in a matter of seconds. She screams in
both surprise and joy, before starting up round two.
By the time I blow my load she has finished her fourth major orgasm, not
counting dozens of minor ones, and she lays sweating and quivering on the
couch.
Breathlessly I rise, my own legs weak from the power of my cumming, and
step slowly over to my desk. I press the intercom to the security office
outside, trying to catch my breath and as a grating male voice comes
through the speaker.
"Done?" Arturo, our head of cleanup, asks.
"Done," I reply. "She'll need a support, and we'll need the cleaning crew
in here for the couch."
"Alright," Arturo says, and I can praticarlly hear him shrug.
I take a long lunch after that, Hammersmith expects it and he can always
reach me on my mobile if something comes up. By the time I return to the
37th floor of the art deco office tower the office is spotless again.
There's no sign of my spunk or the squishy mess the former Mr. Rogers left
on the couch. Actually, as I look at it, I wonder if it's even the same
couch.
With a shrug I sit back down at my desk and go back to the report
summaries. Those things will take me at least the rest of the day, perhaps
tomorrow too, but thankfully there are no further appointments to, ahem,
distract me.
I work diligently for the next hour, until I'm interrupted by the sound of
a woman cursing down the hall. Frowning, I half rise, before the office
door is shoved open and a man in his late thirties wearing a black striped
shirt and linen pants bursts in. He sneers at me and sighs.
"Ah, the pet," he says, his voice cold.
He has plain features, a close-cropped head of brown hair and a manicured
beard cut close to his face. I don't recognise him from any current or
previous families Hammersmith has contacted.
"You are going to sit there and let me go in," he informs me, and you know
what, fuck him. Sure, if he wants to barge into that man's office, I'm
more than happy to let him be on the receiving end of the treatment he'll
get.
I reach down and grab my keycard, lightly tossing him to him. He sneers
again before striding across the room, slipping the card into its slot,
and then stepping through the doorway.
I shrug and get back to work, hoping that whoever it was that cursed
further down the hall was okay. I'm sure Arturo is on it.
Only a few minutes later the door swings open and a skinny woman with
chestnut hair stumbles out. She's dressed in denim cutoffs and a thin blue
bikini top that does very little to cover her enormous breasts. She takes
a few hesitant steps and then pauses next to the curtains that cover
Hammersmith's art piece when he doesn't want it displayed, smiling
vacantly.
"Oh boy," I sigh, "he sure did a number on you."
She giggles and poses, rolling her hips from side to side and making her
tits sway.
I wait for some indication from my boss of what he'd like me to do with
this intruder, all the while she keeps up her little sensual dance, slowly
beginning to take off the denim to reveal the rest of the bikini.
"Sir?" I ask, pressing the second intercom.
No response. Strange.
"Sir?" I ask again.
By now she's completely removed the cutoffs and is lightly caressing the
sides of her tits, still vacantly smiling.
A moment later the door opens again and my stomach drops. It's the
stranger who walks out, scratching lightly at his chin and grinning a
shit-eating grin.
"How do you like my handiwork?" he asks, gesturing to the thin woman.
"Sometimes I like to mess with proportions. Perhaps you should stand up
and come take a closer look?"
That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Maybe it would give me a chance to get
away, and so I stand up from my desk and take a few steps towards the
woman who, I am reluctantly forced to admit, used to be my boss.
"How?" I ask, dimly aware that I am echoing the last unfortunate to leave
the office.
"You didn't honestly believe he was the only one?" the stranger asks,
sitting down at my desk and running his eyes over my work. "Then again,
perhaps you did."
He looks up and points at Hammersmith, "go down the hall and make out with
the woman at the security station until I get there."
She giggles again and clacks out of the office on the impossible heels,
thin hips and stupendous breasts swinging.
"Come here," he tells me, and once again I find that I can't really find a
reason not to do so.
I walk over and wait at the edge of my desk as he looks to the laptop
screen.
"I can see why he kept you," he says, "but I like my secretaries to be a
little more...multipurpose."
He grins up at me.
"Describe a beautiful woman. And then, become her."
I gasp with the intensity of his words and fight to keep my mouth shut,
but my lips betray me and I see an image clearly in my mind.
"She's average height, chubby, with a pretty face."
There's a prickling sensation across my skin and the desk slowly begins to
rise. "She has bowed lips, button nose and plump cheeks. She has shortish
red hair and fantastic, large tits."
I gasp as I feel my body begin to shift, my chest beginning to feel full
and aching, throbbing.
"What else?" he pushes, and I try to fight, to no avail.
"She has a soft, breathy voice..." I trail off as my tone changes to match
my description, "and her tits are incredibly sensitive." I bite back a
moan as I can suddenly feel the airconditioning on my nipples.
"She's easily aroused," pant, "and loves to have her tits played with,"
pant, "and she's bisexual."
I groan, my own seductive voice turning me on.
"I don't think we'll need this any longer today," he says, gesturing to my
laptop. "Take those lovely tits out of that red top you're wearing, and
get on your knees."
I look down and groan at the sight of the tits filling the red top that,
yes, I am wearing. Gone is my business shirt and pants. I bite my lip and
shudder and my hands lift each heavy breast free, unable to stop myself
from caressing them as I sink to the floor.
"Now," he unzips his fly and takes out his dick. It's average, but unlike
Hammersmith the stranger seems more inclined to change others than
himself. "Touch it."
I reach out and wrap a chubby hand around his cock, automatically
beginning to gently stroke it.
"Follow me," he says, going to the brown couch that replaced the white
one. I do so on my knees, moaning uncontrollably as my new tits swing and
sway beneath me.
I can feel a wetness between my legs, an opening up of something both new
and desperately hungry.
"Sit down and keep going," he instructs, and I sit back on the couch and
keep pumping at his dick, my mouth and pussy getting wetter all the time.
He leans against me and the thought of what might be coming makes me bite
my lip to stifle another groan.
"Oh, you want it bad, don't you?" he asks with a chuckle. "And just think,
you did this to yourself."
That thought, that knowledge that the heaving breasts on my chest, the
ache in my new pussy, was all because my own mind sent a mini orgasm
shuddering through me.
"Oh fuck," I gasp.
"Soon," he promises. "But first, wrap those tits around my dick. Show me
what good they are."
I am eager to comply, if for no other reason than it lets me touch them.
They desperately want to be touched. The feeling of his dick between them,
the rough material of his shirt and pants rubbing, rubbing, rubbing
against my nipples. My hands on the expanse of the flesh, oh fuck, "Yes!"
I scream, cumming again.
"Good girl," he says, placing a hand on my neck and lightly caressing, "I
think we're ready for the main event. Strip."
I practically tear the rest of my clothes off, so desperate to follow his
commands if he will do something about the fire between my legs. Without
speaking he leads me back to the desk and bends me over with only the
slightest of pressure on my back. I spread my legs, and without further
ado he rams himself home and stars burst in front of my eyes. I can barely
hear my own moans of joy and pleasure as he plunges into me again and
again, so loud is the pounding of my heart.
My tits are swinging freely under the assault and, rather than be painful,
I'm revelling in the feeling and also desperately wishing I could squeeze
them rather than brace myself on the desk against his relentless assault
on my pussy.
"You're mine," he tells me, "and you will help me find others like
Hammersmith. I will be the only one with Power. And in return, I will fuck
you daily, and give you men and women to be fucked in return."
I can only whimper and groan, losing tracks of the orgasms he's giving me.
At that point, I frankly couldn't care if he'd told me he was going to
throw me out the window. All I wanted was more.
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