Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, Mind Control, BDSM, Spanking, Light Bond, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation,
Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sometimes training the perfect assistant takes a village. Lots of sex, mind control, and silly situations.
Denise massaged her aching right wrist slowly, considering once again the possibility of breaking down and buying one of those ugly wrist braces. She glanced over her neat cubicle. Everything was perfectly in its place. Her desk was immaculate, orderly. She glanced down at herself. Classic white blouse with a center frill over an A-line black skirt. Nude fishnet stockings with seams, not nylons. Four inch heel pumps with an ankle strap. And to top it all off, a tiny but beautiful French silk scarf around her neck.
So few women took the time to really look their best, she thought to herself. Besides, a wrist wrap would detract from the perfect French nails and her understated pearl bracelet.
She was the perfect woman in the perfect place at the perfect time. She'd lost count of the interviews she'd gone on ... was it thirty or maybe even forty? She had gotten many offers. After all, who doesn't want to hire an extremely attractive twenty six year old personal assistant who's competent with Word, Excel and Visio and yet can take Gregg shorthand and actually make a decent cup of coffee? No, offers had not been the problem. Picking the right office had been the problem.
Yet, she knew she'd found the right place when she interviewed at Bernard, Jacobs and Miller. In the middle of her interview with Harold Antwerp, he'd pressed a buzzer on his desk, and an intercom system straight from the fifties came to life. Looking around, she'd seen the old fashioned filing cabinets, the ticking mechanical clocks, and she had just known that this was the right place. She'd known that Bernard, Jacobs, and Miller was the kind of place that valued a perfect personal assistant.
Still rubbing her wrist, she mused to herself that in picking an office with old fashioned values, she'd overlooked one thing. Old fashioned values. Just then, the intercom buzzed. She depressed one of the Bakelite keys.
"Come in my office please, Denise. And bring the new products file with you." Said a static filled male voice. She leaned forward. "Right away, Mr. Antwerp." She let the key flip back up and began to gather her notebook and fountain pen.
Old fashioned values. Like the way her boss expected her to be able to type thirty or forty pages a day and still give him at least one blowjob in the afternoon, two if he was wound up. He was a sexist pig, and she'd put herself here. She stood up and turned to face his office door. As she stood, her full breasts swayed underneath her blouse, unencumbered by a bra. Walking down the hall, her mouth frowned in a tiny pout of annoyance as she felt the air glide over her thighs and exposed pussy, free of underwear under her perfect skirt.
Across the hall sat Mary, her ex-friend. Mary was a great personal assistant as well, and they'd hit it off famously when Denise first joined the firm. Yet, when Denise had given in to Harold B. Antwerp's demands that she stop wearing a bra and panties, Mary had not only noticed, but become alarmed. No amount of explaining that Denise simply had to deal with her boss's demands appropriately would make a dent in Mary's righteous exterior.
Denise didn't glance at Mary, Mary didn't glance at Denise as Denise entered her boss's office. The event was marked only by a cough from Mary that sounded like she'd almost said "whore".
Harold B. Antwerp's office was large, deeply carpeted, impressive. The desk was huge, and on the return was an expensive plasma display that he kept up to date on the Wall Street returns. Across from the desk were three red leather upholstered oak chairs, stained a deep rich mahogany to match the desk. Bookcases lined the walls, full of his law and product library. Behind the desk, open curtains revealed a sixty-first story view of down town Los Angeles. He was a wealthy and powerful man, capable of commanding a view office in the so-called 'library tower', the tallest building in LA, the tallest on the west coast.
He sat behind his desk, barely glancing at her as he finished a phone call. He gestured to one of the chairs and snapped his fingers for the file in her hands. She strode gracefully across the deep carpet and placed it in his pudgy hand. He smiled as he traded golf stories with the person on the other end of the phone.
As she listened to his insipid lies about being a scratch golfer, she had this sudden urge to make face at him, stick out her tongue, blow a raspberry. Her calm exterior demeanour was graced with a slight tinge of a blush as she visualized being so unprofessional.
Almost as if he heard her thinking, he swivelled slightly to see her and pointed at her, as if to say "You!". Then he pointed at his desk, gesturing for her to bend over it. She sighed in frustration and disappointment.
She stood and removed her skirt, letting it drop to the floor, turning to make sure he got a good view of her from behind, and then bent over fully at the waist to pick it up. She knew he could see her shaved sex in the muted office light. She carefully arranged the papers on his desk and then bent over it, trying hard to smile enticingly.
She heard him make a sound. "Tsk." Suddenly, acutely, she was embarrassed. She'd forgotten, again. Standing back up straight, she took the file out of his outstretched hand, and then began to unbutton her blouse. Once her breasts were exposed to his gaze, her chest thrust out, she put the file back in his hand. He grinned at her, his heavy face turning a slight pink. How could she have forgotten his instruction to always show him her tits when she brought him any paperwork? She was mortified. She saw him wave his hand at her, and she leaned forward, placing her left breast into his hand.
He began to grope her breast slowly as he talked on the phone. Each time he made a minor point in his story, he pinched her nipple. Denise was annoyed with herself to discover that she was starting to get a little excited at his clumsy manipulations. She stifled a moan as he pulled on her nipple hard enough to force her to the desk's surface.
She leaned full over the desk, trapping his hand under the fullness of her breast and spread her hands out across the desk. She thought to herself that if she was going to service her boss as a part of her job, she'd do it right. She lay her face to the side on the coolness of the desk and uttered a slight moan, knowing it turned him on.
Without a pause in his conversation with his golf buddy, Harold unzipped himself, dropped his pants and stepped out of his Ferragamo loafers. Cradling the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he removed his tie and rolled up his shirt tails as he walked around the desk to where Denise was bent over. He caressed her pussy with his free right hand and noticed how moist and pleasingly musky it was. He stepped forward, his hips almost touching hers, and gently began to rub his increasingly hard cock up and down her moistness to lubricate it.
"Well Rodger, really must run, business calls. Point is, never drop the opposite shoulder during your follow through. Simply deadly to range. Deadly." He paused and nodded. "Yes, you too, give my love to Emms, yes?" A moment later her dropped the handset back into the ornate cradle and looked down at Denise.
"Wet as always, I see Denise."
"Yes, Sir. Of course I would be, around you I mean." She lied from the desk. She closed her eyes and smiled inwardly. Yet another small service in the name of being a great personal assistant.
He grinned at her, the smile turning slightly wolfish, and then slowly inched his hard cock into her. He pressed in slowly until he felt his hips fetch up against her warm and firm ass, fully engulfed in her. He moaned in spite of himself. Harold B. Antwerp held himself still, enjoying the sensation of the beautiful young woman's warm and excited pussy wrapped around him. He began to slowly move back and forth, his hot cock beginning to slide slowly in and out of her.
He watched the flush of excitement creep up her cheeks as he slowly fucked her. "God damn, you're one fine piece of ass, Denise."
"Famk mou sur" She replied, her body sliding softly back and fourth with his thrusts on the desk surface, her face down on the desktop. "I do fry mo be of murfase."
Harold chuckled. "Amazing. Worth every penny" He said quietly to himself. Leaning over her, he grabbed a brochure that was loose on his desk top, opened it, and as he thrust in and out of the willing girl, Laid it out on her back, covering her shoulders and face.
"I do, uff, enjoy your services, Denise." He grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and began to thrust into her more seriously. She could feel her cunt juice up as always, beginning to leak fluid onto his desk top. He continued. "But I often feel as if something is missing in your development as a complete personal assistant. For example, you keep insisting that I not fuck you in the ass."
"Ehm so forry, sur" She replied from the desk. She felt humiliated at his crudity, and embarrassed at the way she went along with it. There was just no explaining it sometimes. "But Ey muft draw eh rine fomephere."
"That's just my point. Things are missing. Well, now we have a solution." He tapped the brochure covering her face. "This spa. Its a finishing spa. Guaranteed to make you..." He paused and waited a second, driving his cock as deep into her as he could, waiting for the response. " ... the perfect personal assistant."
In response to his words, Denise suddenly flushed a deep, deep pink, and Harold could actually feel her cunt get so wet she dripped on his thighs. She moaned under him.
He began pounding at her, his cock slamming into her again and again, his passion rising. "Now!" He cried.
She leapt up from the desk as he stepped back, and dropped to her knees. She thrust her mouth over his cock and began to suck furiously at him as her hands both went behind her back.
His back arched, he went to tip toes, and warm jism flooded her throat and mouth as he moaned and grabbed her head.
For no reason known to her, Denise came immediately. The sound of him, the taste of his cum, the smell of his musk, the hairs in her nose, all came together in a moment of lust and she orgasmed. She could feel her belly clench and relax, almost sad that he hadn't cum in her, denying her the feel of his cock inside as she came. She resolved to do better next time.
He stepped back from her and shuddered. Then, the most humiliating thing of all. He patted her on the head. The nerve, she thought. She ignored it, leaned forward and carefully cleaned his dick with her mouth, licking up his sperm, her juices. He went back to his chair, breathing heavily.
She ran to the tiny executive bath, and came back with a warm wash cloth. She cleaned him up, got him zipped up and presentable again, tying the four-in-hand knot of his tie with expert flair, and then made herself presentable. She wiped off the desk, and the leather chair she'd sat in. She cleaned herself in the bath and then neatly closed the door.
Harold tossed her the brochure as she came back toward him across the sea of deep beige carpet. "Here, make the reservations, and I want you to go with the entire treatment, the whole package. Spare no expense. It's worth it to me for your full training." He winked at her. "After all, you've earned it, Denise."
Feeling her cunt immediately, and irrationally lube right back up again, she smiled at him. "Thank you sir, I'll get right to it. Will there be anything more?"
"You have a bit of ... cum on your lip, Denise."
She licked her lips almost involuntarily. It was revolting to her that she was this simpering thing around him, but it also seemed somehow like the right thing. "Thank you sir, you're most kind." She ran her finger over her upper lip, caught the stray drop and swallowed. It made her hot.
She fled the office.
On her way back to her desk, Denise noticed a tiny wet spot on her skirt. Just seeing it made her pink with embarrassment. All that time spent indulging in sex, she thought to herself, when she could have been typing. Then she noticed the wrinkles. It was all too much. He was too much, Mary was too much, the demands were all too much. She was tired, and suddenly she wondered if the spa he was sending her to was the right thing to be doing.
Back at her desk, Denise launched her 'Personal Assistant Organizer' software program and logged the morning's events. There were categories for everything, for grooming, for studying, for typing, organizing, filing, spreadsheets, hand-jobs, cock sucking, and even fucking. There were many categories that she didn't have any time entries in. 'Anal Sex' was one. While she knew in theory that a personal assistant might need to indulge her boss that way, it was too much. 'Lesbian Orgy' was another. Really, she frowned, who in the world thinks these things up?
Once all her time was logged, the next step was to use the meditation function of the software. She was happy to launch that application, it always gave her a break from her day, a productive break, and left her feeling ready for more. Bringing the window up, she put on her headphones, and began typing in the rhythmic, repetitive nonsense words and phrases she'd learned long ago. She found herself closing her eyes as the soothing music began ... her entire posture relaxed, her typing became slower, more rhythmic, more sensual. Near the end of a long interlude, she was caressing the keys of her keyboard slowly, lovingly. After a time, she stopped typing entirely, she just sat, listened to the music, and breathed. It was wonderful.
She returned to herself, happy and calm. It was so awesome to be a great personal assistant. She was so fulfilled.
The manilla envelope that Harold B. Antwerp had given her caught her eye. She opened it and began to study the content. A beautiful, glossy, expensive four-color brochure slid out onto her desk. It reeked of money. There was a hand written letter to Harold inside, done in excellent, calligraphic penmanship. The moment she saw it, she just knew that somewhere out there was a personal assistant with those skills, doing that kind of work for her boss. Denise began to feel a kind of sick envy. She didn't measure up. No wonder he was sending her to this place.
Following the instructions in the letter, Denise saw that there was a website for making the reservations. She brought up the secure page on her browser. When she noticed that the spa seemed to be run by the same people that made the software she was using, her personal assistant training software, Denise's last doubt evaporated like a dew in the Mohave. Suddenly she was excited, emboldened, and ready for an adventure. She logged in using the supplied name and password and began the audio-video tour of the facility.
Before too long, she found herself clicking on first this course, then on that treatment, then over here on a morning yoga program. Harold B Antwerp had written a post-it with his nearly illegible scrawling. Denise examined it carefully and was able to determine that he wanted her to take a couple of specific courses. She looked them over and added them, noticing that she was annoyed by them.
The first was titled 'How to wear make-up'. Denise was humiliated to think that her boss didn't like the way she wore her makeup, and even more angry at his sheer gall in deciding that he had the right to suggest it. She decided that she'd sit through it. She'd learned to wear makeup in junior high school, from that lovely Mrs. Richards, who always looked so professional.
Another course he wanted her to attend was 'Sexual Harassment in the workplace — Strategies'. She clicked that one immediately, and was delighted to think that Mr. Harold B. Antwerp himself must know that something was amiss in their relationship if he wanted her to attend this. Things were looking up.
A third seminar was shocking. It was named "Dealing with a reputation as the office slut". She blushed, and clicked it.
The list was long. Pretty soon, she'd booked a full three week stay. The resort was on a remote resort island in Indonesia. She had to Google for where it was. The island was so tiny that it barely had a name, just a few miles south of the equator. It sounded so exotic and mysterious, "The Ultimate Training Facility — kadoda Island". The pictures were lush. A tiny thrill of fear at going some place so remote, so exotic, ran through her. She was once again wet. Denise rubbed her thighs together in anticipation.
She completed the reservation, and seconds after she did so, her email inbox pinged. There was her confirmation, e-tickets, travel and food vouchers, suggested packing list, and more. She printed it all out, thrilled and happy. Then suddenly she stopped with a lurch of shock, she noticed that the flight left this weekend! When she used the intercom to tell Harold, he laughed and told her to take the afternoon off. She thanked him and raced from the office. She had to get to the passport office as soon as possible!