The Perfect Personal Assistant
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2008 by A Acer Custos

Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Sometimes training the perfect assistant takes a village. Lots of sex, mind control, and silly situations.

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  

Very early Saturday morning, the taxi dropped her off at the international departures terminal. She worked her way past security easily, having only one suitcase. Denise had packed according to the instructions in her itinerary. No panties, no bras, no slips, no socks. Bikinis, swimsuits, personal hygiene items, a business suit, a couple of shorts and small blouses, and that was it, really. She felt terribly under-packed.

Denise arrived at the chartered flight departure area in the Tom Bradley terminal. This early on a Saturday morning, it was not too crowded. She made her way to the gate. The placard read "MCS Air — Charter — Kadoda Indonesia". Denise looked around. There were perhaps fifty to sixty people waiting in the lounge. There were clearly other personal assistants present, waiting like she was. There were also a scattered few executive types present. Denise wondered what they were doing here. Everyone was busy with their laptops and work. Noticing that, she got her own laptop out and got busy. The time flew by.

When they called her seat, she boarded in business class. The jet was large and comfortable. The décor was in festive colors, and the stewards and stewardesses were dressed in resort style sarongs and all looked very attractive. Denise noted to herself that everything just reeked of money. As she walked to her seat, she passed first class. The seats were huge, leather upholstered, and looked more like a recliner than a jet seat. They had TV sets in each seat, laptop computers, and were those DVD players? She smiled to herself as she walked past.

Entering her section, a beautiful olive skinned man, so effeminate that she could not think of him as handsome, dressed in the sarong of the flight crew, handed her a welcome package. It was a 9" by 12" red lacquer box tied with a ridiculously pretty silk scarf.

Finding her seat, she was thrilled to think that the nineteen hour flight would be made in an extra wide seat, with extra leg room. Her seat would have been first class on another airline. She settled in, buckled up, and opened the welcome package. Inside was a welcome brochure, a vacation itinerary, a very large box of condoms, and a new set of business cards. She opened the box of cards. They were amazingly elegant, on vellum, engraved, and had her picture right there in the corner in full color. She flushed with pleasure and excitement.

In fact, she was so excited that she leapt back to her feet, and in the middle of other people settling themselves in, Denise pushed back and forth, handing her new cards out, and introducing herself. She smiled at people, said "Good morning, my name is Denise, so pleased to meet you! Here's my card!" She shook their hands. Then she moved to the next person.

Behind her, a voice stopped her. "Oh, Denise honey!" A woman called. Denise turned in the aisle. The woman was tall, thin, beautiful. She wore brick red lipstick, brick red polish over long, pointed nails, and was accoutred in an killer black suit. "Denise?"

"Yes ... Helen, wasn't it?" Denise replied. Conversation around her died down. The flight crew stopped seating people and looked on. Suddenly Denise felt a trickle of embarrassment. Maybe she'd been a bit too enthusiastic about her new cards.

"It's Ms. Tylan". The woman said, smiling a thin smile.

"Oh, yes, Ms. Tylan?" Denise smiled a tiny nervous smile.

"Are you sure that these cards are yours? They make you sound highly qualified." The woman grinned at her. Nearby people laughed.

Denise felt the insult. Her cheeks grew warm. "Yes, they are. And those are my qualifications. I stand by them!" People around her suddenly roared with laughter. She looked around. "Well, they ARE. I just handed them out to make connections, away from my office."

Ms. Tylan chuckled. "Well, if you're that good at sucking cock, you'll have no problem making 'connections', but do you really mean that you're available to sexually service the entire airplane, staff, passengers, ground crew, and ALL?" She waved the card.

A hideous moment of silence passed.

"WHAT?" Denise shrieked and grabbed one of her cards.

All around her, people were laughing. Her face felt hot, her knees shook as she read the card. It said. "Denise Anthony — Personal Assistant. Expert at sucking cock, excellent hand-jobs. Cums like a good girl. Now available for all positions and ready to service anyone. Does not say no when directly instructed." The picture of her on the card was a nude.

Tears sprang to her eyes and leaked down her cheeks as she raced back to her seat, squeezing past people who were laughing or staring. Some even had the nerve to feel her up as she went by. Openly crying in her seat, she felt the humiliation burn like a hot knife as people roared, howled, cried tears of laughter.

A couple of minutes later, the incident seemed to die down, and people got back to the business of getting settled. After a few minutes of staring at the floor, Denise dried her tears, straightened her clothes and tried reading a brochure. Over and over in her mind she tried to figure out what had happened, but nothing made sense. Worst of all, the very worst thing, was that just as she had been reading the business card, under the gaze of that horrible woman, burning with shame, as she saw the words 'good girl' ... she had ... she had a tiny orgasm. Denise felt dirty.

"Pardon me, I'm the window" A man's voice interrupted her reading. Looking up, she saw a very attractive young-ish man wearing a light weight tropical suit smiling at her.

Denise bravely unbuckled and stood. "Hi." A small and frightened smile graced her face. She hoped he had not seen the earlier incident.

"Tony. Tony Williams." He squeezed past her easily, the extra space making the airline-seat-dance more graceful than usual. He sat and opened a novel. Hiding her disappointment, Denise simply said. "I'm Denise. Pleased to meet you, have a good flight," and returned to her seat.

Her fingers began to itch. She tapped the top of the red box. She fidgeted. She tried not to look at him. Then suddenly, in an agony of trepidation, she stuck one of her 'cards' under his face. She couldn't stop herself. He looked up. Then he looked at the card and at her.

"Thanks." He said, coolly looked it over and then used it like a book mark in his novel. Denise was thrilled to see that he had nothing to say about it. Maybe he hadn't really read it. Maybe he had glaucoma. Maybe.

A few minutes later, right on time, they pushed back from the gate and mere minutes later, Denise was thrilled to note that they were on their way. The jet roared into the sky.

After about half an hour, the seat-belt light went off, and people began moving about. Before more than a few minutes had passed, a heavyset gentleman in his middle fifties approached Denise's row. He leaned over her. She could smell the remains of his breakfast on his breath.

"Right. Denise, is it? Up we go. Second lavatory, on the right. Nothing like a good morning blowjob."

She paled and looked at him in shock. "What?"

"Give me a blowjob. In the second loo. Now, you twitterpated ninny." He looked at her intently.

Well, she thought to herself. Here we go. Why in the world did I pass those cards out? She unbuckled and stood, unsteadily. The older man pulled her to her feet by her elbow. As he did so, his other hand 'accidentally' ran over her left breast slowly. She found herself wet, much to her own shock. They walked together, the man following her, to the lavatory in the front of the plane. As they went through first class, she dropped her eyes, trying to hide her embarrassment.

She opened the door to the small bathroom and stepped inside. The man followed her straight in, telling her. "Sit on the toilet, ninny. I have to have room, don't I?" He pushed her into a seated position on the toilet and pulled the door closed behind him. The florescent lights flickered on in the bathroom.

"Right." He said again. "Expert blowjob, please. Careful of the teeth."

"Yes, sir." Denise said, rather meekly for herself, trying not to tell him that she'd never dragged her teeth in her life ... as was hardly about to start now. She unbuckled his expensive slacks, let them drop to the floor, and opened the fly in his paisley boxers. A surprisingly large uncut penis lurked inside. Steeling herself, she wrapped her lips around his warm cock and began to suck. It started to grow in her mouth, getting large and hard quickly.

To her own disgust, Denise could feel a slow leak of excited cunt juice begin to slick down the seat she was on. Before long, she knew she'd be so horny that she'd be able to slide around on the seat in her own juices. She was a slut.

She used both hands on the anonymous man, one on his shaft, one on his hairy untrimmed balls as she sucked his cock, working it in and out of her mouth.

A hand wrapped itself around the back of her head, and Denise knew what was coming ... steeling herself, she swallowed at just the right moment, and allow the man's cock to enter the back of her throat. Reaching around behind him, she pulled his buttocks forward as she pushed his cock down her throat ... until his cock was buried all the way into her mouth and throat. Her nose pressed into his hairy groin.

"Oh dear lord." The man moaned. "Jesus."

She pulled back, warm saliva draining from her throat over his hard shaft, then lunged forward again, closing her eyes, and for some weird reason ... pictured Harold B. Antwerp's cock in her mouth. She moaned in excitement.

She was happy a few minutes later when the man shuddered, pulled out of her mouth and came all over her face. Hot ribbons of spew rained down on her upturned smiling face like the warm rain.

"Bloody hell." The man gasped, leaning back and pumping his softening cock with his hand as he rubbed the tip over her lips and mouth, spreading the evidence of her skill over her face like a transparent glaze. "They didn't lie. You sure as hell can suck."

"Thank you" Denise gasped out, her voice thickened with spit and cum. "I do try to be of service."

"Well, good girl, for you then." Then, just like Harold B Antwerp, he patted her on the head like a puppy. Moaning, she had her second orgasm of the morning, her fingers buried up in her soaked and throbbing snatch.

Saying nothing, he let himself out of the toilet. Denise was about to rise when another man entered.

"Blowjob." He said, and dropped his pants. Denise groaned. She really should have bought that wrist brace.

The first part of Denise's flight passed in a blur of bodily fluids. Over the next three hours, she gave eleven blowjobs, six handjobs, and got fucked twice. Every once in a while she had to leave the bathroom so that someone could use it for it's intended purpose. During those times, she stood in the aisle in First Class, looking a tiny bit dishevelled, trying to seem somehow occupied, her cheeks burning with the hot flame of shame as she was careful to not meet anyone's gaze. Then, as soon as the bathroom was unoccupied again, someone would come along and push her back into it and make a demand of her. It was horrible, but she kept having orgasms.

Just as she thought the last request for sex had been satisfied, just as she was straightening herself up, the door opened.

"Aha, the business section slut." Helen Tylan stood in the doorway in her impeccable suit, perfect hair and pointed nails. Denise quailed back against the lavatory wall, trying to smile.

"Ma'am"

"I notice that your card says nothing about women." Ms. Tylan arched just her left eyebrow in a gesture of mock surprise.

"I'm not ... I'm ... I'm heterosexual, Ma'am"

"Why am I not surprised that you're far from fully developed as a personal assistant?" Helen Tylan pushed her back up against the wall. "Kneel on the toilet, office slut."

Denise's fear was overridden by the embarrassment of having her shortcomings pointed out. She knelt, suddenly conscious that she'd never considered being the personal assistant of a female executive.

"Raise my skirt." The raven haired bitch commanded in a cold voice. "And take down my panties. And if you put even one tiny run in the silk, I'll skin you alive, tan your hide, and use it to scare children at Halloween."

 
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