Office Disgrace
Copyright© 2026 by Susmitha Saran
Chapter 11
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 11 - An arrogant Nappo CEO is brought to her knees by her own employees. She is taught a lesson that she would never forget in her life. Though reluctant at first, she started accepting her new life.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Celebrity Workplace BDSM MaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Torture Gang Bang Orgy Interracial Black Female Indian Female Anal Sex Facial Oral Sex Scatology Spitting Water Sports Body Modification Needles Public Sex AI Generated
Priyanka’s descent into servitude had become absolute. There was no trace left of the confident, respected businesswoman she once was—only a hollow-eyed, trembling creature whose sole purpose was obedience. The last shreds of dignity had been methodically stripped from her, one humiliation at a time. Even the occasional pitying glances from former colleagues had vanished, replaced by hungry stares and casual groping as they passed her in the halls. She was furniture now. A convenience.
Sanjay the janitor no longer bothered hiding his contempt when ordering her to scrub toilets with her bare hands. The acidic stench of urine soaked into her skin, a mocking reminder that this was her world now. Meanwhile, Heffner’s office door clicked locked behind them daily, her muffled whimpers drowned out by the rhythmic squeak of his leather chair.
Home offered no respite. Anya—once so meek while polishing Priyanka’s silverware—now lounged naked on the silk divan, idly flicking a riding crop against her thigh as she demanded foot massages. “Harder, slut,” she’d purr, digging her heel between Priyanka’s shoulder blades. The irony burned worse than the carpet burns on her knees.
The glory hole installed near the executive washroom became her classroom. Anonymous cocks shoved through the opening taught her the finer points of throat-fucking—how to suppress her gag reflex, when to flutter her tongue just so against the frenulum. She memorized the taste of each department head’s cum like sommelier notes: Finance Director’s was bitter with coffee, Marketing VP’s cloyingly sweet from energy drinks.
Tuesday’s disciplinary meeting left her trembling. The belly button ring she’d gotten during her single hour of unsupervised freedom was deemed “insufficiently degrading.” Board members voted unanimously for upgrades: a nose stud, a dangling “SLUT” charm for her navel that clinked against toilet bowls as she cleaned them. Worst was the barbell through her tongue—the cold steel weight making speech slurred and difficult, reducing her to grunts and drool.
She crawled back to the office still sore from the piercings, the thin gold hoops in her earlobes catching the fluorescent light. One by one, employees yanked her hair back to inspect the new metal glinting in her flesh. Fingers probed her mouth to hear the wet click of her tongue stud against teeth.
The same meeting brought worse news. Where once hands were allowed only above the waist, now every hole was corporate property. Someone produced a spreadsheet scheduling her “utilization.” She’d expected this, but not so soon—not while her thighs still ached from last week’s humiliation.
Her demotion was ceremonious. The HR director snipped her old ID card in half with office shears. The replacement photo showed her naked, legs spread, one hand tugging her cunt lips open. A cattle tag dangling from her choke collar replaced keycard access. The engraved barcode matched her slave registration number.
Weekends used to mean brief respite. Now Heffner’s text buzzed against her thigh: “Mansion. 8PM. Be on time.” Two days. Two nights. She took a deep breath.
Priyanka packed her overnight bag—lube, enema kit, a vial of numbing gel she wasn’t supposed to have. The tag around her neck clinked against the choke chain as she pushes her feet into the stilettoes. Somewhere beneath the piercings and scars, a ghost of her former self screamed. No one heard.
The journey to Mr. Heffner’s estate was anything but ordinary for Priyanka. Stripped of the privileges she once took for granted—her sleek company car, her tailored suits, her commanding presence—she now rode the city bus like common cattle. But she was far from common. The gleaming silver collar locked around her throat, the engraved tag that read “Property of Heffner” in bold letters, marked her as something else entirely: owned. Public property in the most humiliating sense.
Every jolt of the bus sent tremors through her body, not just from the uneven roads, but from the wandering hands that claimed her without hesitation. A businessman in a wrinkled suit groped her breasts through her thin blouse, fingers circling her stiffening nipples with no regard for decency. Behind her, a teenager smirked as he slid his fingers beneath her skirt, stroking her already-slick cunt with lazy expertise. The air was thick with the scent of her arousal—sharp and undeniable—mingling with the musk of sweat and cheap cologne. She could hear the murmurs, the crude laughter, the way men licked their lips at the sight of her trembling thighs glistening with her own juices.
Priyanka bit her lip, fighting the urge to squirm as fingers pressed deeper inside her, spreading her open. A slave didn’t complain. A slave endured.
When her stop finally arrived, she stumbled off the bus on unsteady legs, her soaked panties clinging to her skin. The whispers followed her—”Look at that whore,” “Bet she loves it,” “Disgusting”—but she kept her head down, her cheeks burning with shame and something darker, something that coiled hot in her belly.
The walk to Heffner’s mansion was a slow, torturous parade of her own degradation. The evening sun cast long shadows across the gravel path, the crunch of her stiletto heels the only sound besides her ragged breathing. Her dress clung to her damp skin, the fabric whispering against her thighs with every step. She could feel the weight of her piercings—the thick hoops in her ears, the delicate stud in her nose, the dangling “slut” charm swaying from her navel—each one a reminder of who she was now.
By the time she reached the towering front doors, her hands were shaking. She knew what was expected. With deliberate slowness, she peeled off her dress, folding it neatly before tucking it into her bag. The cool air kissed her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and thighs. All that remained were her heels—transparent, impossibly high—making her legs look longer, her ass tighter, her cunt more exposed.
She knelt on the cold stone steps, her knees pressing into the unyielding surface, and knocked.
The wait was agonizing.
When Heffner finally opened the door, his eyes raked over her naked form with a predator’s satisfaction. “Welcome home, my property,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. The leash clipped onto her collar with a sharp, metallic click, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. He yanked her forward, forcing her to crawl behind him like an animal, her palms scraping against the polished marble floors.
The mansion was cavernous, all high ceilings and echoing footsteps. Heffner tossed her bag onto a side table with careless indifference before pointing toward the kitchen. “Dinner,” he commanded.
Priyanka moved quickly, her body humming with a strange mix of dread and anticipation. Cooking was one of the few things she’d learned to do well in her new role, and she took pride in it—pathetic as that was. The scent of seared meat and spices filled the air as she worked, her fingers deft despite the ache between her legs.
When she placed the meal before him, she didn’t dare sit. Instead, she knelt beside his chair, her head bowed, her lips parted.
Heffner didn’t even glance at her as he began eating. “Good whore,” he murmured around a mouthful of food. “You know what comes next.”
Priyanka did.
She slid beneath the table, her hands settling on his thighs as she nuzzled against the hard length straining against his pants. His cock was already thick, already eager for her mouth. She didn’t hesitate.
The taste of him flooded her senses—salt and musk and power—as she took him deep, her throat working around him with practiced ease. He groaned above her, his fingers tangling in her hair, forcing her pace. “That’s it,” he growled. “Take it all, you greedy bitch.”
She obeyed, her jaw aching, her lips stretched wide. When he came, it was with a rough thrust, his cum spilling down her throat in thick, bitter pulses. But he didn’t let her swallow.
“Hold it,” he ordered, dragging her out from under the table by her collar.
Priyanka’s cheeks bulged, her lips sealed tight as his seed pooled on her tongue. She could feel it warming, the taste turning cloying, but she didn’t dare move.
“Good,” Heffner purred, tracing a finger along her jaw. “I want you to remember this. I want you to know my taste better than you knew your own fucking name.”
She nodded, her eyes watering.
The bedroom was next.
Heffner led her there by the leash, her knees bruised from crawling, her mouth still full. When he pushed her onto the bed, it was with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. She landed on all fours, her ass high, her cunt dripping shamelessly onto the silk sheets.
He didn’t waste time.
The first thrust was brutal, his cock splitting her open with a single, unforgiving stroke. Priyanka gasped around the cum still in her mouth, her body arching as pleasure and pain twisted together in a dizzying spiral. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pounded into her, each snap of his hips a punishment and a reward.
“Do you want to come, whore?” he snarled, his palm cracking against her ass.
She whimpered, her thighs shaking.
“Say it.”
She couldn’t.
His fingers twisted in her hair, yanking her head back. “Swallow.”
The moment the cum slid down her throat, her orgasm ripped through her, violent and all-consuming. She screamed, her body convulsing around him as he fucked her through it, his own release following seconds later—hot and thick, filling her until she could feel it leaking down her thighs.
When he finally pulled out, Priyanka collapsed onto the bed, her limbs limp, her mind blissfully empty.
Heffner patted her head like a well-trained dog. “Good whore. Sleep.”
And she did.
The first pale light of dawn crept through the heavy curtains as Priyanka stirred awake, her naked body pressed against the warm sheets. Her owner, Mr. Heffner, lay beside her, his powerful frame rising and falling with slow, even breaths. She watched him for a moment, a strange mixture of resentment and twisted affection swirling in her chest. Once, she had been proud—independent. Now, the very thought of defiance made her pulse quicken with fear ... and something darker.
A slow smile curved her lips as she recalled the taste of his cum which he made her to keep in her mouth for most of the evening. The memory sent a throbbing heat between her thighs. Without hesitation, she slid down the bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin as she settled between his legs. His cock, already half-hard from sleep, twitched against her cheek.
The scent of him—musky, masculine—filled her nose as she pressed her lips to the tip, tasting the faint saltiness of dried precum. Her tongue flicked out, tracing the thick vein along the underside before she took him deeper, her throat relaxing with practiced ease. The barbell piercing through her tongue clicked against his flesh, the vibration making him groan in his sleep.
Heffner’s hips jerked as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking with desperate hunger. She could feel him thickening, the heat of his arousal burning against her lips. His fingers tangled in her hair, not guiding—just holding, possessively, as if to remind her who owned this mouth.
“Fucking greedy whore,” he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.
Priyanka moaned around him, the vibration making his grip tighten. She loved this—the way he used her, the way her submission drew out his pleasure. His cock pulsed against her tongue, the first hot spurt of cum hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed eagerly, working him through his orgasm until he shoved her away with a grunt.
“Good work,” he said, wiping a stray drop from her chin with his thumb before pushing it into her mouth. She sucked it clean obediently. “Now get yourself cleaned. Inside and out. You know how to use the enema?”
She nodded, her cheeks flushing.
“Good. Don’t take too long.” He slid from the bed, stretching his muscular frame before grabbing his phone and striding out.
The bathroom was cold, the tiles biting into her knees as she prepared the enema kit. The familiar sting of the nozzle pressing into her ass made her whimper, but she didn’t hesitate. The water rushed in, filling her until her stomach ached. She held it, trembling, until the pressure became unbearable.
Over and over, she repeated the process, scrubbing her skin raw afterward until she gleamed under the harsh bathroom lights. The mirror reflected her naked form—hairless, marked, owned. The once-arrogant tilt of her chin was gone, replaced by a docile downward gaze.
Her fingers traced the barbell in her tongue, the metal cool against her fingertips. It had hurt when he’d had it done—held her down while the needle pierced through—but now it was just another part of her slavery. Another way to please him.
Priyanka crawled back to the bedroom on her hands and knees, the ache in her wrists a dull reminder of her place. Heffner stood waiting, a small velvet box in his hand.
“Hope you cleaned yourself properly,” he mused, his dark eyes raking over her.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
“Good. You’ve been obedient lately.” He tossed the box onto the bed. “Open it.”
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid. Nestled inside was a silver ring, a deep pink ruby embedded in the center. She frowned, lifting it—then gasped as the chain attached to it pulled free, revealing a thick metal plug.
Her stomach clenched.