Office Disgrace
Copyright© 2026 by Susmitha Saran
Chapter 2
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 2 - 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
The silk sheets clung to Priyanka’s bare legs as her eyes snapped open—not to the gentle coaxing of dawn, but to the cold, precise awareness that today was the day she would start her new chapter. The digital clock’s glow painted the room in a pale blue hue: 5:30 AM. No alarm had needed to sound. Her body had been wired for this moment since the funeral, since the will was read, since the whispers behind her back had grown bold enough to reach her ears. Chairwoman. The word tasted like power, like vengeance, like the first sip of a poisoned chalice she’d been forced to drink from for years.
After shower, she strode naked to the walk-in closet. Her fingers traced the line of suits—black, tailored, severe. She chose the one with the sharpest lapels, the one that cut through the room like a blade. Every movement was deliberate: the slide of stockings up her thighs, the click of stilettos on marble, the way she fastened her father’s platinum cufflinks—her cufflinks now—with hands that didn’t tremble. The mirror reflected a woman who’d shed tears in private and emerged armored.
Downstairs, the dining hall was a stage. The maid, Anya, stood rigid by the sideboard, eyes downcast. Priyanka didn’t acknowledge her. Not yet. The table was laid with precision: smoked salmon, poached eggs, a single espresso steaming in a bone-china cup. She took her seat, the chair scraping loud in the silence. The first bite was a performance—slow, deliberate. She could feel Anya’s pulse hammering from across the room. Good.
“Tell me,” Priyanka finally said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, “did my father ever fuck you in this room?”
Anya’s breath hitched. The truth was written in the way her knuckles whitened around the serving tray. Priyanka laughed, low and humming. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She sipped her espresso, watching the maid’s throat bob. “You’ll find I’m not as generous with my leftovers.”
The Mercedes purred to life at the curb, her driver, Vikram, loyal, terrified Vikram—holding the door like a man bracing for a storm. She slid into the leather embrace, the scent of polish and fear thick in the air. “Office,” she commanded, and the car lurched forward.
Through the tinted windows, the city blurred. Priyanka’s fingers tightened around the dossier in her lap—names circled in red, promises etched in blood. Demotions would be the kindest fate today.
The real fun would come later.
Priyanka’s stiletto heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she strode into the office, her dark eyes sweeping over the wreckage of what had once been her father’s empire. The air smelled like spilled coffee, stale sweat, and something faintly rotting—like ambition left to fester. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails digging crescent moons into her palms. The anger was a living thing inside her chest, coiled tight, but she swallowed it down. Not yet.
The receptionist—a statuesque woman with skin like polished mahogany—barely glanced up from her phone, her long fingers scrolling mindlessly through some influencer’s curated life. Priyanka didn’t pause, but she memorized the woman’s face. Later. There would be time for consequences later.
The office floor was a graveyard of discipline. Papers sprawled across desks like casualties of war. Half-empty takeout containers littered surfaces, and the buzz of idle chatter filled the air instead of productivity. No one even looked up as she passed, too absorbed in their petty distractions. Good. Let them underestimate her.
Her father’s office loomed at the far end, its heavy wooden door slightly ajar. She pushed it open, the scent of old leather and cigar smoke clinging to the air. His chair—still positioned just so, as if waiting for him—groaned under her weight as she sat. The desk was cluttered with outdated reports, dust clinging to every surface. She ran a finger along the edge, her lip curling. This wouldn’t do.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.