Secretary Constance, Dominatrix
By Montrose
A dominating young woman chooses her own path up the corporate ladder


Is it some sort of chemical attraction, or is it nothing more than her
enormo-licious jugs? I personally believe she secretes some kind of pheromone
that is well beyond the ordinary for attracting mates. All I know for sure is
that from the moment I saw her, she owned my heart.

There I was, stepping up to the bank of elevators where I work as the VP of
Finance when she stomped around a corner and zeroed in on the same elevator
buttons I was reaching for. Her hips rocked like a sexual priestess but her
posture was that of a warrior princess on the hunt. I paused, taking her in -
the confidence in her eyes (she already knew she had me and grew more certain
the closer she drew) - her long strides on muscular legs, clomping tall heels
hard against the marble floor (contributing to her six feet of height) - her
cascading brunette waves - her full hips - and bless them, The Mother of All
Glorious Racks.

I stopped with my hand hovering over the button, gawking at her chest:
melonous orbs wrapped in a silky top that luxuriated over curves, sliding open
to reveal deep, magical cleavage. Heaven - I wanted to bury my face in them.
She pushed my hand away with barely submerged contempt and punched the
elevator button herself.

Normally, I am the aggressor - a Type A among Type As. I've been known to chat
up a respectable woman in a hotel lobby and be riding her ass hard before the
second drink, yanking back on her hair and making her beg for it. This girl?
She put me back on my heels, stepping into my space, driving me away from the
elevator doors. I backed away and averted my eyes - not something a man like
me does by nature. She softly snorted at me, then turned her back.

She was tantalizingly young; bursting with self-assurance and sexuality. From
the back, her round ass became her dominant feature - living pulsing twin
balls of eroticism. What was she? 19? 21? A child to my 49 years.

It took me a moment to realize that she was being followed - a man and two
lesser females (women I would normally have been happy to fuck). They smirked
at me, knowing by my slack jaw and red face what I was going through. They
treated The Woman like a CEO, smiling deferentially even though they were
older (like me). She was kind to them, acknowledging them as they spoke, quite
self-possessed. When the door opened, they stepped back and let The Woman
enter first. My god could she work a walk - swinging her round bottom to some
primal war drum - taking no prisoners. Even the other women stopped breathing
and watched her walk. Her friends smirked at me next, until I walked on. Were
they planning something?

I tried to not stare at The Woman in the tight space - she stood close enough
to smell, making my heart beat faster. I punched floor 32, which gave me some
confidence. That's the VIP floor. Now these chumps would know who they're
dealing with. Her friends selected 10 and also selected 12 for her - the man
beat out the other women for this honor. I tried to remember what departments
were on those floors. Payroll and marketing, I think.

At 10, her friends said goodbye. One of the ladies looked at me knowingly
before leaving. "Have fun," she said to The Woman with The Rack. The Woman
hooshed her away, smiling coyly.

I capitalize "Woman" here to emphasize her native, physical, powerful
presence.

The door closed. We were alone. As we moved up, she stepped toward me,
claiming the center of the elevator. I smiled up at her. In her heels she
stood an inch taller than me. My heart banging in my chest but I put on my
winning smile and prepared to watch her walk off. Her expression was
unreadable. When the door opened, she held it open and looked back at me,
expectantly.

"Sorry Sweetheart," I said. "My floor is..."

"You're getting off here," she interrupted me. "Sweetheart." She said the last
bit with some sarcasm and amusement - one corner of her mouth turned up.

I blinked. Confused. "No. I have an office on..."

"Now," she said. Her voice was low, but commanding and impatient. She expected
to be obeyed, and communicated that I better be quick about it.

Don't ask me why, but I stepped forward, trying to not bump against her tits
as I slipped passed her exiting the elevator. I was mostly successful; her
nipples rubbed my chest as I passed. She followed, taking my upper arm in her
surprisingly strong grip. She hustled me down a corridor and into an office.
The name on the door said "McConnell."

"Are you Ms. McConnell?" I asked, trying to calm my heart. I recalled a
McConnell as someone in charge in payroll.

"Jack McConnell? I'm his secretary at the moment, and dominatrix," she
replied. "I own his ass, to be honest. I sent Everyone on this floor to a
two-day conference." She kicked her shoes into a corner, then wiggled behind
the desk and plopped down into the big chair. "We have the place to
ourselves." The office was a nice corner unit with art on the walls - not as
nice as mine, but good. A small liquor cabinet stood open in a corner -
nothing like the wet bar in my office suite.

How could she just walk in and take liberties with her boss's office like
this?

"What are we... uh... whuuu.... Ohhhh..." I lost my train of thought when she
flipped one of her long legs up onto the desk with a thump, leaving the other
on the floor. Her slit skirt rode up, exposing the crotch of her panties.
Faded pink lace with broken black hearts dotting those panties over a meaty
muff. "Ohhhh my god," I finally finished. I felt my will to remain composed
dissolve like sugar in hot water.

She smiled beautifully and pointed to her nylon covered, wiggly toes. "Rub
those, big shot." Her eyes twinkled. "Make me feel good." She locked her
fingers behind her head and leaned back, making her Rack jump out at me.

"Oh yes, thank you," I muttered as I did what she asked, massaging her lovely
foot. "You have amazing arches, Miss." My cock jumped in my slacks. Her toes
were hot and moist. I was tempted to rub my groin on her foot. Expectations
and plans for doing her up the ass began to take shape in my mind.

She laughed sweetly. "I'm guessing my feet were NOT the first things you
noticed about me. My sources tell me you're more of a tits and ass man." She
told me. "And I've got plenty of both to keep your attention. Kneel." A flick
of her finger to the carpet - the same commanding voice.

Her sources - whoever they were - were right. I did as told, still rubbing her
foot enchanted with where this was going. "Sources?" She mashed her foot on my
face. "Mmmmmph."She shoved her heel into my mouth, grinding it on my tongue.
She slapped my face with her toes and giggled at my reaction. I took it,
delighting in her attention - enjoying the flex of her leg muscles as she
slapped my face playfully. I was having fun playing submissive for now.
Finally she put her leg back on the desk. I was quickly becoming a leg man.

She tapped her groin with one black-painted fingernail - her big middle
finger. The nail was long and exquisitely manicured. "Kiss me right here, Mr.
VP of Body Worship."

So she knew I was a VP - we could work out the title later. How much more did
she know?

I eagerly leaned forward, not believing my luck, and planted a long kiss on
the groin of her panties making sure to rub my Roman nose on her lace-covered
clit. She moaned and petted my hair, humping my face, moaning. "Ohhh
yessssss." The broken hearts were made from black silk and were very smooth on
my lips and cheeks. The smell of her cooch enthralled me and drove me to
painful erection. As I worked she tapped at the keyboard on the desk with one
hand. What was she doing? I thought to look but couldn't bother taking my face
from her delicious groin.

"Please let me... let me lick you," I begged as my tongue slithered along the
leg holes of her skimpy panties, seeking entry. "I want my tongue inside you."

"Tell me, are you always such a spineless piss-ant pansy slave?" she asked
casually. "Just a simpering groveling worm of a BITCH ready to do anything any
girl asks?"

"No," I replied, keeping my face near the heat of her groin. "I'm not a..."

Her smile reignited. "So your just MY simpering spineless bitch, is that it?
How sweet. I always wanted a pet that makes 423 grand a year plus major
perks."

She knew my salary? I looked at the computer. She had my personnel file open -
access to my financials, address, past, everything. Her insults and intrusions
awakened my masculine pride. "I'm not a..."

SLAP! She backhanded me in the face, knocking onto my ass. How did she hit me
so hard without winding up? "I say you're my bitch Eugene," she said, using my
embarrassing middle name. "Either you agree, or I'll teach you to agree." Her
voice was stern, but not angry.

I jumped to my feet, rage spreading all through me. My face was on fire where
she struck me and I was dying to turn her over my knee and teach her the error
of her ways. She might be big and gorgeous, but this strumpet would learn, by
god! Her ass would burn red before I was done! "You can't treat me like that!
And you don't have clearance to look through my files!"

She relaxed in the chair before me with her legs spread. She seemed amused by
my anger. "Did I tell you to stand, BITCH?" she asked.

"I am not your fucking..." That's as far as I got before she jammed a foot
into my chest, sending me back into the wall. As I gasped for air, she stood
and strolled over to me, hips rocking. I tried to inhale and could not. She
smiled and held my head up by my hair. I wondered if she broke one of my ribs.

SLAP SLAP SLAP! She quickly smacked my face left and right and left before
zeroing in for a hard kiss - her long tongue suffocating me, her warm body
mashing into me. She stepped back and beat my cheeks again. When I put my
hands up to cover my face, she drove a fist into my already bruised belly. It
was like being hit by a wrecking ball.

I doubled over thinking I would never inhale again. She dragged me by my hair
onto the desk, face down, legs hanging down. She hummed contentedly, like she
knew the fight was already won. She even took the time to walk over to the
cabinet and make herself a scotch on the rocks while I gaped like a landed
fish. "I own you now, Dean Eugene Hargrove," she informed me. "Yeah, I know
all about you - you and your mistresses and fast cars and vacation homes." She
took a sip of her drink as I struggled to breathe. "I'll be spending a lot of
time driving those cars to those homes. I just might spend some time spoiling
some of those mistresses as well." She giggled. "I like showing them what
they've been missing."

I tried to push myself upright but she strolled over and drove an elbow into
my back. I fell to the desk. As I gasped for air, she pulled off my shoes,
pants and boxers. The pain was so blinding I couldn't stop her.

"Right now, I want to hear you admit it," she said from behind me, pausing to
sip her drink. "Whose bitch are you?" I heard the ice clink in the glass as
she tipped it bottoms up.

"Nobody's! I am Nobod... OOF!" Her knee plowed into my balls from behind. I
saw sparks. Pain rocketed up my sides. I thought I might vomit or pass out. I
know she didn't do it full force, but it was still crippling pain. I gaped
breathlessly and stared at my personnel file on the screen in my face. She had
highlighted the field containing my bonus from last year. Why?

She flipped me over and crawled up on top of me pressing heavily down onto me.
She forced her big tongue down my throat, making it even harder for me to
catch my breath. The scotch in her mouth tasted good. Her weight was
substantial, but pleasant. Her panties rubbed on my exposed rod. She worked it
until I was rock hard and going crazy for her, then she slid higher up so that
her magnificent rack landed on my face, obliterating the world.

No light. No sound but the beating of her heart. No air. Her strong arms
cradled my skull deep into her cleavage. I fought for freedom and gained
nothing, not even a moment of air. I panicked and began punching her sides. By
her convulsions I knew she was laughing at my efforts. Slowly, I began to
drift off. I prayed she would let me live.

When I came to, she was sitting on my chest, legs on my arms. Her panties and
blouse were gone. Her unbelievable Rack swayed naked, high above my eyes,
nipples pert in the air-conditioned room. She had a fresh scotch and looked a
little tipsy.

"Let's try that again. Whose bitch are you?" she asked in her sweet young
voice.

"...yours..." My voice was a gasping whisper. I knew I was defeated.

SLAP. "Louder."

"Yours!" I cried out.

"What?" SLAP

"I'm your bitch!" My voice was a panicked yell. Was I crying?

"Call me Miss Constance."

"Yes Miss Constance."

SLAP "Whose bitch are you?" she asked.

"I'm your bitch, Miss Constance." I yelled it good and loud. My voice echoed
down the hall. I hoped she was right about everyone being gone.

She laughed and hiccupped - definitely tipsy. SLAP! "That's right, Bitch!"
SLAP SLAP SLAP! "My Bitch!" She bounced her big fanny on my chest driving air
from my lungs and bending my ribs. Her tits romped in mid-air.

I was glad to be alive. And, looking up her magnificent body made the idea of
belonging to her not so bad despite the pain and humiliation. Her tummy held
rippling muscle. Her belly button sported a diamond tear drop. But she was
killing my face with her blows. I tasted blood.

She giggled and bounced on me a while longer, until I thought my head would
explode like a water balloon.

She gave me a dazzling smile and slid forward, stuffing her beefy, wet clam in
my face. In a deep, passion-soaked voice she commanded me, "Sssss - hic -
suck." I sucked on her delicious clit and licked her pie as she moaned and
writhed on my face. "Ohhhh.... Good bitch," she purred over and over between
loud screams of delight. She came freely and frequently, drenching my face,
filling my ears.

Much later, she stood, slowly dragging her ass over my face. I began to stand,
but she slapped me back down and flipped me face down. The way she threw me
around let me know that her arms and back held un-guessed muscle. She was not
built like a body builder, but there was muscle mass enough.

She took a bottle from the cabinet and tipped it up for a long drink. I could
have got up, but I was afraid to. She wiped her mouth, then stuffed the
bottle's long neck up my bum. I put up a fight about that, but she leaned on
me and kept me in place - giggling at my efforts. The high-octane booze burned
as it sloshed up into me and dribbled down my balls. She was giving me a
scotch enema!

"I bet you wish you were doing this to me," she whispered in my ear as she
twisted the bottle and crammed it deeper. Her breath was strong from the
drink. "Only with that big - hic - hard cock of yours. Right bitch?" I think
the idea of my "big hard cock" got her hot, because she bit my neck and
growled.

"Please," I gasped. "Please stop!" My struggles were nothing to her, even as
drunk as she was.

"Poor bitch," she snarled. "Poor! Whimpering! Degenerate! Rich! Bitch!" With
each word she pressed her thigh against the base of the bottle, cramming it
deeper, as she pulled back on the corners of my mouth with both hands. She
held it once she had the bottle as far as it would go. She held it until it
felt like it belonged there. Then she let go and stepped aside. The bottle
shot out and clattered into a corner.

"It's all over, baby. No more bottle fuck." She petted my tender ass and
purred in my ear, comforting me as I gasped. "By the way, I accept your
offer."

"Huh?" I moaned.

"Your offer to make me your personal secretary at triple my current pay."

"But I already have a... AHHH!"

She twisted my sack in one hand.

"YES!" I cried. "Thanks you for accepting!"

"You're welcome," she said. Her hand relaxed and let go of my sack.

She got up and threw me into the far corner next to the empty bottle, then
flumped back into the chair.

"Crawl to me, Boss-be-aaaatch" she commanded with a slur, one eye more open
than the other. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing hard, not from
effort but from passion and scotch. Could I make a run for it? Probably not -
she looked fast despite her curves. Besides, she knows where I live.

I did as told, trembling, a slave to this young Woman's desire. My butt was
warm and somewhat numb as I crawled. The scotch must have permeated my system.
I was drunk from the ass-out. I stumbled as my left leg went limp. Miss
Constance laughed.

She pulled my face in, using my neck tie as a leash, and presented me with her
pink asshole; her legs waving over my head. Assuming what she wanted, I licked
it - stuck my tongue up it, actually. I was right.

Once she had enough of that she moved me up to her quim. Once more she came
hard on my face, screaming like murder, and I lapped it all up.

It was getting dark out when, panting and pink cheeked, she smiled down at me,
wiping her groin with my silk tie. "Next Monday, when I report to work between
10 and noon, you will present me with a brown bag full of twenty dollar bills.
Make sure it contains at least ten thousand dollars."

"Yes Miss Constance." Anything, so long as she let me go without hurting me
more than she already had.

"Well keep that up until that entire bonus is mine." She tapped the monitor on
the number she had highlighted.

Oh. "Yes Miss Constance." My entire bonus from last year? That would take some
doing. I would have to sell a yacht at least, maybe some stock.

"If you're lucky, I might do this to you again. But until I do, you act like
I'm just your secretary. Of course, keep your current secretary for doing all
the REAL work. Understood? You're my - hic - slave, not the other way around."

"Yes Miss Constance."

"My friends will know about us because I'll tell them everything," she went
on. "They might laugh and point. They might make jokes and throw things at
you. Okay - they WILL laugh and throw things. That one woman, April, she'll
probably demand sex. You will do as she says - and trust me, she's a rough
kink. You'll just have to take whatever my friends want."

I nodded, thinking of the humiliation. How could I show my face in the lobby
again? What could I do? Not only had she easily handled me, but I desperately
wanted her to do it again!