Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

I ngrid

I blinked at him. My lips parted slightly; for a moment I thought the sheer extent of the humiliation involved might let me object—refuse, even. Then my fingers started to move. I looked down, feeling a twinge of surprise that I could take my eyes from Mr. Alden's face.

An instant later it made sense—to my paradoxical dismay, because I didn't want it to make sense. If it made sense, after all, that meant I actually, deep down had a desperate need to submit. But against my wishes I understood, even though I didn't want to: watching my hands represented, in my mind, an essential part of the degrading action the man in charge of me had commanded. I got it without him even telling me; he would of course want me to see how helpless I was to disobey him.

Much worse, I knew that he intended me to grasp the terrible truth of the compliance wand's effect. I bit my lip as my hands curved, fingers moving obediently, not to cover my breasts modestly but instead to take hold of the lacy edges of my bra's cups and start to tug them to the side. Deep down I wanted to show my new boss how pretty my little breasts were, and…

And how slutty I really am, on the inside. How I like to show my tits to men. How stiff my tiny nipples get when I think of a dominant man using my body for his pleasure.

Then my eyes traveled back to Mr. Alden's face, because I had to see. I needed to know if he liked what he saw. If he thought my little body looked like the kind of body he enjoyed fucking.

He had his eyes fixed on my chest, his look intent and a slight smile on his lips. I felt my forehead crease hard as my fingers worked their way inside the lace, cupped the little peaches, and pulled them free of the lace.

"Those nipples are adorable," Mr. Alden commented, raising his eyes to gaze into mine again. "Pinch them. Nice and hard."

My eyes went wide and my mouth opened again, in a way that had started to become all too familiar. It seemed that the wand's operation gave me the chance to react with the embarrassment, and the denial I would have felt and expressed if Mr. Alden hadn't taken away the capacity. I couldn't do anything about it, though. As I stared at him, my cheeks burning, I felt my fingers do as he had commanded.

My shoulders jerked back, my back arching at the sudden discomfort. With a sob, though, an instant later, I felt a wave of arousal travel through my whole body, shooting outward from the little buds I had just squeezed so cruelly. My hips gave a mortifying little thrust as I clenched, down there, as much at the sheer degradation of being made to do something so lewd in front of a fully dressed man as at the physiological effect of my fingers' pressure.

"Now," he told me, "go ahead and take off your skirt. Leave your tits out."

My face crumpled into a theatrical pout of protest. My hands went to the button on the waistband of the skirt. I realized with a thrill of shame that I hadn't even tried to resist his order, even in my head. It wouldn't have worked, I knew, but it would have at least shown that if Mr. Alden hadn't used the horrible device on me, I would have been able to defy him.

But as my fingers fumbled at the button, a very different voice started to whisper in my head.

You know you want it. Let it happen. He's made it so easy for you… and he's so handsome… and you need this job.

I felt my tongue emerge from my mouth a little, and I realized that I was licking my lips as I unfastened the waistband of my skirt. A new wave of heat came into my face.

I don't want it , the rational part of my brain tried. I don't want to have my bottom paddled! I don't want to… to do that with him .

But it wasn't about me doing anything, was it? It all had to do with what my new boss wanted to do with me… with my body… to my body. Even if he told me to… to do things, I wouldn't really have to do them in the sense of intending them. Even if he made me… I swallowed hard, trembling fingertips finally getting purchase on the button. Terrible images rose into my mind's eye, of the shameful things Mr. Alden could command.

Me, on my knees in front of him, with his yet-unseen manhood filling my innocent mouth.

Me, bent over in front of him, reaching my hands backward to demonstrate my submission and expose myself utterly, for his eyes, his fingers, his huge, hard… thing.

Heat surged anew into my face. The pictures came from my own mind; I knew without any doubt that the compliance wand hadn't put them there. I had taken those selfies, in the naughty underwear I had for some insane reason decided to wear today.

I felt my hands tugging my skirt down over my slim hips. Mr. Alden's eyes roamed up and down my body, then focused low; he wanted to see my panties, more than he wanted to see any other part of me. He clearly thought I had a pretty face, a cute body, but right now he had an interest only in what lay between my thighs… the cunt he meant to fuck.

I swallowed hard, realizing I had just obeyed him inside my head from some sort of simple, lewd instinct. He had told me to call my private part a cunt, and even in my mind the terrible word seemed the only appropriate one. A slut like me didn't have a private part or even a pussy —what she had between her legs wasn't private where her new boss was concerned, and it didn't behave like a sweet, furry little creature.

I had a cunt, and Mr. Alden intended to fuck me there. My nearly virgin cunt felt like an aching, needy void, not an insignificant ‘part' or an adorable kitten. My skirt dropped around my feet and I stepped out of it, on my low but very pretty and even kind of sexy—I thought—black pumps. My knees shook, and my hands balled into little fists as I watched my handsome, arrogant boss' expression, wanting to look away but forbidden by the effect of his horrid wand.

His mouth quirked up at the left side, into a smile that made my tummy lurch.

"You really need to wax, if you want to wear those panties properly, Ingrid," he said, raising his eyes to look into mine.

I made a noise in my throat that sounded more like a gurgle than anything expressive, let alone a word of protest.

"We provide fully subsidized aesthetician visits as a basic benefit for our secretaries. You should talk to Cathy at the reception desk on your way out: she'll schedule a Brazilian for you, for tomorrow. The next time I fuck you, your cunt will be smooth, or I'll have to paddle you again."

My mouth hung open, and my breath went in and out in little pants. On one level I couldn't even believe Mr. Alden had said the words I had heard so very clearly. On another level, to my even greater distress, I remembered that I had thought the same shameful thing when I had looked at the selfies I had taken, in this naughty red lingerie, for my undeserving boyfriend.

At least he would never have said… that… about being smooth, down there. About waxing. Let alone ordered me to bare myself.

My brow creased hard. The hot, dark place that the compliance wand had seemingly discovered deep inside me refused to look at it that way. Instead, it showed me, in my imagination, the selfie I'd taken where I could see the golden curls escaping from the sides of the thong's narrow front panel. I remembered despite myself how I had wondered whether I might ever have the courage to shave myself there—let alone to ask someone else, a complete stranger, put hot wax down there and then pull out the hair.

If Jake had been the kind of guy who gave commands , the voice from the hot, dark place whispered, I would have bared myself for him.

I shuddered violently, all over. I swallowed hard.

"Say, yes, sir , when I give you an order," my new boss said, his eyes narrowing a little as if to make sure he caught every detail of my humiliation.

"Oh, God," I said hoarsely, wondering immediately how those words had managed to escape, and then instantly grasping the answer—because I knew, deep down, that it would please Mr. Alden to hear me appeal to a higher power in vain. I could sense how much he was enjoying degrading me; I knew somehow with absolute certainty that it made his unseen cock hard to treat me like a plaything and hear my helpless acknowledgment of the effect it had on me.

"Oh, God," I whispered, because suddenly I felt compelled to please him that way again, as if in confirmation that he had indeed humiliated me with terrible thoroughness. "Yes, sir."

"Go fetch the paddle for me, sweetheart," he told me, his tone so casual that for a moment I didn't understand what it meant. Paddle , my brain tried to tell me, must mean something like coffee or maybe folder . I blinked at him, and then my heart jumped with fear as I processed his words fully.

The wand's operation inside me let me give Mr. Alden a pleading look, my cheeks reddening anew. Then I turned, my body obeying the command, and I faced his desk, across the room. I swallowed as I realized that he would watch me walk over there, my bare, already pink bottom-cheeks moving suggestively and provocatively, as if challenging him to punish me harshly for the sluttiness that had urged me to wear lacy lingerie to a job interview.

Obviously, he had intended that. Obviously, he wanted to watch the slutty new secretary go get the paddle he would use to correct her faults with her rear end on full, lewd display. Surely it would inspire him to discipline me all the more thoroughly, so as to deliver as stern a lesson as possible in modesty and propriety.

The walk to the desk felt like a hundred miles. The war raging inside me seemed to slow my footsteps to a crawl. Part of me wanted to get it over with, and run toward the paddle. Part of me wanted to put off the horrible ordeal as long as possible. Part of me—the part that won, because of the wand and because of the hot, dark place it had revealed—wanted to give Mr. Alden the best possible view of his slutty secretary walking to fetch the instrument of her painful correction.

My legs quivered. Each step seemed to take a minute. I tried looking at my hands, to keep myself from looking at the horrible wooden thing on the desk. My eyes wouldn't obey my reason; something in me knew that Mr. Alden wanted me to keep looking at the paddle, because it would make my shame and my fear greater.

I arrived at the desk. I could look at my hand then, because it had started automatically to reach for the paddle. I watched my trembling fingers descend. When they touched the smooth, lacquered surface of the handle, something like an electric shock went through my frame. I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering.

"Bring it here, Ingrid," I heard my new boss say from behind me, his voice sounding just a bit impatient. "It's time to finish your punishment."