Girl on the Net

You know the drill by now: parts one and two had our free use secretary interviewed (and used) then working (and used). Part three is all about showing her off. In this section, she’s not just an executive office toy for her horny and demanding boss – in this part there are clients to impress. Note that this story contains some pretty aggressive misogyny (I have a kink for misogyny! Read that piece if you want to understand a bit more about the stories in this wank tales series), along with choking, free use, groping, casual sexual harassment, spitroasting, dodgy societal tropes about cock size and masculinity, unlubed (or barely lubed) anal and very dubious consent. It is not in any way a recommendation on how to treat people in real life, and should only ever be enjoyed in a safe and consensual playspace, such as inside your head. I am including the most specific and detailed content notes that I possibly can here, so hopefully absolutely no one who reads on will be taken by surprise by what transpires in this scene. As I say: consent in sex writing matters. What’s more, please understand: in real life I’d despise these men, and utterly abhor their behaviour. These fuckpuppets are characters I created – they only exist in my head and on this page. If you choose to invite them into your own head too, I’m going to assume you’re doing that on the full understanding that this is fantasy, not a recipe for real life.

Free use secretary 3: Impressing the clients

There’s an atmosphere of curious anticipation as she serves the clients coffee. They’re sitting in a meeting room around a coffee table, relaxing in expensive leather chairs. Sometimes there are two of them, or maybe three or four: the number doesn’t really matter, all that matters is that these people must be impressed. Let’s say there are three, this time round. Her boss isn’t here yet, he’s just told her to treat these men well and keep them happy, so she took orders for tea and coffee and brought what was required, along with a selection of biscuits.

The curiosity comes from the clients, not from her. She’s pretty sure she knows what’s going to happen, and she’ll deal with it in the same way she deals with everything else: begrudging on the inside, compliant and calm on the out. She projects an air of serenity that masks her underlying feelings of… humiliation? Boredom? Defiance?

Pick whatever floats your boat.

Her boss is late to this meeting, but his reputation proceeds him. As she serves the coffee – making sure not to bend over from the waist or lean forward too much to expose her bra-less tits beneath the floaty cotton of her blouse – she can hear the clients making comments and asking questions.

“Do you reckon we can…?”

“I’ve heard he does lend her out.”

“We have come all this way.”

She excuses herself from the group with a painted-on smile and a little nod of the head, retreating to a chair in the far corner of the room where she can pretend she doesn’t hear every single word that they say. One of them (the most senior, he has to be) makes a pointedly loud comment about her arse, and how he’s itching to pull her skirt up and come all over it. She flinches, but ignores it.

The other men laugh.

When her boss eventually arrives – sweeping through the glass double doors, ignoring her completely – he’s all beaming smiles and garrulous ‘welcome!’s. The clients greet him warmly: there are plenty of firm handshakes as well as much back-patting and general camaraderie. This isn’t the meeting to seal the deal, this is the warm-up. The multi-million-pound decision will be made in the boardroom later. This part’s just… well. For want of a better word, it’s foreplay.

They embark upon smalltalk, make chitchat. The clients offer compliments on the quality of the coffee, and the most senior one slides in a reference to the secretary who served it: “great tits.” There are so many moments in this fantasy where I cringe to share the details, but perhaps this one is the cringiest of all: the words they use to describe her here are archaically, almost quaintly, misogynist.

‘Filly’, perhaps? ‘Bit of skirt’? There are harsher words, for other fantasies – or maybe for later in this one. ‘Bitch’ and ‘slut’ are the key ones that leap to mind. But for now they’re engaging in a little bit of light misogynist banter: it has to start out gentle, so the harder stuff hits home when it comes time to… you know… come.

The boss beckons her over and she acquiesces with a smile – the same kind of smile she’d use if told to fetch more tea or replenish the biscuits. Standing and walking over, then positioning herself to the left of where he sits. She’s been trained to stand at the side of his dominant hand, so she’s easy for him to grope and pinch when he fancies it.

He fancies it now: smacks her on the arse possessively. A hard whack, palm flat, topped off with a firm grab as his thick fingers dig into her flesh.

“What do you think?” he asks the clients, these men he’s so keen to impress. The junior members of the group sit up like meerkats. This is what they’re here for.

They offer opinions. They’re appraising her. In ways both positive and critical: “she looks like she might suck decent cock” is thrown out mere seconds before “don’t think much of her tits though, too small for my liking.”

As they talk about her like she cannot hear them, our free use secretary (who I love to pieces, by the way. She’s a fuckpuppet but she’s my fuckpuppet, and I’m very very fond of her) stares straight ahead. Occasionally – only very occasionally – the boss might speak to her directly. Ordering her to turn around. To lift up her skirt or bend over.

When one of the clients says he’d love to to suck her nipples, that’s when it starts. Or maybe when one of them makes a comment about painting those pert tits with cum.

The boss reaches up with one hand to where she stands beside him. Grabs the neck of her blouse in one closed fist. Yanks it downwards, rips it open. Her tits jiggle as he tears at her shirt, scattering buttons onto the floor. With her suitably presented, he flashes an affable grin. Tells the client:

“By all means: be my guest.”

That’s the cue for the men to come forward and take what’s on offer. The two junior clients leap out of their seats and swagger over – all eager hands and semi-hard dicks trapped in tailored suit trousers. Practically salivating at the knowledge that they’ve been given this for free. The bad things they’ve always wanted to do to a willing slut, but been unable to out of politeness or care or a nod to basic respect… these things are suddenly all up for grabs.

It’s a business environment, so I wouldn’t say they pounce – there’s still a lot of preening in there too. Neither wants to look too eager, establishing dominance is partly about aping the demeanour of the boss. So both of them grab her roughly, but with a feigned aura of casual disdain. She can tell they’re keener than they’re acting, though: by now both are rock hard, and one is visibly trembling. Her boss hangs back with the senior leader on the client team: they’re observing what’s happening, like generals on the battlefield. Sipping coffee and reclining in those pricey leather chairs. Nursing erections of their own, supremely confident they can step in and take over when the mood strikes.

While they watch, she’s groped and stripped by the other two. Greedy hands push their way up her skirt. Busy fingers yank her knickers to the side before being jammed in her cunt.

“She’s so wet, does she like this?”

“Let me try – oh yeah she fucking loves this.”

The trembling guy dips his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth – in my mind’s eye I perceive how wet his lips are, how desperate he is to get a mouthful. The trail his spit leaves as he moves from one breast to the other, salivating and slobbering like this is his very first time.

A pause, here. An aside, which I think is important: I know I’m selling these wank tales as ones in which the headline kink is misogyny. And I know a lot of men will find them hot. But fundamentally – I hope some of you will notice – they’re all quite ‘female gaze’ porn. This story is told through the eyes of a horny woman whose lust is almost exclusively focused on the men.

One of the reasons my lovely free use secretary is such a cherished character is that she’s almost completely and utterly blank. She’s doll-like. Compliant. Subservient. But ultimately never an agent of action herself. What matters in this fantasy (as in so many) is not the woman who is being done to, but the men who happen to be doing. The details that matter are the eagerness and desperation with which they take their satisfaction. The ways in which they use her, but more importantly the reasons they’re so keen to put her to use. I am not writing this post, and I do not have these fantasies, because I want to see a woman on her knees. I write these posts because I’m hot for the horny men who put her there. The moans they make as they pull rigid cocks out of their pants, the exact shape and texture of how hard those dicks are, and the slight grimace of lustful shame that flashes across their faces as they grab her hair, tell her ‘open your mouth’ then slide in.

These junior clients take their turns pawing at our free use secretary. She’s on her knees between them, posed neatly with her hands behind her back. And as one of them instructs her on how best to go about sucking his cock, the boss steps in and reminds him: “you don’t need to tell her, you can show her.” before using that delicious, aggressive-casual manner to grip her hair and shove her face forward onto the junior guy’s cock.

The fact that her face is shoved is only of importance to me because of the men who are doing it. The reasons why they’re doing it. When I conjure this fantasy, there isn’t a close-up shot of her face as she chokes down his dick, or even the tendons popping from his fist as he grips her hair so tightly to force it down – though they’re part of it. The core ‘shot’ of this porn scene, for want of a better word, is not one you could ever capture on camera: I’m after the minds of these men. Zooming in, if you like, on the bad thoughts in their heads. The reason I have a kink for misogyny, and the reason so many of my fantasies revolve around non-consent and rape, is not because I want bad things to happen to women, it’s because I’m objectifying the grotesque men who indulge these dark-dark feelings. As I suspect you’ll notice by the end of this story, ‘she’ has almost disappeared. Her body and her face and her thoughts have been turned down – almost tuned out completely. This isn’t a fantasy about a woman for use: this is a story about the terrible men who feel so entitled to use her.

When the junior men have had their turn at groping, both dicks diamond hard and lubed-up with all that saliva from when she’s gagged them down, the boss decides it’s time to offer her to the senior manager instead. He yanks her to her feet, tears her skirt all the way off, then orders her onto all fours on the coffee table. Cunt presented at just the right height for him to jam it in.

The phrase with which her boss offers her up for use, and the way the senior client accepts, changes depending on my mood, but it’s always with a similar tone – he’s sharing her the way you might offer someone a ride in your brand new car or a go on your Oculus. Give them a turn on your favourite toy.

“Care for a go?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

The senior client stands to unzip, and yes – of course – his dick is really fat. Thicker than the two men his junior: boss level cock. And if you hate what this says about penis size and masculinity, know only that I completely and fully agree. As I’ve mentioned before, societal scripts do a number on all of us, and my mental porn director has internalised many of the same tropes that your video and image porn reflects right back at you too.

Whatever. I should save textual analysis for later. He’s fat, that’s all you need to know. Thick enough that it causes the other men to comment with prurient respect.

“Fuck, can she take all of that?” One says, in a tone that implies they cannot fucking wait to find out. The boss grins wolfishly, and says “oh I bet she can.”

The senior guy frowns down at her dripping cunt while he presses the taut head of his prick up against her slit. Her boss is standing on the other side of the table, rubbing his semi-hard prick against the skin of her cheeks in a manner that emphasises how utterly run-of-the-mill this is for him, trailing precum against her slightly-parted lips… and watching for the moment of penetration at the opposite side of the table as the senior guy braces to stuff himself all the way in.

When he does, the boss is ready: he braces against her shoulders to hold her still while she’s fucked. Seeing her get stretched so wide open makes his cock twitch harder, so he pulls her hair back and slides it into her mouth, letting out a moan of satisfaction as he goes. The senior client is making noises too, or perhaps he’s silent. I don’t think it matters either way, as long as the way in which he’s pounding it home is one which asserts a dominance born of experience. This is not the first time he’s been offered a woman like this, and certainly not the first time he’s used one like a sex toy. The junior clients don’t just watch, they step forward – aggressively rubbing at their own pricks as they watch the live porn show that is playing out in front of them.

One starts to make a kind of aching murmur in the back of his throat, like he’s about to come. The boss, ever an attentive host, notices and presents the free use secretary to him. Keeping his cock in her mouth so she’s gagged wide open, he twists one of her arms behind her back (not painfully, just enough to position her) so the junior guy can step forward and press the tip of his dick against the jiggling flesh of her tits. When he comes, the ropes squirt satisfyingly all over her skin. One shot after the other, thudding out and splattering – thick and white like yoghurt, and powerful like shaken champagne.

Watching him come is enough to do it for the other junior guy too, so he steps forward for the next in what I hope you can see is merely a cunning ruse for me to work all my favourite kinds of cum shot into a single story. Pointing his cock at her lower half, eyes focused on the thickness of his boss’s dick and the way her bum ripples as she’s fucked, this second junior guy beats vigorously at his straining prick. Frowning and moaning and grunting until – with a trembling, agonised ‘aaanngh’ – he shoots ropes and ropes of his own load all over her jiggling arse.

By this point, I’ll be honest, I would probably have come by now. But if you haven’t yet (as I sometimes don’t) then try these on for size:

With our lovely free use secretary now painted with the spunk of two very eager junior clients, it’s time for the senior man’s turn. Scooping some of the cum that his colleague dumped on her mere moments ago, he lubes up her ass, pulls his fat dick out of her cunt, and stuffs it in there instead.

With a grunt, of course. Always.

The beauty of these fantasies is the people are not real. The scene is not real. None of this exists, it is a fiction. Fake and cartoonish and the only way I can enjoy the kind of brutality that would be impossible without pain in real life… in one, smooth, firm stroke lubed only with the spunk from the last man’s cum shot, the senior client slides his cock in right up to the hilt. Pumps his own load as deep inside as he can, like he’s dumping it right in the trash.

The boss hears those grunts and they trigger his climax too – he reaches down to take his free use secretary’s head in both hands, then fucks himself deep into her mouth. And stays there. The head of his cock briefly blocks her airway as it slides further down and he holds her just like that, gagging and choking and struggling to take it but nevertheless doing her best to maintain that aura of calm.

She’s working so hard to stay still and impress these clients, who watch with envy and respect as he pours shots of his own come down her throat.

Note: free use secretary is a fantasy, not a how-to manual for real life, and it is (I HOPE OBVIOUSLY) never a way to treat someone unless they’re fully into this kind of role-play and you’ve both discussed it in detail beforehand. Writing these pieces has been an interesting exercise for me in examining exactly what it is about each that I find hot, and why I love to play in this aggressive, violent misogynist sandbox even though I’d despise this behaviour in real life. This one’s especially intense, I think, having written it down, although it feels fairly tame inside my head. I figured it needed a bit more aftercare than some of the others, so here: lay your head in my lap and let me stroke your hair as I whisper kind words to you, reminding you that this is not real. It is only play. And I love you, as I love my imaginary fuckpuppets. 

Want more like this? Part 4 – the stationery cupboard – will be up on Patreon later this week.