Free use secretary 1: The interview

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

This is the first in a series I’m going to call ‘Wank tales’ – some of the stories I see in my head that get me off when I’m wanking. This one – Free use secretary (The interview) – has elements of free use, power imbalance, and I think some elements of non-consent. Not sure on that, though. I’m consenting to this scenario, because I created it, and none of these people are real – they’re just manifestations of my own perversions as they play out in my head. They’re not real human beings, they’re my fuckpuppets. Were this sort of thing to happen in real life I would be straight on the phone to HR. As explained in detail in last week’s post, I have a kink for misogyny. I get off on scenes and behaviour that I abhor in real life, so while this could make for a hot (consensual) role play, it should never be taken as an instruction manual, or a desire I would like to fulfil in any way other than as play. As I say, it’s hard to judge whether this needs a warning, so here’s a summary instead: this is a story about a dismissive boss interviewing a woman to be his secretary in which he aggressively fucks her like he’s using her holes while she has to continue with a job interview as normal. Dunno where that falls on the content note scale.

Free use secretary: the interview

There’s a man sitting behind a desk in an office. Sometimes he’s an older guy, like late fifties/early sixties maybe, other times closer to forty (which hilariously, despite being nearly forty myself, I still mentally conceive of as ‘about ten years older than me’). It doesn’t really matter, to be honest, imagine him however you like: all that matters, really, is that he’s a bit of a prick. Banker, perhaps? City lawyer slinging libel threats at journalists for digging dirt on his clients? You know the type. Probably does a lot of coke on the weekends. Treats his wife like absolute shit.

There are a few different versions of the ‘free use secretary’ scenario, but this one is framed like a job interview.

There’s a knock on his office door and a woman is ushered in. She says hi, stands nervously in the doorway, and the would-be boss beckons her forward to sit in the chair opposite his desk. She’s dressed exactly as specified in the invitation: tight pencil skirt, loose-fitting blouse, no bra.

“You here about the job?” he asks, dismissively. She tells him yes and hands over her CV, which he takes and starts to peruse with vague disinterest.

“Unbutton your shirt,” he commands, and she instantly complies, deftly flicking the first four buttons undone and opening her shirt to reveal her tits. “Relevant experience?”

She stammers a little as she speaks, but nevertheless manages to give a run-down of her career to date. Her nipples, previously rock-hard and visible through the fabric, tighten further now exposed to the cold air and the chill of his gaze. He drinks in the sight. There’s no pretence at politeness, no looking away. No need for him to feign indifference: he stares at her tits like he’s assessing them, noting how they jiggle when she moves her hands to emphasise each point she’s making.

Shifting in his chair, he rearranges his cock inside his pants, gripping it tight with one hand and squeezing slightly as if to relieve the pressure as it swells.

She’s still talking.

Glancing at her CV he picks up the name of her previous company, says: “tell me about that – your last role. What was involved?”

Once he’s asked the question he stands up. Her eyes grow wide as she sees how thick and hard he’s getting, but she remains calm and answers him as he steps out from behind the desk. Comes to stand behind her.

As she rattles off a comprehensive (and impressive) list of past achievements, he reaches down with one hand to casually pinch her nipples and grope at her tits, pushing himself forward so the bulge in his pants rubs up against the back of her head. At one point he grips her hair and turns her face towards him, pressing her still-chattering mouth into the musky scent of his crotch.

“Good,” he tells her. “That’s good. Now stand up and bend over. Tell me why you want this job.”

She bends and puts both her palms flat on the desk. The hard edge of the wood cuts into her hipbones, and she winces but keeps talking as he roughly yanks up her skirt. She hears the clink as he undoes the buckle of his belt, and is momentarily startled into silence.

He coughs. Prompts her to continue with her pitch: “And what are your salary expectations?”

Still, his tone is one of boredom, bordering on disdain. The conversation itself is merely a vehicle to keep her talking while he unzips and pulls out his hefty cock, gripping it in his fist and slowly rubbing, staring down at the meat of her arse and the way the fabric of her tights stretches across it. Beneath them she’s wearing a pair of small black knickers.

“At my last place they paid me forty-five,” she explains, only a hint of tremble in her voice, “but I’ve had offers over fifty elsewhere, and…”

She keeps talking, but he’s zoned out now. Instead he’s arranging her body exactly as he wants it: he yanks down her shirt to expose her shoulders and back, pulling it just far enough that the open neck now cuts into her upper arms. She’s still talking, justifying why she’s worth more than the advertised salary range – not yet babbling but definitely speeding up. He pushes her face down and twists her slightly, pulling one arm behind and across her back, posing her at an awkward angle so he can just make out the curve of the side of one of her breasts. The darker colour of her nipple brushing against the cold expanse of the desk.

Then, with both hands, he grips the fabric of her tights and rips them open in one swift movement.

Yanks her knickers to the side.

She’s still talking, now chattering quickly and brightly, as if she’s trying to convince herself this is just a normal interview.

He uses one hand to hold the tip of his cock at the entrance to her cunt.

Spits on the fingers of the other.

Smears the saliva liberally around the swollen, taut head of his dick, then positions himself perfectly so he can stuff it in all in one go.

One stroke, swift and brutal: in.

He grunts as he slams it home.

I cannot stress enough the importance of this fact to the fantasy: she’s still talking. At no point do either of them acknowledge what he’s doing.

He rails her over the desk so her tits jiggle and her cunt thuds with the force of it, reaching forward sometimes to grip her hair and yank her further onto him, burying himself right up to the hilt. She really does babble now, though she’s trying to stay focused. Stoically hoping to ignore how intensely he’s fucking her.

He interjects occasionally with questions or prompts – usually punctuated with a grunt, at the deepest end of each fuckstroke. She throws back her answers with a practiced chirpiness that only serves to highlight the ferocity of his thrusts.

You’re after an ending here, aren’t you? You want the come shot? I understand. The come shot is important: it’s where I come when I’m wanking to this fantasy too.

But the ending changes depending on my mood, so pick whichever of the following you prefer…

  • As his strokes get firmer and faster, he finally says one thing that acknowledges what they’re doing. “Squeeze your cunt,” he barks, and she does. Clenching good and tight around him as he unnghs his way through the first wave of orgasm. “That’s it,” he says as he empties himself into her. And then as he pumps the last few hot loads of cum, he delivers the verdict: “you’ll do.”
  • Before the end, he pulls his cock out. He doesn’t want to waste the reservoir of spunk that’s been building in him since she first unbuttoned her shirt. He needs to see the way his cum sprays over those hard, taut nipples, shot in thick ropes from the tip and squirting everywhere as he presses the head of his dick against her skin. He pulls out and starts beating at it, then orders her to turn around and face him, eyes downcast so she doesn’t see him grimace at the climax. He tells her “keep talking” as he unloads onto her tits.
  • He pulls out while she’s bent over. Looking down at the tip of his prick, so close to the entrance of her ass, he idly wonders what it would be like to lube himself up and fuck it. Whether the shock of that would stop her talking, or whether she’d gamely continue. Picturing it in his mind’s eye, he decides that he’ll find out in her first week of work. She’s done all that’s asked of her, the job is definitely hers. Gripping himself good and tight, fist hungrily working the shaft with rapid strokes, he allows himself the pleasure of a final powerful grunt as he lets go, and then paints her arse with fistful upon fistful of cum.
  • As his strokes get firmer and faster, a frown starts to play across his face. This is taking too long for his liking. He wants to be done in time for his four o’clock. Reaching forward to grip her shoulders, he pulls her so hard back onto his dick that she’s briefly distracted from her speech and lets out a yelp. Almost there. He’s sweating slightly now with the effort. His belt buckle is jingling at his hips as he stuffs her full of cock, but he’s frustrated. Increasingly so. He’s gone beyond testing her out now, and is tipping into exasperated. Give him another minute of this fruitless, brutal fucking and he may well become infuriated. Still pounding in, hard enough to leave bruises on her hips where they bash against the wood of the desk top, he reaches across it and grabs a bottle of lube. Pulls his dick out, smears it quickly and liberally. Tells her “brace yourself,” as he shoves the slick tip against the tight ring of her ass, then grunts with satisfaction as he plunges in. “Good girl,” he tells her, as his cock starts to twitch and jolt and spit cum. Immediately releasing all that pent-up rage, and the frustration that came with it: “Very. Good. Girl.”


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. I am extremely fond of my free use secretary, she’s been my pal on many a horny journey. If you’d like to read/hear a few more of her adventures, I’ve published parts 2 (the phone call), and part 3 (impressing the clients) over on Patreon. Join for £2/$2 per month or £22/$22-ish per year and you’ll instantly have access to the first three parts of this deliciously sordid little fuckplay.

Finally, please remember that I am currently unwell and taking a month off work. This post is pre-scheduled, as all the others will be until April, and I am not checking emails, comments or social media very often. Please click that link if you’d like to understand more. I would very much appreciate your patience if I cannot respond to you quickly.



  • Tony says:

    This is the first thing that has made me want to go back to working in the office.

  • Chris says:

    This is the first post I’ve read since reading your scheduled maintenance [1] post. Let’s kick it off with, “you’re amazing, and I’d hug you were I able.” You love words, you love sex, and you make it all work together in a way that moves people. I am disinterested in any definition of art that excludes what you do.

    You’re fantastic. My wife and I haven’t met you, but we value you (both rhetorically and on Patreon). Your writing spans that impossible chasm between deeply sexual and deeply ethical. It is only a mind at work that can create something beautiful while struggling to reconciling the two. Your words give us ideas and courage to explore our own ideas of sexuality… which is both intimidating and delicious.

    Please, take all the time you need! Be well! We will still be here.


  • Holy shit, this is SO hot. You and I definitely have similar wank fantasies.

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