Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor
Of all the fantasies I’ve written on this blog, I think ‘free use secretary’ was the one that caused most people to contact me saying ‘I have this one too!’. I was surprised and delighted by how many of you share similar fantasies, and I massively appreciate you making me feel less like a grubby little perv for sharing some of the free use secretary’s more intense adventures. As I’ve said before, she’s not real, she’s my fuckpuppet. And I enjoy being able to play with my fuckpuppets – giving them plotlines that would be either undesirable or impossible to achieve in real life. But she’s had a bit of a rough time of it, the free use secretary, hasn’t she? She is basically the recipient of some of the darker misogynist kinks that I work through via wanking. Part 6 ended with her getting emotionally as well as physically degraded, and that’s the last of the scenarios that I currently have on rotation in the old wank cinema. But in writing these pieces I grew fonder of my secretary, and I figured after all that work she deserved a better finale. This isn’t a story that existed before I started sharing her on the blog, but it’s floated in my head ever since I hit ‘publish’ on the third or fourth. It’s a very different fantasy to the ones I actually wank to, but it made me smile when I wrote it, and although (or perhaps because) it is as basic and lizard-brain as all the other stories in this series, I feel like it’s a fitting way to end this grubby tale. Here’s free use secretary 7 – the sunset.
This is her morning routine now: she wakes up and stretches, catlike, across the bed, skin kissed by the sunlight streaming in through the huge expanse of glass which opens out onto the courtyard of the villa. Sometimes one of her men is there when she wakes up, but more often she prefers to sleep alone – dismissing the guys to their bedrooms once she’s kissed them a tender goodnight. Yawning, our free use secretary slips out of the warm cotton sheets and puts on a silk robe. Pads in bare feet through the winding corridors of the villa and towards the kitchen.
A is there already: he’s always up first. B will appear soon, looking sunkissed and adorably dishevelled, but A is far more efficient. Full of energy, he’s always up at dawn to run along the beach, then yoga and meditation before busying himself with breakfast and coffee. He flashes her an eager smile and a gentle ‘good morning’. She smiles back, blows him a kiss and then nods towards the coffee, taking a seat at the breakfast counter while he pours her a cup. He adds exactly the right amount of cream and sugar, then waits for his next instructions. Sometimes she wants to eat straight away, other times she prefers a morning swim: he’ll carry her towel and bag to the beach if that’s what she fancies, or set up a lounger by the pool if she’d prefer to stay home.
The free use secretary – no longer ‘free use’ or even ‘secretary’ for that matter – flicks open her laptop and fires up various apps. There are a few updates from her outrageously expensive accountant, a bit of news on a business she bought and then swiftly sold on: the usual. FUS Holdings is performing well, and if it continues in this vein she won’t need to dip into the Swiss accounts again for at least a few years.
She beckons A over with a raised eyebrow, flicks the dressing gown off her shoulder at one side to expose one of her tits. Like an eager puppy, he leaps at the opportunity for attention, bounding round the breakfast bar to where she sits. Her nipple’s already hard in the air conditioned chill of the villa, and A touches it reverently with soft fingertips while she pores over the news. Idly reaching behind him to run her hand up his spine, gently grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck. Perusing her stock portfolio, she tugs on A’s hair ever-so-slightly – pulling him down, indicating where he should start to kiss and suck.
He’s a very good boy: soft lips immediately fall upon her neck, trailing shivery kisses that resonate down her spine and into her cunt. Mmmm, she murmurs, running neat fingernails through his hair and nudging him further. He plants a kiss on her nipple and she thrums with pleasure, before pressing his mouth to her chest so he can suck on it firmly.
This is her morning routine now. A world away from the office and her ex-boss and the indignity of repeated free use. Literally a world away: she’s on the other side of the planet from where the boss must be right now. On an island where no one can chase her, where nobody knows her old name. She still remembers the job with intense clarity: the interview in which he insisted on fucking her while she gave a précis of her CV, the way he’d lend her out to greedy, horny clients or bend her over his desk while on the phone to one of his golf buddies. He always thought that’s what she was there for, but to her those incidents were almost incidental – the real work was happening in her head and on her private laptop.
On the small USB stick she smuggled back and forth, in a tiny compartment of her handbag where it couldn’t fall out by mistake.
A laps at her nipple like a satisfied cat, and she slips her gown off the other shoulder. Turns to face him so he can even things out by sucking just as firmly on the other. She tips her head back and lets out a soft moan. B will come in soon and find them like this: his dick will spring to attention and he’ll stand behind her, applying steady hands to complement A’s soft lips. Together they’ll carry her to wherever she chooses as the venue for today’s adventure, and she’ll gently instruct them on how best to please her before lunch. She can’t plan it right now though, she’s too blissed out. Letting A get to work with his lips on her nipples and now with his gentle fingertips parting her cunt. She oozes wetness. Writhes on his fingers. Looks down at him and strokes his hair and whispers what a good good boy he’s being.
She would never take someone who wasn’t eager for it. But when you’re rich, plenty of people are eager. So many that it’s hard to tell if they’re only there for the money. She solves that problem by giving them money from the start. None of the empty promises or dangled carrots that men have fobbed her off with in the past, oh no. The men she brings in as her boyfriends get a fat pile of cash from the outset – theirs to do with what they like. Not a fee, as such, just peace of mind. So that no one is ever chained to her by need. She pays her men up front so they know she won’t use money as a means of control, then treats them well enough that they stay because they want to. They arrive because she’s wealthy, they stay because she’s fun.
They like the way she uses them: lavishing praise on their eager cocks and busy hands and household accomplishments. Punishments – which she dispenses rarely – are more playful than truly punitive. Sometimes she’ll make one watch while she fucks the other. Mewling and whimpering and begging to touch himself, but banned because he’s committed some vague slight. Soft hearted, though, she’ll usually make it up to him later – slipping into his bed with gentle words if he heads off early looking sad. Pressing her naked skin up against his back until he squirms against her, uncurling and exposing his stiffening cock for her to take in hand.
The free use secretary doesn’t fuck her men like they are toys: she treats them like they’re precious, because they are. Tells A as much while he fingers her with languid intensity. Whispers “you’re good, you’re so good, you’re so fucking precious” as her cunt clenches around the first two digits of his skilful left hand.
She didn’t ever believe she’d be this rich. The original plan was just to cream off some company profits. Take advantage of the fact that the men in charge thought her a silly little girl, sneak a few thousand from under their noses as a secret and thrilling ‘fuck you’. Maybe enough to start her own business and escape. Become a boss who didn’t treat their workers like absolute shit. But it turns out that embezzlement is an addiction in itself: just one more month, one extra lump sum, surely no one will notice a little bit more? You never wake up one morning and decide you have enough money, after all. It was only because of a near-miss in the stationery cupboard, when she got ambushed by two junior colleagues desperate to get their dicks wet, that she realised how close she had been to getting caught.
That cupboard was where she used to go to make phone calls or send emails from a burner phone. Where she’d been nurturing a relationship with a rival firm who had offered to pay well for a few big secrets. If those men had chosen to fuck her on any other day, their eager pricks might have led them to her secret, and she couldn’t have that. As it was, that lucky escape was also a wake-up call. As her boss railed her against the photocopier and she babbled project updates through gritted teeth, she resolved to make one final move – big enough to facilitate escape.
B saunters in now, and she barely notices him join them, she’s so deep in the mesmerising rhythm of grinding on A’s fingers while his lips flutter at her tits. She grins when B stands behind her, though, erection pressing insistently into her back, whispering morning greetings into her ear. In response, she purrs. Reaching one hand back to stroke his head, with the other firmly resting on A’s neck, she directs them to take her outside. She wants to take them both in the cool waters of the pool, to make the most of the morning sunshine.
A stands up, looking slightly fuckdrunk with horn. His tight grey boxers show a thick, lazily semi-hard erection which he grips and shifts to one side to make himself more comfortable. B is more composed, but no less hot for it: when A holds out his fingers, drenched in the taste of her, B leans forward to suck at them greedily. Feigning playful jealousy at missing out on the start of the fuck, he sweeps her up off the bar stool and into his arms, carrying her outside like she’s a queen who shouldn’t dirty her feet. A scampers after them like a lapdog.
She didn’t expect it to end up like this. At best, she’d hoped for enough cash to start her own business. But the rival firm were willing to pay extremely well for closely-guarded secrets. And a little sabotage on top, if she was amenable (she was). They were willing to pay so handsomely for these things that when her liaison gave her the figure – written on a post-it and slipped to her across the table in a grubby pub in Shadwell – it took a huge amount of inner strength not to let her jaw drop to the floor.
There were a lot of fucking zeros on that post-it. Ten times what she’d expected. Far more than she’d ever need. Any normal person would have gasped aloud.
Remember, though, that this is our free use secretary. She’d had years of practice maintaining composure: donning a placid, contented smile while her ex-boss bent her over his desk and beat her with a belt. Learning not to flinch when he came on her face, in her eyes. Stoically gazing into the middle distance as entitled senior managers shoved rough hands up her skirt, called her ‘that bitch’ and crowed about how they were going to ‘ruin her cunt’. She glanced at that life-changing number, then up at the liaison, and told him simply: “double it.”
“You what?”
“Double that figure. That’s what it costs.”
Her liaison’s jaw did drop, and she gave him a placid smile. They settled somewhere in the middle, then shook hands as if they were friends. Made arrangements to hand over the data and transfer the money to a series of accounts. The deal was done.
It sounds like the start of a heist, but in fact the actual crime was absurdly easy: a couple of USB sticks – one to remove data and another to upload a piece of script – and her work was complete. Not a single man in that office ever saw her as a threat, because none of them saw her as a person. The same cloak of invisibility that had allowed her to build up a healthy pot of embezzled funds also helped her slip unnoticed into her boss’s office, download what she needed, then pretend she’d been looking for her knickers when he wandered back in. Inevitably, on seeing her scrabbling on the floor, he took the opportunity to grab her by the hair and slip his cock into her mouth. All the while berating her for being forgetful as he fucked his taut, veiny prick deep into her throat. She slipped the tiny USB down the side of one of her boots for safe keeping, but needn’t have bothered: she could have waved it in front of his face and he still wouldn’t notice. Too busy coming on her tits to consider that she might be out to get him.
It was even easier to upload the script – she just waited until the end of a team-building day when all the men – even the junior execs – were rolling drunk and considering cocaine. As they backslapped and boasted with childish glee about how hard each one had fucked her when they got to take turns, she slipped back up to the main office and earned her actual payday. Her pre-prepared excuses were not needed. No one asked where she was going: they’d all come already, they couldn’t care less.
The path to riches wasn’t strewn with danger, after all. It was flanked by entitled men who looked the other way, paying no attention to the silly little girl with the pert tits and compliant attitude.
B carries her to the pool and sets her down gently beside it. She holds her arms out and he tugs on the drawstring of her silk gown, allowing it to fall to her feet. The sun is warm here, on the island. It’s warm and comforting and safe. That many millions will buy you quite a lot: new name, new passport, new home, new life. And plenty left over to play with: FUS Holdings is doing well, because of course it is. She spent many years listening in on deals and plans and machinations. She learned how to play the game by osmosis and hard work. Notes she made five years ago still prove fruitful now, and the knowledge she’s siphoned from her boss and his cronies will keep her rich forever.
A and B will keep her happy too – though they might be re-cast from time to time, as her needs and desires wax and wane. She used to have a different ‘A’ to play with. Skinny, lithe, emotional: a drama-hungry poet who played guitar. He’d serenade her as the sun set, then come nighttime he’d lap at her clit with a languid kind of calm that she found soothing. But one day he grew petulant and jealous: shouted into her face that she didn’t care enough about him now that B had arrived. Stomped away to sulk. Slammed his fist into a wall.
She had B march him out the door within the hour.
She’s not cruel – she booked him a hotel for the next week so he could get his bearings before moving on. Packed all his possessions – guitar and clothes and books and the gifts she’d given him – into the back of a taxi and sent them on. But after that outburst he never saw her again. His texts went unanswered. His voicemails deleted.
He had frightened her, so he was gone.
You can do that, when you’re rich. With money comes power. You can turf them out when they scream in your face. If they punch walls and frighten you, you can make them go away. Men in her past so often thought she stayed because she loved them. She believed she stayed because she loved them. But now she has both money and power, it turns out these frightening men aren’t loveable after all.
Anyway. Enough of that: this new A has been with her twelve months now. And he’s eager and excitable like a puppy, without a hint of anger bubbling beneath. The men both get on well: they play video games and bring food home from town that the other one likes. Sometimes she comes back from a solo swim to find them fucking in the kitchen. She pours herself a glass of wine and settles in to watch, waving dismissively at them like ‘carry on, don’t mind me’ as they grunt and swallow and beat at each other’s dicks. B has more power than A, but he uses it wisely: fucking with brutality only when his partner is playing at being a brat. A is more subservient. Willing and compliant and eager to do as he’s told. She likes to tease his cock until he squirms. But no matter how much she teases, he never spills over into rage – just begs and pleads and whimpers and lets love and lust pour forth from his pretty little mouth.
Standing beside the pool in the morning sun, our free use secretary the CEO of FUS Holdings (multimillionaire and wanted criminal and owner of four different passports), puts one arm around each of her favourite men and grins. It’s been a long time since she left her old life and yet, on some days, she finds herself overwhelmed by that same rush of relief she felt when leaving the office for the very last time. Freedom. Safety. Independence. It’s like a full-body high. The kind of climax that goes far beyond the physical.
In a moment she will lie A down on a sunlounger and straddle his cock while B rubs her shoulders. Riding him slowly, angling the head of his prick so that it glides against her g-spot. Enjoying every single inch of the full, fat length of him. Perhaps B will reach round and pinch her nipples while she does it, or cup her tits firmly in his hands, half-supporting her, half-guiding her bouncing as she rides.
Or maybe she’ll ask B to tie her to the sunlounger so she can lie in blissful bondage while the two of them take turns, competing with the other to see who can make her moan loudest. Who can make her come. In the past, she’s sometimes instructed them to make each other come first: sucking and wanking and fucking until one of them shoots copiously all over himself, or into the other one’s mouth. Whoever wins this game and makes the other lose control, that’s the guy who gets to use her tied-up body however he pleases. She loves this game, it gives her a show before the main event, and there’s something delicious about giving in to the winner’s use, knowing that she’ll only be ‘used’ according to the rules and desires they’ve discussed before. Even with her wrists and ankles bound to the heavy metal of the sunlounger, she knows neither man will go further than she desires.
She knows that ‘no’ has meaning.
She knows that she is real.
Perhaps she’ll turn it into a different game: offering up her body as a canvas for them to paint with their spunk, and whoever deals out the most impressive load will get to pick the restaurant she’ll take them to on Friday. Or maybe she’ll jump straight into the pool, encouraging the pair of them to follow and playfight with her till inevitably they wrestle into horny, slippery fucking.
All that is still to come, though. And the realisation that every single option on the table will bring her joy gives another of those almost-orgasmic full-body shivers of satisfaction. Today, and the next day and the next, life can be an orgy of playfulness if that’s what she chooses. A warm bath of calm if that’s what’s required. The ups and downs come not from compliance or challenge, but choice. No one else controls her. She is real.
And although it’s a treat to have both these wonderful men, and a bonus to have the villa, a blessing to have her millions and a huge relief to have no boss to answer to… there’s one thing this all adds up to that’s so much greater than the sum of its parts.
The thing that matters most, from sunrise to sunset: every single day, she is free.
