Pierced Ch. 04: Corruption

My new boss is an ice-cold bitch. Normally it would be up to Mr Charles to deal with her and the other directors, but Mr Charles retired early for health reasons and Karen is on maternity leave. That has left me as the most senior person on site, and Ms Wainwright clearly would rather be anywhere else.

As a warehouse worker who got herself promoted to marketing in exchange for a regular spanking from Mr Charles, I'm something of a fish out of water. I can't exactly explain to Ms Wainwright that my real job these days is flirting with potential customers. Not when most of my dealings with her have been via Zoom, or in the company of others.

"I need those numbers, Emily," she demands as I struggle with Karen's computer and wish things could be simple again.

Ms Wainwright is in her early forties, I would say. Her husband is also a director, and I know they happily pay themselves each four times my salary, which hardly seems fair considering how little effort they put into managing the business. As far as I know, they have no children, just a luxurious barn conversion out in the country, an apartment in town, and a yacht.

Her long, dark hair is always styled and immaculate, and she's always elegantly dressed in designer clothes. I can't help thinking her sex life must suck for her to act like such a bitch to others.

If anyone deserves to be a victim of the mischievous magic of my piercings, it's the Wainwrights, and it's been days now since I last had a chance to use them. The restless itch to fuck has built to the point where I'm likely to start kissing and fucking random strangers on the street, and I really don't want to be like that.

"I'm sorry, Ms Wainwright," I lie. "I only have them on paper, and I'm not entirely sure it's the right paper. Perhaps you could come in and take a look?"

She sighs irritably. "I'll ask Geoffrey to stop by later." The call ends abruptly.

I smile. That will actually work out better for me.

Geoffrey is not my type. He's short (shorter than me!), half bald, overweight, and if I weren't so fucking horny the thought of kissing him would probably make me sick. But I do, and when I do, the rush I get from the flow of magic makes me dizzy. He turns up in his black Lexus just after five o'clock, the warehouse staff busy closing down the operation, and I meet him outside, at his car. Not giving myself time to think, I lean in to kiss him the moment he steps out.

He recoils in shock, his face contorted with rage, but I know my tongue piercing touched his lips, and I watch with curiosity as the anger slowly gives way to confusion. "Why did you do that?" he demands, his accent posh and educated.

The cold aloofness in his air thaws as he regards me. "Not that I would complain if you did it again, but perhaps somewhere more private?"

My tongue piercing seduces. I have two other piercings too, gifts from a goddess in a pizza restaurant. They give me power, but it's a power that must be used or it will drive me crazy. Literally. It's a gift I'm grateful for because it gave me my girlfriend Jenna, but the cruelty of the gift is that it drives me always to seek new victims to corrupt with its manipulative magic.

I kiss him again, mostly to distract myself from the urgent hunger to do more. His tongue is in my mouth, forceful, playful, curious about the piercing that has already worked its mischief. "Do you love your wife, Mr Wainwright?" I ask.

His lips twist with displeasure. "I did, once. But ours was a marriage of convenience. Alexandra's father built this company from the ground. I had the family money and connections to take it from a small local operation and make it competitive on a national level. Alexandra only ever cared about the money."

There was pride in this short speech, and bitterness too. His eyes flash with anger. "Alexandra only ever cared about the money," he repeats. "Never for me. So no, I don't love my wife, Emily. I find affection elsewhere these days, and as long as I don't flaunt it, Alexandra pretends not to know."

His eyes narrow with sharp suspicion. "I don't know what you want from me, but you're a fool if you think you can get me to divorce Alexandra."

I shake my head. "I don't want you to divorce her." I bring my lips to his ear and whisper as seductively as I can, "I just want your tongue in my ass."

Geoffrey laughs loudly. "Then we really do need to find somewhere more private."

"Is there enough room in your car?"

He grins as he opens the back door. "More than enough - but it won't be just my tongue in your ass."

Naturally. And I really don't care. As long as he touches my anal piercing, the steel ring that loops through and about my sphincter, I don't care whether it's his tongue, fingers or cock in me. Well, that's not entirely true. The thought of a hard cock filling me has that tight little muscle clenching in anticipation.

I always wear a dress and high heels these days. It simplifies matters, even if I do miss the comfort of jeans and trainers. I climb into the luxurious car and kneel on the seat, hitching up my dress to offer Geoffrey my bare behind.

"How delightful," he murmurs, closing the door behind him. It's very quiet within, and the windows are tinted - but not so much that I can't see out, and others in. His hands find my cheeks, massaging them, spreading them to see the target. I'm wearing a red lace thong that he tugs aside.

A gasp of surprise. "What do you have here?" he says, his fingers instinctively pressing against the steel.

The abrupt release of magical tension is almost orgasmic. Geoffrey snatches his hands away. "That feels..." He stares at his fingers with a confused expression.

I swivel round to face him. He's mine, now. He touched the piercing. "Geoffrey," I say, "take me to your home. I want you to tie up Alexandra, gag her, make her watch you fuck my ass... and then make her lick your cum from my ass. If she struggles or complains, ignore her. I promise you she'll thank you afterwards."

Am I going too far? Have I stepped over the line from naughty into properly evil? Do they really deserve the sledgehammer that I am taking to their mundane existence? I don't know, but I stamp down on the guilty conscience that is stabbing at me.

Geoffrey seems undecided. I have, after all, just ordered him to do something he could end up in prison for. My magical piercings are powerful, but the magic does work in strange, twisting ways. "You know," I say coyly, fluttering my eyelashes, "when Mr Charles promoted me, he made it a condition that I should be given a good spanking once a week. He said I was a very naughty girl and needed to be disciplined regularly."

The gleam of excitement reawakens in Geoffrey's eyes. "Did he, indeed? If so, it would be wrong for me to neglect that duty."

"Yes, sir," I say demurely. "I'll have my secretary set up a weekly appointment." Not that I have a secretary, but I will soon. "Now, how about I suck your cock while you drive us home, sir?"

The grin is back. "Well, well, well," he murmurs. "I always wondered what Mr Charles saw in you. That old dog, who would have thought."

*

Sucking someone's cock while they're driving, even in a car as spacious as a Lexus, even when it's automatic drive, is not a comfortable exercise. No doubt it would be easier if his cock had a few extra inches to it, and if the road wasn't quite so bumpy. Geoffrey's cock is about average in length, but it has an impressive thickness. The bulbous head fills my mouth and I do my best to suck on it with audible passion.

He doesn't come, although he encourages me to suck harder. I don't particularly want him to come, but I have learned to enjoy having a cock in my mouth, and I want him ready and eager to carry out the orders I've given him.

'Home' turns out to be the barn conversion in the country, a twenty minute drive from the warehouse. The combination of old stone and new glass makes the house into a modern mansion, the inside white and brightly lit, the kitchen and dining room big enough for a grand feast. The paintings and artwork are tasteful, and add necessary warmth and colour to the place. "Wow," I say, wishing it could be mine - and perhaps it can be, if I really abuse the power in my piercings.

"What's she doing here?" Ms Wainwright demands, glaring at me. She's standing in the doorway to the lounge with a flute of some sparkling drink in her hand. Maybe it's even champagne; I can believe she's the sort of person that drinks champagne daily. As always, her makeup and clothing are expensive and immaculate, as if she lives in constant readiness for strangers to drop in unannounced.

Geoffrey doesn't answer her. "Wait here," he mutters to me and marches over to a cupboard in the corridor, and returns carrying a coil of rope, the elastic kind that climbers use. He grabs his wife by the arm and marches her firmly into the dining room. The champagne spills across the floor in her wake.

"Geoffrey!" she screeches, even as he sits her in a chair and loops the rope about her. "Stop this, Geoffrey!" Her expression is bewilderment, bordering on panic, and her eyes meet mine in a desperate plea for help, or at least some sort of explanation. She struggles to escape the rope, but it's too little too late. Her wrists are already caught and Geoffrey winds more and more loops about her arms and chest and eventually her legs too.

Her panic gives way to tears. "Please, Geoffrey," she begs. "Don't do this." And that's the last thing she says because Geoffrey pushes a cotton napkin into her mouth and uses his belt to hold it there. She stares at him with what I can only guess is a dazed shock.

Taking pity on her, I explain. "Your husband is going to fuck my ass, Ms Wainwright, and you are going to watch." Her eyes open wide as she looks at me, and the shock slowly gives way to an icy hatred. I've done some very naughty stuff since getting these piercings, but this actually feels bad. Evil, almost.

Geoffrey's trousers came off with his belt, and now his knickers are off too. His cock is fully erect, a glistening strand of precum dripping from the tip, and for the first time it occurs to me that I don't have any lubricant with me. I'm no anal virgin these days, but Geoffrey's cock's is very thick, and without something to ease the way it might not even get in. "Um," I say, "I don't suppose you've got any lube?"

He snatches up a bottle of something yellowish from the sideboard and practically growls at me: "Bend over." He points at the table, and when I hesitate he pushes me roughly into position, pressing me down onto the hard oak surface. My thong is pulled down to my ankles and I feel his cock pressing against my cheeks. Suddenly there's the cold drizzle of oil into the crack between them, and there's no mistaking the smell of olive oil.

My eyes meet Ms Wainwright's as her husband forces an oil-slick finger into my ass, then another. There's something particularly dirty about the idea of using cooking oil as a lube. That and my ass is going to be leaking a mix of olive oil and cum for hours afterwards, both with their very distinctive smells. I'll be leaving yellow stains everywhere I sit.

Still, I do love the glide of his fingers into my tight rear passage, stretching me nicely, sending splinters of electricity racing along my nerves. "Do it, sir," I urge. "Fuck my ass with your thick cock."

His fingers pull out, and I glance back to see him drizzle olive oil onto his cock. He strokes it a few times to spread the oil all over, then positions it for entry and presses firmly against me. "Fuck, that's big," I gasp as he forces me to open for him. I don't think I've ever felt so painfully and brilliantly stretched before. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

Just as I start to think that it's useless, that he'll tear me open if he continues, he succeeds. The head of his cock pushes into me, forcing a moan of pleasure, or something, from deep inside me. I've learned to love this moment. The moment just after a cock forces my ass to accept it, the moment just before the real fuck begins. A moment in which to catch my breath and just luxuriate in the gorgeous sensation of being stretched unnaturally wide by a brutal cock.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes."

He thrusts in, maybe an inch, maybe less, but it feels huge inside me. Again he thrusts, and again, determined to bury his whole cock inside me. The friction is delicious, the thrust of his cock a fusion of pain and pleasure, and I hope our future spanking sessions will feature a replay of this superbly dirty fuck.

My girlfriend Jenna enjoys fucking my ass with a strap-on, but it takes a real cock to make me orgasm from anal sex. We all love when Jenna's boyfriend Matt fucks my ass while I sixty-nine with Jenna. I come so hard when he fills my ass with cum, and then he does the porn thing and makes me suck his cock clean while Jenna's tongue is in my ass.

Geoffrey's fucking of my ass finds a rhythm, the slamming of his hips against me forcing me awkwardly against the edge of the table, but the thrusting of that thick cock is all that matters to me. I'm in a dreamy haze of lust, welcoming stroke after exquisite stroke of that brutal piston, an engine working at full steam, the dining room echoing with his grunts of effort and my moans of helpless pleasure.

Our audience of one looks on helplessly too, frustration more than hatred in her eyes, and I wonder what she would say if she could. She doesn't look away, though. She seems almost hypnotised by the metronomic pounding of her husband's thick cock into my ass.

"I'm close," he says eventually, and I know it already. I can feel it in his increasingly erratic thrusts, in the volume of his panting, in the stiffening of his cock inside me that seems to stretch me more than ever.

It's so good, so very fucking good. "Do it," I say. "Fill my ass with your cum, sir."

As if permission were needed, he drives his gorgeously thick cock as deep into my ass as he can get it, and with a strangled cry erupts inside me. His cock kicks victoriously within the tight grip of my ass, and the tickle of his cum triggers my own ecstatic release. "Yes!" I scream as my whole body contracts about that wonderful cock, and suddenly we are both convulsing in pleasure, crying and panting, two people made blissfully one as his cum pours into me from his joyfully pulsing cock.

"Fuck," I whisper, not trusting myself to move yet as aftershocks of that profound orgasmic release continue to rock me.

Geoffrey's cock is no longer fully hard. I can feel it shrinking, wanting to escape. "Take her gag off," I remember to say. "I want your wife's tongue in my ass."

His cock slips out of me, and the loss of it feels cruel, as if not having a cock in the ass is what's truly unnatural. I don't stand up until Ms Wainwright's gag has been removed, and then I quickly position myself in front of her, and bend over the table once more with my still gaping ass presented to her.

"I'm not -" she protests, but Geoffrey pushes her head down, forcing her mouth against my ass. She screams with indignation, but her lip touches the steel ring and I feel the rush of the magic at work.

"Enough," I say, and Geoffrey releases her. There's a definite note of anxiety in his expression, an uncertainty over what he has done and why, now that he has carried out the instructions I gave earlier.

Ms Wainwright bursts into fresh tears. Her mouth and cheeks are smeared with olive oil and cum. "Oh hush," I say quietly to her. "You enjoyed this. Watching your husband fuck other women excites you. You're grateful he tied you up and forced you to watch, and when I leave here you will find a way to prove your gratitude."

"No," she snarls. "Fuck you."

But her eyes are full of confusion, and I'm not done yet. "From now on, Monday to Friday, from ten o'clock until one, you will come to work at the warehouse as my secretary. You will work well, and do whatever I tell you to. Understand?"

She glares at me for a good long minute, but abruptly the fight is gone from her and she nods her acceptance of this new reality.

"I don't understand," Geoffrey says. "Alexandra's never worked a day in her life. Why would she want to be your secretary?"

"Ask her yourself when I'm gone." Amazingly it's not even seven o'clock yet. I want to get home and tell Jenna all about this. "You can untie her now, by the way. I bet she'll even lick your cock clean, if you ask her nicely. But maybe you could give me a lift home first?" I'm not getting in a taxi with my olive oil ass.

*

Jenna thinks it's hilarious. "From now on," she says, "every time we go to an Italian restaurant and it has that little bottle of olive oil on the table along with the salt and pepper, I'm going to be thinking of the time Geoffrey Wainwright fucked your ass in front of his wife."

Not only does she find it hilarious, she insists I bend over so she can smell me. I showered the moment I got home, having sat on a towel in Geoffrey's posh Lexus, but there's still cum and oil in my ass. I still feel tender back there, in a good way.

Jenna has a fit of giggles. "Four months ago you were such an innocent, and now you can't go through a week without getting your ass filled with cum at least once."

I yelp as the flat of her hand smacks my bum. "Slut," she says, still giggling.

*

Ms Wainwright arrives ten minutes early for her new job. I've been busy since eight o'clock with warehouse operations. With Mr Charles retired and Karen on maternity leave, I've been left technically in charge of a lot of stuff I really don't like doing. I know the ins and outs of the warehouse software and hardware, but the financial side of the business is a severe headache.

She blushes at the sight of me, no doubt remembering the scene she was forced to witness last night. I am the woman whose ass her husband fucked, and I wonder just how she thanked him for that when he got home. I hope she did suck his cock and now will forever remember the blended tastes of cum, olive oil and ass.

"Let's be clear," she says with an angry shake of her head. "I'm not here because you ordered it. I'm here because this is my company that my father built and someone needs to take charge. Certainly not you. Honestly, even before last night, I was this close to firing you." She holds up two fingers pressed together. "Don't imagine for a moment that my husband's affection for your ass will give you any special privileges. If I don't fire you, it's because you are, unfortunately, the only person who knows this place inside out."

I'm sitting behind Mr Charles's desk while she gives this speech. She's wearing a black-and-white designer dress and black patent leather shoes with barely any heels. She's a company director, after all, and clearly doesn't fit in this work environment. And she certainly doesn't like the fact that I'm sitting behind the desk while she's the one standing.

"Let me be equally clear," I say. "Between ten and one you're here to work as my secretary. You will sort out paperwork and finances and answer the phone and take orders. You need to keep track of appointments and trade shows and all of that for yourself and for me. One of your first tasks will be to arrange a weekly meeting between your husband and me so that he can give me a good spanking, and maybe more."

Her eyes go wide, and there's perhaps a gleam of excitement within the shocked indignation.

"But your very first task," I continue, "is to go shopping, because you can't dress like that. As my secretary, I expect you to wear stiletto heels, at least four inches; a skirt or dress that reaches no lower than mid-thigh; and a top that really shows off your cleavage. You have a nice pair of tits, Ms Wainwright, and you should let people see them."

Her face has gone bright red. "I can't do that," she whispers.