The Temp Ch. 03

The Temp follows a married man's psychological journey engendered by his secretary's domination, and for coherency, it is suggested that earlier chapters be read first.

On my way to work Wednesday morning, I confronted an unsettling truth: Not only had my resistance to Veronica’s domination been futile, I no longer wanted to even try to resist. Strong feelings of guilt had been usurped by the powerfully erotic thrill that came from my submission. The arousal was so intense, the desire to serve her so overwhelming, that the recurring images of my humiliating behavior were keeping me in a state of almost perpetual erection. And each time I considered satisfying my ever-present need for release, recalling Veronica’s voice forbidding me to do so acted like a drug that kept me under her control, and left me even more stimulated.

Oddly, even though my thoughts about Veronica were so sexually charged, completely absent from those thoughts was the obvious and normal desire to make love to her. My obsession with Veronica focused solely on the bizarre turn-on I felt when degraded by her. In fact, my passionate love and desire for my wife had not diminished in any way. Yet, something compelled me to obey Veronica’s demand that I receive her permission before release, so Tuesday night I had avoided making love to my wife. It proved in no uncertain terms that Veronica had become a very dangerous presence in my life.

Work was piled at my desk, but I could do nothing except think about Veronica’s pending arrival, and the excitement that greeting her in the prescribed manner would bring. At 10:30, she finally appeared. Today dressed casually in workout attire, Veronica took just two steps into my office and then stopped, leaving the door open. It was clearly a test, for whatever I did would be seen by anyone passing by. But this time, I didn’t care about any possible repercussions. Countless hours of desperate throbbing in my painfully swollen cock had overridden any need for security or decorum.

I rose and almost ran to her, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes, but ecstatic to drop to my knees and shower her sneaker-clad feet with kisses. She was not at all surprised.

“That’s just lovely, Jack. I’m happy to see you too.”

She swung the door closed and walked passed me, but instead of stopping at her usual chair, she continued around my desk, sat down in my seat, and put her feet up.

“Oh, that feels good. I’ve been jogging for over an hour, Jack, and my feet could really use some attention.”

I rose and approached my desk. As I did, she pointed to the floor next to her.

“Come here, beside me,” she instructed.

I walked around my desk and knelt before her. She swung her legs off the desk, bringing one sneaker down on my thigh, and the other leg to rest on my shoulder. I untied the laces of the sneaker in front of me, removed it from her foot, and then removed her sock. The odor from her foot and the sweaty sneaker brought me back to our first encounter only two days before. So much had changed in 48 hours. I began to massage her foot, but she lifted her leg, and brought the bottom of her foot up to my face. I took a deep breath through my nose as I kissed the sole of her foot. The smell accentuated the depravity of the moment, and inspired my cock to try to exceed its already achieved maximum size. Although I still didn’t understand why my body responded in that way, the pleasure was undeniable.

“You should have been born in ancient times, Jack. You would have made such a good slave.” She rubbed her foot across my face. “You wish you could be my slave, don’t you Jack?”

“Yes, Ms. Harper.”

She lowered her foot and allowed me to continue the massage. After several minutes, she switched the position of her legs, and I removed her other sneaker. Again, she placed her sole against my face and let it linger there, watching with satisfied amusement as I passionately caressed her aromatic foot. Eventually, Veronica withdrew her foot, interrupting my worship.

“Jack, I have a problem for you to solve. I need to go to the bathroom now, but I don’t want to put my sweaty socks and sneakers back on. And I don’t want to walk down the hall and into the bathroom in bare feet. So what am I to do?”

“About going to the bathroom?”

“Yes, Jack. I have to pee. What are you going to do so I don’t have to make the trip down the hall?”

I looked around my office for something that might do the job. There, on a shelf, was an engraved silver Revere bowl I had been given in recognition of my team’s first place finish in a sales competition. I offered Veronica the bowl.

“Wonderful Jack. That will do just fine. Now go fetch it for me, and then turn your back to give me some privacy.”

I retrieved the bowl, and turned my back to her as instructed. As I heard the rustling of her clothing behind me, I thought about her reference to my being her slave. It was now clear that Veronica had no desire for me other than as a toy for her entertainment. But frighteningly, that is exactly what I craved. Now, having assigned me to slave status, she apparently felt I did not deserve to even view her in her current state of partial nudity.

I heard the unmistakable sound of her pee hitting the silver bowl; a steady stream that continued for about 15 seconds, followed by a few additional short squirts. How symbolic that this silver trophy marking my success had been reduced to serving as a receptacle for her piss. I heard her pull up her pants and sit back down in the chair.

“You may return to your position, Jack.”

I turned to kneel again, and I saw that she had set the bowl on the floor between her feet. I offered to remove it, but she told me that I’d have a chance to empty it later. As I knelt, she brought her legs up to rest on my shoulders again.

“You did very well coming up with the bowl idea, Jack. I feel much better now. But I’m afraid disposing of my pee presents you with a new problem. If you carry it down the hall to the bathroom, you’ll never be able to get passed the secretaries. They would certainly wonder why you’re carrying your silver bowl so carefully, and stop you to see what was in it. I can just see you trying to explain walking around with a bowl full of piss. And you can’t wait until everyone’s gone at the end of the day, because by then it will have such a rancid smell. You can’t have your office smelling like a public bathroom, now can you? No, Jack, you’ll have to think of something else.”

I looked around my office for inspiration, but there was no place to empty the bowl. Even my office windows were sealed. She leaned forward in her chair, which shifted more weight to her legs resting on my shoulders, and forced my upper body lower.

“That’s the challenge, Jack. How are you going to get rid of my pee?”

Even as I bent forward, I continued to try to look around for ideas. But Veronica began to fold her legs inward, crossing them and applying pressure with her calves to the back of my head, forcing it to tilt downward, and bringing the bowl below me into view.

“You’re not focusing, Jack. What can you do with it?”

She leaned in closer, adding more force from her legs, and my upper body continued to drop lower. The bowl was about a foot below my face when I suddenly felt her hands on the back of my head. Veronica leaned in and whispered as she pushed my head lower.

“How will you get rid of my piss, Jack?”

Instinctively, I tried to counter her pressure, but my neck muscles were no match for her arm strength. She forced my head down until it reached the top of the bowl, my face now so close to the bowl’s contents that my breathing created ripples. Her own idea for how I could dispose of her pee required no further articulation. As she held my head in place at the bowl’s surface, I felt my heart racing, and I silently cursed the strange obsession that had both led me to this predicament, and even now prevented me from getting up. I knew what she wanted me to say, and my conspiring cock insisted that I not defy her.

“What could you do, Jack?” she taunted again, and I muttered my reply into the bowl.

“I could drink it.”

“Ooooh. Would you like to drink my piss, Jack?”

“No.”

“But you will drink it if I tell you to, won’t you Jack?”

What had happened to me? How could even this disgusting proposition turn me on? I tried one more time to summon the strength to resist. Veronica sensed my moment of hesitation, and knew exactly how to zero in for the kill.

“In fact, you’d love it if I made you drink it, wouldn’t you Jack?”

“No,” I whispered, knowing I was lying.

“You even wish I’d make you beg to drink it, don’t you Jack?”

Each taunt sent an explosive shock wave through my cock. I could do nothing to stop this nightmare because every erotic fiber of my being was feeding off this humiliation.

“Don’t you want to have to beg me to drink it, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead, Jack… Beg me.”

“Please…” I began, almost crying into the bowl.

“Please what, Jack?”

“Please let me drink your piss.”

“You want to be my personal toilet, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, Jack. You may drink my pee, but only if you drink every last drop.”

I lowered my face into the bowl, and began to lap up her pee the way a dog drinks water from its dish. All of my senses were on overload: The smell, the taste, the humiliation, the excruciating ache in my rigid cock. All had combined to bring me to a mental and physical place I had never been before. Blood was surging through my cock under such pressure, it felt as if it could literally explode. I continued to drink until I drained the bowl, and when it was empty, I licked the bottom.

Panting, I finally stopped and stared into the empty bowl, too embarrassed and shaken to look up. There was no pride in my accomplishment, only shame. But even shame took a back seat to my all-consuming need for release. I was desperate for her permission, because in my mind, Veronica did now control my cock. I had just consumed a bowl of her piss to prove it.

“Please, Ms. Harper,” I whispered.

“What is it, Jack?”

“I need to cum. I can’t bear how much it hurts.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jack. Stand up and lower your pants, so I can see your poor cock. I have a reward for you for being such a good boy.”

A ray of hope flashed through my pounding head. At last, she was going to take pity on me and grant me that tiny push needed to send me over the edge. Quickly, I was standing with my cock free and jutting toward her, more painfully engorged than it had ever been. Veronica reached into her bag, and pulled out a short plastic strap.

“This is just like a hospital wrist band, Jack. But, I like to call it a cock collar, because this one doesn’t go around your wrist. And Jack, you had better not cum while I’m putting this on you.”

Veronica edged forward in the chair, and guided the strap from under my balls to around the top of the base of my cock. The light touch of her fingers on my over-stimulated cock was easily enough to get me off, but I focused all my energy on fighting the urge. She tightened the band, which squeezed the underside of my sac and forced my balls up and forward. My teeth clenched as I felt that pre-ejaculation sensation. Veronica locked the band in position as I remained at the brink, and she sat back in her chair while my cock bobbed in the air, anticipating the eruption that had been denied.

“That name tag is your reward, Jack. But instead of your name, it reads ‘Property of Ms. Harper’. Now you have a constant, physical reminder that your cock belongs to me.”

“But, I…?”

“Oh, I know. You thought I was going to let you cum? You’ve been good today Jack, but you still haven’t earned that privilege. As my slave, you must learn self-control. Now, go ahead and pull up your pants.”

Defeated, yet stimulated by her calling me her slave, I did as I was told, adjusting to the sensation of the plastic band wrapped securely around my cock and balls. She’d pulled it so tight that even if I wasn’t hard, there would be no way to slip the band off. I began to think about the implications of my new identification tag. How could I possibly hide this from my wife? Veronica, meanwhile, happily made those implications perfectly clear.

“You realize that just like a hospital bracelet, the only way to remove it is to cut it off.”

She stood up, and leaned in closely towards me.

“But, I know you won’t cut it off, Jack… because you want to be branded as my slave.”

She moved her body up against mine, her lips whispering directly into my ear.

“You want it so badly; you’ll even risk your wife discovering my name tag on you.”

Veronica suddenly grabbed my cock through my pants, and held it tightly. I shut my eyes and gnashed my teeth, frantically fighting off the driving urge to cum right at that moment. She continued in a soft voice.

“You have such wonderful slave potential. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll earn the privilege of cumming for me.”

I was completely at her mercy. The combination of her touch, her scent, her breath on my ear, and the stimulating words she spoke, all conspired to leave me weak in the knees. Veronica stepped back to retrieve her bag, while I continued to stand with my eyes closed, slowly regaining control. I heard the door open, and as I opened my eyes and looked over, I saw Veronica walk out.

I picked up the silver bowl that I had licked clean, and returned it to its former place of honor. Each step I took generated a sensation in my groin as my underwear brushed against my pushed up balls, and the edges of the strap dug into my skin. The friction forced me to pause every few steps, just to keep myself from going over the edge.

I had become the stereotypical male who lets his cock do his thinking, and now Veronica’s ownership collar, both literally and figuratively, had me by the balls. I had willingly become her slave, and every movement I made was a reminder of that fact. I was sinking deeper into an abyss, with seemingly no control over my freefall.

My mind was plagued with a devastating dilemma. Even as I felt almost physically sick at the thought that my actions could destroy my marriage, my body still insisted that I obey Veronica’s commands. I plotted how to keep the property tag private, and how to make it through the night without cumming. I was miserable, and yet my misery was not sufficient motivation to cut off the strap and end my suffering. I could only wait helplessly, and wonder how I would survive what laid ahead.