New Sexcretary (Fertile Pleasures Book 2)

by Nadia Nightside

  New Sexcretary

  Fertile Pleasures, Volume 2

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Midnight Publishing, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  NEW SEXCRETARY

  First edition. June 15, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  New Sexcretary (Fertile Pleasures, #2)

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older. | New Sexcretary

  Recent Releases

  When you finish this hot collection, please leave a review! I always read them, and I welcome all feedback from every kind of reader. Your voice matters to me and to other readers—please, share it.

  What's next?

  Further Reading: Gang Heat: The Bundle

  About the Author

  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  * * * * *

  New Sexcretary

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  Recent Releases

  Sexcretary

  Delilah is so desperate to save her talent agency that she entertains the insane plan of a young software developer to control all her clients. The problem is, he can control ANYONE with his software...including her. And what he wants is to turn gorgeous women like her into his personal slaves.

  Gang Heat: The Bundle

  Three scintillating stories of gorgeous women living out their fantasies of being taken—roughly and forcefully—by alpha studs who don't listen to “no.”

  Ruling His Hot Students

  A regular guy receives a magical artifact that gives him god-like powers over the women around him. He can transform them however he likes and alter their minds so they're eager and willing to be his sex slaves...forever.

  Ruling His Own Strip Club

  Jacob's lust for power increases when he takes over a strip club and falls in love with a gorgeous stripper. He can have any woman he wants and can transform them to his liking, but his obsession with this new girl threatens to unravel his new erotic lifestyle.

  Bimbo Servant Bundle

  NINE incredible stories of lactating bimbo goddesses serving one lucky man. These fertile nympho babes are so desperate to be filled, they'll do anything to make their Master happy.

  When you finish this hot collection, please leave a review! I always read them, and I welcome all feedback from every kind of reader. Your voice matters to me and to other readers—please, share it.

  She woke in the morning with her mouth wrapped around her Master’s heavenly cock. This was the seventh day in a row that she had been blessed enough to wake in this fashion. Her body was clad in delicate white lingerie, her sensational curves shown off to their full effect. Tall heels decorated her feet, sparkling this way and that as she squirmed with delight in her duties.

  Her cunt was wet, dripping and soaking, but she did not touch it. Oh no.

  Now was a time purely for pleasuring Master.

  Her body was so thoroughly programmed that even before she was conscious, she was serving. The previous night, her Master had fucked her into exhaustion. He had filled her fertile belly with his impregnating seed and ensured that before long, she would be brimming with his babies. Her lush, amazing body would sport a huge baby bulge, and on a figure like hers, it would merely look like she had swallowed a cantaloupe. Her tits would get bigger, heavy with milk, and her hair would shine, and every part of her would vibrate with the thrill of new motherhood.

  Just like so many other girls in his employ—and in his service.

  Her Master was everything to her. She let him know this as she sucked his cock, urging him to cum as his mind staggered out from sleep and into the waking world. He would take his time while waking. He deserved to sleep.

  And she deserved to pleasure him. It was her whole life. Her meaning. Her calling. Her world.

  When it came to her Master’s cock, she was born to suck.

  * * * * *

  This was going to suck.

  Francesca had a feeling about it from the moment she stepped into the office.

  Now, being led by a mini-skirted blond beauty around its white and chrome surfaces, its far-too-many secretaries and disturbing lack of supervisors, her feeling had only deepened. The woman leading her was barely a woman at all—probably the same age as Francesca, just eighteen. Her name was Mandy, and she was young and beautiful, dressed in a tight charcoal business suit with a pencil skirt. A long slit ran up the side of her legs, revealing the top of her smoky stockings. Her body and particularly her face were smashing enough to make the look seem elegant.

  “And so,” said Mandy, smiling brightly and still strutting along, “that’s about everything. Do you understand the full scope of your duties here at NewLife Tech? Do you have any questions?”

  To be completely honest, Francesca hadn’t been paying attention. It didn’t seem like there was much to pay attention to. She had been told from her agent, Delilah, that most of her duties would consist of mindless filing.

  “It’s a nothing job,” Delilah had said, her tone motherly and cheery. “Just something to pay the bills in between gigs. With how pretty you are, I doubt you’ll be there longer than six weeks. Six months at the most.”

  Francesca took a look around. Every woman she had seen working in the office was pretty. Very pretty, in fact—like, aspiring starlet or model hot, much like Francesca herself was. She had noticed, with a certain snub satisfaction, that she looked better than all of them—but that was to take nothing away from the other girls for trying.

  But this many pretty women in one place had her suspicions aroused. Normally you’d only see hot girls like this working in one place in a strip club, or maybe a really top-shelf breastaurant, if there was such a thing. And why were there only women working here? There wasn’t a single man to be seen—and the only one mentioned was the boss, Mr. Stout.

  One man. Lots of women—lots of attractive women. And why were they all dressed...well...

  She couldn’t put her finger on it, exactly. None of them were dressed slutty, after all. They were just really beautiful women dressed well—in expensive silk blouses, in tight skirts, wearing elegant heels, their hair arranged just-so.

  It was small details she noticed. The blouses seemed largely conservative, but were unbuttoned just slightly at the top—enough to show off plenty of cleavage if bending over. The skirts were business-like, but they were tight. And short. The heels were simple, but were just a bit too tall to seem professional. And why hadn’t any of them worn flats? Were they not allowed?

  Francesca had worn heels herself, but it was her first day and she’d wanted to impress. She tugged at the light pink blouse she wore, feeling suddenly self-conscious as Mandy stared her up and down.

  Mandy’s own pair of beautiful breasts appeared to ri
val Francesca’s own, which was surprising. Francesca liked to brag—to herself and very occasionally to her boyfriend, Coleman—that she had the biggest and sexiest natural pair this side of the Rocky Mountains. It wasn’t true, of course—there were women with bigger tits than her own glorious 38D, obviously. But they were often out of shape. Francesca was a trim one hundred twenty-five pounds. She lifted weights and ran cardio every morning. Coleman said she cared too much about appearances, but he was a lawyer—what did he know about trying to become a famous model and actress?

  She enjoyed his presence a great deal, Coleman. She liked his sense of humor and his quick wit—and the hot bod and fat stacks of cash he pulled in weren't bad either. If he had a whiff of this place, she thought for sure he would be wanting her to quit in an instant.

  Anyway, Francesca didn't believe in having an inflated opinion of herself, but nor did she believe in putting herself down for the sake of others. She believed in having an accurate opinion of herself.

  “Questions?” Francesca repeated to Mandy. “I’m not sure. I guess I’m curious about why a software firm has a talent agency?”

  NewLife Tech was partnered with, or owned, or was somehow related to NewLife Talent Agency, which represented Francesca. It was rather strange, she thought, for a software company to partner with an agency dedicated to getting its clients jobs in show business.

  Francesca had the acting chops to be an actress, but she was pretty enough to model. Her face was distinct and memorable even beyond being beautiful. Her features were defined and sharp, her nose elegant, her cheekbones high, her eyes a vibrant light brown. There was no reason, she felt, that she shouldn’t be paid for showing off her fantastic body. Moving from modeling to acting was a fairly common career move, one that some of her favorite models (and actresses) had made.

  She was so pretty, in fact, that she’d already been offered a part in a commercial. It was later this week, on Saturday, and this NewLife place had already okayed her for it. But still, representation was important. She wasn’t so arrogant to believe that she could simply go forever in this cutthroat town without someone watching her back. And NewLife Talent Agency had crazy good reviews all over the internet. The praise was effusive.

  So far, Francesca didn’t understand all the praise...but she was raised properly by capitalism, and she was sure it would make sense eventually.

  “Mister Stout has a firm grasp of the market and its conditions,” said Mandy. “This can be an awfully hard town on newcomers, and his company has quite a lot of work that needs doing that doesn’t necessarily require salaried positions.”

  “Busywork, you mean.”

  “Some call it that, yes.” Mandy smiled brightly, apparently not noticing the acid in Francesca’s tone. “So, young aspiring beauties such as yourself are given the opportunity to make a little cash, and meanwhile, we’ll let you take the day off for any auditions or filming that you need.”

  “Beauties? There’s no...no men represented?”

  Mandy frowned slightly. “You know, I don’t know. I haven’t seen any, but surely they must be. Mommy wouldn’t be able to stay in business by only representing men.”

  “Mommy?” Francesca was confused. “You mean Delilah? She’s your mother?”

  “Oh yes. She got me my job here. And I’m so happy with it.” They stopped, and Mandy pointed. “Here we are. Your cubicle. You’ll have whatever you need. Lunch is from noon to one-thirty. The work day ends at five, but most girls end up staying past eight.”

  “Past eight?”

  “It helps with the drive home and to avoid the traffic. As well, they can get a bit of a jump start on the next day’s work and help Mas...” she coughed slightly. “To help Mister Stout with his work. He works around the clock. If they put in enough hours, they get a long weekend.”

  “Don’t expect me to work until eight, good god,” said Francesca. “I have places to be. People expect me.”

  “Of course they do, dear.” Mandy smiled, her tone matronly. “Today, just acclimate yourself. Take as long as you need. Look on the computer and futz about. When you’re ready to work, start alphabetizing that pile.” She pointed to a large stack of boxes in the corner. “File by file.”

  “How did they get out of order?”

  “It’s impossible to say,” said Mandy, stepping out.

  And then, that was that—Mandy left, and Francesca was left alone in the cubicle by herself.

  She wasted little time. If they weren’t going to monitor her closely, that was just license to steal money. Already she had her mind set on updating her social profiles. Her cellphone wouldn’t work—Mandy explained there was a production firm downstairs that used a cellphone blocker that sometimes interfered with their signal—but the computers had ethernet lines running into them.

  Francesca stood up and stretched, taking a look around. Her cubicle was grouped against four others. The walls were low, barely four feet high, and so she could easily look around and see what the others were doing. Almost all of them were filing here and there.

  She continued to stretch, wondering if her movements would draw the eyes of any of them. When she went out to bars and clubs, she often drew glances from women. Often, they were appreciative of Francesca’s easy, effortless beauty. More often, she drew jealous stares of women who wished they had been born better, born with a life so clearly easy as what Francesca so obviously had for herself.

  But there was nothing. There was, if anything, a sort of mindless focusing on the task.

  She noticed after a moment that the filing and organizing that the other women were doing involved a lot of bending and crawling. Or at least, the way they handled it meant they bent over and crawled a lot.

  And when they bent, it was...well, revealing. They did not drop at their knees to bend. No, instead, they bent at their hips, ratcheting forward and coming back up.

  Francesca had actually read literature lately that prescribed this as a much healthier option for the knees and back—with so much of your body’s natural muscle weight being located in the butt muscles and lower back, and almost none of it located in the knees. But, healthy though it might have been, it also meant that frequently—very frequently—anyone walking by would be able to take long, admiring looks at the behinds of the voluptuous, athletic, slender, and otherwise just beautifully built young women who staffed the office.

  The women worked in a rhythm—half would stand, filing away a file, while the other half bent and retrieved. Then, the positions would switch. Francesca felt like she had walked into some manner of silent musical.

  She took a look around, wondering if anyone else was noticing this. This was when she noticed the cameras.

  There were cameras everywhere. The fancy kind with high-definition lenses, able to rotate on a ball and zoom in and out easily. They were focused on each individual cubicle, and there were many more posted all over the ceiling and walls.

  “Do we work in a fucking secret casino?” she asked softly.

  On the wall not far from Francesca, next to the water cooler, a clock dinged happily.

  “Computer time!” Mandy called, walking through the hallways of cubicles. “Computer time, girls. Our wonderful Sir has a message for us. Let’s find out what it is, shall we?”

  All the women expressed happy delight at this news, giggling and murmuring excitedly, immediately dropping what they were doing—in many cases, literally dropping; boxes and papers tumbled down to the ground—to sit down in front of their computer.

  Francesca had actually forgotten she had turned hers on, otherwise she would have refused to sit down and look at the screen out of principle. She was already building a long diatribe to subject Coleman to later this evening when she had the time to call him. This was getting creepy and weird, and already she had made the decision that she wasn’t going to be sticking around for much longer than a day, if even that.

  But the computer was on, and there was something about the way the screen flickere
d that made her want to sit down. She did so, still frowning, surprised when the computer floated up happy little words floating on a bright pink cloud.

  Hello, Francesca, the cloud read. Time to relax.

  “Time to...relax?” she said.

  Her voice puzzled her. She hadn’t meant for that to come out as a question. In fact, she had meant to sound dismissive. Annoyed. This puzzled her. She would have to look at the screen closer to try and figure out why this had happened.

  Empty.

  Very quickly the words dissolved into the cloud, which then transformed into a big smiley face. The smiley face grew to the whole surface of the screen, and then shrank and shrank, shrank until it almost wasn’t visible. She had to look very close indeed to figure out where it had gone. That was the key to this whole mess. That was the center of everything, this smiley face. She had to...

  Vacant.

  Oh. There it was again.

  Relax.

  It was spinning, now, becoming larger and larger. Spinning and spinning, growing wider and wider, long spirals now.

  Empty.

  And she had to...

  Vacant.

  She had to...

  Relax.

  She had to lose herself in the spiral.

  relaxemptyvacantrelaxemptyvacantrelaxemptyvacantrelaxemptyvacantrelaxemptyvacantrelaxemptyvacantrelaxemptyvacant

  And she did.

  * * * * *

  “I don’t...I don’t understand,” said Francesca, stamping her foot slightly. Her tall heel depressed in the thick shag carpet. She stood in her cubicle opposite Mandy, the two of them discussing Francesca's work duties.

  There was a lot she didn’t understand from the past day. Yesterday, when she had come in, this place had seemed like more of a joke than anything else. It was a mockery of an institution, a strange idiotic beauty farm where girls came in and god knows what came out.