Mahesh's humiliation begins as he starts his new role as Jina's personal secretary, dressed in a form-fitting uniform that leaves little to the imagination. Jina, now his manager, subjects him to a series of degrading tasks and a thorough physical inspection, culminating in a forced handjob that leaves Mahesh painfully aroused. The day ends with Jina demanding Mahesh service her sexually, turning the tables on his past behavior and asserting her complete control over him.

The morning sun was a cruel spotlight on his walk of shame. Mahesh stood outside the sleek glass doors of XYZ Corp, his reflection mocking him. The crisp, tailored manager’s suit was gone. Instead, he wore the uniform of his humiliation: a tight, light blue button-down shirt that stretched across his shoulders and chest, tucked into black, form-fitting trousers that ended just above the ankle. The shoes were simple, polished loafers. He felt exposed, diminished. *This is the dress code*, he thought bitterly. *Look like the secretary, not the manager.*

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. The familiar hum of the office, the scent of coffee and printer toner, hit him like a physical blow. Heads turned. Whispers followed his path like a trail of breadcrumbs to his new desk. *Her* old desk. Jina’s desk. Now his.

He sat, the leather chair still molded to her shape, not his. He stared at the empty surface, the blank monitor. A single, thick file folder sat in the center, a neon yellow sticky note on top in Jina’s neat handwriting: *Read this. Now. -J.*

His fingers trembled slightly as he opened it. Inside was not a client report, but a printed list. A contract, of sorts. *Supplemental Instructions for the Personal Secretary Role.* His eyes scanned the bullet points.

*   *Secretary will ensure the Manager’s coffee is prepared exactly as she likes it: black, two sugars, served at precisely 9:05 AM.*
*   *Secretary will stand when the Manager enters the room and remain standing until given permission to sit.*
*   *Secretary will address the Manager as “Ma’am” in all verbal and written communications.*
*   *Secretary’s desk will be kept immaculate at all times. Any personal items are subject to inspection and removal.*

He read on, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. The final items were… different.

*   *Secretary’s physical appearance is a reflection of the Manager’s standards. Attire must be neat, but form-fitting, as to not appear slovenly.*
*   *Secretary will be available for any additional duties the Manager deems necessary for the smooth operation of her office.*

*Additional duties.* The phrase echoed in the hollow of his chest. He remembered his own words, tossed carelessly at Jina over the years. *“Make yourself useful, Jina.” “That’s not how I like my reports, do it again.” “Stay late, I need this filed.”* The memory was a sour taste in his mouth.

A shadow fell across the page. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral, a sharp contrast to the heavy musk he used to wear—wafted over him.

“Good morning, Mahesh.”

Her voice was calm, professional. *Pleasant, even.* It was worse than if she had been gloating. He forced his gaze upward. Jina stood before him, dressed in a power suit of deep emerald green, her hair pulled back in a severe, elegant bun. She looked every inch the manager. *His* manager.

He stood, as per the instructions. “Good morning, Ma’am.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. “I see you’ve reviewed the preliminary guidelines. Good. The 9:05 coffee, please. My office. Now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The act of making the coffee was a ritual of submission. The break room felt like a public square. Junior associates he used to order around watched him fumble with the machine. He could feel their eyes, their silent judgment. He carried the steaming mug—*black, two sugars*—down the hall, his knuckles white around the ceramic.

Her office door was open. He entered, placed the cup on the coaster on her desk with a soft *clink*, and stepped back, standing at attention.

She didn’t look up from her computer. “Close the door, Mahesh.”

He did, the soft *click* of the latch sounding deafening in the sudden quiet.

“The dress code suits you,” she said finally, leaning back in her large leather chair. Her eyes traveled over him, from his shoes to his tense shoulders. It was an assessment, not an appreciation. “The fit is… appropriate. It reminds everyone of the new hierarchy. Visually.”

He said nothing. *What could he say?*

“Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to the single chair in front of her desk. It was lower than hers. He sank into it, feeling like a child called to the principal’s office. “We have a lot to catch up on. But first, a practical matter. The bond you signed gives me broad discretion over your role. I need to be certain you understand the… *physical* requirements of being my personal secretary. It’s about trust. And proximity.”

Mahesh’s throat was dry. “Physical requirements, Ma’am?”

“Yes.” She stood, slowly, and walked around the desk. She didn’t sit on the edge of it, but instead leaned against it right in front of him, so close the tips of her shoes almost touched his. He was forced to look up at her. “A secretary needs to be presentable. Well-groomed. I need to inspect.”

*Inspect.* The word hung in the air.

“Unbutton your shirt,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, conversational tone that was somehow more commanding than a shout.

His heart hammered against his ribs. “Ma’am, I…”

“It’s an instruction, Mahesh. Not a question. You signed the bond. *‘Always follow the Manager’s instructions without any denial or question.’* Do I need to fetch HR to clarify?”

The threat was gentle, absolute. His fingers, clumsy and cold, went to the top button of the light blue shirt. He fumbled it open. Then the next. And the next. The air in the office was cool on his exposed skin. He opened it to his waist, the fabric falling back to reveal his chest, his stomach.

Jina watched, her expression unreadable. Then she stepped forward, into the space between his knees. He could feel the heat from her body. Her hand came up, and he flinched, but she didn’t strike him. Her fingers, cool and sure, traced the line of his collarbone.

“Hmm.” Her touch was clinical, but it sent a jolt of unwanted sensation through him—a mix of shame and a deep, humiliating thrill. *This was power.* Not the blustering, teasing power he had wielded, but a quiet, absolute control. Her fingers trailed down his sternum, over the flat plane of his stomach. “Acceptable. The trousers.”

His breath hitched. “Ma’am?”

“You heard me. The trousers. I need to see the fit is correct. It’s part of the uniform inspection.”

A protest died in his throat. He stood, his movements wooden, and unfastened his belt. The *zip* of his fly was loud in the silent room. He pushed the tight black trousers down over his hips, letting them pool around his ankles. He stood before her in just his shirt, now hanging open, and a pair of simple grey briefs. He was painfully, obviously aroused, the fabric straining.

Jina’s gaze didn’t waver. If anything, a flicker of something dark and satisfied glinted in her eyes. “I see the fit is… quite form-fitting,” she murmured. Her hand returned, not to his chest, but to his hip, her thumb hooking into the waistband of his briefs. “These are part of the uniform too. They need to be… presentable.”

In one smooth motion, she tugged them down. His erection sprang free, hard and exposed to the cool air and her unwavering stare. A hot flush of utter humiliation burned from his cheeks down his neck and chest. He wanted to cover himself, to run, but he was rooted to the spot, held by her gaze and the weight of his own signed agreement.

“Good,” she said softly, as if noting a detail on a report. Her hand left his hip and wrapped around him. He gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her grip was firm, confident. “A secretary must be… *responsive* to his Manager’s needs. All of them.”

She began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate. The sensation was overwhelming—the softness of her hand, the rough texture of her thumb as it passed over the sensitive head, the sheer, shocking reality of it. Pleasure, sharp and undeniable, coiled in his gut, completely intertwined with the deep, degrading shame of the situation. He was hard in the hand of the woman he’d tormented, in her office, half-dressed while she stood there fully clothed and in command.

“You used to love to make me jump, didn’t you, Mahesh?” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear as she leaned in, her other hand bracing on the back of his chair. Her strokes became faster, tighter. “A little comment about my skirt. A ‘friendly’ pat that lingered just a bit too long. Making me re-do work just to see the frustration on my face.” She twisted her wrist on an upstroke, and he groaned, his hips bucking slightly into her touch. “You enjoyed that feeling. Of keeping me off-balance. On edge.”

He couldn’t speak. His world had narrowed to the rhythm of her hand and the quiet, relentless sound of her voice.

“This is different,” she continued, her tone conversational, almost pedagogical. “This isn’t about keeping someone off-balance. This is about *control*. Absolute, undeniable control. I know exactly what I’m doing to you. I can feel your heart pounding. I can see every shiver.” She leaned back slightly to watch his face, her hand never stopping. “You’re completely at my mercy. And the worst part, the part that *really* humiliates you, is that your body is loving it.”

She was right. The pleasure was building, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown the shame. His breaths came in ragged pants. He was close, teetering on the edge.

Jina stopped.

The sudden absence of her touch was a shock, a physical pain. He whimpered, a pathetic sound that made him hate himself even more.

“Not yet,” she said, wiping her hand casually on a tissue from her desk. “A secretary doesn’t get release on his own terms. He waits for his Manager’s permission.” She walked back behind her desk and sat, smoothing her skirt. “Get dressed. We have work to do.”

Trembling, humiliated, and painfully hard, Mahesh bent to pull up his briefs and trousers. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Every movement was a reminder of his state, of her control. He finally managed to look somewhat presentable, though the prominent bulge in his trousers was impossible to hide.

The rest of the day was a special kind of torture. He fetched files, made phone calls, took dictation—all while painfully aroused, constantly aware of Jina’s eyes on him. She would give small, innocent commands. “Bend over and get that file from the bottom drawer, Mahesh.” “Adjust the blinds, they’re casting a glare.” Each movement rubbed the fabric of his trousers against his sensitive skin, a constant, maddening tease.

At 5:55 PM, as the office began to empty, her intercom buzzed. “Mahesh. My office. Now.”

He entered, closing the door behind him. She was standing by the window, the city lights beginning to twinkle below.

“Lock the door,” she said without turning around.

He did.

“Come here.”

He approached, stopping a few feet behind her.

“You’ve been… adequately obedient today,” she said, finally turning. Her eyes were dark, her expression serene. “But we’re not finished. The work day is over. Now we address your… *lingering issue* from this morning.” Her gaze dropped meaningfully to his crotch. “On your knees, Mahesh.”

The command was quiet, final. There was no one to see, no corporate facade to maintain. This was just them. The victor and the vanquished. He sank to his knees on the plush office carpet, the position itself a surrender.

She didn’t move for a moment, letting him feel the height difference, the submission. Then, slowly, she gathered the hem of her emerald skirt, lifting it as she stepped closer. She wasn’t wearing stockings. Her legs were bare, toned, and smooth. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her sensible, lace-trimmed panties—a pale cream colour—and drew them down, stepping out of them. She let them drop onto his lap.

“Look at me,” she said.

He looked up, his face level with the neat triangle of dark curls at the junction of her thighs. The scent of her, musky and intimate, filled his senses.

“You spent years making me feel small. Making me feel like my body was a toy for your amusement,” she said, her voice low and even. “Now, you’re going to learn what it’s like to be a tool for someone else’s pleasure. Your mouth, your tongue, they belong to me right now. You are going to make me come, Mahesh. And you are going to do it well. Because your job, your *only* job at this moment, is my satisfaction. Do you understand?”

He nodded, words failing him.

“Then begin.”

He leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on her thighs to steady himself. Her skin was warm, soft. He pressed his mouth to her, first a tentative kiss on the outer lips. She was already wet, the slick heat a shocking contrast to the cool office air. He traced his tongue along her seam, finding the swollen bud of her clit.

A soft sigh escaped her. “Good. More pressure. Use the flat of your tongue.”

He obeyed, laving at her with broad, firm strokes. The taste of her was complex, salty and sweet, utterly *her*. He lost himself in the rhythm, in the explicit, degrading act of servicing her. This was penance. This was his new role. He focused on the little sounds she made, the way her thighs tensed under his hands, the slight rocking of her hips against his face. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them, and her breath hitched.

“Yes… just like that,” she murmured, one of her hands coming down to tangle in his hair. Not gently. She gripped, guiding the pace of his head, fucking his face with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. “You’re learning. This is where you belong. Not behind the desk. On your knees.”

The praise, twisted as it was, sent a new spike of heat through him. He redoubled his efforts, sucking her clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly over the hard nub while his fingers worked inside her. Her grip on his hair tightened, pulling him closer, grinding herself against him. Her breaths became shorter, sharper.

“Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop…” she commanded, her voice trembling on the edge.

He didn’t. He drank her in, consumed by her, his own forgotten arousal a distant throb. Her thighs clamped around his head, her whole body went rigid, and a low, shuddering moan tore from her throat as she came, her release flooding his mouth, bitter and perfect. He swallowed every drop, his tongue working her through the waves of her orgasm until she finally pushed his head away, her legs shaky.

She looked down at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. He knelt there, his face glistening with her, awaiting his next instruction.

“Stand up,” she said, her voice husky.

He rose, his knees protesting. Before he could find his balance, she reached for his belt again, unfastening it with quick, efficient motions. She freed his still-hard erection, the cool air a shock. Then, without a word, she turned, bending over her own massive desk, bracing her hands on the polished surface. She looked back over her shoulder, her skirt still rucked up around her waist.

“Now,” she said, the word a clear, open invitation. “Finish what you started this morning. But remember who’s in charge. You don’t take. You are *allowed*.”

He moved behind her, the sight of her exposed, waiting for him, driving him past all reason. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against her slick, swollen entrance. He pushed forward, sinking into her tight, incredible heat in one slow, deep stroke. A guttural groan was torn from him.

“*Yes…*” she hissed, arching her back, pushing back against him.

He began to move, setting a hard, desperate pace, each thrust punctuated by the soft slap of skin and the creak of the desk. This was nothing like the clinical handjob from the morning. This was raw, primal, a furious coupling born of power and submission. He gripped her hips, holding her in place as he drove into her, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

“Is this what you wanted?” she panted, pushing back to meet him thrust for thrust. “All those years? To be inside me? To own me?” Her voice was a taunt, a goad.

“No… God, Jina… Ma’am…” he grunted, his control shattering.

“Look at you,” she gasped, her own composure breaking as he hit a deep, perfect spot inside her. “The mighty manager… fucking his secretary on her desk… but *you’re* the secretary now… and you’re *mine*…”

Her words were the final trigger. With a ragged cry, he buried himself to the hilt and came, pulsing deep inside her, waves of blinding release washing away every thought, every shred of dignity. He collapsed forward over her back, spent, his face pressed between her shoulder blades, his body still trembling.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the only sound their ragged breathing. Slowly, she pushed herself up. He slipped out of her, feeling suddenly empty, vulnerable. He stumbled back, fumbling to tuck himself away.

Jina smoothed her skirt down, then turned to face him. Her face was flushed, her hair escaping its bun, but her eyes were clear, focused. In control. She picked up her discarded panties from the floor where they’d fallen from his lap and tucked them into her suit pocket.

“You may go, Mahesh,” she said, her voice returning to its cool, managerial tone. “Be here at 8:45 tomorrow. My coffee at 9:05. Sharp.”

Maya

Jina

Robert Chen

Priya

Anya

Lisa

Xyz company  manager Mahesh always tease his personal secretary Jina and girl staff. One day jina recording her whole incident and share with CEO and HR . Company take action mahesh ask to Resigned or demoted from the position.

Due to Mahesh postion vacant Jina now new manager. Mahesh after many mail trail and discussio with false algation , Jina win the case. Mahesh don't have option due to financial sress and applied anywhere backgrounds will be check , it difficult to find new job. His not married hence his think let accept demoted after the year his changes images and left the company. His call to HR about accepting, HR said we now only opening for personal secretary you should report to Jina . Mahesh said not possible how i will work with accuses person, have you think about that. HR said it is chance to proof yourself how much you good men. His thinking and accept. HR told we ask to jina and confirm you.



Mahesh thinking what if she don't need , but after one HR got called ask she accepted your application but some contidion you should follow dress code  of personal secretary and sign one year bond, always follow the Manager  instructions without any denied and question . Mahesh told okay his think Jina don't want past things come to work . His asking to HR what about dress code. HR said want or look like personal secretary than manager. Mahesh sign the letter next morning with bond. HR said you should resume the duty next day. You already know jiya desk , HR laughed. His unable to understand and said yes i know .

Xyz company  manager Mahesh always tease his personal secretary Jina and girl staff. One day jina recording her whole incident and share with CEO and HR . Company take action mahesh ask to Resigned or demoted from the position.

Due to Mahesh postion vacant Jina now new manager. Mahesh after many mail trail and discussio with false algation , Jina win the case. Mahesh don't have option due to financial sress and applied anywhere backgrounds will be check , it difficult to find new job. His not married hence his think let accept demoted after the year his changes images and left the company. His call to HR about accepting, HR said we now only opening for personal secretary you should report to Jina . Mahesh said not possible how i will work with accuses person, have you think about that. HR said it is chance to proof yourself how much you good men. His thinking and accept. HR told we ask to jina and confirm you.

Mahesh thinking what if she don't need , but after one HR got called ask she accepted your application but some contidion you should follow dress code  of personal secretary and sign one year bond, always follow the Manager  instructions without any denied and question . Mahesh told okay his think Jina don't want past things come to work . His asking to HR what about dress code. HR said want or look like personal secretary than manager. Mahesh sign the letter next morning with bond. HR said you should resume the duty next day. You already know jiya desk , HR laughed. His unable to understand and said yes i know .

From Manager to Obedient Secretary's Thrill

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From Manager to Obedient Secretary's Thrill

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