Customers always has the reason
Our japanese customers are our best customers. For that reason my boss always ask me to please them with all of their requests. They like a lot bondage so my boss always leave me bound and gagged in their hotel room to receive our customer in the best possible way.
I am a diligent secretary with a penchant for order and efficiency. My desk was a bastion of organization in the chaotic office, a place where paperclips stood at attention and sticky notes were neatly arranged in a spectrum of pastel colors. I wore my black hair pulled back by a ponytail that kept it straight that never strayed from its meticulously smoothed path, and my glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as if guarding the secrets of the corporate world. My attire was always impeccable: a white blouse tucked neatly into a black mini skirt, a belt that cinched my waist just right, a pair of black fishnet pantyhose that ended in high heels that clicked rhythmically against the linoleum floor.
The day the Japanese clients arrived was no different from any other, until it was. The air grew thick with anticipation as the office buzzed with the impending visit. My boss, Mr. Thompson, a burly man with a penchant for loud ties and even louder phone calls, called me into his office.
"Akira and his associates are here," he announced, his voice a mix of excitement and tension. "They've requested a... special service." His eyes flickered down to my attire, and I felt a knot form in my stomach. The Japanese clients were notorious for their unorthodox tastes, and it was well-known that Mr. Thompson would go to great lengths to keep them happy.
"Your job, as always, is to ensure their satisfaction," he continued, his gaze lingering on the black lace that peeked out from under my blouse. "But this time, they've asked for something... more." He slid a roll of duct tape across his desk with a sinister smile. My heart thudded in my chest. Bondage was not in my job description, but I knew the company's reputation was riding on this deal.
With trembling hands, I followed Mr. Thompson to the hotel. The opulent lobby was a stark contrast to the dull office, and the elevator ride to the suite was interminable. When we arrived, the two Japanese men were already waiting, their suits as impeccable as the hotel's decor. They appraised me with cold, hungry eyes, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
Mr. Thompson handed over the duct tape and whispered in my ear, "Remember, this is for the good of the company." Before I could protest, he closed the door, leaving me alone with them. They approached me with a confidence that was almost predatory, and I knew that I had no choice but to go through with this.
The first man, Akira, stepped forward. His English was precise, his voice low and commanding. "We've heard of your... talents," he said, a glint in his eye that sent shivers down my spine. He gestured to the leather sofa in the room. "Please, take a seat."
I sat down, trying to keep my legs from shaking as the second man, Takeshi, grabbed my wrists to my back and began to wrap the tape around them. The sticky embrace of the tape was surprisingly warm, and the sound of it tearing echoed in the silence of the suite. They worked quickly and efficiently, binding my ankles together. A piece of tape was slapped over my mouth, muffling any sound I might make.
Akira took a step back to admire their handiwork, his eyes tracing the lines of my body. He leaned in close, his breath hot on my neck, and whispered, "Do not worry, we will take good care of you." Despite the fear that clutched at my heart, I felt a strange thrill at his words. Was this what submission felt like?
The day the Japanese clients arrived was no different from any other, until it was. The air grew thick with anticipation as the office buzzed with the impending visit. My boss, Mr. Thompson, a burly man with a penchant for loud ties and even louder phone calls, called me into his office.
"Akira and his associates are here," he announced, his voice a mix of excitement and tension. "They've requested a... special service." His eyes flickered down to my attire, and I felt a knot form in my stomach. The Japanese clients were notorious for their unorthodox tastes, and it was well-known that Mr. Thompson would go to great lengths to keep them happy.
"Your job, as always, is to ensure their satisfaction," he continued, his gaze lingering on the black lace that peeked out from under my blouse. "But this time, they've asked for something... more." He slid a roll of duct tape across his desk with a sinister smile. My heart thudded in my chest. Bondage was not in my job description, but I knew the company's reputation was riding on this deal.
With trembling hands, I followed Mr. Thompson to the hotel. The opulent lobby was a stark contrast to the dull office, and the elevator ride to the suite was interminable. When we arrived, the two Japanese men were already waiting, their suits as impeccable as the hotel's decor. They appraised me with cold, hungry eyes, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
Mr. Thompson handed over the duct tape and whispered in my ear, "Remember, this is for the good of the company." Before I could protest, he closed the door, leaving me alone with them. They approached me with a confidence that was almost predatory, and I knew that I had no choice but to go through with this.
The first man, Akira, stepped forward. His English was precise, his voice low and commanding. "We've heard of your... talents," he said, a glint in his eye that sent shivers down my spine. He gestured to the leather sofa in the room. "Please, take a seat."
I sat down, trying to keep my legs from shaking as the second man, Takeshi, grabbed my wrists to my back and began to wrap the tape around them. The sticky embrace of the tape was surprisingly warm, and the sound of it tearing echoed in the silence of the suite. They worked quickly and efficiently, binding my ankles together. A piece of tape was slapped over my mouth, muffling any sound I might make.
Akira took a step back to admire their handiwork, his eyes tracing the lines of my body. He leaned in close, his breath hot on my neck, and whispered, "Do not worry, we will take good care of you." Despite the fear that clutched at my heart, I felt a strange thrill at his words. Was this what submission felt like?
