Knowing you’d had a long and exhausting week at work, I carefully planned a Friday night dinner to cook for you. When you got home, I had food on the stove filling the house with delicious scents of the meal to come. Dressed in a low-cut top and a tight miniskirt, I greeted you with a fresh tumbler of whiskey - two rocks, just the way you liked it.
Kissing me, you squeezed my ass and nuzzled my neck.
“Everything smells amazing,” you murmured. “Especially you.”
Leading you to the couch, I sat you down and handed over your drink.
“I want you to sit right here and relax while I finish dinner,” I instructed.
“Mmm, yes, ma'am,” you readily agreed.
Handing you the TV remote and a small stack of mail, I returned to my work in the adjoining kitchen. After a few uneventful minutes, you addressed me from across the room.
“Babe? What’s this on the credit card bill?” you asked.
I froze, wracking my brain for what kind of trouble I’d gotten myself into. Drifting toward you, I dried my hands on a dish towel and shrugged.
“I can’t think of anything-”
“Naughty Secretary Nights… Did you buy porn with our credit card?”
My eyes went wide.
“I, um…”
You laughed. “Oh my god, you did, didn’t you? You are unbelievable.”
“It was on that business trip… I was so lonely, and I wasn’t getting service on my phone… and I just… charged it to the room… I forgot, I’m so sorry. I meant to pay it off right away...” the more I tried to defend myself, the more ridiculous I sounded. Who puts porn on a credit card? I knew better, obviously. But after a week without you and the better part of a bottle of Chardonnay… my ability to make sound decisions had clearly been impaired.
“Come here,” you instructed. As soon as I obeyed, you told me to turn around. “Lift up your skirt.”
I did as I was told, exposing my tiny, black thong and bare ass cheeks to you.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
Your spankings made me gasp and lurch forward. I did my best to right myself and stand still, taking my punishment.
Smack. Smack.
“Such a naughty, dirty girl,” you chastised.
Smack. Smack.
“Y-yes, I know… I’m sorry,” I whimpered.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
“Sorry for what?” you asked.
“...For being a n-naughty, d-dirty girl…” I stammered. Saying it out loud made me blush, but I knew it was true.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
“That’s enough for now,” you declared, and I started to lower my skirt. “Ah, ah…” you admonished. “Did I tell you to cover yourself?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“That’s right. Because who’s the boss of this ass?” you teased, squeezing my exposed flesh.
“You are…” I lowered my lashes, feeling the undeniable wetness between my legs. Whenever you manhandled me, I inevitably found myself willing and eager to do anything and everything you wanted.
“Mmmhmm… and I’m the boss of these, too.” Taking hold of my hips, you turned me to face you and yanked down the top of my t-shirt, revealing a black lace push-up bra. Sliding your fingers under the cups, you pinched and twisted my nipples, making me moan and squirm. “Isn’t that right?”
“Ooohhh… y-yes, that’s right… y-you’re the boss…” I wanted to straddle you, to let you strip me naked and have your way with me… but you had other plans.
“And since you’re such a fan of dirty girl porn, the boss says you can stay just like this while you finish dinner.” And with that you took your hands away from me, settling back against the couch and turning on the TV.
My breathing still ragged, I turned and headed back to the kitchen, with my clothes askew, leaving my bra and panties on display. In the kitchen, I realized the bay window curtain was wide open… Our house had a relatively high wall around it, but certain neighbors would still have a view inside from the right angle.
“Um… should I…?” I trailed off, looking to you and gesturing toward the window. You smirked, looking me up and down.
“Leave it open. I feel like showing you off. Let’s let the neighbors see what a naughty, indecent girl you are, shall we?”
“Y-yes, boss.” I chewed my lip and got back to work. In my exposed state, in front of an open window, making dinner suddenly invoked a host of new sensations.
Every time I bent over, I wondered if one of our neighbors was getting an eyeful… When I stirred or chopped, making my breasts bounce and jiggle, I glanced nervously out the window. In the dark of night, I couldn’t tell whether or not there was anyone out there, enjoying the show.
When dinner was ready, I set the table and opened a bottle of wine. Standing before you in the living room, I clasped my hands behind my back and let you know it was time to eat.
Following me to the dining room, you sat down and let me pour your wine, lightly caressing my cleavage while I served you.
As I stood up, you looked me over, considering my disheveled state.
“Strip down to your lingerie,” you instructed.
With a small whimper, I obliged you, peeling off my skirt and top. Standing before you in my thong and push-up bra, I awaited further direction.
“You may finish serving me just like that, then I want you to go and fetch your robe.”
“Yes, boss.”
I did as I was told, carefully scooping servings of each dish onto your plate. Every time I bent over, my breasts threatened to spill out of my bra. At one point you stopped me, ordering me to hold still. Taking out your phone, you snapped a picture of my ample bosom hovering over your dinner plate.
“I should post this online, since you love porn so much,” you mused, showing me the photo. “We can make a naughty, salacious gallery of you and charge people to ogle your naked body. Would you like that, dirty girl? Whoring yourself out for money?”
A flush of embarrassment and desire crept up my neck to my cheeks.
“I, um… Only if you wanted me to… You’re the boss,” I answered.
You smiled and held up your phone.
“Say that again,” you commanded.
“I… would only… w-whore myself out for money… if you wanted me to. You’re the boss,” I stumbled over my words as I realized you were filming me.
“I am the boss,” you repeated. Reaching up, you pulled down the cups of my bra until my naked breasts were fully exposed. Then you squeezed and fondled them, making me writhe and whimper under your touch. “I am the boss of this lewd, vulgar girl. You love flaunting your tits for me, don’t you, slut?”
The wetness between my legs was reaching a fever pitch. You very rarely used words like ‘slut’ and ‘tits’, so I knew I was in for a night of real torment.
“Y-yes, boss… I love f-flaunting myself… just for you…” I confessed.
“Mmm… I know you do,” you replied, and put down your phone.
Leaving my naked tits on display, you sent me off to fetch my robe. I returned to the table with it still in hand, since you had not, after all, instructed me to put it on.
“You may wear your robe while we eat, but leave it open. I want you to stay warm, and I want to enjoy this pornographic picture,” you gestured to my mostly naked body with a smirk.
“Yes, boss,” I agreed, and did as you instructed, putting my robe on and leaving it open when I sat down.
“Sit on the edge of your chair, and keep your knees apart,” you demanded. I obeyed at once, and the posture of my position thrust my tits forward.
You reached over, pinching and twisting my nipples, one by one.
“You know why you’re being treated like this, don’t you?” you asked.
I nodded, squirming in my seat as you tormented me.
“Yes… yes, boss…”
“And why is that?”
“B-because I was v-very naughty… buying porn… with our credit card…” I whimpered and moaned, loving every second that you tortured my perky little nipples…
“That’s right,” you agreed. “And when you act like a naughty, dirty girl, I’m going to treat you like a naughty, dirty girl.”
“Ooohhhh… thank you… thank you, boss… I-I know I d-deserve it…” I arched my back toward you, wanting more groping, more pinching, more fondling…
Which is, of course, precisely when you stopped.
“Mmm… You may learn your lesson after all,” you speculated. “Now be a good girl and eat. For the rest of your punishment, you’ll need to keep your energy up.”
Catching my breath, I did as you said. We made light, fun conversation during the meal, but it was hard for me to focus. I kept wondering what you had in store for ‘the rest of my punishment…’
I didn’t have to wait long to find out. After dinner, you instructed me to fetch the gelato and whipped cream for dessert. At first, I didn’t think much of it; we just enjoyed some small bowls of the chocolate frozen treat topped with whipped cream. But then you told me to put the gelato away and leave the whipped cream.
“And I’ll take one more small tumbler of bourbon,” you stated.
I quickly delivered your drink, and before I could sit down again you told me to lean against the wall opposite you. Then you set up your phone so the screen faced me and started to record, giving me a clear view of everything you were filming.
“Take off your robe,” you ordered, and I obediently complied. “Now your thong,” you added, and I slid the flimsy fabric down to my ankles.
“Actually, you can leave them there,” you decided. “As a reminder that you’re learning your lesson - what happens to naughty, dirty girls like you.”
“Yes, boss,” I replied, abjectly lowering my lashes. I stood, waiting for your next directive, with my thong around my ankles and my bare tits propped up by my bra.
To my surprise, you approached me with the can of whipped cream. Squirting a hefty dollop onto each of my nipples, you finished with a third spray on top of my freshly waxed pussy.
“Grab your elbows behind your back,” you instructed, “and stay like that until I’m done with my bourbon.
“Yes, b-boss…” I replied, carefully adjusting my arms so as not to disturb the portions of whipped cream.
Eva Monroe is a gal’s gal, guy’s gal, gal about town. She has a very active imagination and lots of opinions and frequently writes those things down. From screenplays to news articles to academic essays, Eva loves taking on the challenge of writing in new mediums, and her smut-tastic adventures with Bellesa are some of the most fun she’s ever had. Eva also co-produced two award-winning short films and has an MFA in screenwriting. Eva Monroe is not her real name.