My personal assistant

[trio]

Teaser: I made her call her boyfriend while my dick was still inside of her, getting hard again watching her eyes when she told him lies. I turned on my back and made her mount me while she was still on the line with him. She tried to keep her voice steady, telling him about the weather, the hotel, how the meeting would be so important to her future. Her hips moved in small, reluctant circles as I gripped her waist, guiding her rhythm. Sweat beaded between her breasts. When he asked if she was okay, she choked out, "Just... jet lag, sweetheart." I thrust up hard, burying myself to the hilt. She bit her lip hard to stifle the moan.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.

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Title: My personal assistant
Author: Trio

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My personal assistant

The air in the office tasted stale, recycled through vents that hadn't been cleaned in years. Megan tapped her pen against the notepad, leaving tiny ink dots beside her neat shorthand. She kept her eyes lowered. Her engagement ring caught the fluorescent light when she flipped a page.

I leaned back in my leather chair. It creaked under my weight. "Pack for warm weather," I said. My voice smooth and practiced. "We leave for Dubai tonight. Private plane, of course." I didn't look up from my tablet. Megan nodded, already mentally sorting her suitcase. Silk blouses. Lightweight trousers. The itinerary would be tight.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city blurred into a grey smear beneath low clouds. Rain streaked the glass. Megan gathered her files, movements efficient. Her fiancé’s text flashed on her phone screen: *Dinner at Mom’s?* She typed a quick reply, thumb hovering over the send button. *Business trip. Dubai. Back soon.* She slipped the phone into her blazer pocket without sending it.

The private jet cabin hummed with quiet luxury. Polished wood trim. Cream leather seats wide enough to sleep in. Megan adjusted her seatbelt, the buckle cold against her fingers. I swirled an expensive amber liquid in a crystal glass. Ice clinked. "Relax, Megan," I murmured. My gaze lingered on the curve of her neck. "It’s a long flight." I smiled. It didn’t reach my eyes, but she did not notice it. The cabin lights dimmed, plunging them into soft twilight. Outside, the wing lights blinked steadily against the vast, empty dark.

She shifted, her silk blouse rustling. "Should I review the Sheikh's portfolio again?" Her voice was tight. Professional. I set my glass down. The leather sighed as I leaned closer. "Later." My hand brushed her knee. She froze. "You’re tense." My thumb traced small circles on the inside of her thigh. She didn’t pull away. Her knuckles whitened on the armrest. "Sir, I …” I cut her off. "Your job requires flexibility, Megan." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Loyalty." Her breath hitched. The unspoken threat hung between them: the ring on her finger, the mortgage, her mother’s medical bills. My fingers slid higher. "Be smart, we have done this before.”

Her resistance crumbled like dry sand. A soft, broken sound escaped her lips as I undid her blouse buttons. The fabric parted. Her skin was warm. Flushed. In the shadowed cabin, it was just us. The engines droned. My mouth found hers. She kissed back, hesitant at first, then with a desperate hunger that surprised us both. Her hands tangled in my hair. We moved to the lie-flat bed. Leather cool against her back. My teeth grazed her collarbone. She arched, gasping. "Please," she whispered. Not stop. Not no. Just please. The plane soared through the sky chasing the sun, carrying us toward the desert.

Later, tangled in the rumpled sheets, she stared at the ceiling, my dick still buried deep in her. She had just had an orgasm that had surprised her. Her mascara smudged. I traced the line of her jaw. "Good girl," I said. She flinched. The words were a brand. Below, the first hints of the desert became visible. Dubai glittered in the distance like a mirage. Megan turned away, pulling the sheet to her chin. My limp dick slowly exiting her young body, leaving our combined juices on the sheets. She didn't speak. The silence stretched, thick with shame and the lingering scent of sex.

A large limo was waiting at the airport. The driver, dressed in white robes, loaded our bags without a word. Megan sat stiffly beside me, her eyes fixed on the tinted window. The city unfolded like a mirage, gleaming towers piercing the desert sky, palm trees lining highways where Lamborghinis purred past construction cranes. Her knuckles were white on her lap. I knew she was thinking of her fiancé. Of the ring she’d twisted off during the flight, tucked now in her purse like contraband.

My hand on her thigh, moving higher. I told her she was securing her future. Her eyes squeezed shut as the limo glided toward the Burj Al Arab’s sail-shaped silhouette. She didn’t resist when I guided my finger back in her pussy. "Remember," I murmured against her ear, "loyalty has its rewards." She trembled, her breath shallow. I had fucked her twice before this trip, once when she came in to ask a for an advance on her salary. It had taken some convincing, but she had sucked my dick when I proposed to give her a substantial raise.

The second time was just after her then boyfriend proposed. She had come to my office, glowing with the ring, and I told her promotions required dedication beyond the nine-to-five grind. She cried when I unzipped her skirt. Her tears dripping on my oak desk while I slow fucked her, holding her hand, my finger gently playing with her ring. She had been so tight then. Now, as my finger slid deeper into her in the limo’s backseat, she was already slick from the flight. I curled it inside her, feeling her inner muscles flutter. "Stay focused," I whispered, withdrawing slowly. "I appreciate… your enthusiasm." She shuddered, pressing her thighs together as the limo stopped beneath the hotel’s dizzying atrium.

In the penthouse suite, marble floors echoed underfoot. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the Persian Gulf’s turquoise expanse. Megan stood rigidly by the wet bar, clutching her tablet like a shield. I poured two glasses of champagne. "To new ventures," I said, handing her one. Her fingers trembled against the crystal. She took a tiny sip, eyes darting toward the bedroom door I’d left ajar. I didn’t touch her. Not yet. Instead, I unbuttoned my shirt, watching her reflection in the window. "First order some food and then you shower," I ordered. "Wear that perfume I like and nothing else." Her throat moved as she swallowed. She obeyed without a word, she first called room service, afterwards the bathroom door clicking shut behind her.

I had told her that I was leaving the company after this deal was finalised. Also that I was going to retire to the Caribbean. I reassured her that she got that new position in research she was so eager to get, and that I would make sure she got the promotion that would make her the youngest director in the company. I smiled when I hinted to her that I was sure she would show how grateful she was during this trip.

The shower ran for a long time. When Megan emerged, steam curling around her bare shoulders, she'd followed every instruction: skin glistening in the soft lighting, hair damp against her neck, the heavy scent of jasmine and something else clinging to the air. She stood silhouetted against the bathroom light, trembling slightly. I was already eating, but I was hungry for something else.

I didn’t speak, just pointed to the bed. The satin sheets were cool when she lowered herself onto them, knees drawn up defensively. I took my time, tracing the curve of her hip with a fingertip, watching goosebumps rise. Her breathing hitched when I pushed her thighs apart, a soft, involuntary sound. I tasted her sweet nectar, making her ready for another round of sweet fucking. She turned her face into the pillow as I entered her, muffling the gasp. It was slow, deliberate; I watched the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers twisted in the sheets. She was tight again, despite the slickness, every muscle coiled like a spring. "Look at me," I commanded. Her eyes, wide and glassy, met mine. There was shame there, yes, but beneath it, a flicker of something raw and desperate. She came quietly this time, a shuddering release that left her limp, tears streaking silently into the pillow. I didn’t stop until I was finished, until she lay perfectly still beneath me, breathing shallowly.

I made her call her boyfriend while my dick was still inside of her, getting hard again watching her eyes when she told him lies. I turned on my back and made her mount me while she was still on the line with him. She tried to keep her voice steady, telling him about the weather, the hotel, how the meeting would be so important to her future. Her hips moved in small, reluctant circles as I gripped her waist, guiding her rhythm. Sweat beaded between her breasts. When he asked if she was okay, she choked out, "Just... jet lag, sweetheart." I thrust up hard, burying myself to the hilt. She bit her lip hard to stifle the moan.

My finger moved to her clit as she was telling him how she missed him. I heard that he switched tone, he wanted the conversation to become more intimate. I started to rub her clit with my thumb. She was so wet that my thumb made a squishing sound. She tried to move away, but I held her hips. She started to talk dirty to her fiancé, telling him how she wanted him to fuck her, how she was so wet for him. I pushed my thumb inside her pussy, then back to her clit. She moaned. He asked her what that sound was. She said she was playing with herself. He told her to keep talking. I pushed my thumb inside her again, then started to rub her clit faster. She was moaning louder. I could feel her pussy tightening around my dick. She was close. I pushed my thumb inside her again and rubbed her clit hard. She came, her body shaking, her pussy squeezing my dick. She screamed. He asked her what was wrong. She told him she came. He told her he loved her. She told him she loved him too. I pulled her close to me and increased my strokes. She quickly ended the call and for a moment just lay there, crying silently. I wasn't ready yet. I flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and entered her from behind. She buried her face in the pillow, her body limp. I fucked her hard and fast, my hands gripping her hips. She didn't make a sound. After a long and satisfying fuck, I came inside her, my dick pulsing. I had played with her rosebud, but I knew this was out of bounds. She lay still, her face hidden.

I whispered in her ear that she was a good girl and that she had earned her promotion. "Show me how grateful you are tomorrow morning, so I can enjoy your body one last time before I leave the company." She just nodded, her face still buried in the pillow. I could feel her trembling as I pulled out. She didn't move for a long time after I turned away to watch the night's sky. The poor girl had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow.

The next morning, Megan woke me with her warm lips pressed around my morning erection. She moved with practiced efficiency, her eyes hollow and distant as she swallowed me to the base. Her hair was still tangled from sleep, and the scent of last night’s jasmine perfume clung to her skin. I gripped the back of her head, thrusting deeper until she gagged softly, tears welling but not falling. "Good girl," I murmured, watching the way her throat constricted around me. She finished without meeting my gaze, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before scrambling to the shower.

I was contemplating joining her for one last fuck, but I felt satisfied. I ordered breakfast for two from room service. Megan emerged wrapped in a towel, skin flushed pink. She avoided my eyes as she dressed in a tailored cream suit, fingers fumbling with the pearl buttons. "The meeting is at ten," she said, her voice flat. Professional armour clicking into place. I merely nodded, sipping black coffee while watching her apply makeup with meticulous care, covering the faint shadows under her eyes. The diamond ring was conspicuously absent from her finger.

The drive to the Sheikh’s palace was silent. Megan stared out at the manicured lawns and towering date palms lining the private road, her knuckles white on her leather portfolio. Guards in immaculate white *kanduras* opened heavy brass doors, leading us through corridors echoing history. The Sheikh waited in a vast, sun-drenched atrium, lounging on low cushions beside a fountain. Gold Rolex gleaming, he didn’t rise. His eyes, dark and appraising, swept over Megan. Lingered. A slow smile touched his lips. "Ah," he said, his English smooth. "I have been waiting a long time for this. Let's move to the boardroom so we all can sit comfortably."

In the boardroom, the air hummed with tension. Megan laid out documents with trembling hands. I leaned back, swirling my coffee. "Sheikh Khalid," I began, my voice cutting through the formality. "The terms are clear. My retirement requires… liquidity. I’m prepared to finalise the transfer of my most valuable asset." Megan’s pen paused over her notepad. Confusion flickered across her face. The Sheikh’s gaze never left her. "Indeed," he purred. "And the price?" I named a figure that made Megan gasp softly. Her eyes darted to me, wide with dawning horror. "But sir," she whispered, "what about the deal we prepared?"

"How do I know the asset is worth the price?" the Sheikh asked, his voice like oiled silk. He gestured toward Megan with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Does it perform to specification?" Megan missed the subtle shift in pronouns. She was still scrambling mentally, flipping through pages in her portfolio. The numbers discussed were nowhere to be found.

I smiled, cold and predatory. "Oh, the asset exceeds expectations. I made sure personally. The best I ever had, sweet and soft." Megan froze, the colour draining from her face. Her pen clattered onto the polished mahogany table. "Sir?" Her voice was a thin thread of disbelief. "I don't understand, what is going on?"

"I am making the deal of a lifetime. I have been preparing this for months," I said, my voice flat. Megan's eyes widened, darting between me and the Sheikh. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table. "What... what asset?" she stammered, the realisation dawning like ice water in her veins.

The Sheikh snapped his fingers. Two guards materialised from behind silk tapestries, moving with lethal grace. Megan’s chair clattered backward as they seized her arms. Her tablet shattered on the marble floor. "What asset?" she choked out, struggling against their grip. I watched her face crumple as understanding crashed over her. Her eyes locked onto mine, a silent, desperate plea. I merely smiled. "Ms. Parker has exceptional loyalty," I told the Sheikh. "As you’ll soon verify."

Megan was pushed, face down, onto the cold marble table. Her tailored suit jacket ripped open at the shoulders with a violent tear of fabric. She screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the vaulted ceilings, as the guards pinned her wrists behind her back. Her legs kicked uselessly against their immovable grip. "No! Please! Sir, tell them … why?” Her voice cracked into a sob when she saw my expression: detached, almost bored, as I sipped my coffee.

"Show me her breasts," the Sheikh commanded, his voice low and thick with anticipation. One guard wrenched Megan's blouse open, pearl buttons pinging across the marble like scattered trinkets. Her lace bra followed, ripped away to expose her heaving chest. The air felt suddenly cold against her skin. She thrashed, her hips grinding against the table's edge as the guard’s calloused hand groped her roughly, squeezing until she whimpered. "Very nice," the Sheikh murmured, rising to circle the table. His shadow fell over her. "And the rest?"

I finished my coffee, the porcelain cup clinking softly in the saucer as I set it down. The bitter aftertaste lingered, irrelevant. Megan’s terrified eyes met mine over the Sheikh’s shoulder, wide and disbelieving, silently screaming *why?* Her legs were forced apart by another guard, her skirt shoved up past her waist. The Sheikh ran a possessive hand over her trembling thigh, his fingers tracing the edge of her soaked panties. "Payment," he stated, not a question. I pulled out my phone, tapped the banking app, and watched the screen. A moment later, the notification flashed: funds transferred. Payment in full. "She’s yours," I confirmed, my voice devoid of inflection. Megan’s choked sob turned into a piercing shriek as the Sheikh’s fingers hooked into her panties and tore them away. He entered her with a brutal thrust, taking ownership of something that wasn't supposed to be sold. Her body arched violently off the table, held down by the guards' unyielding strength. The sound was wet, obscene, punctuated by her ragged gasps for air.

Megan's screams echoed through the grand boardroom, raw and primal, as the Sheikh drove into her with brutal force. Her cheek scraped against the cold marble table, pinned by the guards' iron grip on her wrists and ankles. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at me, betrayal carved into every ragged breath. The Sheikh grunted, one hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat. "Look at him," he hissed, thrusting deeper. "Look at the man who sold you." Her eyes, wide with terror, locked onto mine. I held her gaze, expressionless, as the Sheikh’s free hand groped her breast, twisting the nipple until she cried out.

I stood up and walked out of the large room, her eyes never leaving mine until the heavy wooden doors swung shut. Her final scream, a shattered, guttural thing, was abruptly muffled as the latch clicked. Outside, the palace corridors were silent. Distant fountains whispered. I adjusted my cufflinks, the transfer notification still glowing on my phone screen. The sum was obscene. More than enough for that Caribbean villa, and a lavish lifestyle.

A young blond girl entered the European Union at Paris De Gaulle airport, with Megan's passport and $5000 in her backpack. Megan's id disappeared completely when her phone died near the Eiffel tower when it was dropped into the Seine. I met with her fiancé weeks after and I showed the papers with her signature, resigning her position with the company. Leaving him with more questions than answers. He would never see her again.

I just can imagine her beautiful body being used by the Sheikh and his guests. The muffled screams, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, her bounds keeping her in place. Her tears mixing with sweat and cum. Her pussy stretched and filled over and over again. Her virgin ass used for the first time. Her mouth forced open to take cock after cock. Her body bruised and marked. Her spirit broken. Her mind shattered. Her soul destroyed. Her life stolen. Her future erased. Her past forgotten. Her present a nightmare. Her existence reduced to a thing. A toy. A plaything. A fucktoy. A cocksleeve. A cumdump. A whore. A slave. A possession. A thing. A thing. Nothing more than a thing.

I was ready to turn in my resignation papers when a young redhead knocked on my door. She was nervous, clutching her resume, eyes darting around my lavish office. "Mr. Harrington?" Her voice trembled slightly. "HR sent me up. About the assistant position?" I leaned back, steepling my fingers. She was perfect, fresh out of college, hungry, with that same desperate ambition Megan once had. The diamond solitaire on her left hand caught the light. "Sit," I commanded, gesturing to the chair Megan had occupied for three years. "Tell me about your fiancé." Her cheeks flushed as she spoke of a struggling artist, their tiny apartment, the mountain of student loans. I smiled. "Loyalty is paramount here," I said, sliding a contract across the desk. "And flexibility." Her pen hovered over the signature line. Outside, rain streaked the windows like tears. Maybe a small yacht was in my future after all.

A few months later, when Sophie was earning her bonus under my desk, I received a video call from the Sheikh. The screen flickered to life, showing a dimly lit room draped in silk. Megan knelt naked on a Persian rug, collared and leashed like a prized hound. Her once-vibrant eyes were hollow, vacant. Her lips moist and slightly parted. "Hello my friend, I here have someone who is truly looking forward to see you again." The Sheikh’s voice purred through the headphones as he yanked the leash, forcing Megan’s head up. Her gaze met mine, no spark of recognition, just dull submission and a practiced smile. Bruises mottled her breasts in abstract patterns, her nipples pierced with golden rings. "She sings beautifully when properly motivated," he chuckled, tracing a riding crop along her spine.

Sophie’s muffled gagging beneath me paused as she felt my sudden stillness. My hand tightened in her red hair, forcing her deeper. On the screen, Megan’s vacant eyes stared back, her mouth slack. The Sheikh’s laughter crackled through the headphones. "I saw the photo you sent me of the redhead, when can she be here?"

For some this story will never end ...
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Enjoy ...

[VictimEyes]

A nightmare........ wrapped in a dark fantasy................. wrapped in a turban!!!!