Vice president turned sex slave Chapter 2

Prequel story abut how Manju secret BDSM slavery being exposed to a known customer of her

Manju parked the sedan under the dark tree and killed the headlights. She stripped fast in the front seat, folding her expensive blouse and skirt on the passenger side. Naked, she reached into the black bag on the floor and pulled out the thick rubber hood. It slid over her head with a wet sound, sealing her completely. She worked the long, heavy cock gag into her mouth until the base filled her jaws and the tip nudged the back of her throat. Next came the wide leather posture collar buckled tight over the hood’s neck, locked in place with three small padlocks. She clipped the leash to the front ring, then stepped out of the car and knelt on the cold asphalt beside the open door. Five thousand dollars lay on the seat.

Andrew walked over, counted the cash, and pocketed it. Without a word he grabbed her arms, yanked them behind her back, and cinched the wide straps together at the elbows until her shoulders burned. He clipped a second strap around her upper arms and pulled until her elbows nearly touched. Manju grunted around the gag but stayed on her knees. Andrew clipped the leash to his belt and led her across the lot into the club.

Inside the private dungeon he positioned her on a low padded bench. Manju’s hooded face rested on the edge, mouth level with the padded hole cut into the wood. Andrew locked her collar to a ring in the bench so she couldn’t lift her head. He spread her knees wide, strapped her thighs apart, and left her there, ass up, cunt and asshole exposed.

The customer arrived minutes later. He was already hard. He stepped up to the bench, rubbed the head of his cock across Manju’s gagged lips, then pushed through the small opening in the hood. The thick shaft slid over her rubber-coated tongue and drove straight into her throat. Manju gagged once, then relaxed and let him fuck her face in steady, deep strokes. Spit ran down her chin and dripped onto the floor. The man gripped the sides of the bench and used her mouth like a hole, thrusting until his balls slapped her chin with every stroke.

While the customer used her throat, Andrew moved quietly behind a one-way mirror on the far wall. He adjusted the small hidden camera he had set up earlier, making sure the lens captured the entire bench and the customer’s cock sliding in and out of the hooded woman’s mouth. The red recording light stayed on.

The man finished quickly. He pulled out, stroked twice, and shot thick ropes of cum across Manju’s rubber hood and down her posture collar. Some landed on her exposed tits. He wiped his cock on her cheek, zipped up, and left without speaking. Andrew waited until the door closed, then stepped forward with a warm cloth. He wiped the cum from her hood and tits, cleaning her carefully while she remained locked in place.

Manju stayed perfectly still, breathing through her nose, unaware that every second of the face-fucking had been recorded. Andrew detached the camera, transferred the file to his phone, and sent it to Buela with a short message: “Thought you might recognize this one.”

Buela opened the video in her office later that night. She watched the hooded woman take the cock deep, watched the customer cum on the rubber mask, watched Andrew clean her up. Something about the posture, the way the woman’s shoulders were forced back, the shape of her body felt familiar. She replayed the clip twice. Then she remembered the sharp voice and confident stance of the vice president who had signed the big contract with her firm only days earlier. The realization hit hard. The woman on her knees with a cock in her throat was Manju.

Buela saved the video, leaned back in her chair, and smiled. She now knew exactly who the secret submissive at the club was, and she already had plans for their next meeting.