Giampaolo Tomassetti, an acclaimed contemporary Italian painter (also known by his spiritual name, Jnananjana Dasa), spent 5 years studying the Sanskrit epic and 12 years creating a series of large-scale oil paintings that visually narrate the core events of the Mahabharata.
Giampaolo Tomassetti, an acclaimed contemporary Italian painter (also known by his spiritual name, Jnananjana Dasa), spent 5 years studying the Sanskrit epic and 12 years creating a series of large-scale oil paintings that visually narrate the core events of the Mahabharata.
I never knew what it felt like to exist after death. Granted, I doubt anyone does. The scriptures say death is supposed to feel peaceful. I guess, to me, it did feel somewhat calm. I hadn't forgotten my memories of my life, my parents, my education, my job, the stress of bills, capitalism, all those hours I spent doomscrolling; I remembered it all… and Him, yes, my memory of Him was quite intact. All those hours of wanting him, all those years of feeling his name echo through the depths of my mind at the most goddamn inopportune moments, I remembered it all… Strange, though, isn't it? Who am I even talking to? Am I not supposed to forget it all after death? As per scriptures, we all start anew, right? Where was I even? My eyes aren't open... not really... I no longer have a body. I could feel myself floating... it was a really weird sensation. I suddenly remember—wait, how the hell am I remembering if I don't have a brain? What the fuck? Anyways, I remember the books saying something like I must put intention into creation? Let me try… maybe then I would be able to open my eyes—I mean see, yeah, I needed to see what was around me.
Oh… wait up… the darkness is receding—nope, false alarm, it’s not… but there’s a new light… someone’s here. I’m not alone.
I blink... hold the fuck up, did I just blink? I look down, oh, ohhh my body, no wait—it was a corporeal form… but looked exactly like my body when I died… WTF, am I a ghost?
“I thought you would be more comfortable in your most recent form,” a voice spoke. It wasn't male, it wasn't female either; it felt as if it were as much a soft whisper yet as heavy as the tolling bells of the old temples.
I whirl around, “Who?” There was no one, yet I could feel it. That presence: vast, endless, far, far too large to be contained within one form.
“That question is the most difficult to answer... who am I indeed…”
I blink, bewildered, a part of me starting to recognize exactly who or rather what I was talking to... “That makes no sense, everyone knows who they are.”
“Hmm… do they? Tell me, who are you then?” the voice asked back. My answer was instant, before I could even process my own words, “I am Shreyasi—"... I stopped as a thought struck me: was I still Shreyasi? Wasn't I a little too… ahem… dead to be the old me? Then… who was I now?
“See? You're stuck too. Your flesh had its identity, but without that cover, even you do not know who you are,” the voice—... I needed to stop calling him-her-it, the voice in my head—wait... did I even have a head... ugh.
“Look, just for the purpose of this conversation, give me a name and let me see you…” I stated flatly. I'd never really been one to mince words, death or not, that wasn't gonna change.
The voice laughed; literally, not even kidding. Not the amused kinda laugh, rather as if I had stated something so wild it was damn near impossible. I felt the space around me shimmer, as if every molecule or atom or whatever was vibrating… “Hey, that’s not fair,” I grumbled. I wasn't sure if he-she-it—dammit, was laughing at me or just because it felt the need to do so.
“You're not supposed to be here, you know? You wandered too far, little soul.”
I blinked at that, “Oh, do souls not come here? I didn't know that. It’s not like I did it on purpose, y'know; not my fault.” The voice felt as if it were smiling, “Yes, most do not; perhaps your soul inherently knew it seeked something more than the usual. So it drifted… still, you're too far…” The voice paused for a second before it spoke again, “Alright then, since you asked for a form, I shall take one you're rather familiar with…”
And then, colors exploded. Everywhere. Up until now, I seemed to exist in a dark, deep space, and now suddenly I saw stars, galaxies, universes and shit I didn't even know what they were, and then… Him.
Not physical, I mean, not flesh and blood. He was… vast, for a lack of a better word. The same corporeal form that I had, somewhat transparent, but too damn vast, literally. It felt as if this entire space was his bed and he was lying on it. I couldn't distinguish his facial features because he was more or less a silhouette. But I could see he was lying down, I could see his hair, long, flowing, the ends merging with the very black space I was floating in. His eyes, the only part of him that was glowing, were like black holes. Literally. Those NASA pictures of black holes , exactly like that... I'm pretty sure the eyeballs, or what should be eyeballs in human anatomy, were rotating , moving , shifting. They weren't static. Yet it was Him, I knew it, my soul knew it; it was him, just… goddamn.
But he didn't look the same as the calendar images , no weapons , no glittering gold and flowers , no sheshnag ... Nothing . He was a bare shadow ... His sheer presence felt like gravity to me .
My voice was a mix of awe and gut-wrenching terror, “I-... you thought—” I tried again, “you thought I would be familiar with this?”
“Are you not? They call me—ah, what was that name again? … Ah, yes, Mahavishnu—”
I did not let him complete his sentence before my voice found its way out by itself, “MAHAVISHNU?” Not Vishnu, not Krishna, directly MAHA-????? I look at him incredulously, “You-... if you knew I was familiar with Mahavishnu, why not take the easier version, you know? Like Krishna, easy on the eyes… I think… compared to... this. You.”
"Remember when I told you that you had wandered too far? This is what I meant. This… Mahavishnu… is the least overwhelming form I can take. Krishna, that form, is far too close to the human realm; I'm far, far beyond that realm. Far beyond.”
I go quiet for a moment, before I murmur, “Then how did I wander so far… you’re like- the highest point, in the universe.” He chuckled, that sort of sound when one is entirely certain of what they were about to say, no matter how outrageous the statement might be, “Not the highest, that would be incorrect, little soul. I am the only point that exists. There’s nothing beyond me.”
I blink, legit, just blink, before I go “Nothing beyond you? Well I mean, true the scriptures said the same, but… what about other y’know, beings, like you?”
“All me. I'm all that there is, little soul,” he replied. His voice was calm, like someone stating the earth is a planet.
I point to myself, “Then what about me? I’m you?”
He paused for a moment, not in surprise, no, rather it felt as if he was trying to find words that wouldn't be too big for me, before settling for the simplest of all answers, “Yes, little soul. You are me.”
I go quiet again, damn, that hit hard, ooof… but- I perk up “But, we are separate, I mean we are standing separately, you’re there” I point to where his silhouette was, “and I’m here” I point back to myself.
He smiles, I couldn't see it for sure but I could feel it, “Who says I’m not right next to you?”
I frown in confusion, “Huh but you’re—”… I couldn't complete my retort, for that is when I noticed … His hair, or rather a silhouette of his hair, that was the black space around me, the galaxies and universes and what not, were on his hair, like little hairclips. I didn't know how to explain the exact visual I was seeing. He was right. He was right next to me—no, he was all around me. I looked down at my own corporeal form; it was semi-transparent, yes, but I could see that wavy texture of hair—not physical, not actual hair, but the essence—within me… I was made of… Him. I didn't know how to put that into words. I was literally made of him, like a doll is made of plastic, where the plastic is its essence… I was made up of him… I just stand still, a shiver running through my spine, a phantom thing I guess, since I didn't have a spine? I quickly looked around, as far as my corporeal form could see. Everything had the same texture, his hair, everything was made of him, those galaxies, those stars, and other things I didn't know the name of, all spun like tangled tresses… He was not just here or there, he was everywhere… hell he was all that there was… “Holy fuck—” my voice was a strangled whisper. I was terrified of what I was seeing, purely terrified. I mean, come on, no one can look at this… this, and not be scared shitless. So this was the truth. All Him.
I huffed a soft laugh, the terror was still there, but it wasn't the fear of someone in trouble, rather the terror that comes with too much knowledge, “Huh, so it's all you, is it? Then why these..forms? Me, other humans, and other beings I don't know of… what's the point if it's all you?”
He smiled, I could feel it, “Well, my existence got monotonous after a few eternities, so I decided to create instead.”
I hum, I could relate to that atleast, boredom, “Hmm, makes sense, you got tired of being the only one to exist, and since you are all that there is, was or will be, you just decided to create from within you.”
Silence.
Then I felt him lean closer, it was a strange feeling, he wasn't leaning physically closer, but the space between us seemed to fold, his eyes, those black hole type moving things, stilled for a split second. Both the glowing orbs focusing on me, at once, I froze, fear, primal, blood curdling fear, ran through me. I wasn't scared of him like that, it was just a natural instinct. The way a mortal nervous system would react to direct proximity with overwhelming existence itself.
“Youre a sharp one, little soul. You accept things with an ease most would certainly struggle with.” his voice was curious, interested, as if he was only right now starting to actually pay attention to me.
Synopsis: You ask your boyfriend, Hiromi, to roleplay as his secretary and him as a demanding lawyer, mirroring your favorite movie. Good results ensue.
mdni | content: omorashi, desperation play, praise kink, sadomasochism, power play, orgasm control, bladder control, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, dacryphilia, verbal humiliation, impact play, sexual roleplay....heavily inspired by Secretary (2002)
Your relationship with Hiromi did not start as eccentric as it is now. It started slow, with a date at a restaurant that played slow jazz, and awkward smiles, until the tension eased from your shoulders. You had watched his behaviour because a part of you has always been fascinated by people, and how they acted in all sorts of situations.
Then another date on which he brought orchids, but not white orchids, all different kinds like Naked Man Orchid, Monkey Face Orchid, and Cattleya Orchid. You’re not a flower person, but you’ve always liked the ones that looked rather alienish, like they did not belong. Then a kiss by the lake, with another set of flowers, followed by, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
You said yes a thousand times, yes.
Sex with Hiromi is tender, like you’re being taken care of by a pair of silk hands, and you’re brought to the edge over and over again, until hot tears are slipping down your eyes, and your belly flutters.
So, the sudden change in…dynamic surprised him. But it had started with a simple question from you: “Have you ever watched the Secretary?”
Then you watched it that night, because it’s your favourite movie, and a part of you feels a little guilty and ashamed because Grey was a lawyer like Hiromi, and they had the same aloofness that made you want to see them angry.
So you watched the movie, and his reaction, until it gets to the part in which Lee is suddenly spanked, and Hiromi stiffens next to you, and his breath hitches. His nails dig into your nail as your legs are on him, and his eyes flutter.
A pink tint rose on his cheeks, dipping down his black cotton shirt, and when his jaw clenched down, you realised that he was aroused…not uncomfortable. He enjoyed it so much that you could feel his skin heat up. You stopped the movie in the middle under the false claim of “I’m sleepy, let’s go to bed.”
And the next time you’re having sex, and you’re pressed against the bed, chest flushed onto the bed, while his hips are bucking into your ass, his hands come down, as if he wanted to spank you, but he stops midway, choosing instead to grip onto the flesh. That moment solidifies your decision.
“Can we roleplay something?” You ask, chin resting on the couch seat, staring at Hiromi flipping a vegetable pancake in the air. The smell of mushrooms and scallions clings to the air, and you see him nod.
“Yeah…of course.” Hiromi sets the table with two vegetable pancakes, steamed rice, and pickled cucumbers in front of you. When he sits, you lay it all down.
“Remember that movie we watched…the secretary.” He nods, slowly, “I want to pretend to be your secretary…and you can spank me, and everything. We settle on a safeword beforehand, though.”
“When do you want to…” His voice trails off, softly cracking, “When do you want for?”
You shrug, “Whenever…how about, when you’re ready, you put a bottle of water next to me, and I can change, and we go from there.”
You settle on “bonsai”. A rapid, peculiar word, but the most memorable. After that conversation, you figure he’d begin the next day. But he doesn’t. It’s as if the conversation did not take place, and you continue as usual.
The next day, when you come back from work, not too exhausted, almost expecting Hiromi to still be at work, you’re surprised by the sight of a Paphiopedilum orchid. The exact one from the movie.
It’s on top of the dark brown coffee table, in front of the olive leather couch, and lying next to the orchid is a gardening scissor, and a syringe. You kick off your shoes, plunging the socks into the open mouth, and walk to the table, taking a few seconds to inspect the room.
When you lean down to see the orchid, the soft steps of Oxford shoes move from the bedroom to the living room. “Do you like them?” Hiromi is still wearing his suit, tie tight around the neck.
You nod, watching him sit on the couch, before his shoes tap on the floor, one finger pointing to the space on the floor, between his legs. Sit. You follow, dropping your bag on the small seat before sitting on the floor, back towards him, while staring at the orchids.
You want to turn, but something inside you says not to, and soon enough you feel his hands on the buttons of your dress shirt, strong, veiny hands popping the buttons. The small heat of his body curls behind your back, and your throat bobs.
There’s no noise around you except for your small ragged breaths, because you’re beginning to feel everything. The small breaths Hiromi takes close to the shell of your ear, and the strong, cold press of the floor against your legs.
“How was your day?” Hiromi whispers, nosing your hair, letting you revel in the small warmth. “Tell me about it.”
“I–” Your throat bobs, saliva pooling in your mouth, “I helped prepare the venue for a wedding…and–and oversaw the training of a new girl. There was an accident with some allergic reaction to the food ordered for one event, and…and that’s all.” When the last button is open, cold air presses against your tank top.
Hiromi hums, fingers brushing down, sliding into your skin, “Good.” A soft gasp erupts from your lips, and you bite your bottom lip, keeping your hands pressed to your side, until he’s sliding the top up your body, dropping it next to you.
“Pick it up.”
Your shaky fingers pick up the white tank top, and you fold it before holding it up. His fingers never really brush yours, but you feel the faintest brush of his skin against them. You wait there, letting the seconds pass until he slides a lamp next to the orchids. “Tell me its name.”
Under the cool glow of the desk lamp, the orchid looks less like a flower and more like a strange specimen. “Paphiopedilum.”
Again. You’re by no means a florist, but orchids were different. They seldom really looked like flowers, which is why you really liked them, and as soon as you finished the movie, you looked into the strange little orchids.
Your fingers point at the Paphiopedilum, staring at its waxy pouch, which droops over like the throat of a pelican. The flower itself is a tapestry of purple bruising and deep burgundy veins, set off by a dorsal sepal which resembles that of an upturned heraldic shield. And underneath the flower, there’s a pattern of dark green spots.
“Paphiopedilum,” You repeat.
“Good. Pick up the scissor,” He commands, but very softly like he’s telling a wounded animal to behave. Heat simmers in your lower belly, and your skin prickles as his fingers are suddenly kneading the back of your neck, thumb pressing into the bone, just enough where a tinge of pain flutters through your body.
His hands drop down your neck, and pick up the scissors, waiting for instructions. Eagerly waiting, because your brain has stopped functioning, turning fuzzy as Hiromi’s sultry, deep voice tells you when to move and when to stop. You clamp up for a second, as his hands slide on top of yours. “Open.”
And you open, letting him guide you, scissor tracing the stem down to the base of the orchid, and he makes you angle the scissor to match the natural slope of the leaf axil. For a brief moment, he holds your hand, keeping it there, “Now.” Your thumb presses down, and with a snip, you remove the dead weight.
You’re shaking now, slowly lowering the scissor on the table, and picking up the needle, skin prickling at the cold feel of the syringe against your warm skin. While Hiromi slowly inches toward your body, you shift your weight onto your foot, lower body pressing right onto the heel, until you feel the pulsing of your cunt against your own skin.
You’re softly rocking now, back and forth, unconsciously, until you're letting out shaky breaths, fingers softly twitchy. The strong press of Hiromi’s hands on your shoulders halts your movement. “Do not move.”
“‘m sorry,” You whisper, sucking in a breath, and his cheek is on yours, nose turning to your skin, inhaling. He lets out a soft sigh, and his hands slide down to yet again guide yours. “I don’t think–I’m going to mess this up.”
“You won’t…because I’m here,” He coes for just a second, “Do you understand?”
You nod, and his Oxford shoes are sliding to press the side of your trembling legs. Your cunt clenches against air, and everything aches, from your hands to your fingers, to your legs to your dripping cunt–even though Hiromi has simply touched you and uttered a few commands.
The needle of the syringe gleams, and he’s guiding it to the slightly shrunken pseudobulb of the orchid, at the rear of it. You’re trying to calm your nerves, holding the bulb between your thumb and forearm, feeling the tautness of the skin.
Hiromi’s warm hand slowly pushes yours until the needle is sinking at a shallow angle, piercing the exterior. “Very good,” He softly murmurs next to you, husky voice making you shiver, “So good for me. Doing everything perfectly.”
Slowly, he pushes into your thumb, making you depress the plunger, and you watch the skin little by little, tighten and plump as fluid is injected into the plant. “Hiromi.” Whimper.
“Shh, it’s okay.” And he lets go, pulling your hand, withdrawing the needle, moving your hand to set it down.
You’re vibrating in your skin because a feeling that you’ve longed for has touched your spine. Utter helplessness has touched your spine. Hiromi pulls you up until you’re perched on his knee, and his hands are wrapping around your waist.
Sweat trickles down your scalp, and Hiromi bounces his knee, just once, sending your hands flying down until they’re pressed on top of each other right on his knee, in front of you. A high-pitched moan falls from your lips, and he bounces his knee again, and again.
There’s a beauty in letting someone move, and possess you, seeing you at your ‘lowest’ and ‘needies’, and rather than feeling disgust, they feel…a need to show you. To manoeuvre you…to make sure that you’re taken care of.
“Fuc–”. Your eyes flutter close, and you ride Hiromi’s knee, whining and calling his name, the meat of his cunt pressed just right, so that you’re sure he can feel the rhythmic pulse of it. Then he stops, and you’re breathless, eyes opening, unfocused, “Hiromi.”
You finally turn, and he’s staring at you, breathing so heavily you can see his chest moving up and down. His pupils are blown, eating his dark eyes, and when you look down, there’s a thick tent and a wet patch on his dark dress pants. “Up.” He breathes, softer and lower, “Take off your pants.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A shudder runs through Hiromi’s body, and you stand up from his lap, knees wobbling, turning to face him, and you unbutton your dark slacks, pushing them down. “Fold it.”
You lean down, picking up the pants, neatly folding them, and the heat trickling down your spine. There are black bat patterns on your dark purple panties, and you see the faintest curl of Hiromi’s lips. Your thighs press against each other, and you can feel how damp your panties are.
Hiromi pats his lap once, and you walk to him, dropping the folded pants on top of the pants on the couch. He pats his leg again, “On my lap.” And you place yourself on his lap, and he smiles, cheeks pink, “You did well, very…well. That’s all for today.”
You pout, shoulders going slack, “Please, Hiromi. I want to c–”
“No.” He says with a small head shake, the word so commanding and soft. “Shower. Dinner. Sleep. Don’t even think about touching in the bathroom, because I will know.”
You follow his words, though a pout stays on your lips, even if you aren’t really mad at him. If anything, the anticipation of having to wait is enough to make goosebumps rise every time you think about it. Nothing happens the next day. While you don’t overthink every movement Hiromi does, your eyes search for his hands, waiting for him to place a water bottle in front of you.
To take your mind off it, you buy a typewriter, an actual typewriter. It’s black and slightly rusty, though one can’t really see it. When you clean it, you run your fingers across the cool, circles containing big, bold engraved letters. You grow to enjoy the constant clicks of the and the little ding that rings off it.
On Saturday, Hiromi does not work. You come fairly early, and easy day of doing nothing, and you see the typewriter on the dinner table, a chair positioned right in front of it. Oddly enough, Hiromi comes out of your shared room fully dressed in his suit, and he smiles, “Long day?”
You shake your head, dropping the bag on the loveseat, “Not really. A little boring.”
He grabs a water bottle, placing it next to the typewriter, and a lump builds in your throat. “Shower, and come to my office.”
You stand in the doorway for a good minute staring at the water next to the typewriter, before you dash into the room, quickly shedding your clothing. You’re meticulous, showering with caution, then lathering honey-scented lotion around your body.
Your clothing–dark purple rib knit tights, dark purple short-sleeved blouse with ruffled detailing, black Mary Janes, and a black pencil skirt with a slit on the back–is something similar to Lee’s wardrobe. When you enter the ‘office’, which is simply Hiromi’s home office, the orchid is on his desk, and he’s wearing thin silver glasses.
It takes you a second to take in Hiromi because, despite him wearing his usual suit, he’s looking at you through lidded eyes with such an…atmosphere of demand and dictation, your muscles tense up.
“You called me, Sir?” You finally ask, hands resting on top of each other in front of you, and he nods.
“From our meeting with Mr Godfrey. I want his letter of recommendation on my desk.” He says, sliding a small black and red recorder, to you. “You have thirty minutes.”
Your clammy hands grab the recorder, and as you walk out, he stops you. “And make sure to stay hydrated.”
You aren’t a beginner on the typewriter, but you have no experience besides the short videos you watched to prepare. The setup of the letter takes almost ten minutes, and you’re still sloppy. You write out thoroughly 200 words, hearing the soft drum of Hiromi’s voice while taking continuous sips of the warm water bottle.
But it’s as though Hiromi took his sweet time speaking into the recorder, voice soft and silky, “....a case is often won or lost in the margins, a misplaced citation, a poorly formatted brief or a lack of…’ and he drones on, while the typewriter clicks and clacks.
A part of you that drives off perfection, breaks as you make spelling errors through the letter, yet anticipation rolls through your body, and goosebumps lather your flesh. The fein feel of Hiromi’s sharp hands across your ass makes your spine curl.
The thin paper shakes in your hand, and as you walk to the office, a small pressure surges against your bladder. The cold air, your tights pressed against your lower abdomen, and Hiromi’s watchful eyes, naw at your flesh.
When you hand the letter to Hiromi, he spares you a glance and begins to read it. A thick red marker comes out, and he begins to highlight until the paper looks like a college midterm paper.
“Type it again.” Hiromi says, sliding the paper back, “These typing errors aren’t the first time, and I’ve let them go since it was the first week. This cannot go on.”
Your knees tremble, and a rush of humiliation passes through your body, “I’m sorry–”
“Do you know what this makes me look like…to the people who receive these letters? Type it again, and get it right.” His voice lowers at the end, and he looks so, so mean, staring at you through his lidded, small eyes. Next to the letter is another water bottle, and you take both.
As you retype the letter, the push to your bladder becomes impossible to ignore. Your body shudders, and your knees are shaking to rid yourself of the temptation to use the bathroom. You’re twitching in the wooden chair, yet you feel your panties dampen, mind reeling with what Hiromi will do to you.
When the letter is down, the pressure to your tummy is blinding, pushing against and pushing, until you’re moving your hips, back caved in. It takes a minute for the feeling to go away, and you’re back in his office, sliding the paper to him. There’s a bored expression on his face that morphs into laxness as the red marker comes out again.
When he stands up, your breath hitches. Hiromi slides the letter to you and slowly moves behind you, Oxford shoes clicking on the polished floor. “I want you to be over the desk, so you’re looking directly at it. Get your face very close to the letter…and read it aloud.”
You place your elbows on the desk, bending over as the bright red circles take over your vision. You aren’t sweating yet, but heat spreads under your skin, while blood buzzes in your ears.
“To whom it may concern, I am writing this letter regarding the profes–”
SMACK
A rough gasp rings in the room as the smack echoes, and your knees nearly lock. Your head slowly turns to Hiromi, and he’s up close now, pupils blown with pink cheeks. “Continue.”
“Professional performance of my associate, Michel Godfrey.”
SMACK
Heat trickles down your spine, and your stomach flutters. The sensation of pain across your ass fizzes into warm pleasure, as jolts of pain circle your bladder. You clamp your thighs together, breathing going ragged. In the silence, you can hear Hiromi behind you, breathing as heavily as you.
“During the tenure of his employment at this firm, he had demonstrated a commendable aptitude for the minutiae of legal procedure.” SMACK
You hold in a whimper, trying to sink your shoes on the ground, “In our field, a case is often won or lost in the margins, a misplaced citation, a poorly formatted brief, or a lack of attention…” SMACK “...to the specific texture of a client’s testimony.” SMACK
You’re unsure of how to describe the feeling passing through your brain. A part of you has shut off, skin feeling fuzzy, almost unfocused on nothing besides the fizzing pleasure of the pain across your ass. Yet, another part of you trembles as the pressure on your stomach has you letting some warm liquid trickle down to your panties.
A soft whimper crosses your mouth, and another hard smack lands on the same place, pushing you forward. “I recommend him for any position that requires an uncompromising commitment to perfection. Feel free to call me at your earliest convenience. Sincerely, Hiromi Higuruma.” SMACK
Tears lather your waterline, and you’re trying to blink them away, as another push makes you squeeze your stomach. Each smack becomes harder, continuously, on the same spot, as you reread the letter, until Hiromi is pressed against you. Hot tears drip down cheeks, while warm liquid flows down, seeping through the purple tights. SMACK
“Sir…” You whimper, tight hiccup leaving your lips, “I need–need…’m going to leak, can’t hold it in.”
Hiromi sharply inhales, hand sliding to your stomach, and he presses into it, until pushing into your bladder, forcing you to push out hot liquid, while little tears all across the paper, making the red bleed. “You’re a visual representation of my office…of me. I can’t have my secretary doing such a thing without reprimand.” SMACK
Hiromi’s strong hand slaps your ass until your soft sobs ring around the room, nails trying to sink into the table. Your limbs loosen, and despite the sharp pain curling through your body, white-hot pleasure rushes through your spinal cord, tapping your brain.
Your swollen clit, rubs against your damp panties, and you try your hardest for some friction as your thighs are compressed together, but no relief avails. Your left knee has twisted itself, kneecap pressing into the other leg, all while liquid rushes out of you, trailing down, hitting your Mary Janes and the floor.
A puddle slowly forms, your body still squirming–itching for release, and Hiromi presses himself against you, “You did very well. I will reward you…Do you want a bonsai or do you want me to soothe your pain?”
Your brain is too far gone to stop. You’re itching to realise. Itching to be good, you hiccup, sniffing softly, “want you to soothe…soothe my pain, sir.”
“Atta girl.”
You moan at the praise, and Hiromi’s hands are pulling down your skirt, nail softly scrapping your skin as your tights and skirts pool on the floor, hitting the puddle. Your back arches, and you’re still bent over, eyes lidded, even breaths coming out.
You feel like liquid, drifting into pleasure. Behind you, Hiromi picks up a pair of scissors, resting them against your panties, “You don’t need these today.” He groans, and he snips them off, throwing them on the floor.
You’re half dazed on his table, body reeling with hopelessness, and serenity as he pushes you on top of it, turning your body as if you’re a ragdoll. And he stares at you for a second, hands sliding to the back of your thighs, separating your legs with a condensing smile, eyebrows knitted together, “Poor thing, don’t worry, I’ll make you feel better.”
Hiromi dips down, lathering kisses on your inner thighs, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin, spreading you wide, watching your pussy glisten coated in your own slick, clit swollen and peeking from its hood.
He clicks his teeth, warm breath against your cunt, “Maybe I should punish you in another way. A good secretary wouldn’t be turned on from such vile punishment.”
You hiccup, eyes staring at the light in the room, and you gasp, hip jerking when Hiromi leans in pressing a kiss on your swollen clit. He does it again, slower, licking it, then wrapping his lips around the bud.
Your whole body twitches, breathing coming in ragged gasps that turned into high-pitched whines as Hiromi traces lazy circles around your clit, each consecutive flick sending sparks through your nerves. He stops, and you whimper, eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing.
“So perfect,” he moans, voice soft, as he moves his hand to stroke your hip. You try to speak, words coming out slurred and unintelligible, mind too cottony to do anything but buck your hips into his mouth.
He drags his tongue through your wet folds, then from your sopping hole up to your clit, licking it until your hands fly to his hair, tightening. “More.”
Your hips buck again, and Hiromi gives your clit fast flicks, groaning against you until the vibrations make your shoulders lift off the cold surface. Your feet kick in the air, and everything is too much. Hiromi’s tongue is full on fucking you as he sucks and laps at your sensitive nerve. Soft sobs ring, not the usual sobs but shoulder-shaking sobs, which makes Hiromi cock twitch.
Your stomach tightens, pleasure building against your spine coming in soft waves, as Hiromi slides in two fingers that fuck out a wet squelch from your pussy. His tongue never stops, and he presses open-mouthed kisses to your clit while your body is jerking, almost running from the dizzying build up.
“C’mon, be good for them. Cum for me, baby.” Hiromi moans against your pussy, curling his fingers, making your kicks out again.
More tears slide down your cheeks, and he japs at the spongy spot, sliding in and out of your walls, then japping into that spongy spot until your drool, thighs trembling.
Your fingers twitch, and the urge to piss passes through your body, forcing your body into an arch and making your cunt flutter around his fingers until you’re dissolving into nothing.
A whole-body shudder rolls through you, and for a moment, you’re just there sitting in the warm, with nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat, letting out tiny, meek whimpers. You don’t come back fully, not even as Hiromi is pulling you off from the desk, so so softly. And he leaves you there wobbling, pupils huge and unfocused.
He moves across the room, leaning on the wall, “Come here.”
You blink, limbs feeling like they’re filled with sand. He taps on the spot in front of him, and your weak legs tremble as you stand on unsteadily, shaking in the Mary Janes. You take one step, then another, knees nearly buckling. “I ca–can’t–.”
“You can…and you will,”
You try again, eyes focused on taking steady steps and the sensation of your cunt clamping around air. “You’re wobbling, Y/N…is this how you will walk to our guests?”
You shake your head, “No, n–no sir.”
“Walk again.”
And you return to the desk, hiccuping, body shaking, trying to walk again, heels clicking on the floor, while your cold air bites your skin, and your cunt clenching again. Your pussy pulses, and slick lathers the inside of your thighs.
When you finally make it to him, Hiromi grabs the back of your head, pushing your lips to his. You tilt your head, whining into his mouth, as Hiromi licks your mouth open, sloppy and filthy. Your brain is hazy and foggy, body unmoving, only whining and shaking when Hiromi nips at your lower lip.
When you pull away, Hiromi’s slacks have a thick tent, and he’s undoing his belt, zipper coming down, until he pulls his cock out. Precum oozes out of the head, and the tip is a bright, angry red. “Do you want to be a good secretary?”
You nod. And he’s clasping your hand around himself, while you’re staring, eyes glassy with need and want. Hiromi jerks into your hand, using your hand to fuck himself while you feel him twitch, cunt dripping.
It’s not part of the roleplay but rather your own need, and soon enough, you’re on the floor, knees pressed down, tongue salivating against Hiromi’s balls.
He groans, and guiding your face to him until your lips are wrapped around the head, tongue circling it, tasting the faint saltiness of his arousal. He pushes in, brushing the back of your throat, as your jaw goes slack, drool seeping down the corner of your mouth.
And he does slow, lazy thrusts, groaning and moaning, using your mouth as if you’re a toy for his own pleasure. “So open for me…all mine”, Hiromi coos at you while you whimper around him, reaching for anything, nails digging into his skin, while Hiromi’s thrust picks up, and your nose brushes his pelvis.
Through sheer force, you push off, body softly landing on your bottom, heel scraping the floor. You look away from Hiromi, “Not yours…”
Hiromi’s cock twitches, and he suppresses a smile, changing his face to a sneer, “Say that again.”
Your chest heaves up and down, “I’m…I’m not yo–yours.”
Hiromi narrows his eyes, and he moves quickly, pulling you up by your shoulder, turning you around, and pushing you onto the desk, face down. “You are mine. You are my secretary,” He sneers.
“Sir–”
“Until I say so, you will be mine…”One hand slide down to your waist, pushing your ass to him, until you feel him pooking the cleft of your ass, while another grabs a fist of your hair, “...All mine.”
Hiromi lines himself up, slowly pushing the head of his cock inside you, as you whine at the pressure, hiccuping. “Say you’re mine.”
You shake in his hand, and he buries himself in you, hips bucking forward until his balls are pressing on your ass, and you can feel him in your stomach. You feel so fucking full, drooling at the press of Hiromi’s thick cock. “Fuc–fuck, ‘m yours–yours,” You mewl, words choked and ragged.
Hiromi pushes harder, hips snapping into you, flesh hitting flesh as your body curls itself with pleasure, back arched. Your pussy twitches, and Hiromi’s dragging his cock against your walls. “Feel that…that’s your cunt tightening for me.”
You sob right into the air, brain short-circuiting from the continuous pleasure, as Hiromi softly angles his hips, bucking into that spot that makes your thighs shake. A high-pitched, “Hiromi”, leaves your lips, eyes rolling back, almost sounding like a plea.
Your cunt throbs, slick and leaking, coating Hiromi’s cock until a filthy squelch echoes along your guttural sobs and moans. “Only I get to see you like this.”
And you’re floating away in his hands, hands going down, to open yourself for Hiromi, and it’s utterly filthy and damn near degrading the way he twitches inside you, seeing you become all disroainted and wobbly while he fuck you into pliancy.
“Har–harder,” You gasp, pushing your hips back into him.
SMACK
You clench around him, letting out loud, trembling moans, the pain rolling your body into overstimulation. His warm skin presses against yours, and while his hips keep snapping, his hands press on top of yours, chest on your back, feeling his breath on the shell of your ear.
You turn your head, eyes now on the white wall, and Hiromi is licking your tears, “Fuck–” he whimpers as you clamp down again. He grips your waist, nails digging in until you’re sure you’ll be purple and blue tomorrow, while he pounds into you again and again,
“Fuck–Y/N, how does it feel? Tell me, baby,” Hiromi chokes, panting as he pistons his hips into your ass, flesh making like the sound of gunshots.
“Go…good, so so fuc–fucking good,” You wail, hand moving to grip onto Hiromi’s dress shirt, pulling him into you. You feel on fire. Nerves fizzing away, while you feel Hiromi in your stomach. Your eyes squeeze shut, pussy squelching as your orgasm builds up, consuming any logical or working part of your brain.
You drool on the table as your hips are pulled back, and the weight of Hiromi on your back disappears. You whine and wail as your waist is lifted, and the tip of your Mary Janes points to the floor. “So pretty–all fucked out, and dumb. Gonna keep you like this, want that?”
You nod, dumbly and fereishly, cheek “Yes, wa–want it,” You wail, feeling Hiromi’s cock kiss that good spongy spot inside you, and he fucks and fucks into it, until you’re sobbing, filthily squeezing his cock, as you come, piss dribbling out of you.
Hiromi’s cock twitches, cuming with a guttural moan, feeling warm envelop him, and your walls clench so tight, they’re milking him, trying to squeeze every single drop out of him. SMACK
Your thighs shake, muscles clenching, and Hiromi huffs out a breath, groaning. Your body sags, and Hiromi catches you. Your brain is so far gone, as if you’re at sea, letting waves wash over you. You whimper, feeling Hiromi slide out of you, cum seeping down your soaked pussy.
The room turns, and Hiromi’s carrying you. “Did I–I do…good?” You whimper into his neck, nosing at his jugular vein, inhaling the scent of soap and wood. “Did I, Sir?”
“Yes,” Hiromi hums, “You did so well for me, baby. You took your punishment and your reward very good. We’ll get ice cream tomorrow. Let's get you cleaned.”
And while you’re burning, spine all tight and taut. Hiromi takes off your clothing, peppering kisses on your sweaty skin. His mouth presses against yours, softly and tenderly, licking inside your mouth, hands kneading your skin.
Hiromi showers you with extra care, whispering continuous praises as you slowly come down, your body floating. He lathers cream on your ass and dresses you in soft pyjamas, kissing you with sheer softness and gentleness, until you’re nuzzling your face on his neck.
“So perfect for me.” He murmurs, holding your body as you immediately fall asleep, snoring away on his neck.
Save me, James Spader, save me !!! My favorite movie, and so I had to do a Hiromi fic, with some of my own thinly veiled kinks.
Because this is directly inspired by the actual movie, there were words and sentences said in the movie that had been translated into this fic!!!
And thank you for reading, (˶>⩊<˶) i hope i wrote the eroticism the movie has well enough!!
