Sexcretary (Fertile Pleasures Book 1) Read online

  Sexcretary

  Fertile Pleasures, Volume 1

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Midnight Publishing, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SEXCRETARY

  First edition. May 16, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Sexcretary (Fertile Pleasures, #1)

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older. | Sexcretary

  Recent Releases

  What's next?

  Further Reading: Lust Party Bundle

  About the Author

  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  * * * * *

  Sexcretary

  Subscribe to the Nadia Nightside New Release Newsletter for a private link to THREE completely free stories—including one NOVELLA-LENGTH erotic tale—available ONLY for subscribers! Not only that, but you'll also receive exclusive access to regular special offers and discounts! It's free, it's instant, and you get hot, free tales!

  And if you want to get in touch, guess what? Me too! You can:

  See the hottest new erotica releases from tons of erotica authors via my Facebook Author Page!

  See what’s happening with me on Twitter @nadianightside.

  And finally, enjoy some of my favorite dirty pictures and NSFW .gifs via Tumblr!

  Recent Releases

  Lust Party Bundle

  Stalwart reporter Morgan Malls investigates a series of strange orgies thrown by an enigmatic millionaire. She never thought she herself would join the festivities...or become their star attraction.

  Ruling His Hot Students

  A regular guy receives a magical artifact that gives him god-like powers over the women around him. He can transform them however he likes and alter their minds so they're eager and willing to be his sex slaves...forever.

  Bimbo Servant Bundle

  NINE incredible stories of lactating bimbo goddesses serving one lucky man. These fertile nympho babes are so desperate to be filled, they'll do anything to make their Master happy.

  Gang Heat: The Stewardess

  One gorgeous bimbo babe is trapped on a private flight with a plane full of virile tattooed hunks who don't take “no” for an answer...and she's too hot for them to think about ANYTHING but all of them taking her at the same time.

  Gang Heat: The Cheerleader

  Stella is desperate to lose her v-card to the biggest football stud she can find, but they keep turning her down. Turns out, the supreme stud on campus has claimed her as his...and he'll fill her fertile body himself before letting his teammates get a ride.

  When you finish this hot tale, please leave a review! I always read them, and I welcome all feedback from every kind of reader. Your voice matters to me and to other readers—please, share it.

  On her knees, she suckled her lord's cock, aching and moaning as he thrust his hips forward and filled her throat with his incredible dick.

  Not so long ago—though she didn't know it anymore—she had been dutifully married. She never would have dreamed of cheating on her husband. She never would have imagined herself worshipfully sucking the cock of someone who essentially amounted to a stranger, thinking of him like a living God and hoping to hear just the tiniest words of appreciation from him in return for her lifetime of service.

  Of course, she didn't know the man was a stranger. And she didn't know that she had ever been married. If anything, she was married to service, married to obeying, married to looking pretty and being the best, prettiest, hottest, sexy-servile sexcretary she could possibly be for her big boss.

  In her tiny miniskirt, smoky dark stockings, deep revealing silk blouse and teensy jacket, she looked like a sexy porn parody of a personal assistant. That was just what her Master wanted, and so it's what she gave him.

  It was so fucking good to serve the Master.

  But she hadn't always been so enlightened. No, she'd had to be taught how to be such a good girl.

  * * * * *

  Life was not going well for Delilah Korset, not well at all. And none of it was her fault.

  How could it be her fault when movies kept tanking, when magazines kept failing, when TV shows couldn’t get past the pilot stage? How was it her fault if the projects she attached all her talent to dissolved like sandcastles built in the middle of a low beach?

  Delilah was a talent agent. Her client base consisted almost entirely of young, lovely women. She easily made good first impressions—she was attractive, blond, and well-dressed, with a happy smile and a clear willingness to work.

  She got her clients jobs. She got them good jobs with well-known directors and photographers; it was just...somehow, every job ended up paying barely anything.

  That meant, first of all, that Delilah was barely paid anything; it also meant, unfortunately, that her clients were less and less happy as time went on. She only had a handful left, and all of them were on edge.

  Anything was better than failing—anything. And so that meant that Delilah was willing to go above and beyond to ensure that her clients were happy with her from now on.

  That was how she had ended up at the Social Media Solutions Business Conference. It was the sort of event that mid-level executives and managers attended to hound for easy sex, cheap booze, and the kind of networking that might lead to a job opportunity somewhere down the line. But, unlike most of the other professionals there, Delilah attended to actually learn. She had actually dressed down to keep things business serious, wearing an older ankle-length skirt and a heavy blouse that hid most of her substantial bust.

  The conference was arranged in a convention center in downtown Santa Paula, only about a forty-five minute drive from Delilah’s own office two miles away. Traffic was always bad.

  The day was divided into several blocks, with each block having a different class in a small presentation room with a projector and stiff, uncomfortable chairs made of hard steel and red cloth.

  Delilah sat in one such seat in a class called “Social Media Targeting Millenials: How to Create an Audience in An Instagram Instant.”

  It was truly awful.

  She had come in hoping to learn how to help her clients connect to a larger audience. The idea was, hopefully, that they would generate enough buzz from their own online presence that prospective producers would want them on their high-profile projects to create larger built-in audiences.

  Pretty girls worked for Delilah, and it wasn’t like it was that hard to take a near-topless photo to encourage some followers. Mostly, she had been hoping for some kind of craft session on how to propose this to her girls and make it seem like it was their idea.

  Having to just spring it on them made her feel like a pimp. Or a madam. Madame? Wasn’t that the word for female pimp?

  Regardless, so far, the class had been awful. Actually, so far, all of the classes had been awful. Most were sidetracked by relics more than twice her age asking if it was possible to log in to their account on a phone, or what a mailing list was, or how long it took before a tumblr post started trending.

  “Useless,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Totally useless.”

  She sat in the back of the room, which was where she felt most comfortable. It was also the easiest position to make a strategic exit—which she was about to do if this hadn’t turned around in about two minutes.

  Three hundred dollars, down the drain. Three hundred dollars u
sed to pay for this conference that she could have spent on something worthwhile...like, say, one hundred and fifty discount cheeseburgers with which to drown out her sorrows of being a total show business failure.

  “Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

  She turned to see a man sitting just behind her. He had a dazzlingly beautiful brunette on his arm. They sat like they were in a movie theater. A very dark movie theater, where sex-kittenish women felt comfortable sliding their hands tight against the arms of their men and wrapping their legs over his.

  The woman wore tall, tight leather boots, and the sight of her clinging to her man—boyfriend? Husband? Boss? John?—like that was strangely erotic to Delilah. Her breasts spilled through her tiny white dress, docking with urgency against his arm. Tendrils of hair brushed against the inviting line of her cleavage.

  “What’s that?” Delilah asked.

  “How useless it is,” said the man. “You said it yourself. They don’t know a thing about how to use this software. Or if they did, they’re not about to show anyone, it doesn’t seem like.”

  Delilah crossed her arms. That made it hard to turn and look at the man, and so she uncrossed them again.

  She took another look at him. He was dressed well. His suit was navy, expensive, and pinstriped. But the man himself didn’t seem all that extraordinary. He was certainly cute, in a way, but cute enough to bag the kind of beauty he had doting on him?

  Her hair looked like it belonged in a commercial. As a matter of fact, Delilah would have loved to have her as a client. She was certain she could get her a job right away.

  “You know a lot about software, I take it?”

  He smiled. “I’m a designer, yes. And an engineer. I could take these clowns to school.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He handed her a card. It was yellow with black writing. “To steal their business, of course. If you’re not happy with your social media, give me a ring. I can make your business explode.”

  The card delivered his name, Albert Stout; the name of his business, NewLife Design; and his phone number and email.

  “Sure,” said Delilah, looking down at the card. “But what if I...”

  He was already walking away. His hand was attached firmly to the ass of the beauty at his side. She whispered something in his ear, and he squeezed her harder, encouraging a happy, aroused yelp from her as they exited the conference room.

  * * * * *

  “For the last time, Mandy. If you can’t find a job, I’m going to kick you out of the house, and I don’t care what your father says about it!”

  An alien arrangement of shrieks and squeals sounded through her phone, and Delilah huffed and closed it, walking into her office the Monday morning after the Social Media conference.

  Her stepdaughter was many things—beautiful, talented, manipulative—but industrious was not one of them. For the gorgeous young woman, barely eighteen years old, the only thing more essential than accessorizing was keeping her schedule free so that she would never have her hands tainted with the stain of a hard day’s work.

  Delilah was rather certain her stepdaughter hoped for a life of luxury by catching the eye of some uber-rich businessman; in the meantime, she dressed and acted like the world’s biggest slut in the hopes that she could fast track that eye-catching.

  Things had been rocky with Delilah's husband Earl as of late. He’d had Mandy in his first marriage, which had ended just a few years after it began and left him with a daughter he still didn't know how to raise properly.

  Delilah had married him at the bright young age of nineteen, deeply in love with his hard chest and easy smile, her eyes full of stars at finally arriving in Hollywood, just fifteen years old than Mandy at the time.

  The two young women often treated each other more like sisters, which grated on Delilah, as she tried to be a good mother. But Earl spoiled Mandy constantly, always undermining any firm touch Delilah had, and the end result was to have herself painted as the evil stepmother.

  It was not yet eight o’clock in the morning and most of Hollywood was still asleep from whatever rager they had attended the night before. Delilah's talent agency was small, located in an isolated office building and sharing space with a shady medical firm and a few masseuses who Delilah desperately hoped were legitimate.

  Sharing work space with the site of a potential police raid was the last thing she needed right now.

  Sitting in her waiting room, apparently waiting for her, was Albert Stout. He dressed down from when he saw her last; wearing tight jeans and a hoodie. His shoulders were rather broad and well-muscled.

  This look suited him better, ironically, than the suit he had worn. This looked more like his element.

  Delilah had emailed him the night before, giving in—willing to try something, anything, to fix her business. Later this morning, her top client, Robyn Sashay, would be arriving, and all signs pointed to bad news.

  Robyn was her top client because she was the prettiest of the lot, and also because she had been something of a success for Delilah for a little while.

  She’d starred in a teeny-bopper music video (for a pop band, of course, that fizzled out quicker than a bad soda on a hot day) and segued easily into regular appearances on a court room drama as the overly attractive lawyer’s melodramatic love interest. Robyn was brunette, tall, busty, and sensationally beautiful, and every part of her personality advertised how much she knew this fact.

  But, the court room drama went on to its third and final season without Robyn, and picking up steady work had been hell for her ever since.

  The fact was, Delilah needed Robyn a whole hell of a lot more than Robyn needed Delilah, and the idea of her star client finding new management filled her with terror.

  “Good morning,” said Albert. “Thank you for the email. I hope I’m not here too early.”

  His gaze over her body was slow and appreciative. Delilah felt some surprise at this. She was no spring chicken, but she wasn’t exactly a winter chicken either. At the age of thirty-four, Hollywood circles saw her as close to ancient—but in the game of talent management, a little salt (and “salt” being a relative term in Hollywood, where twenty-five was approaching middle-age) was often appreciated.

  She wore a loose, long black skirt and a bright blue button-up blouse. Her body was kept fit by a religious attention to yoga practice four times a week and intense cardio sessions late in the evening every other day. Her thick blond hair was drawn up in a bun, kept in place by a series of pins.

  The stress of her job meant that often she forgot to eat, and when she did remember, the subconscious horror at her own body not being the same as all the skinny socialites she tried to impress and wrangle ensured she ate mostly plant matter and legumes.

  “No,” said Delilah. “I’m sorry I’m late. How did you get in?”

  “Doors tend to open for me,” said Albert.

  Well. That was...cryptic. But whatever. Hollywood was full of weirdos.

  Very soon they were in her office. She poured herself a glass of water and sat down across from him after offering him the same. He pulled out his laptop, ready to work.

  “I’ll get right to it, Miss Korset.” He clapped his hands, clearly excited. “You’re having issues with your talent. They’re not getting the jobs you want. Heck, they’re lucky if they get jobs at all.”

  “Well,” said Delilah, automatically defensive. “I don’t know if I would characterize the situation quite like—”

  “Please.” Albert held up a hand. “We’re all friends here, yes? I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m just stating the facts. You need help. You need clients that are willing to be steadfast to you. Loyal. Obedient. I can make all of that happen for you, Miss Korset.”

  Delilah raised an eyebrow. He certainly didn’t lack for confidence. “And how will you make that happen, exactly?”

  “My program is very powerful, Miss Korset. It’s on the very cutting edge of performance. If you’ll loo
k here—”

  He tried to bring his laptop over to her lap, but she pushed it away. “I want to know how it works, first. What do you mean, you’ll make my clients loyal and...obedient? I don’t need obedient clients, Albert. I need clients that get jobs.”

  “And if they took better care of themselves? If they followed workout routines, beauty regimens? If they practiced their lines better?”

  “They’re getting parts,” said Delilah. “It’s just, the jobs themselves keep falling through. They get discouraged.”

  “I can take of that as well.”

  “With a social media program? Mister Stout, I’m aware that getting a few likes or shares can be a boost to the ego, but you’re talking about...I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “I can show you better than I can explain it to you,” he said. “Here, have a look at my laptop.”

  He slid it forward into her lap again. His gaze was expectant, encouraging. And also...lascivious? There was something predatory about the way he looked at her, something that made her feel this entire meeting was—well, off.

  Her alarm bells were ringing loud and clear. She had to get him out of the office and quick.

  None of what he was saying made any sense. He was just another snake oil salesman like all the rest, and her business was doomed to die a slow death strangulated by the entropic forces of show business.

  She was just about to push the laptop away when the door at the front dinged. She looked at the clock—only eighty forty-five. Robyn wasn’t due in until eleven, which meant that...

  Oh no.

  In Hollywood, the only reason to show up for a meeting early was bad news that you wanted to get out of the way.

  She hopped out to the front, leaving Albert behind and feeling a cool slime of dread filling her belly, and saw Robyn there already looking impatient.

  “Delilah,” said Robyn. “I’m afraid we need to talk.”