Born To Be Bred is a collection of erotic short stories about the lives of very different people with one thing in common – getting stuck in sticky situations and eventually succumbing to their natural, primal instincts to breed.

 

Personal Assistant

 

I moaned loudly as Terry took me from behind, my naked breasts plastered against the glass pane facing the causeway to Malaysia in his office.

The moans weren’t fake. His thick, 8-inch-long cock was rearranging my insides as he pummelled the large tool in and out of my nubile pussy.

My name is Angeline. I come from a small town near Johor Bahru (JB), Malaysia.

Standing at 1.58m with perky C cup breasts, flawless fair skin on a slim, well sculpted body thanks to frequent yoga sessions, I was one of the hottest girls in school.

Most of the guys at school teased and hit on me relentlessly, hoping that in a moment of weakness, I would agree to go out with them.

 

After graduating from a local polytechnic at 18, my childhood friend, Chong, who was working in Singapore as a recruiter, suggested that I worked as a PA for a friend of his in Singapore instead of looking for something in my town or in JB.

It was hard to ignore the fact that simply working across the causeway in Singapore meant that my salary would be more than three times what I would likely receive in similar roles here in Malaysia due to the currency exchange rates. I didn’t come from a rich family and neither did my boyfriend.

So, despite the disapproval from my boyfriend Ryan, I agreed.

I did a simple video interview with Chong’s friend Terry and was offered the role immediately. Little did I know that I had just walked right into their trap.

Two weeks later Chong came to my place with documents for me to sign and clothes for work, citing that I might not be aware of the typical dress code for office work.

The dress code? Heels, short tight skirts, low cut blouses or tiny tops that would reveal my trimmed tummy if I raised my hands. It looked like he was expecting me to dress up like a KTV girl (karaoke companion girl).

When I tried to voice my concerns, he told me that I was too narrow minded, and that Singapore was much more liberal than the small town I’ve lived in my whole life.

Not knowing any better, I believed him. Singapore was indeed more developed and expectedly more liberal than a Muslim country like Malaysia.

I also didn’t know at the time, that I had just signed off on a contract stating I had to repay the company $12,000 Singapore dollars if I was terminated or terminated the agreement within two years.

 

Chong moved quickly and within a week I was packing my suitcase to move into a room in his apartment, rent paid courtesy of the company.

I started on a Monday, donning the most conservative set of clothes I could find in the bag that Chong passed me.

A tight fitting short sleeved button up blouse with a short black pencil skirt that ended way above my knees no matter how I tried to pull it downward. I chose a white bra and black panties so that my underwear would not stand out under my outfit.

Remembering Chong’s advice, I left the top two buttons of my blouse undone, put on my heels and went out of my home in Malaysia at 6am.

Chong was waiting outside for me. I could see him ogling at my tight young body. The cleavage of my C cup breasts jiggled with each step I took, threatening to break free of the thin, restrictive office wear I had on.

He had promised me he would ferry me across the causeway on the first day and introduce me to Terry. I didn’t hesitate to accept his offer as I had never been to Singapore and lugging suitcases across the causeway in a public bus would be a hassle.

Terry seemed like a nice guy at first. The company was a warehousing provider and Terry was the overall in-charge, reporting directly to the owner. He was about forty, but relatively fit and energetic.

With Chong in tow, Terry showed me around the warehouse. My desk was in the corner of Terry’s large room within the admin office. Given the nature of the jobs in the company, there were only 2 other ladies in the company but they were in their forties and mostly worked from home.

The first few days at work went by normally. Just like in school, most of the guys at work would flirt with me incessantly, hoping that I would agree to go out with them.

I was also used to men trying to look down by top or up my skirt so it wasn’t anything I hadn’t encountered before. Terry and the other supervisors were a little touchy, often finding excuses to touch my hands or nudge me with their elbows aimed at my bouncy breasts but I took it in my stride, not wanting to offend anyone.

On Thursday afternoon, Terry was standing behind me as I sat at his desk, learning how to sort files on his computer. He started massaging my shoulders, asking if I liked working here. Uncomfortable with his touches but not wanting to offend him, I ignored his hands and responded that I did.

He continued teaching me the steps for the task but his hands were going up my neck, back down to my shoulders, inching lower and lower towards the front each time. It was impossible to concentrate on anything other than his hands moving about, loosening knots in my body and sending shivers down my spine.

My mind was screaming that this was wrong, but his technique had my body dissolving like putty in his large, strong hands.

My blouse and bra shifted around, rubbing my sensitive nipples and sending tingles down my spine to my pussy as he kneaded downward to my collarbone.

A moan almost escaped as he advanced, his left hand slipping under my bra through the three open buttons on my top, kneading my breasts through my bra as his right worked on releasing the other buttons which were straining to break free.

Once the buttons on my blouse were free, he slid his hands under my flimsy bra. I gasped as he started to knead and fondle my breasts directly. Despite his large hands, my tits were too big to fit in his hands. I whispered softly that I had a boyfriend, and this was wrong.