Crawling up the Corporate Ladder
Good morning my corporate slut,
Just another boring day at the office is it? Or do you find yourself thriving on the adrenalin, the rush that comes from running a large company and having such control over the careers of many? If they only knew how quickly and thoroughly you crawl before me, at the mere snap of my fingers. If they only knew.
Surely it wasn’t always this way for you. You had to start somewhere, didn’t you? It amuses me to think of an alternate reality where I am the powerful corporate executive and you are the young, innocent and naïve entry level, ambitious college boy hoping for his big chance at the company.
We both know I would eat you alive! Imagining you as a charming little thing is so sweet. Before you became such a nasty whore. What if I were the corporate executive, running the company, and you were my shy little intern boy, probably even a virgin? I would absolutely have my way with you.
Really, it would bring sexual harassment to an entirely new level. But when you are the president and hand-picked the HR department, who can really get into trouble anyway? I guess that’s what I would tell you when I pressed you up against the filing cabinet and you looked at me with big, scared eyes and asked what was going on.
In fear of losing your job (I’m afraid that’s just the kind of pressure I’d use to manipulate you – it’s fast, efficient and easy, after all, and you know I am impatient), you’d agree to my tasks, first they’d be uncomfortable and awkward, but seemingly harmless.
Like picking up the pile of papers I purposely knocked off my desk, so I could see you down on the ground, only to walk around you and show off my legs, daring you, taunting you wordlessly to peer up, knowing your eyes would be trailing up my naked thighs under my skirt, showing full view of my soft pink lace panties. You are a good boy; I know you’d keep your head down, shaking, not wanting to look up, even though I stood there and waited and waited.
Perhaps I’d step on your hand, “accidently,” just to hear you squeal a little in pain. Poor thing!
I’d make you stay late at night, moving my office furniture around. I imagine quite a night. A total remodel, moving my heaving filing cabinets three times, then my desk, then the bookcases. Until finally, the entire office is redone and looks brand new, and you are sweating, you had to take off your tie and jacket, but I just smirk at you and make you feel so, so uneasy. You’d barely escape alive, after 11pm at night, only to return the next morning and come bring me my coffee (because you are so sweet), and find that the office was moved back into the original state!
(You would be baffled, of course, how I got it all back in order by 8am; but who did I have do that? And why did I make you do all that heavy labor for nothing? Well, of course, just to see you sweat!)
The games and tricks would get more and more suggestive and extreme, until I exercised enough control and manipulation that I could get anything from you. And by then you would realize it was the most important job of your career, and to lose it, would mean your future was bleak. The prospect of working in an electronics store or coffee shop the rest of your life would be terrifying, but that’s how black and white it all seems to the young and naïve, doesn’t it?
Perhaps that’s why you’d give me your ass so easily, so willingly. One night, late, when everyone was gone, the seduction would almost be too simple. As I unbuttoned your shirt perhaps you’d think it was just going to be office fucking, but deep down, you’d know I was nastier than that, and that I saw you as much, much too dirty to enjoy simple lovemaking.
No, it would become abundantly clear as you were turned around, bent over my desk and your trousers pulled down. Your sweet mind, I’m sure it would wonder, “How did it come to this?” — or, maybe it would be filled with fear as the inevitable started to unfold – confident, cruel fingers manipulating your cock, spreading your ass cheeks, calling you a dirty, dirty college boy.
I’d have to gag you with my panties – soft, lacey, perhaps too small to keep your mouth quiet enough for me, so stockings may come in aid as well. I’d order you to hold onto the edge of the desk and never move your hands, not an inch, but I know you’d fidget anyway.
Your tight, virginal asshole would take some time to crack, I’m sure. But I am patient, and my strap on would be lubed quite thoroughly. The whimpers, the noises you’d try to muffle, they’d all just make me hotter and wetter, and so the long, long time it took to work your asshole into submission would be welcome. I’d alternate between fingering my pussy and shoving my fingers into your mouth, ordering you to suck them off, and while giving your ass a break from the prodding I’d make you tell me what a cunt-boy you were. It would be a nice little break from having my panties and stockings shoved into your mouth, but they’d return there once the real fucking started.
Your ass would be tight and fine, I just know it. When I could finally work up a nice steady rhythm, I’d reach around and feel your cock, mocking you, ordering you to get hard. “You have to be able to follow instructions if you are going to make it in this field!”
Just when you thought it was soon to be over, I’d pull you off the desk and order you onto the floor. Forcing you into the awkward position of your legs prone over your head, giving me full access to your ass, I’d tell you that you were about to endure the most sincere act of devotion and prove your worthiness to actually work for me full time instead of an intern.
The look on your face would be so incredibly priceless. Your ego and pride literally trampled in such a conflicted way, because I think we both know, deep down, you’d be loving the entire process. You would not yet know what a whore you were destined to become.
So as I manipulate your sexuality and arousal and force you to cum on your own face, you would find yourself alternately loving and hating the experience. Such nasty, nasty degradation. Seeing you below me, your face covered with cum, would only serve to delight and amuse me.
And turn me on, of course.
To top it all off, I wouldn’t let you clean it up. No, instead, I would make you clean my office. Put the desk back in order. Perhaps file some papers for me. All while the cum still covered your face, stuck in your hair.
And the whole time, I’d make you repeat to me, over and over again, what a filthy whore-boy you were. Just to make sure you didn’t forget.
It’s nice to think about the way things could have been, isn’t it?
Affectionately,
Mistress Akasha
(c) Copyright 2009. All rights reserved. akasha@akashaweb.com
