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Chapter 1: The Collar's First Click
I stand at the edge of my partially glass-walled office, gazing over my little domain. The marketing firm buzzes with 20 souls, a sleek maze of open desks piled with sketches, screens glowing with half-finished campaigns, and a coffee machine humming in the corner.
It's modern and sharp, my creation, built with late nights and a knack for bending people to my will. I rule it from this perch, my corner office a polished box of power.
My reflection catches in the glass, mid-30s with raven hair spilling past my shoulders, blue eyes that pierce through excuses, and a body I've kept lush and curvy.
Today's suit is a tailored tease, a slit skirt showing thigh and a blouse plunging low to frame the swell of my breasts. I know my allure, and I wield it like a blade.
Stuart Wren's been here a few weeks, my newest junior assistant.
He's young, barely 22, wiry with dark hair flopping over soft gray eyes, and a sweetness that practically begs to be molded.
He's eager, always the last to leave, shuffling papers or fetching coffee with a quick "Yes, Ms. Rex." I've watched him since he started, catching those shy glances at my chest when he thinks I'm distracted, his cheeks pinking when I lean close to check his work.
He's malleable, a blank slate with no edge, and that's why he's perfect.
Today, I push it further. This blouse dips lower than usual, practically daring him to look, and when he hands me a report, his "Good afternoon" stumbles, eyes flicking down, then up, flustered.
I smirk. He's mine.
It's past six now, the office is thinning out. Phones fall silent, chairs scrape, and soon it's just us. I call from my doorway with my voice low and silky, "Stuart, come here."
He jolts with papers fluttering and hurries over, gray eyes wide. I lean against the frame and let my blouse shift, revealing more cleavage, watching him swallow hard.
"Stay late tonight," I say and step closer, close enough he can smell my perfume, jasmine and spice. "I need your help with something personal."
He nods, mute and entranced, young enough to follow without question. He's like that.
I lock the door behind us and the click echoes in the quiet. My heels tap as I cross to my desk, perching on the edge with my skirt riding up.
"Sit," I say and point to the chair. He does it with hands fidgeting. I reach into a drawer and pull out a black leather collar, sleek and simple, a tool of control.
His eyes widen but he doesn't flinch. "This keeps you focused," I purr and lean down, fastening it around his neck with fingers brushing his skin. It clicks shut, snug, and I tug it lightly, testing.
"Kneel."
He slides to the floor, awkward but willing, still silent, and I spread my legs with my skirt hiked higher, no panties beneath.
His breath catches as he stares at the dark curls and slickness I know he sees. "You've never done this," I say, not asking, and he shakes his head, face reddening.
"Good. I'll teach you."
I grip the small leash of the collar and pull him close.
"Kiss me here." My finger points and he leans in with lips shaky on my inner thigh. I sigh, warm and real.
"Now lick. Soft."
He tries with a timid swipe along my folds and I moan softly, encouraging him.
"More," I say and tug the collar, keeping his head in place. He licks again, bolder, with his tongue grazing me, and I feel the spark.
"Good boy," I murmur with thighs flexing.
He's clumsy and raw but there's eagerness there, a malleable hunger I can shape. I lean back with my blouse straining and breasts spilling further, watching him fumble under my grip. "We'll work on it," I say with my voice husky.
His youth shows in every move, that nervous energy of someone desperate to please, and I revel in it. He's been here just weeks, still green, still soft, and that's why I picked him. No bad habits, no resistance, just a wide-eyed kid who idolizes me enough to kneel when I say so.
I tug the collar again and guide his tongue higher, letting him hear my soft gasps. "Slow," I say and feel him adjust, tentative but trying. It's a start, a rough sketch I'll refine over months.
After twenty minutes of his fumbling efforts, I ease my grip on his hair and sit up, my skin still tingling from the clumsy dance.
It's obvious he's never done this before--every lick stumbles, every breath catches, a raw mess of inexperience with no rhythm to lean on.
He's trying, I'll give him that though, panting like a nervous kid, and that's the beauty of it. He's a blank slate, mine to carve into something exquisite. "That's enough," I say, my voice thick with control and a flicker of pleasure.
He pulls back, dazed, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand, gray eyes blinking up at me, caught in my spell. I reach down, unfasten the collar from his neck with a soft click, and set it on my desk, its leather gleaming under the light.
"Tomorrow, late again. Be here for a proper lesson."
He nods, still kneeling, and I stand, smoothing my skirt. "Go on," I tell him, watching him scramble to his feet, flushed and unsteady.
He mutters a quick "Good night, Ms. Rex" and slips out, leaving the air thick with his absence.
He's hooked already, those flustered glances turning to something deeper, that eagerness bending under my hand.
A few weeks in and he's already kneeling for me, young and pliable, ready to be shaped.
The collar's just the beginning, a taste of the control I'll tighten over time.
I've picked my target and he doesn't even know what's coming. This is the start of something delicious, and I'm going to enjoy every step of making him mine.
Chapter 2: Lessons in Precision
I've had Stuart under my thumb for a week now and he's already bending to my will like soft clay. The office is quiet tonight, past seven, the faint glow of city lights seeping through the blinds.
My corner office feels like a cocoon with glass walls reflecting my domain, 20 desks, empty now, and my oak desk, solid and waiting. I'm in a sapphire blouse tonight, low-cut and clinging to my curves, with a skirt that rides up a little too much when I move.
Stuart's worked here a few weeks, young and eager, and that first night showed me he's raw but trainable. Tonight I start shaping him for real.
He shuffles in when I call, "Stuart, come here," my voice low and smooth.
His gray eyes flickering to my chest before snapping up and cheeks pink. "Yes, Ms. Rex," he says, quick and soft, and I smirk, locking the door behind him.
"Sit," I say and point to the chair. He does with hands twitching and I perch on my desk before him, skirt hiked just enough to tease. "You've got potential," I say and lean forward, blouse dipping to show more cleavage.
"But you need to learn how to please a woman. I'm going to teach you."
His eyes widen but he nods, caught in my pull. I reach for the black leather collar on my desk with its sleek surface cool against my fingers.
"This keeps you where I want you," I say and fasten it around his neck, clicking it snug. He swallows hard and I tug it lightly, testing. "Kneel."
He, like before, slides to the floor, less awkward than last time, and I spread my legs, slowly and deliberately, skirt up, no panties beneath.
His breath hitches as he stares and I feel the heat of his gaze.
"Listen," I say and run a hand down my thigh, pointing. "A woman's pleasure starts here, the inner thighs. Soft kisses, light licks, wake the skin up."
I trace higher with fingers brushing my pussy folds. "Then here, the outer edges, slow and gentle. Build it."
My hand moves and circles my clit. "This is the key. Small, tight circles, then sucking, but not too hard at first. You rush, you ruin it." He nods with gray eyes locked on my hand and I smirk. "Now practice."
I grip the collar and pull him close. "Start with kisses," I say.
He leans in with lips brushing my inner thigh, tentative but warmer than before. "Good," I murmur and let him hear my sigh.
"Higher."
He moves, kissing along my skin, and I feel the spark, faint but there. "Now lick," I say and tug the collar. He tries with a soft swipe along my outer folds, clumsy but earnest. "Slower," I correct with voice firm.
"Like you're tasting something delicate." He adjusts with tongue dragging gentler and I moan softly, encouraging him.
"Better," I say and guide him with the collar.
"Find the center." He licks inward, hesitant, grazing my clit, and I gasp, real and sharp. "There," I say. "Circle it, small and tight."
He does with awkward loops at first and I shift my hips.
"Smoother," I tell him with a voice dropping.
He tries again with tongue settling into a rhythm and I moan louder, thighs flexing. "Good boy. Now suck, light." He closes his lips over me, sucking softly, and I feel the breaths get deeper.
"Too much pressure," I say and tug the collar. "Ease up." He lightens it and I sigh, "Yes, like that."
He's getting it, bit by bit, and I lean back on my elbows, blouse straining, breasts spilling as I watch him work.
His inexperience shows with pauses and fumbles but he's learning fast, young and malleable under my hands.
"Keep the rhythm," I say and let my moans spill out, raw and unfiltered. He does with tongue circling, sucking steady, and I feel the coil tighten. "Fuck, Stuart," I breathe when he hits it just right and he presses closer, eager for more.
Weeks pass like this with late nights blending into a routine.
He's here every evening, collar on, kneeling between my thighs.
His kisses grow surer and trace my thighs with purpose. His licks smooth out and glide along my folds, building heat without my constant nudge. I still correct him,
"Softer there," "Hold it longer," but less often.
One night he circles my clit without a word, tight and precise, and I gasp, loud and real. "Suck," I say and he does, light then firm, pulling a shudder through me.
"Perfect," I murmur with thighs trembling and he's beaming under the praise, gray eyes bright.
