Protégé

The rest of the world sees you as my protégé. Smart, loyal, dedicated, attending to my every need in the boardroom. The new intern who made good, the young woman in her twenties fresh out of business school who so impressed her superior that she was elevated to his right hand.

Only you and I know the truth.

When I discovered you at my company, meek, nervous, bumbling, I spotted something in you with my predator's eye and I marked you as mine. I began to mold you into the perfect little fucktoy, the ultimate human pet. How desperate for the smallest praise you were! A shudder of pleasure running through you when I said, "Good girl!" Then other attentions, other pleasures followed. How you loved to have your praise kink fed! I remember slowly adding small touches, a brief caress to your upper arm, a celebratory hug that lasted just a moment longer than it should have, a proprietary arm around your shoulder. A palm laid briefly on your cheek as I smiled into your eyes. When you leaned into that, sighing, that's when I knew I had you.

From intern to apprentice assistant. Such an easy step. And you were so flattered! The first night I had you stay late with me in the office, I teased you with closeness, saw you wonder if I was going to try something, left you feeling that you perhaps expected more...wanted more, somehow, since you were so sure that I was going to seduce you. And of course I was a perfect gentleman.

Then came the second time, the second late night. You knew in advance I'd be keeping you after, and you dressed in what you laughably thought was a more provocative outfit. Again I was perfectly respectable. Well, mostly. I did stand too close, too often. I made sure your head was full of my cologne and my praise for your hard work and dedication. I could see you melting. When I suggested a quick drink afterwards, you were eager to accept.

We walked into the bistro with my arm around your waist, proprietary but proper. Again you leaned into my touch. I could tell you were an inexperienced drinker, but you so wanted to be the sophisticated companion. A few cocktails that were stronger than you realized were all it took to lower your defenses. When I cautiously invited you home you leapt at the chance, eyes shining.

How hard you came that first night, orgasm after orgasm at my hands! I asked you if you trusted me and, wide-eyed, you nodded. You practically leaped into submission. First a blindfold. Then silk scarves to bind your wrists. You felt, I'm sure, like the naughtiest mistress on the planet.

The third time, the third time we both knew it was merely a pretense to be alone together. As soon as the office was empty, we went straight to my apartment. You demurely popped an edible that was far stronger than anything you were used to. I undressed you slowly while it took effect, until I could see your pupils dilated wide, until I knew your head was swimming, and all the time caressing you, using broad hands and thick fingers on your smooth, perfect skin.

That was the first time that I taught you what masochism means. How your pain was a gift to me, that the giving of it was your pleasure as well. That I didn't seek hurt, I sought YOUR hurt. Only yours would do. You were special, and seen, seen the way you had always wanted to be seen, wanted as you had dreamed of being wanted, not for the face you showed the worlde but for your genuine, authentic self.

You reveled in all that, desperate to believe, to please, until that pleasure consumed you. Until you were addicted. After that, I dressed you up and you played the role of the cool, smart professional woman. Nobody knew that when we were alone, you were my abject slave and I, your unquestioned master. The outside world never saw it. Never knew that under your business attire you wore expensive lingerie if you wore anything at all. That as soon as the office door closed, you stripped and fell to your knees to serve me in any way I wished. That you came home with me to be restrained, and teased, and overstimulated, but rarely allowed to cum. You learned what it meant to submit to denial. Stimulated and edged but forbidden to climax. Going through your day in an obedient fog of need, throbbing, aching, dripping need. Anything to please me, and it pleased me to keep you wanting.

Then I showed you another form of stimulation, a new offering for you to make for my pleasure. You learned to accept being caned and flogged and paddled; the reason you stood beside me so loyally was because you were in too much pain to sit. You leapt to do whatever I asked, even when I laughed at how wet you were in your eagerness to obey. How you were nothing more than an obedient little pet, a toy, a plaything for my pleasure and amusement. A doll. A fucktoy.

All mine.