Under Sally's Command

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I'd been at the job less than a week when I realized Sally wasn't like any boss I'd ever had.

Mid-thirties, with wavy brunette hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a dark river, she had this way of moving--slow, deliberate, hips swaying under her classy pencil skirt--that made it impossible not to stare.

The kind of girl that makes you excited to go into work in the morning.

Slim but busty, her blouses always hugged her curves just right, and those stockings she wore, every day as well, sheer and black, whispered power with every step.

She runs our small office like a queen, her voice sharp but smooth, cutting through the hum of keyboards and coffee machine whirs. I was her new assistant, mid-twenties, still green, and way out of my depth.

Clive, she'd say my name like it was a command, her green eyes locking onto mine, and I'd fumble whatever I was holding--pens, papers, my dignity.

The office is tiny, just five of us, but Sally's presence filled it. She believed in personable authority, firm and fair. "Very firm and very fair" she'd told me on day one, leaning across her desk so I could smell her perfume--something spicy, intoxicating.

"Men thrive when they know their place," she'd said, smirking, and I'd nodded like an idiot, not sure what she meant but already hooked.

The office was a cramped little kingdom, all beige walls and flickering fluorescents.

Five desks squeezed in tight, littered with coffee mugs and Post-its, while a sad ficus drooped in the corner.

Tim, the quiet guy, hunched over spreadsheets, and the two women, Jen and Mara, chatted in low tones, throwing me quick, curious glances.

Sally's corner office loomed at the back, wooden-walled and regal, her silhouette sharp against the blinds sometimes. It smelled like toner and her perfume, a mix that stuck in my throat.

She used ger charm and natural poise to get what she wanted from men, she didn't flirt outright; it was subtler, deadlier--a brush of her fingers on my arm, a lingering look that made my pulse race.

I'd catch her watching me, legs crossed under that skirt, and wonder what she was thinking.

The others kept their heads down, but I was new, raw, and she seemed to enjoy that.

It was Friday afternoon, the office emptying out, when she called me into her corner office.

The blinds were fully-drawn, sunlight peeking through, and she sat there, one leg crossed over the other, skirt riding up just enough to show the tops of her stockings.

No panties, I'd realize soon enough, but right then, I was too busy trying not to trip over my own feet.

"Close the door, Clive," she said, her voice low, velvet wrapped around steel. I did, hands sweaty, and turned to find her standing, leaning against the desk, arms crossed under her chest, pushing her breasts up in that blouse.

She was a vision--sexy, commanding, untouchable yet pulling me in like gravity.

"Lock it," she added, and my heart thudded. I fumbled with the latch, feeling her eyes on me. When I faced her again, she tilted her head, lips curling into a slow, seductive smile. "You've been doing well, Clive.

I like a man who listens." Her tone was honeyed, but there was an edge, a promise.

She uncrossed her legs, skirt shifting, and beckoned me closer with a single finger.

I stepped forward, mouth dry, until I was a foot away, her scent wrapping around me again. "Kneel," she said, soft but firm, and my knees hit the carpet before I could think.

She laughed--a quiet, throaty sound--and parted her thighs just enough to hint at what was coming. "Good boy. Now, let's see how well you serve."

I was eye-level with her stockings now, the black fabric shimmering against her pale skin, and my breath caught as she edged her fingers to the hem of her skirt.

Her fingers lingered there for a noticeable pause before she was inching the skirt up so slow it felt like torture.

My chest tightened, breath stuck somewhere between awe and panic, as the fabric crept higher, revealing more of her thighs--smooth, endless. I couldn't blink, transfixed, heart slamming against my ribs.

Then it came into view: the most beautiful pussy I'd ever seen, pink and perfect, glistening like a secret she'd kept just for me. A tuft of hair perched above some delicious looking folds.

Her skirt rode up fully, framing it, and I was gone--dizzy, aching, ready to worship.

"You see it now, don't you, Clive? Every woman's pussy holds power--absolute control over any man she chooses. It's not just desire; it's dominion. My authority over you, over any man, flows from here."

She shifted, letting the words sink in, her eyes glinting with triumph. Why wouldn't they be? I was mesmerized, on edge, as if waiting for permission.

"This is why you kneel, why you'll serve. It's nature, darling--undeniable. And you're mine because I say so." Her lips curled, daring me to disagree, but I was too far gone to even try.

No panties, just the bare, glistening promise of her, framed by those garters like a gift I didn't deserve. She leaned back on her hands, elbows on the desk, and spread her legs wider, her gaze never leaving mine.

As she opened herself to me, her folds parted like petals after rain, soft and slick, revealing a deeper pink that pulsed with promise. Her scent hit me harder now, musky and sweet, pulling me in as her pussy bloomed under my stare.

It was alive, inviting, and I swear it beckoned me closer without her saying a word.

"Start slow," she murmured, voice dripping with seduction, "and don't stop until I tell you."

My hands hovered, unsure, but she grabbed one, guiding it to her thigh. Her skin was warm, soft, and I felt the muscle flex under my fingers as she shifted.

I leaned in, lips brushing the inside of her thigh, just above the stocking.

She sighed, a faint sound that sent a jolt through me, and I kissed again, softer, tasting the velvet texture of her skin. Her murmuring started then--low, encouraging, like she was coaxing me deeper into her world.

"That's it, Clive...make me proud I hired you" My tongue flicked out, light, tentative, tracing a line upward, and she moaned, soft and sweet, her head tipping back slightly.

The sound was electric, spurring me on. I kissed higher, closer, until my lips grazed her folds, warm and slick, and she shivered, a tiny gasp escaping her.

I took my time, like she'd ordered, pressing gentle kisses along her, feeling her pussy against my mouth.

Her murmurs grew more elongated, words blurring into sounds, and I licked--slow, deliberate--parting her with the tip of my tongue.

She tasted sharp, sweet, intoxicating, and her thighs tensed around me. I pulled her legs apart against the tension to keep my mouth where it needed to be.

"Yes," she breathed, one hand sliding into my hair, fingers curling tight. I found a rhythm, light licks turning bolder, circling her clit then dipping lower, tasting every inch she offered.

Her moans deepened, soft waves rolling out of her, and I could feel her desire building, her hips shifting to meet me.

The air was thick with desire now, her sounds, the rustle of her skirt as she moved. I kissed her clit, sucking gently, and she arched, a low "Oh" spilling out, raw and needy.

My tongue worked faster, steady, building that rhythm she seemed to crave, and her grip on my hair tightened, pulling me closer. "Don't stop," she gasped, voice breaking, and I didn't--couldn't.

I licked deeper, firmer, feeling her swell against me, her wetness coating my lips, my chin.

Her thighs trembled, clamping around my head, and her moans turned jagged, urgent, each one a little louder, a little wilder.

She was unraveling now, and I was lost in it--her taste, the way her body responded. I sucked her clit again, rolling my tongue, and she bucked, a shudder running through her. "Clive--fuck--"

Her voice was a growl, desperate, and I kept going, relentless, driving her to higher states of ecstacy. Her hips rocked, grinding against my mouth, and I matched her, tongue flicking in time with her thrusts.

Her breathing hitched, ragged, and her moans became cries--sharp, unrestrained. "Yes, yes, right there--" she panted, and I felt her tense, every muscle coiling tight.

Then she broke. A shudder ripped through her, violent and beautiful, her thighs squeezing me as she came.

Her cry was loud, primal, echoing off the office walls, and I kept licking, softer now, drawing out every tremor, every pulse.

She shook, gasped, her hand loosening in my hair as she rode the waves, her body jerking with aftershocks. I kissed her gently, tasting her juices, until she pushed me back, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. Her eyes were dark, sated, but still commanding.

"Enough," she said, voice hoarse, smoothing her skirt down as she stood. I rocked back on my heels, lips tingling, heart pounding, and she looked down at me, that seductive smile returning.

"You'll do that again next time I call you in here. It's your duty now, Clive. Understood?" I nodded, dazed, and she waved a hand. "Dismissed."

I stumbled to my feet, legs shaky, and left her office, the taste of her still on my tongue.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I knew--knew with every fiber of my being--that this was just the beginning. My place was set, and Sally, with her stockings and her orders, would keep me there.