June's New Sex Itten Leyla

Leyla was a new hire, newly graduated, and this was her first job in the "real world." When I first saw her in my office, I knew she was going to be mine. She had cascading waves of lustrous dark hair, which fell ever so delicately against her chin. Her neck was long and slender. Her features were delicate, as if sketched by an ultrafine pencil. Despite their definition, her lips were full, sensual, red. I wanted to touch her, to own every inch of her skin, to make her come so hard, fierce, and screaming.

I was, and am, a self-employed businesswoman, manufacturing and marketing a boutique line of pheromone-based cosmetics. The name "June Loos" is known the world over for what our products do for our customers. "The Love Potion for the 21st century," as our boxes claim.

"Mrs. Loos, I'm so excited to be working here! This is like a dream come true," she gushed as we shook hands. A flush had crept into her cheeks, one that I appreciated, and expected would be a sign of things to come.

"It's 'Ms.', dear, but you can call me June. I've never been married. Don't really believe in it. Surely that ring on your finger doesn't mean that you..." I pursed my lips and watched her eyes widen.

"I'm engaged!" She thrust her wrist forward to show me the bauble her ring finger carried. "My boyfriend proposed when I got this job!"

I laughed and covered my mouth. "How wonderful for you, dear. I'm sure he's a lovely man who appreciates what a unique and talented individual you are. Leave the date with my secretary, and I'll be sure to send a gift."

"He's ..." her face hardened, and I knew I had struck a nerve. "He's been very kind to me and my family. We don't see eye to eye on everything, but I think we have a good relationship. We don't have a wedding date picked out yet, but I know we'll agree on one soon. I'll be sure to let your secretary know when we have one."

"Now, I've gotten far too personal, Leyla, I apologize. Let's start over. What are you most excited for working for our company?"

"I majored in marketing in college, but I love botany and chemistry. I think that the relationship between humans and plants is so interesting, and I'm just thrilled to be using all of those skills here at your company!"

"In that we are of one mind, Leyla. Humans have parts of their brains that are much, much older than anything modern science has come to understand. With our products, we influence people in ways they can't begin to account for. I look forward to us working together." I locked my gaze with her, and she smiled. I held it for longer than she was comfortable with, and her smile began to waver. Finally, she broke the gaze, and looked away.

Then, her face contorted into a look of horror as she clapped a hand over her nose and mouth; she sneezed! I quickly pulled my handkerchief from my pocket to give to her, the one I'd specially dosed with our Yoni compound, derived from plants first cultivated on the isle of Lesbos. She gratefully took the handkerchief and wiped her face, cleaning the sneeze and inhaling the compounds, soaking them into her mucus membranes. I pictured the Yoni traversing her nasal turbinates, effervescing up to the olfactory cortex, and delivering the payload of dopamine, oxytocin, opioids, and serotonin that equaled an irresistible love connection, dramatically retuning her brain's chemistry, and leaving her vulnerable to the hypnotic triggers I was about to implant.

She fixed her gaze upon me, dropping the handkerchief to the floor; her jaw opened, and her shoulders slumped. She was mine. My (all female) office staff continued their work around us without a pause. They'd seen this routine before. "Leyla," I slowly intoned. "my sex kitten. You will become sexually excited whenever I or one of my managers comes into the room. You won't understand why. When you hear the command phrase 'Rascal', you will forget everything that is happening around you and devote all your energies to pleasing whoever you are with sexually. Whatever they ask, you'll do. If they don't ask anything, get creative, but stop at nothing to turn them on."

"Leyla, you are permanently less. You are dependent on me for your life. My whim becomes your imperative. If I forgot you, you would die. My heart pumps yours too. My absence unmoors you. You float high above the ground, immaterial, until I make you real. Had you a life before you knew me? Impossible." Her eyes were fluttering back and forth as she listened, like she was in REM sleep. This is always my favorite part.

"My authority is the breath in your lungs. If I did desire it, you would suffocate. Your gravity is controlled by mine. Subjected beneath me, shadowed. You are mine forever; even if you killed my body, still I would persist; I live inside you."

"When you hear the word, 'Ruby,' your memory and consciousness will revert to your normal Leyla personality. You won't have a single memory of any encounter, and any details which might clue you in to missing time, like a lost bra or sticky pussy, will be explained away by some excuse your brain will make, like, 'I forgot to wear a bra today!' or 'did I not wash well enough this morning?' If we give you any memory of what you do between 'Rascal' and 'Ruby,' it will be our choice. Now, resume your normal life and work."

Leyla's eyes slowed and she began to blink and return to awareness. She picked up the handkerchief from the floor to return it to me, and then drew it back. "Thank you for the handkerchief. I'll wash it and get it back to you."

"No need, my dear," I said as I clasped my hand on her shoulder. "Keep it as a memento. Now, it's been terrific to meet you, and Diane can take you to your desk." I motioned to where Diane was seated, and she guided Leyla from my office. I retired to my private work area in the rear of the office and began my day.

That afternoon, I took my seat at the surveillance monitors I maintain for myself. I own the building, and the contractors were all close friends. Everywhere in the building is wired like a sophisticated recording studio, a pet project. In the fitness center's locker room, there are cameras behind the mirrors, in each showerhead and soap dispenser, within each locker, and scattered throughout the room. There are microphones embedded in the paper towel dispenser, the sink, countertop, benches, and lockers.

When Leyla was hired, she was especially excited by the free gym access and personal lockers that the job provided. My cameras captured her entry into the locker room, which is empty. I wanted to see how her new programming was progressing. If things were going well, she should be out of her mind with sexual desire right now, without any understanding why.

She set her heavy bag on the bench and went to the sink. The water ran over her hands and fingers; she mutters to herself as she rinsed them without soap.

She lets the water run for a few minutes and rolled her neck back and forth, raising her shoulders up and down. She opened her mouth wide, like a lion, and lolled her tongue back and forth.

She took a paper towel, used it to turn off the water, and dried her hands with it. She dropped the wet wad in the trash and walked back to her locker. She unbuttoned her suit jacket slowly and shrugged it off her shoulders. She folded it vertically and arranged the sleeves so they could be folded as part of a square. She regarded herself in the locker mirror, examining her eyebrow raise, the inside of her nostrils, and the bags under her eyes. She undid the tie in back of her hair and let it shake out widely, massaging her scalp and humming to herself. She then sat on the bench to remove her shoes, placing them neatly in the locker.

She began to slowly unbutton her shirt, revealing her lovely pale cleavage beneath her starched white blouse. She pulled each tail from her skirt, shedding it like a second skin. The humble, simple white bra was quickly discarded. She checked the door and paused, waiting for an intruder. She stroked her hands down her torso, grinning as her nipples erected themselves on her angelic breasts. She bit her lip devilishly and dropped her skirt in a heap on the ground, quickly shucking off her stocking socks in a second. She eyed the skirt for a moment as her fingers dipped down her abdomen, just below her navel and approaching the treasure. She broke the movement and quickly retrieved and folded the skirt atop her pile.

She stood before the bathroom mirror, trembling in anticipation, and stealing glances at the door, waiting for interruption. She briskly tucked her thumbs on either side of her g-string and pulled it off. She sat back on the bench and tilted the locker door mirror toward herself. She cupped a breast with one hand and her crotch in the other, beginning to slowly squeeze and gyrate. She puts two fingers into her mouth, closing her eyes and bobbing her head like an act of fellatio. Spreading her legs wide across the bench, she arched her back and thrust her chest upward. She then extracted her glistening fingers and applied them to her sex, running a hand along the length of her neck, encircling it, squeezing gently. A quiet murmur escaped her lips, captured by the microphones.

She rotated her hips against her hand, increasing the pressure, and grabbed her breast hard; the skin visibly reddened under her grip. Now her full form was tense and twisting in ecstasy at her debauch, and she begins to audibly pant and gasp as the orgasm broke like a wave across her.

I watched her body pulse and writhe, and she slowly calmed, gathered herself, and went to shower. Everything was going according to plan.