CEO Finds a Slave

The boss. Lady Uschi Obermeyer. The dominant and unyielding executive. CEO and aloof ruler of a vast business empire.
Called to her office upon submitting my resignation, wearing my most expensive suite, I'm stunned, as always, by her cat-like grace, by the hint of steel beneath erotic elegance, by a quiet and domineering authority wielded as one would a samurai sword. She suggests strongly I sign a nondisclosure agreement before leaving. Given my insider knowledge of shady dealings, and seeing an opportunity to branch out and shove her from the market, I refuse.

Though I'm nervous in her presence, I try to hide it. "Sorry, baby," I say, my voice as even as I can make it. "Your time's through. It's my turn now. I'll be king of the hill. And you'll be nothing." It's dangerous boldness, I know. But I believed it worth the gamble. She was just a woman, after all. A has-been. My bet: that her strangle hold on affairs, that her intimidating persona were a baseless front, were a weak feminine scarecrow to be knocked aside.

Of course, I'd heard the rumors whispered here and there. Insatiable sexual appetites. Ruthless practices in commerce and other things. Murky links to brutal and vengeful crime figures in New York, London, and Berlin. That she'd established herself in commercial capitals overnight two years ago with little resistance might have been a sign of her connections, her penchant for corruption, and her calm ruthlessness. Or it could all be a ruse.

It's a Saturday, so it's just the two of us. Surprisingly, at least to me, my declaration of open war induces no immediate reaction. No tirades, no dramatic fits. Her striking eyes, nose and mouth placid, her jaded dismissal of my insurgency, though unspoken, is palpable. She rises from the sunburnt couch, tranquil, remote, confident. As she walks to me, I try to stand my ground, try to mirror her composure. But already the foundations of my ill-conceived ploy are caving in like a rotting pumpkin.

One gloved hand held behind her back, dressed in enticing and sensual business black, stunning decolletage demanding attention, she nears on ferocious steps, heels clicking the floor sternly. Coming close, so close, gazing at me with casual hunger, I'm unmanned. Stalking slowly behind me, circling like a shark, she traces fingers seductively from the front of my thigh to my backside. Her inflammatory touch electrifies the skin beneath the expensive cut of my clothes.

She stops out of sight and whispers in my ear in a voice made to shame angels. "I've been waiting for this, Kevin," she croons. "I've been praying for it. Your pathetic challenge." I open my mouth, eager to retake control, hoping to put her in her place. But words die on my tongue, my heart, my head, and my spirit sent reeling by her insatiable, impregnable aura.

The sweetness of her perfume, the elegance of her cosmetics, the feel of her hot breath steamy on my ear. The conceited and unrelenting scorn as she fondles me, taking license without asking, humbling me conclusively. My manhood set throbbing painfully—how could it not in the face of such savage, primal beauty—for the first time I truly begin to fear her, I begin to see what a mistake I've made.

She completes her circle, faces me once more. Her features so delicate, so demure, her look speaks of violent penalty nonetheless, of the jungle kill. Though I try and mask what is fast becoming terror, though I will myself to stop sweating, it's no use. She has me now, this cruel, unrelenting, and forbidding goddess. If I could just go back in time, if I could just undo my lack of judgement, the unfounded, ill-advised risk I took.

I'll sign, I want to scream. The NDA! I'll sign. But the hardness of the silenced, small caliber revolver she holds in the hand until now hidden suddenly pressed against my iron-hard cock. It widens my eyes and freezes me in alarm. I realize too late meeting alone like this was one more of a series of deadly errors. I've been outwitted, outplayed, and outclassed.

Lungs struggle to contain heaving breaths as the weapon is pushed into me. Perplexed, I shake my head and clear my throat in denial, in plaintive, harrowing defeat. "La...Lady Uschi," I manage to stammer, my earlier disrespect, arrogance and conceit washed from my tone. The rebellious and brashly handsome hunter has been turned by icily stunning eyes into a gazelle clawed by a lioness. "I'm...I'm so sorry. Pl...Please. Don't do this."

She takes a serene breath, looks me up and down in forbidding appraisal, assessing me, ruling me, stealing my last shred of sovereignty and making it her own. I've never experienced such steady malice, such unremitting sexual sureness. To capitalize on her unquestioned dominance, to drive its stake deep into my heart, with her free hand she unzips my fly and pulls me, stiff as a steel pipe, free of my slacks.

For a vindictive moment she relishes it. The humiliation levied. Her undeniable possession. She lets it wash over her. Then she runs the silencer underneath my pulsing member in malicious provocation. "Masturbate for me, Kevin" she purrs in a husky bass. "Make yourself cum for my entertainment, and I might let you live. Demean yourself at my feet, and I might not put a bullet in your brain."

I can't believe it. The threat, the way it's delivered. Is this a dream? A nightmare? To underline its reality, she moves the pistol's brute barrel from crotch to just under my chin, and pushes it home. I can sense the tension of her finger on the trigger, the svelte muscles of her toned body coiled yet relaxed. In her pleased and pleasing eyes the message is clear. There's no escape.

As my hand begins stroking my cock, as I degrade myself before this indestructible warrioress, it occurs to me this was what I truly wanted all along. Wasn't it? As I planned my small, pitiful mutiny, this was its objective. Not so much winning, not so much business success. But to be ground into the dirt by this magnificent and masterful woman.

My hand moves faster and faster. An untethered, airy fog floods my stomach. My flesh trembles in horror and arousal as she cooly observes with growing satisfaction. The undeniable excitement to this. Being enslaved by her, being helplessly toyed with, being crushed like an insect under the heel of her stylish shoe. Destitute and enthralled by burning, lustful power, I see it's what I've always avidly desired.

Her honeyed voice breaks my reverie. "Cum for me, Kevin," she murmurs. "Do it." I'm unable to battle either tone or inflection. So, I do. Volcanically, murderously, rapturously. The orgasm pulls from my lungs a yelp of hurt and desire, of defeat and joy. I catch her looking at the pearl rope shooting on the floor, tranquil and satisfied. Is there a hint of a wry smile on her lips, or am I fooling myself?

Then without warning, and contrary to my expectation, she lowers the pistol, and walks away from me to her desk. I've a glimpsed of the polish and self-assurance riding in hips and buttocks. She presses a button on the intercom, and orders into it, "Miss Park. Miss Loveless. Would you step in for a moment."

Though I thought we were alone, it turns out I was wrong. The Lady's two personal assistants, spectacular in silk dresses, walk in, one an ebony goddess, the other a Korean warrioress. "Yes, mistress," they croon together. Both of them emit a sharp intake of breath as they observe my hard cock exposed and humiliated. They both lay their hands on me as they await their orders.

Lady Uschi affords me one last contemptuous look. "Take this pile of garbage to the special room. I'll keep him as my pet, and when I'm done with him, sell him as a slave to the east Asian market."

I teeter on feeble legs, sway from side to side, exhausted by the scale of my defeat, conquered by pitiless her ownership. The two savage assistants, so beautiful, so loyal, reply in unison, "Yes, mistress," as they continue to stroke me off. I shake my head, plead for mercy. "W...wait. Lady Uschi. Please. Do...don't."

But I know. Petitions are useless. I moan in anguish and, trying to remain on my feet, stagger back a step or two. I raise my hand in vain protection and supplication, grunt through my distress as the ministrations of the assistant's cause me to ejaculate once more.

My brain overloaded by traumatic sensation, I'm led away, to a hell that's just beginning.