“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma’am.” You know you’re lying. We both know it.

Again, I look up at you from my nail filing. I put the file down on my desk, clasp my hands together and lean forward, staring at you intensely.

“Is that so? Tell me you haven’t jerked off in your office since I hired you. Tell me you haven’t jerked off in there already today. Keep lying to me, go ahead,” I say with the same coolness, my eye contact with you remaining unbroken and getting more intense with each word.

Does she really want to know? Why does she want to know? What kind of cross-examination is this? You take a large, awkward gulp.

“No, of course I haven’t! I would never do that . . . I am dedicated to the company, to securing new clients and —”

“You’re lying. And you know what I found on your computer? Pictures of me. Some of them that clearly had been taken without me knowing. Taken by YOU. Can you explain that? Or are you going to lie about that, too?”

Silence. My mouth, expressionless until now, slowly curls into a self-satisfied smirk. I know I’ve got you right where I want you.

“I think it would be in your best interest to be honest with me. If you want your relationship with this company — and with me — to continue, you’ll need to be honest with me. Do you think about me, your boss, when you’re in there playing with yourself? Hmmm?”

“Uh . . I . . . I’m not really sure why you’re asking me this . . .” you mumble, not sure if you’re more confused or aroused.

My intensity, my ruthlessness, my shamelessness has always turned you on — and even more so now in this one-on-one situation, all of it directed towards you. Your bulge in your pants is starting to get more visible despite your best attempts to hide it with your folded clammy hands. Your cock twitches, getting harder as you wonder which you desire more: to be me and have the kind of power I do — or to fuck me, take me and make me beg you for what you are starting to suspect I want just as much as you do.

“You don’t have to look at the pictures now. I’m right here. Show me what you do in your office when you’re thinking of me. Tell me EXACTLY what you’re thinking about when you make yourself cum. Right now — or you’re fired.”

Silence again. Yes, that was definitely sexual tension in the room . . . and a lot of it — as intense as my unbroken gaze into your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Do you have performance anxiety? Do you need me to take it out for you?” I ask, cackling evilly.

You suddenly understand what’s about to happen — and decide you aren’t going to just sit there and play dumb anymore. That’s not what I want, and that’s not what you want. This is the moment you’ve fantasized about since your first interview. It’s really happening.  She wants to know? Then I’ll fucking show her. You clear your throat, finally ready to play my game.

“Yeah, actually. You do need to take it out for me.”

You stand in front of me, the bulge you’ve been trying to hide now inches from my gorgeous face, hovering in front of my thick, soft lips. You can’t wait to smear that dark red lipstick all over your cock.

Want to act out this role play — or an even more forbidden fuck? Just give me a call . . .

xoxo,

Mistress Aileen

Your Supreme Goddess Aileen

1-888-792-6198 

NO LIMITS / NO RESTRICTIONS / NO TABOOS