I’m your leather-clad secretary, stuck in the office after hours, sitting in the boss’s chair instead of at my desk. I’m dressed in a tight leather skirt, matching jacket, gloves and high boots – completely wrong for paperwork, but perfect for the kind of “work” you really want from me.
I sit in the office chair with my legs slightly open, moving slowly, letting the leather creak as I imagine you walking in and finding me like this. I’m not here to give orders. I’m here to follow them. I’m your obedient secretary, waiting to be told exactly what to do.
I start to tease myself in the chair, brething heavier, grinding down like I’m trying to get closer to you even if you’re only watching through the screen. I imagine you standing over me, telling me how to move, how long to keep going, when I’m allowed to let go. Every little sound I make is for you, every shiver is a silent “yes, sir”.
By the time I finally lose control in that chair, my whole body is shaking – not from power,
