The situation couldn't be more dire; the billion-dollar company is still afloat but just barely, and anxious shareholders are demanding immediate, decisive action.
True fact: almost all Chief Executive Officers of major corporations are either sociopaths or psychopaths. Not a condemnation, those are the kinds of decisionmakers you need at the top--pure, coldblooded calculators who analyze only with their reptilian brains.
Which is to say, that most commentators and pundits are expecting a closing of storefronts throughout the country and a dispassionate culling of the workforce.
The CEO in question, however, is of a different mind altogether. Forecasts are indeed bleak but the company's allegiance belongs to its loyal employees first and foremost, especially in times like these.
Which is why, I'm awakened at 3am this fine Sunday morning...
My bio: I have a graduate degree in psychology and, already at the tender age of 27, am regarded as one of the finest crisis management consultants in the industry.
Not bragging, I've been featured in magazine articles from 'Hotshots Under 30' to 'Young Women Breaking the Mold' to 'The Top 100 Emerging Leaders.'
By the time I've showered and had my first cup of coffee, my inbox is already inundated with every conceivable thing I might need to know about the current situation.
I digest everything then call him precisely at 8am to introduce myself and go over the particulars. He agrees to wear his favorite business suit and arrive my place within the hour.
He is startled when he first lays eyes on me, then actually gushes that the pictures he had found earlier on the internet had certainly not done me justice.
Yeah, I think to myself, big difference between me dressed in business attire and me wearing a skimpy dress that's really more negligee. I thank him for the compliment, nonetheless.
He follows me into my living room; I sit on my chaise lounge and direct him to the nearby sofa where a stack of papers awaits his attention.
The conditions are pretty clear: he is here to undergo a series of tests I've designed to test his emotional fortitude under extremely stressful conditions. There's also a non-disclosure agreement and a confidentiality clause.
He finishes reading, looks at me with a studious gaze, then pulls a pen out of his pocket so he can sign and/or initial in about a dozen places.
He hands me the paperwork; I notice he's already nervous--that's to be expected. I review to ensure everything is in order then smile up at him...
Me: "Get on your knees."
He receives my command as though I had just slapped him in the face. I don't repeat my words, just stare into his eyes so he can see I'm beyond serious. He obeys and kneels before me.
I tell him we are about to begin our first exercise; he nods his head. I take a moment to admire his fine Italian suit--definitely House of Brioni with a price tag well over 10,000 dollars. I do like this guy's style.
Me: "Crawl into the kitchen on your hands & knees. Find a pot, fill it with warm water, add some dish soap then carry it back over to me on your knees."
I expect some resistance but no, to my surprise he dutifully obeys. Once he's returned, I dangle my feet out in front of his face then tell him to remove my shoes and socks.
He acts nonchalant as he unties my laces and pulls my shoes off...at the sight of my pink girly socks though, he freezes up a bit because I've begun to wiggle my toes in a mesmerizing way.
Me: "Take your jacket off and spread it out on the ground in front of me there."
He doesn't stand...knows full well I hadn't given him permission for that...but nonetheless manages to free himself.
I tell him to remove my socks...he exhales hard as he does so...I see sweat beginning to form on his brow.
Him: "I understand...this is a lesson right out of the Bible...I'm the Boss but I need to demonstrate that I'm not above doing menial tasks."
Me: (not exactly right, but he's in the ballpark anyway) "You catch on quick; I like that. Now go fetch that red bag over by the fireplace...literally bite into the handle and carry it back here."
He scampers off like a puppy dog then returns with my bag securely clutched in his mouth. My feet are now delightfully sliding all over the divine inner lining of his fancy coat. He doesn't dare protest.
Me: "There's a jar of blackberry jam in that bag...use your hands and smear it all over my foot."
No hesitation, as soon as he's opened the jar, his right-hand dives completely in and pulls out a huge fistful of stickiness. I raise my foot; he props it up with his clean hand...then approaches his task like a pastry chef putting frosting on a cake.
Me: "Well done. Okay, so now I'm going to give you 2 minutes to completely clean up that mess you just made."
He looks over and begins reaching for the pot--"Stop!" I bellow at him. He freezes... then I tell him he can only use his mouth.
He holds his breath, but doesn't move.
Me: "I sincerely hope you aren't going to give up already. Trust me, this is for your own good."
I'm soon quite positive he doesn't have a foot fetish...no, not by the way he is gingerly licking here and there. It's clear he's always been the alpha-male...submissive is not a word in his vocabulary.
Me: "Close your eyes...and allow yourself to go with the flow. I am your muse, your goddess...now worship me."
I watch in wonder as he begins to lose all semblance of self-control; I also see a prominent bulge appear and begin to grow in size.
After 15 minutes, I tell him to stop. He looks up at me in hopes that he has found favor in my eyes. I reward him with a smile.
Me: "Unbutton your shirt, take your belt off...then pull your pants and underwear down to the ground around your knees."
His actual words are left unspoken but his eyes begin to plead 'don't make me do this...'
I allow some time to pass, just enough so he can get his hopes up, then I snap my fingers at him. He knows his objection has been overruled; soon his erect cock is the elephant in the room... and it's visibly pulsating and slightly bobbing up and down.
I slowly move my foot to his undercarriage, where I begin to alternate between lightly squishing his balls and kicking them upwards so they bounce off my toes.
I can tell there's an intense battle taking place in his brain...I allow it to play out a while longer than I shove my other foot up to his mouth.
He begins to kiss and nibble; my other foot pins the full length of his manhood against his stomach and begins to glide up and down his shaft.
My message is soon clear, I'll match his intensity. Even so, he tries holding out as long as he can...but then he surrenders to his longings and sucks the entire front part of my foot into his mouth so he can begin to bathe all of my toes with his warm slick saliva.
Feels like heaven. I respond to his generosity by upping my footwork until he screams out and his cock begins to shoot long thick ropes of hot cum all over everything. Then he just collapses while trying to catch his breath.
I pull the pot over now and submerge both of my feet into the warm soothing bubble bath.
Everything is quiet except my splashing around...then he slowly rolls over to look up at me.
I motion to him with my finger so he knows to rise up close. I loosen his tie then carefully pull it off over his head.
Me: "Take all of your clothes off...then get on all fours facing me."
This command he resists, perhaps wanting to demonstrate that I haven't broken him despite what I might think. I don't mind, it's all part & parcel--plus, true subservience does take some time and effort.
Me: "Please don't think I'm your enemy here; we are on the same team and want what's best for the company. Trust me."
That snaps him back into action...he stands, undresses then is quickly back down on his hands and knees.
Damn, even at the age of almost 60, this guy has got it going on! Well-defined pecs, muscular shoulders, and powerful arms... Yeah, it's good to be the king alright: nutritionists, physical trainers, private chefs--everything money can buy.
Not going to lie to you, dear reader, most of what I do is more art than science...but if there's one thing my apprenticeship with Mistress Elaine taught me, it's to never doubt myself or hesitate.
I use his jacket to dry my wet feet then ball it up and throw it off to the side on the floor.
I walk around him...then climb on top to straddle his back. I reach down and place the tie back over his head...then I rotate it so it's now facing up towards me...before I tightly cinch the knot down at the back of his neck.
His breathing picks up...he's more than a little scared at this point. I take my knees and thump his ribs, while pulling the necktie so it turns his head to the left.
He gets the message and gingerly carries me into the kitchen, the marble is hard on his knees. As we approach the breakfast table, I pull back hard on the tie and say, "whoa."
He obeys. I climb off...feed him a sugar cube, then hold up a pretty horse's tail. He's not too sure what to make of that, I tilt it so he can see it's attached to a butt plug.
He doesn't break character... still a horse but now beginning to shake his head from side to side and letting me know he's ready to bolt. I pull a whip from the table...and without any remorse, begin to flog his hind quarters relentlessly until he rests his head on the cool floor tiles and submits.
His ass is still in the air...I open a tube of anal lube, squirt it all over my plug then plunge it inside of him. He screams out...I adjust things so the tail will hang naturally.
I stand back...no, something isn't quite right...I pull the plug out, then firmly press it back into place. He winces even more.
