June’s New Sex Kitten, Leyla, Ch. 2

Leyla had been with us for a few weeks, and I was pleased to watch her progress. She had integrated well into the team, was exceedingly sharp in her assessments, and gave excellent presentations. Every instance of her radiance and excellence increased my desire to break her, to see her on her knees before me.

On this particular afternoon, she was in my office for a small meeting regarding new markets and expansions. She was explaining to the group that my company must tread lightly when entering a new market which was controlled by our competitors: “I think it’s important to be strategic and deferential to the market. We don’t want to get into a trade war.”

I leaned in, smirked, and offered, “when I see a rose ripe for the plucking, I don’t restrain my hand, Leyla.”

She blushed, and stammered, “you’re right, June, there is an opportunity here. But if we’re seen as predatory, they’ll fight us.”

“I like a fight. I win. It’s my nature. I don’t want peace. I don’t want a settled customer base. I want to conquer and rule an empire. Surely you’re beginning to see my trend, dear?” I arched my eyebrow, and every woman in the room held her breath.

Leyla looked down at her hands, and whispered, “I see, June. Of course.”

I chuckled and dismissed the meeting. The attendees looked at Leyla, who hadn’t lifted her eyes. They slowly withdrew from the room; Leyla remained, frozen, trembling. I walked over to where she was sitting in my now empty office and took the chair next to her. She kept her gaze from me. I took her chin in my hand and raised her eyes to me. “Don’t be frightened, girl, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

She tilted her head to the side and fluttered her eyelashes; I stroked her cheek with the back of my fingers. I could have her now, probably. But I wanted to see her crawl, not take her to dinner.

She was nearly cooing at my ministrations, and I dropped my hand to her knee and gave it a hard squeeze that brought her to attention. “Speak, Leyla, what can I do for you?”

“I’m just so happy you’re not angry with me, June. I can’t bear the idea of disappointing you.” Her open mouth curled into a hopeful smile.

I released her thigh and stood. “We must be bold, and we must not waver in our work. Our products are supreme, and we will take all the customers in the end. It mirrors my beliefs about sex: why fuck one for life when you can fuck them all?”

The tiniest whimper escaped her lips as I strode over to my desk. I poured myself a snifter of whiskey from the decanter. I touched it to my lips, inhaling and allowing the aroma to bathe my mouth and nose. “Would you like one, Leyla?”

She stood and clasped her hands in front of her heaving chest. “I should really get home. My fiancée is cooking dinner tonight, and he says he’s making something special. Last time he did this, I had to cook everything because he got confused in the kitchen. I don’t want to leave him alone in there.”
“Very well, Leyla. You’ll have time for a workout, I hope?” I gave her my most knowing smile, and her alabaster skin flushed a deeper red than I’d seen before.

Her voice squeaked, thrilled and confused. “Maybe!” She gave me a long glance and skittered from the room. I’d have to check the monitors in a few minutes and see if she’d repeat her self-love routine of her first day.

A few weeks later, Leyla was making a presentation to management, a well-crafted slideshow I knew she’d spent several hours on. She was dressed as I liked her: a fashionable, form fitting charcoal blazer over a crisp ivory blouse, open at the neck to hint at her ample cleavage. Her tight skirt hugged the curves of her ass, and her long legs were sheathed by black stockings. She stood on tall black high heels. I watched her strut back and forth as she laid out her points. She concluded and took questions from management.

Marcella, a no-nonsense Hispanic manager, was critical. “Leyla, I know you’re new here, but I’m concerned with how aggressive this approach is. If we run afoul of the regulators, we earn ourselves a heap of trouble.”

Leyla nodded, folding her hands solemnly and knitting her brow. “We’ve been in direct consultation with legal, who has been advising closely to make sure we’re within boundaries. I think …”

Marcella interrupted her. “You think? Listen, our reputation as a responsible company is crucial for our overall sustainability. If we act like a bunch of rascals, we could get shut out of the market.”

Leyla’s eyes went wide. She giggled and rolled her eyes up and down. “Marcella, I didn’t catch the last part of what you said. Could you say that one more time?” She crossed her arms in front of her and felt the sleeves of her jacket.

“Well, I said that the regulators would think we were a bunch of rascals!” Marcella gave her a very concerned look.

“That’s what I thought you said.” She giggled, a high, nasal sound. “I’m just feeling so hot. Is anyone else hot?”

The managers shook their heads. Leyla let her long dark hair down in back of her, and it shimmered as it fell along her neck and shoulders. “I think I hear music. Is that Ginuwine?”

Marcella leaned forward. “Leyla, I think it’s time for you to sit down.”

Leyla slowly shrugged the jacket off her arms, dropping it to the floor. “I don’t want to sit down, Marcella. I want to dance.”

To me, she had never looked more gorgeous than this moment, when she slowly began unbuttoning her shirt, giving the women a fuller glimpse of her ample chest and the modest lace bra beneath. With each flick of her wrist, she’d pause to watch them sigh. She twirled, tousling her hair like a goddess’s headdress. She dipped, alternating knees, opening a button to each beat of the music in her head. The crowd was on the edge of their seats.

After the last button, she thrust her arms back, gaping her ivory blouse and jutting her breasts proudly beneath her brassiere. She rocked her hips back and forth, forcing her tight skirt further and further up her hips.

While I wanted nothing more than to see her bared before me and my company, I wasn’t in the habit of eating my cake before my dinner.

From the head of the table, I quietly intoned “Ruby.” With that, the spell was broken. Leyla froze in place, looking down at her open dress shirt, hiked up skirt, and white panties above her stockings. She jerked to her feet, covered her chest with her arms, and screamed.

Read prior chapter:

Chapter 1: https://hermanshermitage.com/2020/11/20/junes-new-sex-kitten-leyla-ch-1/

Read next chapter:

Chapter 3: https://hermanshermitage.com/2020/11/24/junes-new-sex-kitten-leyla-ch-3/

June’s New Sex Kitten, Leyla, Ch. 1

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.

Chapter 2: https://hermanshermitage.com/2020/11/23/junes-new-sex-kitten-leyla-ch-2/

Locker Room Ritual

She walks in to the empty locker room heavily, her footfalls echoing. She sets her heavy bag on the bench and goes to the sink. The cool water runs over her hands and fingers; she mutters to herself as she rinses them without soap.

I must have watched her do this a hundred times, but there’s always more to her ritual. She lets the water run for a few minutes and rolls her neck back and forth, raising her shoulders up and down. She opens her mouth wide, like a lion, and lolls her tongue back and forth.

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. It’s a sophisticated recording studio, a pet project. I own the building, and the contractors were all close friends. Julie is a new hire, especially excited by the free gym access and personal lockers that the job provides.

She takes a paper towel, uses it to turn off the water, and dries her hands with it. She drops the wet wad in the trash and walks back to her locker. She unbuttons her suit jacket slowly and shrugs it off her shoulders. She folds it vertically, and arranges the sleeves so they can be folded as part of a square. She regards herself in the locker mirror, examining her eyebrow raise, the inside of her nostrils, and the bags under her eyes. She undoes the tie in back of her hair, and lets it shake out widely, massaging her scalp and humming to herself. She then sits on the bench to remove her shoes, placing them neatly in the locker.

She begins to slowly unbutton her shirt, revealing her lovely warm golden cleavage beneath her starched white blouse. She pulls each tail from her skirt, and sheds it like a second skin. The white bra is simple, humble, quickly discarded. She checks the door, and pauses, waiting for an intruder. She strokes her hands down her torso, grinning as her nipples erect themselves on her angelic breasts. She bites her lip devilishly and drops her skirt in a heap on the ground, quickly shucking off her stocking socks in a second. She eyes the skirt for a moment as her fingers dip down her abdomen, just below her navel and approaching the treasure. She breaks the movement and quickly retrieves and folds the skirt atop her pile.

She now stands before the bathroom mirror, trembling in anticipation and stealing glances at the door, waiting for interruption. She briskly tucks her thumbs on either side of her g-string and pulls it off. She sits back on the bench, tilts the locker door mirror toward herself. She cups a breast with one hand and her crotch in the other, and begins 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 arches her back and thrusts her chest upward. She then extracts her glistening fingers and applies them to her sex, running a hand along the length of her neck, encircling it, squeezing gently. A quiet murmur escapes her lips, captured by the microphones.

She rotates her hips against her hand, increasing the pressure, and grabs her breast hard; the skin visibly reddens under her grip. Now her full form is tense and twisting in ecstasy at her debauch, and she begins to audibly pant and gasp as the orgasm breaks like a wave across her.

Every day at six, like clockwork.

Ham and Noah

Dad got drunk last night.
I saw his real face. Ugly,
Petty, cruel; oh, so small.

Pretend like nothing
Happened. That’s what we always
Do. I can’t; no.

I’m burning up. To
Keep silent will be a chain
On my children’s necks.

Ever bound to do
What he did, whether they want
To or they do not.

I refuse to serve,
To perpetuate this lie;
I will go, alone.

Nudity as Archetype

The strangeness of the

Nude form. By undressing, we

Become someone else.

My binary logic:

Nude woman is a gift, nude

Man is a threat. Man

Is ugly, woman

Is beautiful. The way it

Is and will remain.

Leaking nudes without

Consent, a violation,

Worse than a theft. The

Genie, released, the

Damage is done. The tree from

which Eve ate revealed

Her, like how after

Orgasm, you think so clear.

Ham, cursed by his Dad’s

Cock. So it goes. What

We hide from outside is our

Similarity.

Cubs Game

Babe, not here. Can you

Keep your hands to yourself? They

Are going to see

Us. Look. They saw us.

Okay. Okay. That does feel

Really fucking good.

Don’t stop. I don’t give

A shit about the hot dog

Guy. If you stop what

You’re doing before

I come, I will fucking kill

You! Oh my god. Yes.