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/

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.