You came to the office as a shy, effeminate guy which was a poor fit to begin with—the company’s a testosterone-fueled trading and wealth management organization, very alpha, very male-centric. Despite your education and your brilliance, it didn’t take long for the harassment to begin. The derision, the soul-crushing teasing, the out in plain sight disgust that a slender little waif like you could run with the big dogs. We made millions per quarter, had billions under management, and we did it by being strong, aggressive, and on occasion, smart. You were probably smarter than any of us, including the old man himself, but we made sure you didn’t get many opportunities to show it. You weren’t one of us—you weren’t a real man.

You complained to me, your primary supervisor, and I brushed it off. “Dress more like a guy,” I said. “Bring some hot chicks around for the after work parties. Smoke a cigar instead of a dick,” was my sage advice. “I mean, you’re unhappy? Go cry to HR.”

HR was totally useless, of course. Just another component of the old boy’s network, even if it was staffed primarily by women.

So you quit.

Then sued the pants off the company...and won big time. Heads rolled; even the old man had a terrified look in his eyes. The company continued to function of course, but the repercussions rocketed through the organization like a wildfire down a dry, California canyon. One of those who was let go was my own boss, the head of the wealth management division. Inwardly, I was pleased. I was the logical choice to lead the division—I had the skills, the experience, the mindset.

Imagine my surprise when I see you stroll back into the office, like a king—or queen?—reclaiming lost territory. You didn’t bother to try and hide your true self this time: stiletto heels, lace stockings, a mini so tight it was a wonder there wasn’t a visible panty line, small, unhaltered breasts. And up front, a bulge. All top-shelf designer clothes. And the best part of it all?

You’re my new boss.

You walk right up to me, your dainty hands on your hips. “Mr. Garrett, please come to my office. You’ll be working late tonight—we have a lot of work to do.”

# # #

Me: Jason Garrett, tall, athletic, in his early 50s, a true warrior of finance and misogynist to boot. Good looking, immaculately dressed, spends enough time in the gym to ensure his body is toned and cut to perfection. Serial womanizer, inveterate bachelor.

You: Slender and lithe, intensely intelligent, sexually insatiable. You’re here to not just make a name for yourself, but to gain some revenge...on me. A total task master, you’re cool and collected under pressure and a total rain maker when it comes to earning. Now that you’ve had your chance and have proved your worth, no one’s going to do anything to you in this company ever again...unless you order them to.

Kinks: age gap, rough sex, hyperspermia, cum play, creampies, throat pies, forced orgasms, non-con/dub-con, race play

Please NO Reddit chat, DMs only!