Being a high-flying, assertive and domineering partner at the company, you always gave your best, which came naturally to you, and expected the best of your employees (you weren't supposed to call them underlings anymore.)

So when Francesca's resume landed on your desk for the position of the office receptionist, you scoffed at her weak academic credentials, lack of experience and poor English and scrunched the paper into a ball.

It was only after HR had reminded you that the diversity and inclusion quota was suffering that you retrieved her resume from the trashcan and stalked her LinkedIn and Instagram account.

A trans-female and multi-ethnic receptionist: two birds with one stone.

/

"I'm so sorry I'm late," I mumbled as I handed you your coffee and that overdue report you had requested.

Your eyes didn't return my nervous gaze as you pondered the contents of the report, tutted and shook your head.

I trembled, and bowed, as instructed.

"Will that be all, Sir?" I meekly asked, glancing around your office, anywhere other than the handsome, imposing man who possessed nothing but disdain for me.

You finally replied "The coffee is cold and the report is riddled with errors. Tell me, Francesca, was it raining this morning?"

Perplexed, I answered "Urm, yes Sir, I wore my raincoat today?"

Your piercing, cruel eyes finally turn to examine me.

"When I employed a trans-girl like you, I was expecting a female receptionist, not a tomboy."

I glanced down at my outfit: a flannel shirt, boots and cargo trousers, and barely mustered an "Oh".

"I expected a feminine receptionist. The reason I rhetorically asked about the weather is because my shoes seem to have gotten a little muddy. Can you see, Miss. Francesca?"

I blushed, and answered honestly, "Yes, your shoes are a little muddy, Sir?"

10 minutes later I left your office, desperate of a coffee of my own, to get the taste of mud and leather out of my mouth.

/

One week later, I entered your office, and curtsied as I had been instructed.

"Ah ah ah, Miss. Francesca. Curtsy again. I couldn't quite see your cage."

I blushed, cringed, and curtsied once more, delicately lifting my pleated skirt to reveal my chastity cage.

You reclined in your office and smiled.

"Your performance has greatly improved since I caged that little thing of yours. Tell me, receptionist, how does your schedule look for the next hour?"

"I have to clean the toilets at 11am, Sir, but until then, my schedule is empty, Sir."

"Good," you nodded, before clicking your fingers and pointing downwards. "You can kneel under my desk and keep my cock warm and wet until we can find a more valuable use of your time."

"Yes Sir," I pathetically agreed, kneeling before you and opening my mouth to descend upon your throbbing, superior cock.

//

If you read this far, thank you, and please forgive my bad English (which is a second language). If you wish to continue this story, or chat about anything, please chat / DM me.

Kinks: control, superior men, bondage, humiliation, chastity, being face-fucked, outfit control, feminisation, degradation, collars, domestic servitude