erotica podcast: when your colleagues get outta line, sometimes you gotta bring your Domme to work

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It was the stride of sheer confidence. I’d just hit my highest numbers of the year and it wasn’t even August yet. As the elevator doors opened to the 11th floor, I couldn’t help but lead with a bit of a strut. At this rate, I’d own this company within the year. And if it weren't for Michael, who did his very best to try to take me down with every opportunity, I would be a shoe-in. But Michael was the kind of man-child who was so threatened by a woman’s success that he had to knock her down a peg, instead of using her as an asset to his own success.

That Thursday morning, he walked into my office without knocking, in a wrinkled shirt so cheap I could see his undershirt through it.

“Kyle! I heard you did it… finally.”

Was it confidence? Arrogance? Sarcasm? His tone was an exhausting blend of condescension and self-sabotaging murr. This was the first time he’d had the audacity to actually address me head on, and I felt sorry for him. He didn’t know that he had just walked into the lion’s den. Michael had every intention of dominating the conversation, but what he wasn’t expecting was to be dominated by a true professional. I knew what this man needed but I was going to let him be the one to come and get it.

“Michael,” I said in an almost whisper as I rose from my desk and stepped closer. My nude, patent Louboutins came toe-to-toe with his pleather wannabe work shoes.

“Michael, tell me. Is it true that my numbers were better than yours this quarter?”

His eyelids flickered in a series of quickened, nervous blinks.

“I take it that you wanted that to be you?” I offered as I shifted the power dynamic.

I felt his body change in stature… an energetic shift that we both felt. My attention covered him like an auburn shadow; one that I can assume he felt accustomed to, maybe even one that he enjoyed a little. He gazed up at me as I stared him in the eye. He avoided my gaze and looked down at my feet.

“I… uh… yes…,” he stuttered.

“That’s okay. I’ll tell you what. I’m ordering dinner tonight at the office. Meet me back here around 6 and we can go over some numbers together,” I demanded in the most feminine way I could so he couldn’t refuse.

What Michael didn’t know was that I don’t do business like men. I do business from my pussy. From sheer, resourced, feminine desire. Also, what Michael didn’t know was that I am a Pro Domme in my spare time. I had started at the very bottom with an online class about creating my dominance archetype and had made it a weekly practice to integrate the dominant part of me into my whole personality. It wasn’t an energy that I led with, but it was something that someone felt if they tried to use low-grade, insecure control techniques on me. I knew how to play that game… very, very well.

The day passed and the sun sank below the horizon of layered steel and glass in the distance. My heels were beginning to nag at my pinky toe. I slid them off, exposing my micro-fishnet stockings to the rug under my desk. I ran my hand down the length of the criss-crossed nylons and massaged my feet. My toes cracked as I flexed and pointed the ache away.

Uncrossing my legs, I could smell myself. A musky blend that piped up through my strappy thong panties. A scent I had grown to love over the years. A sweet and melty, delicious but pungent aroma of pheromones, middle earth and alliaceae. 

In middle school, I thought there was something wrong with me because I had a scent between my legs. I wasn’t dirty or unclean, yet there was a… scent. A scent that I would grow up to know men would pay money to smell if they could. A scent that men wanted bottled up and shipped across oceans to take in even a note of. A scent that signaled to a man’s intrinsic, innate urge of feral consumption.

I smiled to myself but it was the end of the day and I had to meet with Michael, the pathetic root rot of the company, so I could teach him a lesson. Eight hours of stress, sweat, cortisol and coffee… I was starving and nothing sounded better than Chinese takeout. I ordered noodles for the both of us from my favorite place and waited.

Michael approached my office window, this time with much more couth, discretion and a few more levels of respect. I motioned for him to come in.

“Kyle,” he acknowledged. He still had an air of arrogance that I did not like. We had to fix that immediately.

“Go ahead and take a seat, Michael. And please, have some Chinese.”

He shook his head, “I’m not too hungry, actually.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Honestly, Kyle, I’m just here to go over our company numbers and hopefully get on the same page.”

This man had no idea what was about to happen to him.

“Oh, Michael. After that display this morning, I believe we have more to do than go over numbers, don’t we?” I said with a bit of a pouty mouth.

He raised his right eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well, Michael,” I said with an impatient inflection. “I think we both know you’re not in control here…” I waited. “Nor do you want to be.”

I looked him straight in his doe-brown eyes, which had now softened. Good boy, I thought to myself. He was finally getting the point, and had perhaps even settled into a more submissive energy, as he should. I knew I saw that in him. A good boy indeed. Michael wasn’t a bad-looking guy, he was just a little clueless and clearly a little haughty.

He sat down on the couch. I rose from my desk, walked over to draw the shades, then made my way over to him.

My office had darkened several tones. The mood had shifted. The rest of the office had gone home. Only the cleaning crew were here, emptying trash cans under desks and turning off the overhead lights as they went. He tracked my bare feet and bright pink toenails showing through my fishnets as I walked over to him slowly. A few strands of long, beigey noodles dangled from his sauce-dipped chopsticks. He had decided to eat, I thought as I peered down at him. He looked up at me, this time with more wonder in his eyes. Less business, more intrigue.

“Something tells me we’re not talking business tonight,” he said in a softer tone.

“Oh, we’re definitely talking business tonight, Michael. Just not the kind of business you’re used to.” 

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I knew an insecure little sub when I saw one. They were the kinds of guys who revved their car engines at the wrong venue, to the wrong crowd. The kinds of presumptuous man-boys who wore way too much cologne and couldn't locate the clit. Most people never know that under all of that posturing and peacocking was a clueless little boy who had never been put in his place.

But beyond that, hidden deep under layers of overcompensation, micro lies and self-assured stories of grandiosity was just a scared little boy who wanted to feel safe. And that’s what I provide: safety. Pro Dommes make insecure, exhausted, terrified men feel safe, sometimes for the first time in their lives. We give them one thing they can’t get in the other parts of their lives — approval. And that was a kind of power and turn-on that I sometimes had a hard time putting into words.

Michael felt it. He adjusted his posture and sat up straighter amidst the gray couch pillows. As I stood over him, waiting, he took my lead and set down the noodles, wiped his hands with a nearby napkin and cleared his throat. 

“And what kind of business is that?”

“Well, Michael, first things first, you’ll be addressing me as Mistress Kyle for the remainder of the evening. Do you understand?”

An oh fuck look came over his face as he had finally realized that I was, in fact, not posturing but that he was now under the dominance of a true Pro Domme.

He nodded.

“We can work on that. Now, I also have a document here that I need you to sign so that things don’t get… messy… in the office. Do you understand, Michael?” I asked as I handed him an NDA.

He kept eye contact as I handed him the document and a pen. It stated that he would not disclose any details of our evening in my office under any circumstance and that he was now my submissive for the remaining four months of the year. It went on to say that if he was obedient, compliant and generous in his submission to me, that he would also get 10% of my bonus at the end of the year, which would come out to around $60,000. He gladly signed. He got 60 grand, and I was able to turn a gnawing pain-in-the-ass into a compliant, subservient ally who, quite frankly, would probably make me more in the long run had I not brought him on as my sub. He signed it and handed it back to me with a grin on his face. I took the document and placed it on my desk.


“Yes, Mistress…”

“Mistress Kyle, Michael, always Mistress Kyle. And there will be a punishment for having to tell you twice.” I stared bluntly into his desire-filled eyes and raised my right foot onto his chest.

“You can enjoy smelling my feet now,” I ordered.

He paused, still a little clueless and shocked and then did as he was ordered. He took my foot off his chest and into his hands and lifted my fishnet-covered toes up to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Good boy. Now with some enthusiasm.”

He took my foot away from his face for a moment and studied it and then looked up at me.

“Mistress Kyle, I want to be a good boy for you, but I also don’t want you to lose your balance.” He gestured down at the vacant space on the couch beside him.

I made my way around the table with our takeout, sat down, and then positioned myself to lounge back onto the armrest so that I could watch him enjoy me. He took my foot into his chest once more and began to massage it, then brought his nose to the top of my foot, then to my arch, before spreading my toes and inhaling deeply, thrusting his tongue between them, then devouring my foot with the enthusiasm of a starving cannibal who didn’t know it was a crime.

His wet tongue swelled against the bottom of my big toe as he took it deep inside his mouth and sucked with ferocity.

“Look what a nasty boy you are, Michael.”

He continued to eat my foot, then the other one, before ripping my stockings at the arch and placing both my feet firmly on his mouth and nose.

“This is what presumptuous little boys get when they don’t know who they’re dealing with. They get to serve Mistress' feet. Do you like licking my feet, Michael?”

“Uh huh!” he murmured, his mouth full of me.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yes, Mistress Kyle.”

We still had a lot of work to do to train this poor little thing, I thought, but he’d be grateful for it by December. I could guarantee it. And he had signed on the dotted line that’d he’d be grateful, too.


He put my feet down and adjusted his crotch. A stiffened cock rose slightly out of the crotch of his pants and I couldn’t help but wonder what his penis looked like. I wanted nothing more than to see him beg for me, with his hard dong out in the open for anyone to see, humiliated.

“Get on your knees, Michael.”

He did as he was told and came to his knees as he looked up at me.

“I want you to avert your gaze downward, toward the floor, from now on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Kyle.”

“Good boy. Looking in the eyes is a privilege and it needs to be earned.”

He waited for another direction.

“Now you’re getting it, Michael. Now, doesn’t that feel good to have someone else take full control?”

“Yes, Mistress Kyle,” he responded with a wanting sigh.

“You’re learning. Now unzip your pants and take out your cock so I can see what we’re dealing with here.”

He did as he was told and nervously fumbled with his button and zipper until he had revealed his erection. It was small, as expected, but I didn’t mind.

“Raise my skirt now. I want you to take a look at my panties.”

He inched closer to me and tucked his fingertips under the seam of my tight, black pencil skirt and began to slowly inch it up so as not to ruin my stockings, until my skirt was at my hip bones. His face was in direct alignment with my panties. He reached up and ripped a huge hole in my stockings to reveal my panties even more. Michael took his cock into his hands and began to stroke overzealously. I was going to have to really train this one. 

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My simple black Ohm High-Leg Thong had delicate lace triangle insets on each corner toward my hips. Its high-cut legs arched up over my hip bones, a silk band wrapped around the whole panty, while a silk tie slipped around my waist and tied in the back.

“Ah ah ah!” I adjusted his behavior like a dog. “I did not instruct you to touch yourself, Michael, nor rip my stockings.”

His hands fell at his sides as he peered up at me with even deeper intrigue.

“Michael, now I have to take away a privilege, don’t I?”

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress Kyle.”

My favorite panties just happened to also be a fabulous tool for restraint. I untied the long silk tie from behind my waist and slipped it off. Walking behind him, I took both of his hands and tied his wrists with my silk tie. I felt like a sexy inspector gadget, accessing a secret tool for my advantage. I secured my tie and stood before him.

“Where were we?”

“I was just doing as I was told, with my erection here for you to see.”

I felt my pussy soften with his words. I loved humiliating overzealous pricks who underestimated me. I felt myself becoming more aroused.

“That’s right. Good boy. Now, smell my pussy, Michael.”

He paused. I could almost hear his thoughts. I could tell every woman he’d been with had probably over-performed for him, over-waxed, over-shaved, used some harsh perfume, sterilizing her pussy only to leave disappointed by his lack of skill or attention. 

But we were going to correct that disappointing behavior right here and now, so that no woman ever had to be victimized by his lack of reverence ever again. He was going to deeply inhale my day-old, unwashed, office pussy and he was going to be grateful and love it.

Michael leaned in, his nose touching my panties on the other side of the top of my slit and breathed in. I couldn’t help but get pleasure out of watching him be so obedient, walking that super-fine line between disgust, humiliation and sheer, carnal desire. I watched his eyes roll back and then go back for more, inhaling all of my pure feminine essence — the saturated, marinated, pheromone dripping portal of woman, giving him actual life force. His erection grew more stiff as he opened his mouth and glided his tongue up my panties, over the slit of my now lubricated labia.

“Ah ah ah,” I corrected once more.

He pulled back, his eyes entrapped by Mistress Kyle’s pussy hypnosis. He wanted more, but he couldn’t have it… not yet… not tonight.

“Pathetic!” I uttered.

His erection jumped slightly. Oh, we had a masochist on our hands. I just loved it when men got off on being humiliated. He loved it, wanted it, had to have it. I had found his spot.

“Disgusting,” I pegged once again. His penis jolted. I grinned. He was growing more and more stiff, his shaft grew more blush, as he exhaled, efforting to stay in control of his ejaculation.

I reached around to the back of his head and pulled his nose deeper into my slit.

“Smell it, you righteous disappointment of a man,” I indulged his kink.

He sunk his nose, mouth and eyes all the way into my vulva, inhaling every last inch of me that he could take in, physically and energetically.

I stood over him, a voyeur, in a way, gazing down at my creation of subservience who delighted in having no control at all.

“Tonight, all you get to do is smell me, Michael. So you can remember what a disgusting, pathetic, pig-like specimen you are.”

Michael moaned with pleasure as I leaned down and whispered humiliating kinks into his ears until he couldn’t hold it any longer.

His warm cum erupted from the tip of his rosy cock and spilled onto my feet which were now in shambles through stockings. I watched him squirm and fight it and then give over to his subby, measly, sad, little orgasm. He quivered and moaned and it felt like his orgasm dripped out of his mouth too like warm honey. I leaned down and licked his lower lip as he continued to drip his cum between my manicured toes.

I observed him with amusement. He was like an animal, destroying his owner's pillows not knowing he was being watched by the nanny camera. I felt emotionally removed from him, but pleasantly content with what we had created tonight. He was exhausted, ashamed, abused by his own kink and pleasure, just how he liked it.

He stared up at me waiting for a response.

“Oh boy, that’s disappointing. Did you cum a little too quickly?”

He nodded, pleased with himself.

“Looks like you’ll have to clean that up now, won’t you?”

And he obliged… oh, did he oblige. 

P.S. Follow our Lunatic Femme podcast for more yummy erotica coming in hot.

xxx, Lunatic Femme

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katie henricks

katie henricks is a sex, relationship and intimacy coach whose long list of talents includes writing erotica, female empowerment and feminine body movement.