Lesbian Office Domination

Lesbian Office Domination

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Preview — Yes, Boss
by Martha Ray

My boss, Marissa, is a dominant perfectionist. She wants me to make sure our new client is happy. I have to betray my boyfriend in order to make sure Natasha’s sick lesbian desires are fulfilled. She’s willing to take me to any lengths to succeed in the corporate world, even if It means publicly humiliating me in the office and letting Natasha use me.

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Start your review of Yes, Boss: Lesbian Office Humiliation, Domination Erotica

May 28, 2019

Edward Smith

rated it
liked it

Office Humiliation A good story with a lot of potential. The office manager, Marissa, discovers her employee's submissive and uses Kate to land a big contract. The last chapter feels rushed and could use a good feathering out. There is a lot going on sexually that could propel this story if it was a little more descriptive and had more input from what is going through Kate's head as this last chapter unfolds.
Office Humiliation A good story with a lot of potential. The office manager, Marissa, discovers her employee's submissive and uses Kate to land a big contract. The last chapter feels rushed and could use a good feathering out. There is a lot going on sexually that could propel this story if it was a little more descriptive and had more input from what is going through Kate's head as this last chapter unfolds.
...more

Jun 06, 2020

charles clayson

rated it
it was amazing

Will definitely make a man ramrod hard ! And a woman's panties wet !
Will definitely make a man ramrod hard ! And a woman's panties wet !
...more

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The first thing I noticed about her was her skin. It was alabaster, smooth like butter and translucent. Her hair, a lustrous brown, sat full-bodied above her collar bone, flirting with her shoulders every time she’d throw her hair back and laugh, which was often.
Sitting in meetings with her at the prominent literary agency where we both worked left me feeling weak. Usually never short of things to say, in her presence, I’d marvel at her ability to drain all quips from my mind, leaving my mouth bone-dry. But I knew the cliché and I refused to succumb to the stereotype of being the young, ambitious 25-year-old who screws the boss.
I’d come out when I was 17 and been disowned by my parents. I’d moved to London and been in and out relationships and casual flings. She was 40 and had been married for 10 years, with three children under the age of 10. The agency we worked for also represented her husband, an esteemed writer, so I knew I absolutely couldn’t go there.
Except one night, I did. I’d been at the company for around two years, working hard to secure advancements for myself all the while struggling to relax around her. But she gave nothing away. No odd winks or lingering favouritism, just an aloof air of power.
Our team were out celebrating a victory signing, when I first felt her eyes on me from across the table. I instantly assumed I must be getting the wrong end of the stick. But several glasses of wine later, my mouth was on hers and she was pushing me against the bathroom wall, as we clumsily tumbled in a stall, fumbling with our belt buckles. How could she go from practically never acknowledging my existence to pouncing on me? I felt vindicated in my feelings for her; there must have been something there all along, she had just been very good at suppressing it. After several swift orgasms in the cubicle, we returned to the table and our unsuspecting cohort of colleagues.
Our relationship gained a momentum of its own and before either of us realised, we were sleeping together every day. Sometimes first thing in the morning before anybody else arrived at the office, sometimes during a quick trip to the loo before nipping to Pret, sometimes once the last person had left for the day and it was just the two of us.
All I wanted was to be with her full-time, and for it to be out in the open that we were together
When we were together it felt electric, my heartbeat thumping furiously. But she was also the manager, the lawyer and the HR at our tiny agency, which was still in its infancy, so everything had to be secret. Six months after our toilet cubicle frisson, we were post-coital and slumped on the office floor after having sex on her desk. While I tucked into slices of Franco Manca pizza she’d ordered on the company account, she held back, glancing at the floor, before blurting out that she loved me. She’d never felt this way before and had finally realised she was gay.
In the office, nothing changed. Both of us swore not to tell anyone else. I dodged questions from friends about my relationship status like bullets - the lies were worth it for the delirium I felt when I was with her.
My boss confided in me the ennui she felt in her marriage. The sexuality she’d neatly packed into a box. She’d been with a woman before; when she masturbated, it was to lesbian porn, and when her husband performed acts on her, she told me the only way she could get aroused was to imagine it was a woman doing those things to her.
When she suggested, out of the blue and six months into our affair, that she was ready to tell our company directors about our relationship, I was secretly thrilled. This meant it was real! She had an inkling our directors already knew and had been mulling it over for a few weeks, she told me. She wanted to be honest with our directors so they could help us to map out how to tell her husband without severing his ties to the business. They took it well, even admitting that we’d had chemistry from the offset. We were finally free to love each other.
Her husband reacted surprisingly well too, suggesting that they enrol in therapy to help both of them exit their long-standing relationship. I took this as my cue to make a commitment and said I would move to the suburbs to be with her and her three children, once her husband had moved out.
To know that I could finally come clean to my worrisome friends felt liberating beyond belief. I didn’t care about sacrificing my youth to move to outer London with a swarm of forty-somethings. All I wanted was to be with her full-time, and for it to be out in the open that we were together.
Except, two weeks after she’d told her husband, I learned that that he hadn’t moved out and neither had she. She texted me to say that she could no longer carry on seeing me. She told me over WhatsApp that it was too overwhelming for her to tell people, to be honest about who she was, and ultimately who I still am. She felt too bludgeoned by people’s expectations of her, too stifled by her shame, and told me that I should live out my youth while it’s still mine. Before I could reply, she’d blocked me.
The lies were worth it for the delirium I felt when I was with her
The next day, she also blocked me on iMessage, Instagram and Twitter, claiming it was best for both of us. Work was strange for a while, as we shuffled past each other, barely acknowledging the other’s existence, let alone what we’d shared. Our company directors feigned ignorance and, obviously, none of our fellow colleagues had known anything at all, meaning I felt increasingly isolated.
On my first day back to the office, I hardly looked up from my desk, intentionally turning my back on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that surrounded her office and slipped out of the door as soon as the clock struck 6pm. In an attempt to distract myself from work, I began sleeping with an army of women, feeling numbed by a dizzying level of promiscuity in the wake of our split.
This was six months ago. I heard recently that she and her husband were in therapy, working to reconcile and renew their vows and, surprisingly, felt nothing. Then I met somebody new and, as though she had a censor attached to me, my boss unblocked me and texted to ask how I am. I didn’t reply, I don’t need to go back to the secrets and lies, however thrilling they were.
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AMANDA Knox, who was convicted and then cleared of killing her roommate, has revealed an attempt to “seduce” her in prison.
“EVERY day, Leny watched me jog around the yard ... and eventually worked up the nerve to say hello,” Amanda Knox writes in a revealing essay for the Broadly blogging site.
It represents an untold chapter in the overexposed convict-come-falsely imprisoned young woman’s controversial life.
The fresh-faced Amanda Knox was just 20 when she was infamously charged with the 2007 murder and sexual assault of a female British exchange student Meredith Kercher while studying in Italy.
The story exploded across the world, with speculation of a love-triangle gone wrong.
After a series of appeals, she was freed in 2011 and finally acquitted in 2015.
While every aspect of her life has been microscopically analysed, her years behind bars at the Capanne prison in Umbria have gone largely unreported.
In Knox's’ own words, “the idea of women in prison brings out the horny teenage boy in many of us”.
Knox’ essay What Romance in Prison Actually Looks Like was written in support of a topic themed ‘Love is a hoax’.
In it, she reveals she was wooed behind bars by a small-time drug dealer whom she names only as ‘Leny’.
“I noticed her immediately: petite, with a paunchy belly and short, dark hair,” Knox writes.
“I made Leny for the kind of prisoner who’d only lash out if cornered — so not a threat to me.”
At first it was just a promise of friendship.
The notoriety generated by the mass media coverage of her case had generated resentment among most prisoners.
“I didn’t really have friends in prison,” she wrote.
“Most of my fellow inmates were bigger, tougher, meaner, more desperate, and had less to lose than me, so I never let my guard down.”
Leny, however, appeared to have found a chink in her armour.
“Over the next few weeks, we became friends. Well, almost-friends,” Knox writes.
“I was caught between defensiveness and loneliness. Leny didn’t demand that I give her the “real scoop” about my case, or the clothes off my back, or ask me to buy her cigarettes. At first, she didn’t demand anything.”
Knox loaned Leny her CDs. They played chess. Leny would loiter outside Knox’ cell for a chat.
“Leny didn’t have anyone else, so she looked forward to our time together,” she wrote.
Leny was also openly gay. Knox was accepting of LGBTQ rights.
“When I told her that, Leny grinned ear-to-ear,” Knox writes.
“Afterwards, she scampered, puppy-like, alongside me as I paced the exercise yard-the next day, and the day after that, and eventually every day.”
“At least initially, Leny might not have been trying to seduce me, and was actually just in need of someone kind to distract her from her loneliness,” Knox writes.
“This is common. Contrary to what you might guess, many prison relationships aren’t about sex-just like most relationships outside of prison.”
“Leny wanted to hold hands. ‘I’ve changed women before,’ she’d tell me. ‘I can do things to you that no man can.’ I felt objectified and I’d get annoyed. ‘You can’t change me,’ I’d respond.
“She’d think I was playing hard to get. One day, Leny kissed me ...
“I gritted my teeth and half-smiled, wavering between embarrassment and anger.
“It was bad enough that the prison institution took ownership of my body―that I was caged and stripsearched on a regular basis and had already been sexually harassed by male guards.”
Knox put the brakes on the budding relationship.
“Since she couldn’t respect my boundaries, we couldn’t be friends anymore,” she wrote.
A reflective Knox acknowledged the atmosphere of the prison was sex-charged.
She even discusses in detail the circumstances of those around her.
“We’re intrigued by the idea of prison relationships, in part because we’re morbidly curious about anything to do with transgressors and criminals, but also because their relationships are titillating and a little mysterious,” she writes. “Like a teenage girl’s sleepover, we wonder what’s going on behind closed doors (or locked bars).”
She said it was common for prisoners to ‘form an intimate partnership’.
“Inmates had crushes on one another. They passed love letters through the bars … and gave each other presents. There were tearful breakups, and sometimes fist fights between new partners and exes. Many of these women will have identified as heterosexual — colloquially, they were ‘gay for the stay.”
It took time to deter Leny, Knox writes.
She remained transfixed by the young American, seeking out her company and presence.
But she persisted in attempting to win Knox’ heart: “She sent me jazz CDs which she inscribed on the inside jacket, ‘Love always, Leny,’” Knox writes. “I never replied.”
Knox admits that prison relationships can be about sex. But mostly, she writes, it’s about human connection.
“Because prison is an awful place: It is designed to deny people of their desire to connect.”
Ultimately, Knox rejects the stereotypes cast on women in prison.
“The relationships inmates establish with each other are treated as nothing more than kinky lies to be ashamed of upon returning to the real world,” she writes. “But they’re not.
“Gay for the stay” is an insensitive oversimplification that signals a lack of understanding about what it’s really like to be imprisoned, and an underestimation of human nature.”
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An Australian woman has gone viral after she revealed how her fiance left her for another woman while she was in a coma for three months.
Alleged ‘evil paedophile’ Mikhail Khachaturyan, 57, was stabbed to death in Moscow with his own hunting knife in 2018.
He climbed down a 37-storey building with his bare hands and refused the help of firefighters until he had nearly reached the bottom.

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