The boss is a powerful woman

I was sitting in the office until late, as usual. The computer light was already glaring, and it had long since gotten dark outside. Elena Sergeevna, my boss, was usually the last one to leave, but that evening she suddenly summoned me. "Come in," she said curtly into the chat. Nothing out of the ordinary, I thought. Another report, which I must have screwed up somewhere again. I walked in and immediately caught that scent—her expensive perfume and something else, barely perceptible, that always took my breath away. She was sitting at her desk in her usual office attire: a black leather skirt hugging her hips so tightly it seemed about to split, a white blouse unbuttoned one button too many, and under the desk—those same black stockings and high-heeled shoes. Black, patent leather, with a pointed toe. I tried not to look. It didn't work out well. "Sit down," she said, without looking up from the screen. Her voice was even, but it already had that note that usually made her subordinates' knees tremble. I sat down. She finally leaned back in her chair and looked at me directly. Her eyes were green and cold. "Do you know why I keep you, despite all your mistakes?" I shrugged. My heart was already pounding somewhere in my throat. "Because you're looking. Not at the reports. At me." She smiled slightly, but it wasn't a kind smile. "Especially at my legs. Do you think I don't notice?" I opened my mouth, but she raised her hand, as if to say, "Shut up." Then, slowly, as if for me alone, she removed one shoe. The stocking was black, thin, fairly transparent. Her toes beneath were well-groomed, with a perfect red pedicure. I felt my pants get tighter. She noticed it too. "Come closer." I stood up like a sleepwalker. I walked over to her chair. She stretched out her leg and placed her foot right on my groin. The heel pressed against my thigh, and the soft sole of her stocking right on my scrotum. She pressed lightly. It didn't hurt. Not yet. But enough for me to exhale sharply. "Quiet," she whispered. "Don't make any noise. There are still guards in the building." She began to slowly move her foot up and down. The fabric of her stocking slid along the fly, and I stood there like an idiot, unable to take my eyes off her toes. Her big toe was separate, the others pressed tightly—a perfect pedicure, fresh, as if she had just come from the salon. I felt the warmth of her skin through the stocking. And the pressure. Increasingly. "On your knees." I lowered myself. The leather of her skirt creaked as she spread her legs a little wider. The shoe on her other foot was still on, and the heel now rested against my shoulder, as if holding me in place. She removed the first shoe completely and brought the foot up to my face. "Lick". I froze. It was too much. Too fast. Too real. But the smell—a mixture of leather, stocking, and her body—hit me harder than any alcohol. I leaned down and ran my tongue over the top of her foot. Salty. Warm. She laughed softly. "Not so timidly. Like you've wanted this your whole life. Because you have, right?" I nodded. My tongue was already sliding between my fingers. First the big one—circling it, then taking it all into my mouth. She arched her back and closed her eyes. The stocking was thin, and I felt every millimeter of her skin. I licked between her toes, sucked, and ran my tongue over the pads. Meanwhile, she pressed harder with her other foot on my scrotum—no joke this time. Pain mixed with arousal so tightly that I almost groaned. "Good boy," she whispered. Her voice was no longer so cold. It had a hoarse edge. She removed her foot from my face, stood up, and turned her back to me. Her leather skirt rode up a little higher, revealing the edge of her stockings and garter belt. Without warning, she pulled her panties down and sat back in the chair, throwing one leg over my shoulder. "Now here." I buried my face between her legs. She was already wet. Very wet. My tongue immediately found her clit—swollen, hot. I began licking slowly, in circles, just the way she loved it—though how did I know how bukvoeb.run she loved it? I just felt it. She grabbed my hair and pressed me harder. "Deeper. With your tongue inside. Yes... like that." I worked my tongue as if my life depended on it. I inserted it into her, then returned to her clit, sucking, nibbling lightly. Her hips trembled. Her leather skirt creaked with every movement. She breathed heavily, shortly. "Don't stop... I'm coming..." I felt her muscles inside her tighten around my tongue. She arched sharply, pressed down on my head with both hands, and came. Loudly. Without shame. A wave passed through her body—I felt it with my tongue, my face, my whole skin. Hot wetness flooded my chin. She moaned through her teeth, her body twitching, the heel of her other foot digging into my back. When she released my head, I fell back, breathing heavily. My face was wet. My lips were burning. She looked down at me, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted. For a second, it seemed she was about to smile for real. But instead, she simply ran her finger along my chin, collected her moisture, and shoved it into my mouth. "Swallow." I swallowed. She leaned back in her chair, straightened her skirt, but left her stockings in disarray. Her shoes lay on the floor. "Come back tomorrow after everyone else. And don't you dare cum without my permission. Understood?" I nodded. My head was buzzing. My pants felt like a rock. And there was a strange, warm heaviness in my chest. Not just desire. Something more. Fear mixed with delight. And the understanding that this was only the beginning. She stood up, put on her shoes, and as she walked past, she lightly ran her hand over my cheek. "Go home. And think about me. About my feet. About how you'll continue licking them." The door closed behind her. I was left kneeling in the middle of her office, my face wet and my head completely empty. And for the first time in a long time I smiled.