When I see youth bristling with savoire-faire, being overly pedantic, fawning over me, I get mildly irritated.
Irritated because the youth of this day do not possess an ounce of style, nor do they posses cojones in their genetic makeup.
At the office, I am uninterested in everybody and everyone regards me venerably. They see me, they spy my stilettos, my fitted skirts, and my nose in the air manner, and they think, “boss bitch“.
Exactly, kids, I am boss, bitch!
My typical day starts off when I wake beside the man I have chosen to spend my life with. His full lips are apart and there is drool dribbling down the sides. It is predawn and everywhere outside is still dark. The best time to beat the early morning traffic, it is.
I, typically, have a satin robe concealing my best features and if I notice that Ahmed, the man I have chosen to spend my life with, has a hard on, morning wood, I ignore.
.
Ahmed can take his prurience to the jar of cream in the wardrobe and I have no compunction about thinking this way.
If a man wants to have me, he must own me, simple.
Everyday I tease the man, Ahmed, but if he wants me to initiate sex with him, he must be more stupid than I have always believed.
I want a man who can be cocky, even draconian, a boss! Not some whelp crying to have my swollen tits carefully placed in his mouth.
If you can’t take me, you can’t have me.
Simple as fuck.
Ahmed would expect that I place a kiss on his lips before going to work, and I do this to remind him that I still consider his existence worthwhile.
I do it to remind him of all he is missing, you see.
When he attempts to go further, I pull away and I hurry downstairs to the garage, to my car, to work. He never follows me down. Never pursues.
Follow. Wait. Pounce. Everybody knows that these are the true qualities of a good hunter.
A prey would never present itself to the slaughter.
But my poor Ahmed, a very witless hunter he is. From the moment I step out of bed in the morning I know his eyes are on me. I know that he can see my naked bum jiggle about through the robe I wear. When I bend over to rub my foot, I pray that he would lunge at me like a proper man would.
I rub my feet till I start to get dizzy, yet, Ahmed never makes a move. I hear him snore, and it is an effort for me to cudgel my emotions not to feel disgust at him. I cluck my tongue in disappointment and then I take my shower.
My work at the office is strenuous but I handle affairs without ever breaking a sweat. The partners whisper about how I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I smile. I am amused because, you see, even they don’t know.
A true wolf would never wear a disguise.
I am a wolf in wolf’s clothing, end of.
When I go through slides on the screen in the conference room, I see how fresh faced interns smirk at me. I see their lascivious stares, the male, and even one or two female amongst them. Everybody wants a piece of Ope pussy.
Everybody except of course, Ahmed.
I have eyes for no one at the office. Nobody moves me to this extent. They see me, they say hi, I nod my head in their direction and I breeze past.
I don’t know anything about catwalks, and if my hip sways about when I move, then it is more innate, a character I have no control over.
There is a boy that cleans the office. He wipes the marble floors from top to bottom, and what he is paid monthly cannot afford the lipstick I use.
But there is something I see in his eyes anytime that I walk past him. There is this raw, primal hunger I have a weakness for.
.
“Hey you“, I say one time, “What is your name?“
“Austin“, he replies.
“Have you cleaned my office“, I ask. I look him eyeball to eyeball and he doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t get all clumsy. His chin is up, bold, and he stares me down.
“I have cleaned it“, he says.
I look away, for a second, and I know that this tall, dark, and bearded man has finally done what these bureaucrats about can’t. He has defeated me.
“Go upstairs and clean it again“, I manage to say. Then I hurry off, to lunch, gently swaying my hips about, putting as much effort into it as I can.
That night, I fuck Ahmed good. No use waiting for a sapling to grow some balls. I attack him with all the veracity I can muster, and when I am satisfied, I roll over and collapse into sleep.
At night, I know that he still makes effort to press his limp dick into my twat but I wriggle away, gently, so that his ego is not bruised. Ahmed is big, and strong but he is no Austin. I let my fantasies sleep with me, and when dawn comes, I know what I must do.
To be continued…
Written by Dear Mac.
