The Candidate

The beautiful, long-haired woman with prominent cheekbones,

exquisite pear-shaped ass,

high proud breasts,

almond-shaped green eyes,

and flawless,

alabaster skin sits across the desk from me with her perfect,

red-tipped fingers folded demurely in her lap.

Respectfully, she presents her credentials and does her best to convince me she is a serious minded person who can handle the responsibilities of the lowly job she so eagerly seeks. “Yes, sir,” she says, and “No, sir,” as she looks at me believing I now hold her fate in my hands. Yet I wonder how she would react if she knew that under my pinstriped suit I wear pink panties trimmed with rows of lace. Would she smile if she knew that within hours I will don petticoats and a red maid’s uniform becoming a parody of herself in order to receive instructions from a dominant woman more beautiful than she on how to hand-wash panties and then bow before that same whip-wielding lady begging her to whip my flesh raw. Would she see the humor in this moment? Would she laugh?


by sissy fellatrix
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