My intern
watched me present to the board
(all men).
She asked me:
"How do you speak so confidently?"
I laughed,
and told her I picture them naked.
She giggled.
"It's true!" I said.
"I'm not intimidated by a group of flaccid cocks."
And it is true.
But it's not the whole truth.
I didn't tell her
that I have a ritual.
Before every board meeting,
I lock my office door
and change.
The black leather empowers me.
I spread my legs
and touch myself.
I imagine those men kneeling before me.
Worshipping me.
They call me Queen.
They kiss my feet.
They want to please me.
Cocks in hand, they beg.
They compete
for the right to satisfy me.
I touch my vibe to my clit
and imagine their faces,
full of desire.
Their hunger for me blazes brightly.
Their cocks swell.
My arousal grows with their desperation.
I demean them.
I push them down on the floor.
I step on them.
I press my heel against
their sad, twitching pricks.
I stand over their faces,
let them see how it excites me
to see them brought low.
I ignore their pleading
until I feel my climax building.
I choose one.
Straddle him.
Lower myself, until he rests against my entrance.
I tell him to beg,
to tell me he needs me.
I'm so close.
I thrust the vibe inside,
imagining the sounds he makes
when I finally allow him to enter
my glorious pussy.
I cum quickly.
I imagine him begging for release
as my cunt squeezes.
Only then,
as my orgasm fades,
do I grant him permission
to cum.
I imagine his cock throbbing inside me.
Tears of gratitude on his cheeks
as he gasps.
The other men growl
impotently
and rub their cocks,
denied the pleasure of my body.
Finally,
I get dressed again.
And during the meeting,
when they sarcastically call me
the Queen of Marketing,
I hear only worship.
I make eye contact
with the man I imagined straddling.
He sees the confidence and power in my eyes
and wilts a little under my gaze
as I imagine his cum leaking down my thigh
while I tell him what I need.