Chapter 3: Ritual of Ruin

The conference room at Kane Enterprises was a sterile fortress of glass and chrome, where deals were struck and egos shattered under the guise of corporate synergy. Alex sat rigidly at the long mahogany table, surrounded by a cadre of executives whose faces blurred into a sea of suits and stern expressions. Victoria presided at the head, her presence a magnetic force that drew every eye, though none dared linger too long. She was resplendent in a crimson blouse that plunged just enough to tease the swell of her breasts, paired with a tight black skirt and, of course, those relentless black nylon stockings that hugged her legs like a lover’s promise. Her feet, shod in pointed heels, tapped an impatient rhythm on the floor, each click echoing like a countdown to his undoing.

The meeting dragged on, discussions of quarterly projections and market expansions filling the air with jargon that Alex barely registered. His focus was fractured, splintered by the memory of her pussy clenching around him the day before, the vulnerability in her voice that had humanized her for a fleeting moment. Now, as she spoke with authoritative grace, her foot slipped free of its heel under the table, extending toward him with predatory intent. The nylon-clad sole brushed his ankle first, a feather-light touch that made him jolt subtly in his seat. No one noticed—or if they did, they attributed it to nerves from the new trainee.

Victoria’s eyes flicked to his, a wicked gleam hidden behind her professional facade. Her foot inched higher, tracing the curve of his calf, the smooth fabric sending shivers up his spine. Alex gripped his pen tighter, pretending to take notes as she pressed onward, her toes flexing against his knee. The pressure built, insistent, as she uncrossed her legs, allowing her foot to delve between his thighs. The executives droned on about synergies and KPIs, oblivious to the torment unfolding beneath the table.

Her sole found his crotch, molding to the outline of his cock, which hardened traitorously under her touch. The nylon was warm, slightly textured, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that coaxed him to full erection. Alex bit his lip, suppressing a groan as she edged him mercilessly—pressing just enough to build the ache, then easing off before he could find relief. Pre-cum seeped into his boxers, the dampness a humiliating reminder of her control. She spoke eloquently about expansion strategies, her voice steady, while her toes curled around his shaft through the fabric, squeezing rhythmically.