Chapter 4: Nocturnal Breaking

The sun had long dipped below the city skyline, casting Kane Enterprises into a shadowy hush broken only by the distant hum of traffic far below. Alex lingered in the office, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a swarm of insistent thoughts. Overtime, Victoria had called it—a mandatory session to “catch up on filings.” But he knew better. The air was thick with anticipation, the sterile scent of printer ink mingling with the faint trace of her perfume that seemed to cling to every surface. His cock twitched at the mere thought of her, conditioned now to harden at the slightest hint of her presence. The previous days had been a whirlwind of submission: the interview’s footjob humiliation, the under-desk ride, the conference room pounding. Each encounter chipped away at his resolve, leaving him craving the ruin she promised.

Victoria emerged from her private adjoining lounge, the door clicking shut behind her. She was a vision of nocturnal allure, her usual corporate armor shed for something more intimate—a sheer black blouse that hinted at the lace bra beneath, a short skirt that barely skimmed her thighs, and those eternal black nylon stockings, gleaming under the dim lights like liquid obsidian. Her feet were bare of shoes, the nylons encasing her pedicured toes in a translucent sheath that made Alex’s mouth water. She carried a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily as she approached, her hips swaying with predatory grace.

“You’re still here,” she observed, though it wasn’t a question. Her eyes raked over him, noting the bulge already forming in his pants. “Good. Strip. Everything but your boxers.” Alex complied without protest, his shirt and pants pooling on the floor, leaving him exposed and vulnerable under her gaze. She sipped her wine, setting the glass on her desk before reclining on the leather couch, legs extended like an invitation to sin. “Come here. On your knees.”

He dropped before her, the carpet rough against his skin, his face level with her feet. Victoria flexed her toes, the nylon stretching taut, revealing the faint outline of her arches. “Smother yourself,” she commanded, her voice a sultry whisper that brooked no delay. Alex leaned in, pressing his face into her soles, inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating—a warm, musky blend of her day’s exertions, the faint floral lotion she used, and the synthetic kiss of the nylons. She crossed her ankles, trapping his head between her feet, the smooth fabric enveloping his cheeks, nose, and mouth in a full smother.

Breathe became a luxury as she pressed harder, her heels digging into his shoulders for leverage. Alex’s world narrowed to the silky prison, his lungs burning as he gasped against the nylons. The material was thin enough to tease him with air, but thick enough to control it, each inhale filtered through her essence. His cock strained against his boxers, leaking pre-cum as the deprivation heightened his arousal. Victoria laughed softly, a cruel melody. “Struggle for me, Alex. Show me how much you need this.”