My Story Time:

"The Time My Boss Made Me His Personal Slut (No Cap, Bestie, It Was Iconic AF)"

Okay, so spill the tea—I never saw this coming. There I was, Lacey, sarcastic queen with a PhD in side-eye, low-key thirsty for something I couldn’t even name… until Daddy Dustin walked in. And OMG, the vibe? Electrifying. When I spilled coffee all over his designer suit and literally fell into his lap, I was mortified, but this man? Unshaken. Just picked me up, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “You okay, little girl?”

Little girl. I nearly combusted.

Fast forward a few hours, and boom—boujee ass Louboutins and a dress so tight it might as well have been painted on my stupid perfect body (iykyk). I changed in the spa room, and before I could even adjust my tits, the door swung open. There he stood, suit still immaculate, eyes devouring me. “Perfect fit,” he murmured, like he’d known how my pussy would look in it.

Then came the offer—PA position, strenuous hours, perfection required. The way he said it? Shook me to my core.

So after hours, I marched into his office, all fake confidence. “I’ll take the job.”

Dustin didn’t even smile. Just locked the door, pulled me onto his desk, and growled, “Then let’s see how well you follow orders.”

Bestie, when his fingers slid under that dress and found my soaking cunt, I whimpered. “Daddy—”

“Louder.”

And ugh, the way he punished my bratty mouth with his cock? Chef’s kiss. By the time he came down my throat, I was a mess, whispering, “Yes, Daddy, whatever you want.”

Game. Over. 🥵