The Investment Banking Intern: Part 2

Two days dragged by since the interview, each hour a constant nervousness for Brendan. He called out sick from his dead-end retail gig, holing up in his cramped studio apartment, blinds drawn against the afternoon sun.

The queen-sized bed dominated the space, sheets rumpled and stained from endless sessions, air thick with the musk of dried cum. His suit pants lay discarded in the corner, shirt unbuttoned over his slim 5'5" frame, cock already twitching at half-mast just from waking to the memory of her.

Lorna. That towering 6-foot goddess with her black heels clicking like commands. Her thick ass cheeks strained the fabric as she leaned over her desk, bending just enough to make his balls ache.

He replayed the mental footage: her juicy lips parting in that smirk, full and glossy, wrapping around words that dripped authority—'Do you take direction well, Brendan?' Her massive tits heaved with each breath, blouse buttons fighting to contain the heavy globes, nipples faintly outlined when she crossed her arms.

He flopped back on the bed, legs splayed, hand diving straight to his cock. Four inches hard, small girth, but throbbing rock-solid now as he spat into his palm and gripped the shaft tight. Up and down, slow at first, foreskin sliding over the swollen head slick with pre-cum. 'Fuck, Lorna,' he groaned to the ceiling, eyes squeezing shut.

Her voice echoed in his skull—bossy, confident, shredding his nerves with every flirtatious probe. The way she held his gaze, unblinking, while asking if he'd thrive under a female boss. His cheeks burned fresh at the recall, blush creeping down his neck as his fist pumped faster.

She owned the room, legs crossed high. That ass—god, so thick, so round, clenching when she shifted. He imagined burying his face between those cheeks, tongue lapping her asshole while she ground back, smothering him.

His free hand cupped his balls, squeezing as strokes blurred. Juicy lips—her mouth sucking his cock dry? Or those pussy lips he fantasized parting under her skirt, dripping for a real man, not a shy loser like him. Big tits bouncing if she rode him reverse, ass slamming his thighs.

No way he'd get the job. Too short, too stuttery, too average next to those alpha candidates. But her aura haunted him—sexy power radiating, making his dick leak rivers. He edged hard, thumb circling the piss-slit, hips bucking up.

'Yes, ma'am, I'll obey,' he whimpered, mimicking his interview babble. Faster now, skin slapping skin, balls drawing tight. Her heels under the desk, calves flexing; her fingers drumming the armrest, nails sharp enough to rake his back.

Cum boiled up on day two's third wank. He aimed at his chest, ropes splattering hot across his shirt, cock jerking in his fist as he milked every drop. Panting, sticky mess cooling, guilt flickered—he knew he wouldn't hear from her.

But by evening, hard again. Lube this time, slick strokes reliving her leaning close, perfume invading his space, tits inches from his face. 'You're different, Brendan. Perfectly pliable.'

On day three, he stripped naked, knees on the floor mimicking her office carpet. Cock in hand, he jerked furiously to the fantasy of her calling him back in, skirt hiked, shoving his head between her thighs.

Thick ass cheeks framing his vision, juicy lips grinding his mouth, big tits smothering as she bossed him to lick harder. 'Don't stop, intern.' He came on the floorboards, grunting her name, body shuddering.

Endless loops: her confident stride circling him, ass swaying hypnotic; lips commanding silence; tits straining as she laughed at his blush. He scooped cum into his mouth once, tasting defeat, but stroked again minutes later. Her aura owned him—bossy queen, sexy Goddess. Job or no job, he'd jerk to Lorna forever.

Sunlight sliced through the blinds, stabbing Brendan's eyes as his phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. Groggy, crusty sheets tangled around his naked legs, he fumbled for it, heart slamming when the screen lit up with an unknown number. 10:47 AM—fourth day of his self-imposed isolation, cock already stirring from a wet dream of her thick ass grinding his face.

'H-hello?' he croaked, voice cracking as he sat up, sheets pooling at his waist.

'Brendan.' Her voice poured through the speaker like warm honey laced with steel—Lorna, confident drawl wrapping around his name, bossy undertone making his spine tingle. Charming lilt at the edges, but pure command beneath. His 4-inch cock surged to full hardness instantly, slapping against his stomach, pre-cum beading at the slit.

'M-Ms. Lorna? I-I mean, Miss—uh, ma'am?' Stutter exploded from his lips, cheeks flaming red even alone. He gripped the phone tighter, free hand hovering near his throbbing shaft, balls tightening.

She chuckled low, the sound vibrating straight to his groin. 'Good morning, Brendan. I trust you're not still lounging in bed?' Pause, her breath steady, exuding control. 'I've reviewed all the candidates. You're exactly what I need for my internship program. I'd love to hire you. Start Monday, 8 AM sharp. Can you manage that?'

His mind blanked, cock jerking untouched, a fat drop of pre-cum rolling down the underside. Her—hiring him? Around her daily? That thick ass swaying past his desk, juicy lips issuing orders, big tits brushing close in meetings? 'Th-thank you! Oh god, thank you so much, Ms. Lorna! I-I won't let you down! Thank you, thank you—'

'Enough gushing,' she cut in, bossy edge sharpening, but charm softening it. 'I was very impressed with your answers. Wanting to do whatever I tell you. Pleasing me above all. That's the attitude I crave in an intern.' Her words dripped approval, voice husky now, painting pictures of obedience—kneeling, serving, her heels pinning him.

'Y-yes, ma'am! Anything! Whatever you say!' He babbled thanks again, hips twitching involuntarily, cock leaking steadily onto his thigh.

'Excellent. See you Monday.' Click. Line dead.

Phone slipped from his numb fingers. Brendan stared at the wall, breath ragged, realization crashing: her intern. Hers. Daily exposure to that towering frame, confident stride, bossy commands snapping from those full lips. Thick ass cheeks flexing as she bent for files. Big tits heaving when she laughed. Juicy lips smirking while she loomed over him.

Pre-cum oozed in a sticky trail from his 4-inch cockhead, shaft pulsing purple-veined and desperate. Just one touch—fingers grazed the slick tip, smearing the fluid down the length. 'Fuuuck,' he gasped, hand closing around it fully. Single stroke, tight and slow, visions exploding: her office door shutting behind him, skirt hiking, pussy lips parting for his tongue while she gripped his hair.

Second pump, faster, balls slapping palm. Around her—fetching coffee, eyes level with her ass, inhaling her scent. Pleasing her, obeying every whim. Third stroke blurred into frenzy, fist flying, pre-cum frothing white. Her voice commanding 'Kneel, intern' echoed, tits smothering his face.

Cum erupted on the fourth yank—thick ropes blasting across his chest, splattering chin, cock convulsing in his grip as he milked it dry. Hips bucked wild, grunts tearing out, body arching off the bed. Hot spurts cooled fast, pooling in his navel, but his hand kept squeezing the spent shaft, aftershocks rippling.

Panting, sticky and spent, he collapsed back, grin splitting his face. Monday. Her intern. Life just shifted forever.

Monday morning hit Brendan like a freight train. Alarm blared at 6 AM sharp, yanking him from dreams of Lorna's heels digging into his thighs while she rode his face. He showered fast, cock twitching at the memory of her voice on the phone—'do whatever I tell you'—and dressed in his least-wrinkled suit, the pants tight around his hips, jacket straining at the shoulders.

By 7:45, he stood in the gleaming lobby, briefcase clutched like a shield, cheeks already burning pink. Tall suits milled around—men in crisp Armani, women with sharp bobs and power heels—all exuding that effortless alpha vibe. Brendan shrank smaller, 5'5" frame swallowed by the marble expanse, pulse hammering as eyes flicked his way, sizing up the fresh meat.

Then she appeared. Lorna strutted through the glass doors like she owned the skyline, 6 feet of pure dominance in black stilettos that clicked authority across the tile. Her business suit hugged every curve: white blouse stretched taut over massive tits that jiggled with each step, buttons straining like they begged to pop.

Pencil skirt clung to wide hips and that thick, juicy ass—cheeks shifting left-right in hypnotic rhythm, fabric whispering over the meaty globes. Long gel red nails gleamed under lobby lights as she scanned the room, full lips curling into a smirk when her gaze locked on him.

Brendan's breath hitched, cock stirring in his pants, swelling to half-mast—2 inches tenting the cheap pants, pre-cum dampening his boxers. He blushed crimson, shifting feet to hide the bulge, but her confident stride zeroed in, hips swaying with bossy purpose.

'Brendan,' she purred, voice low and commanding, extending her hand. Those long red nails hovered inches from his face—sharp, glossy, perfect for scratching down a sub's back. He took it, palm sweaty against her firm grip; she squeezed once, hard, eyes boring into his, making his knees wobble.

'G-good morning, Ms. Lorna,' he stammered, voice a squeak, face furnace-hot.

She released his hand only to thrust her designer handbag at him—heavy leather, bulging with who-knew-what. 'Hold this. Follow me.' No please, no sugar—just pure order, her tone charmingly bossy, like she knew he'd obey.

He clutched the bag between both hands, fingers white-knuckled, stumbling as she pivoted on her heel. That ass led the way—thick cheeks rolling with each strut, skirt riding up just enough to hint at the crease beneath. Juicy flesh strained the seams, left globe lifting then dropping, right mirroring in perfect sync. Brendan's eyes glued there, cock hardening fully now, shaft throbbing against his thigh, a wet spot blooming on his slacks.

Laughter rippled through the lobby. A cluster of brokers by the elevators sniggered, one tall guy in a pinstripe suit elbowing his buddy. 'Look at that—Lorna's got a new puppy.'

A sharp-faced woman with a clipboard smirked, voice carrying: 'Yeah, fetching her purse already. Bet he rolls over on command.'

More chuckles erupted, heads turning—'Fresh meat for the queen,' 'Puppy's blushing harder than a virgin on prom night.' Phones lifted discreetly, snapping pics of Brendan trailing her like a lost dog, handbag cradled protectively, semi-erect bulge bobbing with his awkward steps.

Heat flooded his neck, ears ringing, but his cock betrayed him—leaking steadily, tip slick and pulsing at the humiliation. Lorna didn't glance back, ass swaying onward, tits bouncing lightly as she pushed through the doors to the executive wing. He stumbled faster, briefcase banging his leg, bag swinging between palms, utterly owned already.

She paused at the frosted glass door marked ‘Executive Suite,' glancing over her shoulder with a wink. 'Keep up, intern. Day's just starting.' Her red nails tapped the handle, pushing it open, that powerful ass vanishing inside—beckoning him into her world.

Inside the Executive Suite, the door clicked shut behind Brendan, sealing him in her domain. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city sprawl, her massive oak desk dominating the center like a throne. Leather couches lined one wall, a private bar gleamed in the corner. Lorna dropped into her high-back chair, crossing long legs, skirt hiking up to reveal toned thighs. Her tits heaved with a deep breath, nipples faintly outlined against the blouse fabric.

She snapped her fingers—sharp, red-nailed digits cracking like a whip. 'Coffee. Black, two sugars. Kitchenette's down the hall. Now.'

Brendan jolted, briefcase and handbag slipping from his grip onto the floor. Face flaming red, cock surging to full hardness—4 inches straining his zipper, tip oozing pre-cum into his underwear—he nodded frantically. 'Y-yes, Ms. Lorna!' He bolted out, pants tented obviously, shaft bobbing with each panicked step.

Back in minutes, steaming mug in trembling hands, he set it before her. She took a sip, eyes narrowing. 'Too cold. Do it again.' Snap. He blushed deeper, snatched the mug, dashed off—erection throbbing painfully, balls aching from the constant pulse.

Hours blurred into a frenzy of obedience. She snapped for prints from the third-floor printer: 'Fetch them. Don't crease.' He scurried down stairs, dodging smirks from analysts who whispered, 'Puppy's printing homework.' Stack in hand, he returned panting, bulge prominent, sweat beading his forehead.

'Sweep the floor,' she barked mid-call, phone to ear, ass planted firm in her seat. He grabbed the broom from the closet, sweeping frantically around her heels—black stilettos inches from his face—cock leaking steadily, wet patch darkening his crotch. Dust bunnies gathered under her desk; he crawled to get them, inhaling her scent—musky arousal mixed with perfume—shaft twitching violently.

Lunchtime: 'My salad from the deli across the street. No onions.' Snap. He raced out, employees catcalling: 'Lorna's bitch on errands!' Back with the container, he placed it on her desk. She forked a bite, then shoved it aside. 'Wrong dressing. Return it.' Blushing furiously, erection raging, he obeyed—tip slick, pre-cum dribbling down his shaft inside the confines.

Afternoon dragged with handbag duty: she rose for meetings, thrusting the leather handbag at him. 'Carry.' He trailed her through boardrooms, clutching it two-handed, her thick ass swaying ahead—cheeks clenching and releasing under the skirt. Execs chuckled: 'New boy's got the boss's load.' In conference, she snapped mid-presentation: 'Water.' He fetched glasses, pouring with shaky hands, cock so hard it ached, balls tight and full.

Cleaning her office capped the tasks: 'Wipe the desk. Polish the glass.' On hands and knees, he buffed surfaces gleaming, her heels tapping nearby as she typed. Ass up accidentally, bulge grinding against his thigh for friction—he stifled a whimper, face buried in shame. She glanced down, smirking: 'Hurry up, intern. Erection won't clean itself.'

By 5 PM, Brendan sagged against the wall, exhausted, cock still rigid—veins pulsing, head hypersensitive from hours of denial. Pre-cum soaked his boxers through to slacks, a dark stain nearly visible.

The clock ticked past 5 PM, but Lorna's snaps kept Brendan chained to her office. 'Stay late. File these reports.' He hunched over stacks of paper, cock still throbbing in his soaked slacks, pre-cum crusting his tip after hours of rigid denial. Employees filtered out, leaving the floor silent save for her typing and his ragged breaths. By 7 PM, the city lights flickered on beyond the windows, casting golden hues over her desk.

Lorna leaned back in her leather chair, skirt riding high on her thighs, blouse unbuttoned one extra notch to let her massive tits strain the fabric. She pressed the buzzer on her desk intercom with a manicured red nail. 'Brendan. Office. Now.' Her voice purred through the speaker, low and commanding.

He dropped the files, heart slamming, shaft surging anew—4 inches rock-hard, veins bulging against his zipper. He scurried down the hall, pants tented shamefully, balls heavy and aching. Bursting through the door, he panted, 'D-do you need anything, Miss?'

She smiled—slow, her full lips curling as her green eyes locked on his bulge. Crossing her long legs, she kicked off the footstool slightly, then planted her stilettos atop it. 'Be a doll,' she said, voice silk over steel. 'Remove my high heels. Give my feet a rub.'

Brendan's face ignited crimson, cheeks burning hotter than his cockhead leaking fresh slickness into his boxers. He stuttered, 'M-Miss? Y-your... f-feet?' Throat dry, mind reeling—he couldn't believe it, her perfect soles inches away, the scent of leather and skin wafting up. His dick twitched violently, pre-cum spurting in a hot pulse. 'Y-yes, Miss!'

No chair waited for him; he dropped to his knees before the stool, eyes level with her black Louboutins—several thousand dollars of glossy patent leather, red soles flashing like forbidden promises.

Hands shaking, he grasped the first heel, fingers brushing her ankle. Slowly, reverently, he slid it off, arching her foot as the stiletto slipped free. Her bare sole emerged—smooth, pale, high-arched perfection, toes flexing with red polish gleaming like wet cherries. He set the heel aside on the floor, precise, not a scuff.

Emboldened, he peeled off the second, inhaling sharply as her warmth hit him—musky foot sweat mixed with designer perfume. Toes splayed, nails perfect ovals of crimson lacquer. He placed it beside its twin, then cupped her right foot in both palms, thumbs pressing into the ball.

Lorna sighed, sinking deeper into her chair, tits rising with the breath. 'Harder, intern. Work those arches.' He obeyed, fingers kneading deep—rolling over the heel, stroking up the instep, circling each toe. Her skin yielded soft yet firm, warmth seeping into his hands. His cock ground against his thigh, desperate for friction, tip numb from endless edging. Blush spread down his neck as he massaged her left foot next, pulling toes one by one, sucking in her scent—salty, intoxicating.

She watched him, smirking, one hand idly tracing her thigh. 'Good boy. Feel how soft they are? You've earned this duty.' Brendan whimpered softly, thumbs digging into her sole's tender center, cock pulsing untouched, balls churning with pent-up load. Her toes curled around his fingers, gripping playfully, sending jolts straight to his groin.

Lorna smiled softly to herself, green eyes half-lidded as she watched Brendan kneel there, thumbs grinding into her arches with desperate precision.

This intern obeyed every flick of her wrist—fetching coffee, hauling her bag, scrubbing her desk—all while his pathetic semi-erection bobbed in his slacks all day. She'd caught him stealing glances: eyes darting to her thick ass cheeks straining her skirt when she bent over files, lingering on her long legs crossed under the desk, fixating on her massive tits heaving with each breath, tracing her full lips as she snapped orders. He thought she didn't notice his ogling, but she savored every humiliated stare.

A low moan escaped her throat as his fingers hit a tender spot under her toes, red polish shining under the desk lamp. She sank deeper into the leather chair, skirt hiking higher, pussy soaking her thong from the raw power surging through her veins. As a top executive in this cutthroat investment bank, she owned men like him—breaking them with a word, a look, a command.

She leaned forward suddenly, tits nearly spilling from her blouse, cleavage a deep valley inches from his flushed face. 'Brendan, I'm very happy with your performance today.' Her voice dripped approval, nails tapping the desk.

He froze mid-knead, face blooming scarlet, cock surging to full hardness—4 inches straining his zipper, pre-cum flooding his boxers. 'Th-thank you, Miss,' he stuttered, eyes dropping to her feet, voice cracking with awe and shame.

'But there was one small problem, though.' She arched a brow, sole flexing in his grip.

Brendan's heart hammered, blush deepening to his collar. 'I-I'm so sorry, Miss! What did I do wrong?' He apologized instantly, fingers trembling on her instep, dick throbbing painfully.

She smiled wider gleam flashing. 'You were running around doing my errands with a little bulge in your pants all day, Brendan.' Her gaze dropped pointedly to his tented crotch, where his shaft pulsed visibly.

He went completely red—ears, neck, chest aflame—mortified heat flooding him. 'S-sorry, Miss! I didn't mean—' Apologies tumbled out, knees shifting on the carpet, balls aching from the exposure.

'We can't have that sort of behavior here,' she stated firmly, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. 'Erections tenting your pants while you fetch my lunch? Colleagues whispering about my horny puppy? Unacceptable.'

She reached into the top drawer of her massive oak desk, fingers closing around cold metal. With deliberate slowness, she pulled out the steel flat chastity cage—sleek, unyielding bars designed to crush his cock flat, inner spikes glinting wickedly, electro-shock prongs on the ring promising agony. She placed it on the table right in front of him, the clink echoing like a sentence.

Brendan's eyes widened at the device, face nuclear crimson, not recognizing it but sensing its purpose from the cruel spikes and wires. 'S-sorry, Miss,' he stuttered, mind racing in panic—anxiety spiking as his cock betrayed him further, leaking steadily, imagination spiraling into terrified submission. What the fuck was that thing? How much worse could his humiliation get under her?

Lorna's lips curved into a knowing smirk, her green eyes locking onto Brendan's panicked stare at the steel chastity cage gleaming on the desk. 'This, Brendan, is called a chastity cage,' she purred, voice smooth and authoritative, tracing a red-nailed finger along its unyielding bars. 'It'll crush your little erections flat, hiding them completely so you can keep doing your job without embarrassing yourself—or me. See how thoughtful I am? Most bosses would fire a guy like you on the spot, but I've gone out of my way to fix this for my favorite intern.'

Brendan's face burned hotter, sweat beading on his forehead, cock twitching desperately in his pants despite the terror. 'Th-thank you, Miss Lorna! I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to... thank you for helping me,' he stammered, apologies spilling out in a rush, voice high and broken, knees quivering on the floor.

'Thank you so much, really, I promise I'll do better,' he added, eyes darting between the cage and her face, heart pounding like a drum.

She withdrew her feet from the padded footrest with a casual flex of her calves, arches glistening from his massage. 'Good boy. Now sit here,' she commanded, patting the footrest firmly.

He scrambled up immediately, perching on the low stool, his 5'5" frame shrinking further under her towering 6-foot presence. She loomed in the high-backed chair, legs spreading slightly, skirt riding up her thighs as she leaned forward, massive double F tits straining her blouse, nipples hard against the silk.

'Open your pants,' she ordered, breath warm on his face.

'S-sorry, Miss, thank you,' he whimpered, fingers fumbling at his belt, shaking so badly the buckle clattered. Zipper rasped down unevenly, and his small 4-inch erect cock sprang free—veins bulging, tip slick with pre-cum, balls tight and heavy below.

Lorna threw her head back and laughed, a rich, mocking sound that echoed off the office walls. 'Oh, Brendan, look at that tiny thing!.'

He blushed nuclear crimson, cheeks to chest, trying to cover himself but freezing under her gaze. 'S-sorry! I'm so sorry, Miss!' Tears pricked his eyes, cock bobbing shamefully.

She leaned in closer, her firm, strong hand shooting out to cup his balls—fingers wrapping tight, red gel nails digging sharp crescents into the tender skin. Pain lanced through him like fire; he whined high and desperate, body jerking, tears spilling down his cheeks as his erection wilted instantly, shrinking soft and defeated in her grip.

'Perfect,' she murmured, twisting just enough to make him gasp. With his cock limp, she slid the tiny steel ring over his flaccid shaft and around his balls, the cold metal biting into his skin, ball attachment nestling snug against his sack. T

hen she aligned the steel cage—bars crushing his cock utterly flat, spikes pressing threateningly inward—and clicked it home, the lock engaging with a final, ominous snap as she inserted the key.

'This will take care of those embarrassing erections,' she explained, holding up the key triumphantly. 'No more bulges, no more distractions. You'll focus solely on serving me.' She leaned back, unbuttoning her blouse just enough to slip the key onto a thin gold chain around her neck, letting it dangle deep between her massive tits, nestled in the sweaty cleavage.

'Thank me properly and go home, puppy.'

'T-thank you, Miss Lorna! Thank you so much for... for this,' he stuttered, voice cracking, yanking his pants up over the bulky cage, the steel outline not really visible as it flattened everything. Blush raging, he stood on wobbly legs, scurried to the door, and fled into the emptying office hall, balls throbbing, mind reeling from her total control.