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Work at the Kirijo Corp was already a step above the rest. The prime of Japan’s elite, to be here you had to be something special. It was definitely enough to give anyone an ego.

Even if you were just a grunt in the end. Shuffling about in this office, you did the usual work of delivering mail. Not that you knew what any of it meant, there was so much of it, and you couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But that was the average day. Show up on time, file in reports, and make sure everything on your end showed up. Not the most glamorous work, but the pay made it worth it.

As did a certain other person. Your boss, the lovely Mitsuru Kirijo. A bombshell of a woman, well endowed with long and perfect legs and a rump that would drive men crazy, her long red hair was always perfect and stylish and she was always perfectly dressed too with just the right amount of dangerous underneath. She carried herself with style and precision.

Tonight on New Year’s Eve made it even more special. You’ve been called ahead to a special assignment. While everyone was off from work to celebrate the New Year celebrations, Ms. Kirijo herself decided to call you on up on a personal call. Unpaid overtime.

You show up on time no problem. Deep in your mind you have more than a few words for the Kirijo heiress. But it’s not like you plan on saying anything. Say one stupid remark and she could have you out of a job. Or worse. You know your place.

Showing on up tonight, in your cubicle there’s already a note waiting for you. It tells you to meet her personally in her office. Sighing, you resign yourself for the worst.

There in her office, she’s sitting in her seat with her back facing you, the seat is too big to even see her, her white fur coat draped upon the back of it. Can’t see her, but you can see what she’s doing, she’s busy overlooking some documents. Her office is as luxurious as ever. Potted plants with only the finest of orchids and roses, they could fit in a greenhouse. Paintings that are worth more than your life adorning the walls. A sign of prestige, her power. Of what you don’t have.

She’s busy talking to herself in French, almost in a lackadaisal singsong manner. You knock awkwardly on the door to get her attention. Her song pauses on the spot, you wonder if you did something wrong.

The big seat with the white fur coat twirls on around. Your breath almost stops in your chest upon getting a good look at her. Not just from her prestige and her power over you but the way she looks too. Her long red hair is styled in an ornate bun wrapped around her head, several braids hanging from the back of her head. That face of hers is as gorgeous as ever, her full lips in her dark smile reflecting her wicked intentions, her eyes sparkling with a demonic intelligence.

And there’s so much more than that too. She’s wearing a long sleeved pink dress shirt that shines under the light, dazzling and fashionable all on it’s own, but the collar of it is split open to reveal her massive cleavage, it’s taking you all your power not to look. There’s more too, she’s wearing a short little black skirt, her luxurious legs coated in thin black nylons and her feet tapped out in stiletto heels, with the gleam of her crafty eyes shining behind the lens of her horn rimmed glasses, her luscious lips adorned and coated in a shiny purple lipstick that makes her look irresistible. All in all, she’s perfect.

Locking eyes with her, you finally have the courage to ask her, “Kirijo-san. How can I help you?”

She arches her eyebrow, in amusement as if she’s telling herself a private joke. That sly grin still on her face. “Oh yes, that. Tell me, what did you think when I asked you to come work here tonight?” You’re about to speak a canned response when she says, “And do be honest. I do hate liars.”

You gulp in your throat. “Honest?”

“Oh yes,” she says, leaning forward. Mitsuru is still smiling but there’s an edge in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “And I especially hate brown-nosers.”

Closing your eyes, you summon your nerve. “I was angry.”

There’s no use hiding it anymore, the cat’s out of the bag. But her face doesn’t change. She doesn’t say a word. Instead she lays back and crosses those shapely legs of hers, spilling even more out of her little tight skirt. Finally she says, “Go on.”

“I wanted to party with my friends. I wanted to be there for the new year. And I know I’ve done everything I’ve supposed to do at work. I wondered why you singled me out.”

“Singled you out?” Her lips curl slightly into a smile. “Yes, I suppose I did do that. Especially with no pay…” Her eyes flitted to the side and then she said, “But I suppose it isn’t so bad, non?” The last word spoken in French, her already sultry voice sounds exotic. “Spending the last night of the year with moi?”

There’s no beating around the bush of what she’s getting at anymore. Mitsuru Kirijo is one hell of a woman, from her ferocity to her beauty, and being in her presence all the time is as scary as it is exciting. Whenever it’s your turn to file in a report or you run into her in the middle of a hallway, it should just be business as usual, but just speaking to her, you know to mind your manners. Not just because of showing respect to your boss, it’s that she’s a woman of such class and beauty. And yet every rose has it’s thorns.

Not like you can properly speak around such a beautiful woman. That wise smile on her gorgeous face, she takes off her glasses so you see her fully. It’s not the first time you’ve seen her without those glasses on, in photoshoots and magazine covers when people hailed her as the next big thing back when she had only just graduated from Gekkoukan, and her beauty had only filled out in the five years since. But seeing her in person without them on, you’re at a loss to her sheer beauty. It’s like you’re seeing her again for the first time.

The way she’s looking at you too, you know those aren’t prescription glasses.

The start to a new year, right?

Finding your nerve, at last you say, “It’s not bad at all Kirijo-san. In fact, I could imagine no better way to spend this time at all.”

You’re more excited than ever. But she doesn’t say anything, and looking at you, that wicked smile hasn’t left her face once. Not saying a word either, the silence eventually becomes so deafening that you remember what she said to you. That she hates brown-nosers.

Oh fuck. Is she going to perform an execution on me?

Then she simply laughs quietly to herself, the erotic echo of that voice in her throat makes your heart race with thrill and terror. Reaching behind her head, you watch her undo her bun, her braids, all of it. It’s rude to watch a woman undo herself like this and for one like this even worse, beauty and fashion is very important to her. Her long red hair almost violet fall in long and natural curls.

“Then, how about you prove it?”

It could be an invitation. Respond the wrong way and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. But the way she’s dressed and alone with you this last day of the year, there’s no way in hell you’re not going to take this chance.

Falling to your knees, you gaze at her long legs, crossed and encased in those shiny black nylons. Slowly and carefully you take one of her high heels off the foot of the leg that’s crossed on top of the other. A woman like this one deserves nothing less, looking at the shoe, you’re amazed by the quality and the shine, it’s already top class but she clearly knows how to take care of her personal attire. But that’s nothing compared to the beauty herself, you’ve never considered yourself a feet guy before and yet seeing the shape of her naked foot, it’s already elegant the way she does her pedicure. That’s nothing compared to the meaning of her showing this degree of vulnerability with you.

She wiggles her toes at you. It’s a clear and silent order, but the way she does it, you’re surprised at how cute it makes her look too. The great Mitsuru Kirijo is barely twenty-three after all, many that age are still just out of college, and as glamorous as she is, sometimes she still looks so very green and fresh in this big business world. It’s time to make her feel your power.

Taking the foot into your hands, you feel how soft her soles are. It’s beyond the fabric of the leggings. Brushing your nails on the surface of it, her foot crinkles a bit from the ticklish sensations in her sole. Gazing up at her, she hasn’t stopped grinning once. Her luscious lips part to reveal her teeth, a thing of amusement and beauty and perhaps a sign of the lioness showing her teeth. Make one false move and things could be over.

If this is the way you go out, it’s now or ever. Firmly taking the foot into your hands, you suck on each one of her toes, from her big toe all the way to the pinky. A pleased purr down in the back of her throat, your tongue out you lick fast, sliding your finger on each one of them. You dare not look up at this she-devil, but you can feel the wild energy in her foot, you know she’s liking the way you’re treating her. It’s almost like she’s trying to keep herself from trembling.

Moving it upward, you lick across the span of her sole. She tries to draw her foot away from you but you’re not having it, holding it firmly. While you’re kissing the soft surface of her foot, you find the heel, big and pronounced as all heels are. Wondering how sensitive she is there, you take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking on it, biting on it.

Her whole body jumps up and she snatches her leg back in a sudden fit. The speed in that motion, you know you’re in trouble now. Sitting in her chair she leans forward and snatches your face. Gazing into her naked eyes, you can feel her flowery breath on her face, her elegant perfume.

Her nails grazing into your skin, you’re exactly where you want to be. “Let me taste your servitude,” she says in words that are sensual and heavy and to your ears it’s like the commandment from a goddess in want. Kissing your face for the first time, you feel her luscious lips enveloping yours, the creamy soft lipstick moving on her skin, her feet were something but that’s nothing compared to kissing this majestic woman for the first time. You respond with just as much passion.

The hardness in your pants is getting the better of you. Her taste is refined as it is delicious and unable to take it anymore, you take the initiative this time, pushing your tongue forward and then her lips part to reveal her own tongue, flicking back on yours. Mouths locked, your tongues whirl around together in a storm of passion. She really is the best at French kissing after all.

When your lips part, she looks at you. That deadly Kirijo smile is back on her face all over again, there’s a bit of a smear on her lips, having made such an impression on this sexy diva is enough to make any guy feel proud. Moving one of her fingers to the side of her lips, she scratches a nail down before she leans back up.

“C’est magnifique, darling!” she suddenly exclaims. Taking something from her desk, she opens it up and shows it your face.

It’s a makeup mirror. Seeing your reflection, you can’t believe it. The dumb look in your eyes, her lipstick smeared across your lips. Almost like you’re staring at a total stranger.

“I do apologize, that wasn’t the highest quality lipstick,” she said, hastily licking her lips. “But I wanted to save that one just for you.”

“T-thank you Kirijo-san…” you sputter out like an idiot.

“Hmm?” she says, hastily shutting her makeup mirror. “I like it better when you’re a little aggressive with me.” For an instant she’s almost pouting now, twenty-three sometimes she looks like she’s still eighteen.

Only for an instant. Leaning back in her chair, she spreads her legs. Staring into the depths of that short skirt, you can see she isn’t wearing any panties. She moans a deep sound almost like an orgasm before she suddenly laughs like a haughty noblewoman, like she’s having a joke at your expense. Snatching up the back of your head with such speed and ferocity, you feel her power, her fingers grabbing into your hair and her nails digging into your scalp. She only says, “Un phoque m'a poussé.”

Mitsuru suddenly cackles with delight. The meaning of her laugh is lost on you, you don’t need to know. Thrusting your head in there beyond her power, the feeling of her snatch on your face wet and soft and perfectly clean shaven fills you up with an ardor you haven’t known in some time. Licking in there, tasting her, she’s so tight and juicy, it’s better than you could have ever imagined. 

She’s moaning now. The only thing you can see is the darkness is her pussy in the shadows, and her hymns of desire only fuels your hunger. Reaching up behind her skirt, you lift it up and feel her ass. The leggings come short of cupping her exquisite derriere, that full bouncy flesh in your hands, you grab those cheeks as hard as you can, even smacking around one of them. Down on your knees, you never felt more in control.

Her thighs are clinging to your face. She’s a woman of privilege and nobility as any other, you’ve seen those thick legs of hers so many times, as she goes about in fashionable skirts and tight long dresses and tight leggings that could pass for a business setting even as sensual as they are, no doubt she’s into all the trendy sports for women of her class and probably some more too. But even as you feel like your skull is going to be crushed, the texture of her inner thighs is so soft and her pussy is just as delicious as ever. Her cries of pleasure from your tongue are as sweet as ever, the monster in your pants feels like it’s ready to burn a hole in there.

You can feel that clit of hers already sticking out of the hood. So big and swollen you take it in between your lips, nibbling on it with your teeth. Her entire body spasms up and then she suddenly relaxes. Your face is smeared with the nectar of her climax, your face tender with the power of her thighs. It’s so good.

Moving your head on out of there, you look down at her. Her hair all undone, her face is tinged with her blush as her head lulls listlessly to the side, she’s moaning faintly with each heavy breath she takes. That skirt of hers is still hiked up revealing all of her shapely legs, that ass, and her tits are still hanging out of her dress shirt. Feeling bold, you lean down and kiss her. Without a second’s hesitation, she’s kissing you back again just as fast.

Her phone beeps. You both part your lips to look down. It’s the first minutes of the new year. She flits her eyes back at you, burning once more with that telltale Kirijo fire.

Gulping you nervously sputter, “H-happy new year Kirijo-san!”

She smiles widely like a she-devil. “Yes, it is. And what better way for us to celebrate it. Because I’m not finished with you just yet.”

***

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