Office Takeover: The Conference Visit

For the past month, you've been playing around with new ways to hypnotize women and get to their feet. You couldn't just email random strangers the Office Takeover program. When you saw that a social media company was creating smart glasses, you decided you could have your own R&D department do the same. They'd been brainwashed to not know exactly what they were working on, but they toiled away anyway. The end product wasn't nearly as slick as Meta's, but a prototype was good enough to take to another company who could make them sleek and stylish.

The next day, the polished chrome elevator doors slid open with a whisper, revealing yourself, briefcase swinging with predatory ease, you strode past reception—ignoring the blinking "Visitors Must Sign In" light—as if you owned the marble-floored lobby of Synergix Industries".

At the boardroom entrance, five women in sharp blazers turned as one. "You're the new hotshot inventor with the answer to Meta's smart glasses? I doubt that." said CEO Eleanor Vance, her bob unmoving as she rose. You chuckled, "Ladies. Forgive the exclusivity request." He unclasped his briefcase, withdrawing sleek black goggles resembling VR headsets. "Project Seraphim. A neural-interface based pair of smart glasses. Women-only beta."

Dr. Lena Choi, head of R&D, leaned forward, crimson nails tapping the table. "Intriguing. But why no male testers? And if men can't use this, why are you the one demoing it?" You slid the goggles onto your forehead. "For now, male brainwaves destabilize the harmonic calibration, but for this presentation, I'm sure you won't mind ." Your thumb found the activation switch beneath the frame. "Shall we demo?"

A soft hum filled the room as violet LEDs flickered behind the lenses, glowing spirals spun to life. Eleanor’s skeptical frown melted first—her pupils dilating as her shoulders slackened. Lena’s tapping fingers stilled mid-air, her mouth parting soundlessly. Around the table, executive blazers rustled as spines straightened then slumped in eerie unison, breaths syncing to the device’s pulse. Marcus smiled. "Good girls."

He snapped his fingers. Five heads swiveled toward him with glassy-eyed obedience. "Shoes off," he murmured. Designer heels clattered onto polished oak, followed by the whisper of nylon sliding down calves. "Your master awaits." Bare feet padded across cold flooring toward his leather chair. Lena knelt first, her vacant stare fixed on nothing as she pressed a sole against his cheek. The scent of expensive lotion and sweat bloomed in the air.

You groaned, tilting your head into the warm arch of her foot. Eleanor followed, grinding her heel against your crotch with robotic precision. Stocking seams scrape across your zipper. "Harder," you gasped. Pressure intensified—a chorus of soles kneading, toes curling against fabric. Beneath the goggles’ thrum, you watched Dr. Choi’s lips curve into a mindless smile as she rubbed her instep over your mouth.

A drop of sweat trailed down your temple. The boardroom door’s lock was engaged. Outside, Synergix’s lunch rush murmured beyond soundproofed walls. You gripped Lena’s ankle, guiding her foot harder against your erection. The women worked in silent, synchronized worship, their corporate power now reduced to the rhythm of skin on wool.

You snapped your fingers again. Instantly, they withdrew, standing barefoot on cold oak like mannequins awaiting programming. "You will take these and make them look like consumer glasses, but only one pair for me and me alone." you commanded, sliding the humming goggles onto the table.

"You will forget some of the spicier details of this meeting, but you will desire to work with me again."

"Yes master" came the voices in unison.

"Now, awake and forget," you whispered. The women blinked. Lena massaged her temple; Eleanor straightened her blazer, frowning at her bare feet. "Did we... approve Project Seraphim?" she asked, voice crisp with confusion. Marcus adjusted his new glasses. "Unanimously. The prototype will be ready next week."

As they slipped back into heels, Marcus savored the lingering musk of lotion and leather seats. Lena handed him a folder—"Just sign this contract and we'll be in touch."—her eyes briefly glazing over before snapping back to focus. Beneath her Chanel suit, her toes curled inside patent pumps.