Personalised Story: The Co-Worker: Part 6 (Patreon)

Angelina sat poised in the front row of the event hall, flanked by the CEO, the other Vice Presidents, and the buzz of the company’s elite. The stage before them dazzled with vibrant lights and sparkling costumes as the drag show unfolded in a riot of color and charisma. Hundreds of other employees sat behind them.

Laughter and applause rippled through the crowd. Faces around her lit up with delight, caught in the infectious energy of the performances.

But Angelina’s focus was elsewhere.

Her breathing was shallow, every pulse a firestorm beneath her skin.

Her silk blouse clung to her curves, but beneath the fabric, between her thighs, her panties were soaked—dripping wet with need.

Her fingers toyed absently with the cold metal keys on the necklace nestled between her breasts.

Each flick of the keys sent an electric jolt of power through her, stirring a delicious heat that made her pulse quicken.

Angelina’s eyes never left the stage, but inside, she was a storm of anticipation, desire, and control unlike anything she’d ever known.

She had never been so turned on in her entire life.

And the night was only just beginning.

The room was alive with energy—bright lights, glittering costumes, and the thunderous applause of an eager crowd. The drag show was in full swing, each performer more dazzling than the last, their charisma and flair electrifying the packed event hall. Angelina sat front and center, surrounded by the CEO, Vice Presidents, and other company elites, but all her attention was elsewhere.

Her eyes never left the stage.

When the announcer’s voice sliced through the air, it was like a bolt of electricity charging through her veins.

“At every drag show, we love to see if anyone from the guests is brave enough to take the stage and show us their skills. Tonight, we are lucky—one courageous soul from Sterling & Co. volunteered before the show. Please welcome… Stephen! Or should we say, Stephanie!”

A ripple of laughter and cheers rolled through the audience, mingling with the sharp intake of breath Angelina barely contained.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as the curtains pulled back and Stephen stepped into the spotlight.

The first thing Angelina noticed was the way he moved—tentative, awkward at first, heels clicking uncertainly on the stage’s polished floor. His fingers gripped the hem of the dress desperately, trying to tug it down, to cover what she knew was beneath—the chastity cage she had locked him into, the humiliating secret he carried under that tight fabric.

The dress was the very one he had forced her to wear—scandalously short, blood-red silk that clung like a second skin. It hugged his hips and thighs, the plunging neckline plunging even deeper than it had on her. A glance down revealed his fake breasts—full, heavy, and just barely contained by the tight fabric. If he pulled the dress down too far, those artificial curves would spill out in a tantalizing, chaotic cascade, threatening exposure.

Stephen’s legs, shaved smooth and gleaming under the stage lights, were encased in fishnet stockings that shimmered with every uncertain step. Angelina’s breath hitched. She’d always known his legs were good—strong, lean—but seeing them like this, framed by the delicate web of the fishnets, made her pulse spike with a strange, wicked heat.

His feet struggled in the high heels-- impossibly tall. He teetered, stumbled once, and caught himself, fingers curling tighter on the hem of the dress. His cheeks were flushed, but there was something defiant in his eyes, something that made Angelina’s breath catch again.

His face was a masterpiece of makeup—heavy foundation smoothing every line, dark smoky eyeshadow making his eyes smolder, thick lashes brushing upward like delicate fans. His lips were painted a deep, glossy red, shining under the lights. The long blonde wig flowed down past his shoulders in soft waves, shimmering like spun gold. The wig was perfectly styled, but it shifted with his movements, occasionally slipping forward as he adjusted to the unfamiliar weight.

Angelina’s gaze roamed, drinking in every detail, every hesitant motion.

Her panties were soaked—literally dripping—with how wet she was. Her fingers toyed compulsively with the cold metal keys tucked between her breasts, toying with the small power she still held over him even from this distance.

The heat pooled low, thick and consuming.

Every glance, every faltering step of Stephen’s was like a slow-burning flame licking at her nerves.

She watched as he took a deep breath and forced a smile, lips trembling just slightly.

The audience cheered, some amused by the spectacle, others genuinely impressed by his bravery. The whole company was witnessing this.

Stephen’s hips swayed tentatively, the dress clinging tighter as he shifted weight from one leg to the other. He tugged the hem down once more, but it slid right back up, threatening to reveal the chastity cage’s outline beneath the silk. Angelina’s breath caught at the image—the subtle bulge that marked his submission, the ultimate secret she held over him.

His fake breasts rose and fell with his breath, nearly spilling out as the tight fabric strained at the edges.

A shiver of dark pleasure ran through Angelina.

Her heartbeat thudded harder as Stephen’s hands trembled, his painted fingers clutching the fabric, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of modesty.

He took another step forward, swaying dangerously in those heels. The fishnets caught the stage lights, casting shimmering patterns across his smooth skin, the contrast between soft flesh and coarse netting somehow thrilling in its starkness.

Angelina’s lips parted slightly, her mind swimming with a tangled mix of admiration, possessiveness, and the exquisite sting of control.

She watched him falter, felt the delicious tension coil tighter inside her as he fought to keep his balance, to keep the show together.

Her fingers tightened around the keys again, tracing slow circles against the cool metal.

Good, she whispered to herself, just like that.

Her body hummed with anticipation.

She was utterly, completely turned on.

Every moment Stephen remained on that stage—vulnerable, exposed, and yet defiant—was a victory in itself.

Angelina leaned forward slightly, eyes glittering with triumph and desire.

The crowd’s cheers rose again, but all she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse and the slick, wet ache blooming between her thighs.

This was her game.

Her control.

And tonight, the show had only just begun.

Stephen took a tentative step off the stage and onto the runway that stretched into the crowd. His movements were stiff, cautious, every muscle tense as he balanced on those towering heels. The red dress clung mercilessly to him, riding dangerously high with every step. His hands fluttered at his sides, fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves.

Angelina’s eyes zeroed in on his face—and there it was.

The unmistakable blush, a deep, honest flush that no amount of makeup could fake.

His cheeks were rosy, neck flushed with embarrassment and something far more potent: desire, vulnerability, a raw edge of submission.

She felt a sharp, delicious shiver race down her spine.

A small, involuntary moan slipped past her lips, barely more than a breath.

Good, she muttered under her breath, savoring the moment like a secret sin.

Stephen was halfway down the runway now, the crowd clapping and whooping, the spotlight following his every awkward step.

Then, with a barely perceptible flick of her thumb, Angelina pressed a button on her phone.

The subtle hum of the plug inside Stephen sprang to life.

Instantly, his hips jerked, a small gasp escaping his lips as the deep, pulsing vibration rolled through him, sharp and relentless.

His legs wobbled violently in the heels.

His fingers clenched the fabric of the dress, trying to steady himself.

Angelina’s breath caught, her smile widening with wicked satisfaction.

Stephen’s next step faltered, and he nearly toppled sideways.

The crowd gasped and then erupted into louder applause, cheering for his grace under pressure.

Angelina glanced around, drinking in the sight.

Every eye in the room was on Stephen—her captive, her rival—walking the runway in scandalous drag, exposed and trembling beneath the bright lights.

The CEO nodded approvingly. The Vice Presidents exchanged amused glances. Even the HR lead was clapping enthusiastically.

But Angelina’s gaze was sharp, possessive, triumphant.

She leaned back in her seat, fingers playing absently with the keys to the chastity cage hidden beneath her blouse.

Stephen—her Stephanie—was utterly under her control.

And the power pulsing through her was intoxicating.

The final notes of the drag show echoed through the room as the curtains closed to thunderous applause. The crowd’s energy buzzed like electricity, but Angelina slipped away from the front row, weaving through the backstage chaos with a calm grace.

She found Stephen near the dressing area, still wrapped in the tight red dress, the fishnet stockings slightly askew, his blonde wig a little tousled from the night’s performance. His cheeks were flushed a deep, humiliating red—not from the makeup, but from the raw embarrassment of having just paraded himself before the entire company.

His eyes flickered nervously when he saw her approach, fingers twitching at the hem of the dress, the small bulge of the chastity cage still obvious beneath the fabric.

Angelina’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile.

“Well, you’re a good boy,” she said softly, voice low and teasing.

She reached out, brushing a stray lock of the blonde wig away from his face, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“I had no idea you had such a feminine side, but I must admit, the dress looks better on youthan it did on me” she murmured, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Stephen’s blush deepened, his gaze darting away, utterly vulnerable in the dress that clung to every curve and crease of his body.

She leaned in closer, letting her breath ghost over his ear.

“You’ll be moving to a new role,” she whispered, “my permanent secretary. I think it suits you perfectly.”

Before he could respond, she straightened, blowing him a slow, deliberate kiss.

Stephen’s breath caught.

Angelina turned on her heel, the victorious sway of her hips a final reminder of who truly held the power.

As she disappeared backstage, Stephen was left standing there—humiliated, exposed, utterly hers.

He consented to her taking control, humiliating him, locking him in chastity.

No matter how embarrassing that was, he was hers, forever..