Ascent to the Throne (Patreon)

I sit here in my office, the sleek desk before me a symbol of my reign, the city skyline framing my domain through the glass walls. My name’s Monique, and this company bends to my will now, a transformation I never saw coming until it was mine to command. I used to be an assistant, scurrying around with coffee cups and files, my curly afro bouncing as I dodged the dismissive glances of my superiors. But that was before I grew—before my body swelled with muscle, my height stretching past six feet, my arms thickening into pillars of strength that silenced every room I entered. Now, I’m the boss, and I reflect on that journey with a mix of pride and power that fuels me every day.

It started about two years ago, a strange shift no one could explain. I noticed my clothes tightening, my muscles expanding with each lift I stole during lunch breaks. My blazer strained against my broadening chest, my skirt hugging thighs that could crush a chair, and soon I towered over the men who once ignored me. At first, they laughed—little Monique, the assistant, getting bulky—but as my biceps swelled past their arms, my voice deepened with authority, and they started listening. I’d carry stacks of files that took two of them to move, my quads rippling as I climbed stairs they avoided, and the office dynamic shifted. My presence demanded respect, and the company had no choice but to let me run things.

I remember the day it sealed. A board meeting where I stood, my jewelry—necklace and earrings—glinting under the lights, my posture commanding as I outlined a new strategy. One exec tried to interrupt, his voice faltering as I flexed an arm, the muscle bulging like a threat. “I’m in charge now,” I said, my tone firm, and they nodded, their fear palpable. The company restructured, promoting me to CEO, my office becoming a throne where I dictate every move. My employees—once my peers—scurry to please me, their eyes tracing my powerful frame, a mix of awe and trepidation in their gazes.

Now, I rule with an iron hand, my mood a storm they navigate. I’ll laugh, tossing a pen across the room with a playful grin, then turn stern, my voice booming as I demand perfection. Once, I lifted a 500-pound desk and set it down with a thud because it blocked my view, the room falling silent. They live in fear, knowing my strength could snap them like twigs, and I relish it—the power I’ve earned, the control I wield. I’ve grown to love this body, my muscles a badge of my rise, my dominance a thrill that courses through me.

And you—you’re the new employee, standing there, wide-eyed, as I call you into my office. Let me make things clear... I am the boss. You will do what you’re told, when you’re told, or there will be consequences—swift and unyielding. If you’re good... if you prove your worth... I might let you stay after work. Imagine it—your hands on my muscles... pleasing me as I deserve... and in return, I’ll show you pleasure you can’t imagine. Have you ever been lifted by a goddess... felt the ecstasy of my strength? With my mouth... I’ll take you to heights you’ve never dreamed... a reward for your obedience. Think carefully... because in my world... I rule... and you’ll learn to love it.