Evan thought the job listing was too good to be true: “Personal Executive Assistant Needed. High Pay. Discretion Required.” No company name. No contact info beyond a first name: Rochelle.
https://thesincenter.com/rochelle/
She met him in a high-rise office that smelled faintly of vanilla and leather. She was poised, elegant, in a black silk blouse and red lipstick. Her voice was calm, rich, like she never had to raise it.
He tried to act confident.
Until she slid a pale pink envelope across the desk.
“Read it. That’s the real contract.”
He opened it. The heading read: The Panty Contract.
It outlined duties he hadn’t imagined even in his most private moments. Panty-wearing. Submission. Chastity. Controlled feminization. Daily obedience rituals. Emotional surrender.
He looked up, heart thudding.
Rochelle smiled softly. “You may walk away. Or you may obey.”
The next morning, he came back.
She said nothing at first. Just approached, and gently pulled back the waistband of his trousers.