Submitting to Her Read online

  "Oh God..." she moaned as I ran my tongue from the base of her pussy all the way to the top under her clit, tasting her, reveling in the intense heat and profuse moisture of her tender folds.

  She didn't leave me to control it, though. She was soon starting up a gentle rocking motion so that her pussy rubbed over my mouth and nose - using me as an object. I adored being used by her. My face slippery with her arousal as she moved over me, wedging me in between her thighs.

  I have no idea how long I was there, lying on the floor of her office, treated like some kind of inanimate replacement for a firm pillow as she ground her hot wetness down on me. Zoey seemed focused solely on getting herself off, it was so unbelievably sexy. I could hear her gasping and doing her best to stifle her cries as she rode my face like a racehorse.

  I hoped she was getting her long-awaited release, though I would have been happy to continue all night if she needed.

  "Everything okay in there?" a voice came in through the door - female and sporting a slight accent.

  The cleaner.

  Zoey picked herself up, stretching her leg muscles as though warming down after a workout. She said through the door: "Uh... yes, Giselle." And I thought the fact she knew the cleaner's name was a bad signal about the amount of time she'd been putting in at work recently. "I'm working late again - just accidentally stubbed my toe on the desk."

  "Oh... okay, Ms Schoenberg. I will just clean in your office later."

  Could the cleaner detect anything through the door? The scent of Zoey's aroused pussy was gloriously thick in the air.

  She waited a moment, looked down at me with a finger at her lips ordering me to be quiet. I saw her wander over to her desk, and as she ventured behind it, I couldn't see what she was doing.

  Then, we heard the vacuum start up again some way away.

  Zoey returned, stepping over me again, kneeling, lowering herself so that spectacular pussy was closing in on my face again, this time with breathtaking speed. My head was locked firmly in place in such a tight confine it was hard to breathe. She held my hair with one hand as I focused as much on sucking in oxygen as I did dealing with her copious moisture.

  Her rocking on my face eventually subsided to a subtle motion that was not much more than a vibration. I suspected she had found a good position to lodge her clit against my nose, but while her pace had eased a little, her breathing deepened into loud panting. I could hardly see anything, of course, but felt like I'd never been anywhere so hot, so liquid, so tantalizing for the senses.

  And at last she was letting go, streaming her juices over me as her body shook violently, and a couple of yelps did escape her mouth.

  I felt the pressure of her hot flesh around my head loosen, then withdraw completely, making me feel suddenly quite cold in the climate-controlled office. I was gasping for breath, though feeling an incredible buzz from what had just happened. From this pretty brunette having her way with me, her sexy snatch grinding into my face.

  But now I was looking for her and she was not there. Desperate for my own release, I was suddenly alone on the floor.

  Looming over me, to my overwhelming disappointment I saw that Zoey was refastening her skirt around her waist.

  "So, you've shown you can do what's required of you," she said looking down on me with what appeared to be mild contempt, though the pink flush and breathlessness softened her bearing a little. "We'll just have to see how you do next week, won't we?"

  "Yes," I said. "Yes, Ms Schoenberg."

  "Ms Schoenberg..." she absently tapped her shoe against my thigh. "I like the sound of that. It seems... respectful."

  "Yes, Ms Schoenberg."

  I felt like an idiot for my expectation of release.

  By now, at least it wasn't so much my job security which concerned me - but I felt like a bigger question now faced me, whether my new boss was done with me. Was this all to be some mad one-off to get me in line? I craved her, but did she hate me? Did she think me stupid, not worth her time? Would this ever happen again?

  Zoey nudged my swollen member with her foot once more. "You enjoyed it, didn't you? Servicing me. Compensating me."

  "Yes, Ms Schoenberg."

  She nodded pensively. "Very well. So if I see results from you, you'll continue serving me."

  "Yes, Ms Schoenberg."

  "And this..." she kicked my erection a touch harder, "...you're not to touch until I allow you to - understood? Other than for bathroom necessity, of course."

  "Understood, Ms Schoenberg."

  "I want you focused. You're mine now, Jones. Your cock is mine. Your tongue is mine. Better get used to it."

  And with that, her door was unlocked and my new boss was gone for the weekend.

  *

  As soon as she was out the door, I sprang up to relock it, securing the room while I dressed myself. I was not going to risk the cleaner coming in and seeing me like this.

  My cock was still semi-hard as I pulled my boxers and my slacks on, throbbing with need. In fact, I was still tingling all over at what had just happened, my every blood vessel jangling with testosterone.

  Could I really comply with her demand to avoid taking care of business for the whole weekend, after that?

  I saw the little scrap of black lace lying on the floor by the side of the room closest to where I'd been lying. Zoey had left her panties behind.

  I picked them up, pressed them to my mouth and nose, breathing in the traces of her scent. Then I slipped them into my pocket and ducked out of the office, offering a brief wave to the confused cleaner, Giselle, on my way out.

  It was going to be difficult to be master of my domain until Monday, but I had strong motivation: I so badly wanted another taste of that delicious brunette.

  Chapter Four

  Being kept back at the office like that meant I was a little later than usual for the regular weekend-opening drink at O'Shawnnessey's on Filmore Street. Not that anyone really noticed. The rest of my little circle of thirty-ish pals was, as ever, too wrapped up in the mundane quirks and quibbles of modern existence to notice my lateness, let alone my dazed and confused demeanor.

  I managed to slip into my empty space around the corner table without raising an eyebrow.

  "She wanted to do what?"

  "I know, right? Jesus."

  "Run and hide, my friend, run and hide."

  Discussing Benny Jensen's kinky fiancée was a perennial favorite for this ragtag bunch of ex-college buddies, former co-workers, current and former roommates. But it made me even more reluctant to spill the beans on my strange encounter with Zoey Schoenberg.

  What would these guys think of me, that I had been threatened with the sack by someone I'd never shown any respect, and my response had been unconditional surrender and humiliating submission? What would they think if they knew what an unbelievable thrill it had been to serve the exquisite brunette as she had demanded?

  "Hey - don't knock it. Plenty of guys would kill for a girl like that."

  "Plenty of guys would be killed by a girl like that. Jesus."

  "Can you die by - "

  "Lethal injection, I think they call it."

  My friends usually never bothered to ask me about my day at work - and in fact, we rarely discussed each others' jobs other than vague semi-rhetoric greetings asking how it was going. When your work consists of selling ad space in industry magazines, there's not much you can say to nonbelievers to keep them interested.

  After that particular day of work, the absence of interrogation came as some relief. I couldn't even get my own head around what had just happened to me in the office, so how I might explain to these guys and keep any kind of dignity intact was anybody's guess.

  "Thing is, every time I look at her now, I think this is what she wants to do to me. It kind of… turns me off."

  "Don't have to look at her, Benny. Just roll her over, pretend she's your sister."

  It was only Robin who, later on, inquired about my uncharacteristic introversion
that evening. Well, we did share an apartment, so it was perhaps unsurprising he should notice the change in me.

  "Something on your mind?"

  "Oh, you know," I said, fending off his question before I'd constructed a fully-functional excuse. "Hard day at work and all that."

  "I thought you were on strike at the moment," Robin said, and I felt myself actually blush.

  How stupid it now seemed to me, my whole passive-aggressive resistance to Zoey's appointment.

  "Well, there's only so far you can take that kind of thing before you get fired," I said, and Robin merely nodded.

  Actually, as the evening progressed, and the Irish stout flowed freely, I did manage to loosen up and temporarily forget the working week's curious conclusion. By the time the daylight faded, I'd even begun to think I'd somehow imagined the whole thing.

  Well, it had been pretty unreal.

  Once the married members of our group had made their usual excuses, Benny, Robin and I ended up in a downtown club, Sonar, in another vague attempt to prove we still had it where it counted on the social scene, not to mention the dance floor, as drink and pounding music put paid to our conversation.

  I was getting fairly drunk, it has to be said, but I felt I needed to. At one point, I remember waiting at the bar with Robin, both of us bellowing into each other's ears just to be heard, and I felt the sudden need to share my bizarre experience with a neutral party. But how on Earth could I explain my being used in such a way?

  Robin was a fairly enlightened hipster on the surface of things, but even so. If word got out, I'd be a laughing stock.

  I shouted in his ear: "Something weird happened to me today."

  Robin looked at me through those Buddy Holly glasses of his, his face creased in confusion. "What?"

  "Something… weird… happened… to me… today."

  Really shouting. It was ridiculous.

  "Yeah. I mean what happened?" He'd heard.

  "I… uh…" my mind fumbling with possibilities, every collection of relevant words sounding emasculating to me. Finally, I took the coward's way out. I bellowed: "Somebody at work gave me a blow job."

  Surprise lit up my roommate's face. And the faces of a few girls nearby.

  "Somebody what?"

  "Gave me… you know… went down on me."

  Robin broke out in unbridled, hearty laughter. I just felt like an idiot. Was it so offensive to my masculinity just to admit I'd bowed down at the altar of perfection and worshipped her with every ounce of energy I had?

  He slapped me on the upper arm. "No wonder you were so late at the office," he said, and I could just about hear him, with a touch of lip-reading support. "Who was he?" he joked. "The janitor?"

  I gave him a bemused ha-ha face.

  But then I gave him a serious look. I said: "You think I'll get in trouble?"

  Robin shrugged. "You didn't force her, did you?"

  I shook my head.

  "She wasn't drunk?" Another head-shake. "What does it say in your contract? Anything about dating co-workers?"

  I said: "Don't think so."

  "So then, you're okay," he said with a congratulatory thumbs-up, before adding: "Not that you should feel free to just go ahead and get caught skull-fucking at the office."

  I said: "I'm not sure it'll happen again."

  He laughed. Somehow his bearing seemed a little more up-beat, as though I'd just given him the answer to some kind of riddle that had been bothering him. He said: "Probably not a good idea anyway."

  I nodded. He was probably right. I didn't know what had happened between Zoey and I. I didn't know where it left me. She seemed to have claimed some kind of ownership of me, and at the time that had seemed just fine to me. But here I was hours later, and I couldn't quite believe it had happened, let alone what it all meant.

  Were we now dating?

  Robin and I got split up on the dance floor, and I was getting steadily more unstable on my feet the more booze slipped down my throat.

  I kind of faded in and out, and later on as I faded in again, there was a former fling by the name of Taylor dancing with me, her arms locked around my neck, filling my nostrils with a cloud of her cheap perfume.

  Normally, I might have been persuaded to spend the rest of the night with someone like Taylor, a bottle blonde who was pretty enough, though her attraction was strictly skin-deep. This time, however, after some sweaty rumblings on the dance floor, and numerous additional beverages, I was close to collapse. I didn't normally drink this much, but even so, as I brushed up against Taylor, I still had this burning feeling deep down that I should not be doing this. With the room spinning around my head, however, I couldn't entirely remember why.

  When Taylor finally led me away from the dance floor towards the exit, jabbering at me about hunting down a taxi, going back to her place or my place or wherever the heck I wanted so long as there was a mattress, I probably could have been led anywhere and would have happily gone along with it. Only, I just happened to put my hands in my pockets, and in one of them I found a little scrap of cloth that brought back my memory in sharp relief.

  Zoey Schoenberg's underwear, no less.

  Realizing in a flash what it was, an implosion of intense heat sparked inside my chest. Here was physical confirmation that what had happened earlier that evening had been no figment of my imagination. It was real.

  In the relative safety of a darkened hallway, I balled up the panties and pressed them to my nose, inhaling the wicked scent of my vice president's pussy.

  It was as real as real could be.

  Taylor looked back to check I was following her, and I managed to make the underwear appear to be nothing more than some kind of handkerchief to dab at the perspiration on my forehead. But I was rapidly sobering up now.

  Zoey's words whirled around my thoughts: "...I think it's only right you should compensate me…"

  "…You're mine now, Jones… Better get used to it…"

  As my erstwhile dance partner clambered into the taxi for the drive back to her grubby little place in Harlem Park, I was nowhere to be found. I did hear her shriek of fury at my disappearing act, though, before her transport whisked her away, no doubt soon to make a full U-turn to return to the club and a search for either me or a replacement sleeping companion.

  I spent the rest of the night alone, heading back to our apartment up in the suburbs to the north, and was asleep even before Robin returned.

  *

  Saturday, I woke up with a slight hangover that a glass of juice and plate of eggs dealt with quite nicely, thank you very much. Yet I also felt an underlying sense of unease that wasn't going to let up for all the eggs in IHOP.

  I was nervous - really nervous. What was that about?

  Trembling a little as I sat at the table eating breakfast, my breathing was rapid and shallow, my heart beating a ragged pace inside my chest. After such an intense few hours the previous day, I knew what terrified me - but it just seemed bizarre to me. Most of all, I was afraid that when I got back to the office on Monday, everything would be back to normal, with my run-in with the boss forgotten.

  Somehow, even worse than the paranoid fear I would be a laughing stock in the office was the gut-wrenching terror that I'd never again taste that intense bliss of connection with my beautiful boss.

  Over my solitary breakfast, I found myself quivering like a teenage boy after his first kiss. Questions flew around my head that belonged in teenage glossy magazines - was I supposed to call Zoey this weekend? What did it all mean? Were we now dating? Did she even like me? What if she rejected me from now on? What if she told my co-workers what a pathetic sap I was, folding at the first threat to my job.

  Bottom line, I suddenly felt so incredibly vulnerable. Zoey was now in the position to inflict serious pain on me - and do so with minimal effort. She could simply close up shop, refuse to see me again. And I'd deserve any pain she cared to dish out.

  Jesus, was this how girls felt after I ditched them after a
one night stand?

  After seeming so into my dates during the course of an evening, I'd normally be out the door before the sun so much as showed its face. Did they feel this awful after I was gone? I hoped not, but felt curiously, horribly enlightened.

  Zoey was my ghost of Christmas past, present and future all rolled into one.

  "You just back now?" Robin asked as he stumbled out about 8am.

  "No - I was home. Got back last night," I said. "And how did you get on?"

  Robin cocked his head, ignored my question. "But you did go off with Taylor?"

  "Gave her the slip on the way out," I shrugged.

  "Thought she was one of your go-tos."

  A sigh. "Used to be."

  "And now you're giving her the slip?" Robin chuckled, shook his head.

  "When we're together... she just lies there…" I found myself blushing, something I don't think I'd ever done in front of another guy.

  "You all right, Aide?" Robin seemed to take a second look at me, noticing something about me. "You're shaking like a dope fiend in a police cell."

  I stared down at my empty plate, mumbled: "Drank more than I thought last night, huh."

  Robin just stood there, looking at me. Then finally he said: "You're an enigma, Aide."

  "Thanks."

  "A riddle wrapped in a mystery - "

  "You calling me a Twinkie?"

  The rest of the weekend I was feeling progressively worse and worse. Time dragged - insanely - and yet with every snail-pace second, I somehow felt I was getting further and further away from any chance of being with Zoey again, in any other capacity than work.

  I kept myself to myself as much as possible - I couldn't talk to anyone about any of this, even Robin, and I could talk to Robin about most things. If there was a lump on my balls, I could probably talk to Robin about it. After that Saturday morning, the cover story about a continuing hangover was not going to cut the mustard. I just kept to myself.

  Sunday morning, I was still shaking. What if she'd done all that just to hurt me back? Sure, she'd succeeded, and sure, I deserved it. Had she even enjoyed our time together that afternoon? Had she now lost all respect for me as a human being? Was she going to use what happened to undermine my relationship with the rest of the team, to bond with them herself?