Submitting to Her Read online

  I went to the gym, kept my focus on the exercise for once, didn't even look at any of the girls on the running machines or the ellipticals or the yoga mats, let alone hit on them.

  "Hey, Aide, you trying to get into the military or something?"

  It was Kimberli-with-two-'i's, a curly-haired blonde I usually felt safe checking out whenever she was here. She'd been engaged to some rich dentist down in Guilford for a year or so, and that had always been solid enough that our shameless flirting always came across as vaguely platonic.

  "Hey, Kim. How's it going?"

  "Why the long face, Daddy-o?"

  She was wearing the usual teeny little skin-tight top that showed off her cleavage to masterful effect, and the kind of painted-on lycra boy shorts that could provide a full commentary on the state of her pubic grooming. For my benefit, she was doing a post-exercise stretch that just happened to arch her back and jut out her breasts as she stood there.

  "Oh, you know. Heavy night last night," I said, the hangover story still carrying weight with her, since she hadn't been around the day before.

  She nodded, the glint in her eye seemingly glad I hadn't lost my party-hound reputation.

  "So, Jerry and I… well, we called time on it all," she said, all a little casual for a life-changing decision like ending marriage plans.

  "That so? Sorry to hear it," I said, trying to sound concerned but not interested, and judging by the response from Kim, failing with the latter. "How you bearing up?"

  "Oh, you know," she said, a note of faux-melancholy turning to instant cheer as she added: "So you want to grab a coffee some time? Maybe a drink?"

  I smiled, thinking that after all this time of her teasing me, showing me the goods with the firm knowledge that only Jerry-the-dentist could ever have them, now they were available, I wasn't.

  "Sounds good," I said, not wanting to completely shoot her down, considering her sad, sad situation. "Why don't I give you a call sometime?"

  "Great, you do that!"

  She slipped me a little piece of paper, which presumably had her phone number on it, though I didn't bother to open it up. Where had she been keeping that while she'd been working out?

  A final little: "See ya," and she was wiggling her hips as she returned to the locker room, giving me one last shop-window on what my promised phone call could get me.

  Oh, I knew that phone call was not going to happen, but it felt funny I couldn't just come out and say I was with someone. Was I with someone? I wasn't sure how true that was, what I actually had with Zoey. And was I stupid to have this little pang inside me that thought somehow if I told anyone I was in a relationship right then, I'd jinx it?

  Kim was sweet enough. Perhaps I would have given her a call in normal circumstances, though that might have risked subsequent awkward moments in the gym after I skipped out after our date.

  The rest of the Sunday, my thoughts kept turning back to my afternoon run-in with Ms Zoey Schoenberg. I kept battling with my thoughts, wavering between the doubt that any of it had happened at all to the horror that Zoey now thought me a fool, someone to scorn and deride and, worst of all, ignore.

  I had her stolen underwear as proof that it had happened - but every time I came back to them, pulling them out from under my mattress, it just made me throb between the thighs, and made it difficult to keep my promise about avoiding any fooling around down there.

  Even an afternoon in the company of a widescreen TV and the Ravens getting the better of the Steelers failed to keep my attention away from how unbelievably thrilling it had been to submit to her will, to serve her and be used by her.

  God how much I'd give for a repeat performance with my sizzling hot boss.

  Chapter Five

  Monday morning, I was up early and into the office an hour before normal, even before Zoey arrived for work.

  I was already nervous when pulling up in the parking lot of our building in downtown Baltimore, heading up to our floor in the elevator, walking out there among all those empty desks - so familiar, and yet after Friday, somehow so completely different to me.

  Was I really going to be able to turn things around? And perhaps more importantly, would it be enough to keep Zoey Schoenberg interested in me?

  As I waited, the door to her office loomed large in my consciousness. Had all that really happened in there before the weekend? Did she really threaten me with the sack, and then relent when I went down on her? Had I not imagined it all?

  My insides were fluttering like a hundred butterflies in a thunderstorm, conflicted feelings swirling around and around in there, tearing me up. I longed to see Zoey again, and yet I was terrified that she'd appear and ignore me, overlook what had happened, her declaration that I was now hers turning out to be meaningless. What if she arrived, and I was still fired, and her farewell oral sex turned out to be simply her way of rubbing my face in it?

  There was nothing in my email to suggest I was fired.

  Still, I was breathless, my heart pounding as I waited for things to get moving, spending the time drafting a memo for my whole sales team to the affect that our protest, such as it was, was now over. The way the economy was, we had to set aside personal feelings and pull together, yada, yada, yada. It wasn't a long message, it wasn't the kind of legendary missive that would go down in the annals of company history - I basically called a meeting.

  When it actually happened, at half past the hour we were all supposed to be in work, I was surprised to find that Zoey had still not arrived.

  What was that about? She was never late - in fact, she was always seriously early.

  As my team gathered noisily in the meeting room in the opposite corner of the building to Zoey's office, my heart suddenly seemed to lurch into my stomach and then proceed to free fall into my legs. What if she'd been fired on Friday afternoon? The CEO had come in, worked out the terms of her severance, and then that had been that. Her final run-in with yours truly had been a last moment of revenge, forcing her worst enemy - the man who had caused her downfall - to humiliate himself.

  The only logic I could use to alleviate my fears was that if she'd wanted full revenge, she probably would have walked out with my clothes when she'd left the office.

  "All right, all right, simmer down," I said, closing the door on us, wishing it had been made of glass like those modern offices you see on TV, so I could keep an eye out for the boss while the meeting was going on. It wasn't, it was a crappy seventies building, could have almost been federal.

  "So," I said, once a little hush had been established. "Here's the thing, guys. Much as I appreciate your support these last six months or so, we've got to start getting back in the game."

  There were a few slow nods from some old-timers I had always suspected never cared who headed up the department, so long as they were still in jobs. There was also a little laughter from the end of the table.

  "What happened, Jonesy? She put your balls in a vice?" It was Russell, one of my top salesmen, leaning back in his chair over there, cackling at his wise-crack.

  "Yeah, something like that," I said, but I wasn't going to look for a clever comeback. Not now. "The why's not important. The thing is, if we don't start firing on all cylinders again, we'll start finding ourselves replaced by people who can."

  "What, like Sweet Little Miss College Girl? Give me a break." And that was Tommy - Tweedle Dum to Russell's Tweedle Dee.

  "If you mean someone straight out of college, that's a possibility," I nodded. "Straight away they'll come with qualifications you don't have - and they'll be cheaper. Might not have the sales patter down yet, but nobody in the board room's going to care about that. They'll bring something else to the company - and even if they don't, we'll be long gone by then."

  You get the picture. I had to win them over, but I had certain economic realities in my favor. We all knew people who'd lost their jobs in the recession. It wasn't pretty. No one around that table wanted it to happen to them.

  I laid out the m
otivational stuff, and I set the new standards - arrive at work on time, dress in tidy suits, and above all meet and surpass our weekly sales targets. They got the message. I could deal with the snide remarks, the whispers suggesting I was being pussy-whipped.

  Quietly, deep-down inside, I wanted to be pussy-whipped by Zoey Schoenberg.

  I should be so lucky.

  *

  As the sales team got back down to it, I began crafting an email to Zoey, hoping desperately that my paranoid thoughts were just that, and that she was still my boss.

  It took a fair while to get anything down on screen - each time I put something together, it seemed trite or overly cautious, or desperate, or cold, or a hundred other flaws.

  I finally wrote:

  Zoey,

  I hope you had a pleasant weekend.

  We've had a constructive sales meeting this morning, the team is resolved to improve and start really pushing to smash targets and meet your full expectations.

  Happy to give you a run-down of where we are, at your convenience. And if there is absolutely anything else I can do for you, you need only ask.

  Yours,

  Aiden.

  Well, it was fairly neutral. She could read it any way she wanted. Of course, I wanted her to read into it the offer of serving her at any time she wanted. But she could also see it as a strictly business-level message.

  Dipping my hand into my pocket, I found Zoey's panties lodged there, where I'd stashed them before leaving my apartment. It had all been real, then.

  It was midday before Zoey finally arrived. I found my pulse quickening suddenly, perspiration breaking out on my forehead as my breathing deepened - merely to see her stride through to her office. God, she was beautiful. Had she really been grinding her pussy on my face on Friday night? Oh, what heaven.

  As she went into her office, she didn't even glance my way. I felt crushed, but I guessed she was acknowledging that she couldn't suddenly appear in public to have any feelings for me, one way or the other. Or else she was portraying herself as someone who did not need me, thereby forcing me to earn her attention, keeping me on my toes.

  I tried not to think about it, focusing on my own tasks that day. There was no reply to my email for a cool half hour, and then only:

  Aiden,

  Thanks, keep me updated,

  Zoey.

  I felt a little snubbed - but what had I been expecting? Some kind of gushing praise for what had happened on Friday? Some sweet words of adoration for her willing servant, and promises of more to come? It was never going to happen in the middle of the office - and from her new-found strong-woman attitude, I suspected it would never happen at all. If she had been telling the truth about our arrangement, I was supposed to compensate her, serve her. It wasn't for her to praise me or encourage me. I should need no encouragement other than to serve her.

  To taste that sweet pussy once again.

  Nevertheless, I sat there staring at her email a while, trying to read meaning into that short collection of words. Did her brevity mean she was angry at me? It didn't seem to be particularly angry of tone. "Thanks" - she was grateful for my turning over a new leaf, my promise of targets being smashed. "Keep me updated" - surely that was obviously a clue that she wanted me to stay close, to keep her informed. She still wanted me.

  Damn it, it was infuriatingly difficult to infer genuine tone in emails.

  By the time it got to five o'clock, our whole office seemed different - lively, energetic, focused. I felt I was really achieving something - but there had been no peep out of Zoey's office. Through the afternoon, I'd gathered intelligence on what my team were up to, firing three or four emails to my boss with updates on particularly interesting developments.

  It was hard to strike a balance - I didn't want to seem too obvious, craving attention from her, and yet I wanted to try anything I could to provoke some kind of clues as to how she was thinking, and in particular what her view was on our little arrangement following the weekend.

  The rest of my team started leaving - after five o'clock this time - and I was feeling so nervous again, I was verging on nausea. I waited. Perhaps I should have dreamt up an excuse to enter her office that day. I had been too busy to even think of it, and with what we were working on, there was no need to bother her that day. I waited a while - six o'clock came and went. I was still working.

  Then she emerged from her office - and just walked out, without even looking at me.

  *

  I was shattered - I felt the wind truly knocked out of me. Why was she rejecting me now? Was this her revenge for my foul treatment of her? Get me hooked, and then leave me completely cold turkey?

  I went home feeling heart sick, like I'd felt after being dumped by my first love back in high school. Maybe she needed to see more results than just a day. But the next day was a similar pattern, with my team responding well to my new regime, but no real sign of Zoey all day. It wound me up so tight.

  At half past four, I dreamt up a reason to call on our new head of department. I knocked on the door, my heart in my throat.

  "Yes?"

  I entered the room, standing almost at attention a few paces inside the door. Zoey was sitting at her desk as usual, buried in a mountain of paperwork. She hadn't been idling while we were hard at work outside.

  "What is it?" she asked me, not even looking up from her work.

  "I... uh... I brought you the Villier report, Ms Schoenberg," I said. I wondered if calling her by that name might somehow remind her of our Friday evening together.

  "Thanks," she said, sounding like any other girl fresh out of college might when dealing with a guy who wasn't of much importance to her.

  My heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice. I stammered, "Uh... great... just thought... you know... it might be useful for your P62(b)."

  I waited for a long heartbeat, and there was nothing. So I turned on my heel and headed for the door.

  "Jones?" Her voice stopped me. Even just saying my surname, there was a new sternness, a new power to her that hadn't been there a moment ago.

  "Yes, Ms Schoenberg?" I turned back to her.

  She looked up at me now. God, she seemed so young sitting there. Was she really my boss? Had she really been promoted above me, so soon after her college graduation? Well, wasn't that what a costly education at one of the top places got you?

  "You've done well," she said. "I've been noticing the improvement in the team."

  "Thank you, Ma’am," I said. I hadn't any idea how she'd been monitoring our progress, having not made it out of her room yet this week.

  "Have you... kept your other promise?" she asked.

  I gulped. "Yes, Ma’am." My cock was tenting my pants - I was surprised she couldn't tell I'd kept my other promise.

  "Not one touch?"

  "No, Ma’am."

  "Good," she said. "Then we've only got the small matter of your theft to discuss."

  I felt a jolt through my heart. "Theft, Ms Schoenberg?"

  Zoey stood up, leaning over the desk. She said: "I left something behind in my office last week, and as I understand it, you took them." God - her panties. What a trap I'd walked into.

  She walked over to me slowly, breathtaking in a power suit that had an even shorter skirt than normal.

  I tried to stammer out some kind of denial or excuse, but my tongue was somewhat tied, and before I could really say anything, she said: "I thought we agreed: if it's only you and I, you do not speak unless answering a question."

  I nodded.

  She approached me. I could smell her perfume, I did my best to inhale as much as I could without appearing to. God I needed her. She stood inches in front of me, looking me over. I wondered if I ought to be kneeling, or bowing or something like that. She hadn't told me to, however.

  She reached into my pants pocket, and her dexterous fingers managed to retrieve her underwear.

  "So, you did take them," she said.

  "I'm sorry, Ms Sc
hoenberg," I said, but she shook her head, held a finger to her lips.

  "You'll have to be punished."

  I felt her hand move around to my crotch now, tracing out the shape of my hard cock through the fabric of my pants. Oh God, what I would have given for some release.

  She said: "It's such a shame, because it seems to me that you could really do with some relief. You know, your work so far this week does deserve some reward..."

  I was filled with hope, but then she added: "Too bad we'll have to wait until tomorrow night. Theft cannot go unpunished, you know."

  "No, Ma’am," I said. Another slight transgression of the question rule, but she let it pass.

  "Okay then," she said, turning now, to walk back towards her desk. "You'll continue your good work with the team, and assuming all goes well, you may get some kind of bonus."

  Resuming her seat, she dismissed me from her office.

  But, just before I left, she called out: "You'd better not do anything tonight to risk your reward, Jones."

  I knew what she meant, and groaned.

  Chapter Six

  Another trip to the gym that evening, and I was going nuts.

  Ordinarily, I think I would have been fine to go without tending to myself for a while - I don't know, I never really tried it, but even if I had a busy week, invariably the weekend came along and there would be some kind of date, or I'd run into somebody on a night out, so that sort of self care was rarely needed.

  I believe I probably could have done the whole Seinfeld 'Master of My Domain' thing longish-term, too. But having Zoey around me in the office, having been so intimate with her - I was obsessing.