Submitting to Her (4 page)

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.

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.