Trained By The Boss: M/M BDSM Straight To Gay First Time Romance

by Charlotte Storm

  “No?” I ask, more confused about his answer than my sexuality. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not giving you the internship, Mr. Montgomery. You’re overqualified, easily trainable, and eager to learn.” I could swear he also mutters something like, “Eager to please me.”

  “Um, okay. So, I don’t have the internship?” I knew it was too much to hope for, but I really needed this for my family. For me.

  “No.”

  “So, am I excused then, sir?”

  “Yes,” he says, not bothering to glance my way from whatever’s on his screen. “See you Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp. Give the receptionist your name when you arrive. I’ll leave instructions for you.”

  I know I’m standing here like an idiot, but either I have extreme short-term memory loss, or I missed something during our conversation. Playing it over in my head, I can’t come up with anything that helps me understand if I got the internship or not.

  Just as my mouth pops open to ask him another question, Griffin tears his gaze from the computer and locks it on me. “I’m not hiring you for the internship. I want you as my personal assistant. Mine quit recently. I need a new one. I’m giving you a job, a real job, if you want it.”

  “Oh? Yeah. Yes! Uh, yes, sir. I want the job.”

  “Good. Then I’ll see you at eight. Now, go. Enjoy the party.” His eyes skim down my chest, over my stomach, and land on my still hard cock. “Find some relief. I’m sure my son, Geo, can help you with that.”

  My heart leaps in my chest, tries to claw its way up my throat. “What?” I croak, the word flying out of my mouth before I can stop it? “I’m not...we’ve never...that’s not...I’m straight.”

  Mr. Hart cocks an eyebrow. “Really? I just assumed...” He leaves the rest unspoken as he continues to stare at my crotch. “Geo tends to have good taste. And the way he spoke about you made me think you two were lovers.”

  Lovers. Something twists in my gut at that word. But not because of Geo.

  “No.” I shake my head, maybe a bit too hard. “We aren’t lovers. Never have been. Never will be. Just friends.” The kiss between us doesn’t count.

  A thought occurs to me, and I bite my lip. “So, do you still want to hire me now you know I’m not with your son? Sir?”

  Mr. Hart’s smile is genuine, lights up his whole face, making him more handsome than he has any damn right being.

  “Actually, Mr. Montgomery, it makes me want you more.” With a final once-over, Griffin shifts his attention back to his computer. “See you Monday. Enjoy the party.”

  Chapter 2

  Monday rolls around at break-neck speed.

  I’m almost late because I can’t figure out what to wear, or get my hair to cooperate. I settle for business casual: button shirt, tie, and the only pair of charcoal gray slacks that I’ve had tailored to fit.

  Thankfully, I’m not late, unless someone considers showing up one minute ahead of schedule, late.

  “Welcome to Griffin Business Solutions,” the receptionist says in the kind of cheery voice every Monday-morning hater must resent. “You’re Aiden Montgomery. Correct?”

  “Yeah.” I hold out my hand for her to shake.

  She stares at it, reaches for something underneath the desk, then straightens. Into my palm she places a large yellow envelope.

  “There you go,” she says, her smile about as real as her veneers. “Good luck, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “Good luck?” I stare at the envelope, half expecting it to explode or something. “Why? Am I going to need it?”

  Her smile fades, her lips pressing together into a thin line. “Probably,” she says in a moment of honesty, her facade cast aside faster than the next fad on social media. “Mr. Hart has particular tastes and expectations. Meet or exceed them, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Anything less than excellence, and...” She points to the front doors I just walked through. “You get the rest, right?”

  Particular tastes and expectations? What the hell does that mean?

  “Right. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  The phone rings. She answers, ignoring me. Guess that’s my cue.

  Stepping to the side of the reception desk, I tear open the envelope. Inside is a cell phone and nothing else. Bringing the screen to life, I notice there are several text messages from a number programmed with the name Sir. A thrill flashes through my bloodstream, my thoughts immediately going to my interview with Mr. Hart.

  Discarding the envelope in a nearby trash can, I tap on the messages and read them, rapid succession. Each one details a specific erand, time, and location. I glance at the current time and notice that, if I don’t move my ass five minutes ago, I’ll be late for the first assignment.

  Cursing under my breath, I get back into my car and get to work.

  It’s lunch hour by the time I make it to Mr. Hart’s house. My stomach growls in discontent at being empty, my reserves made low by rushing around all morning.

  Letting myself into his private office, I hang his dry cleaning on a hook by the door then wait, expecting any moment for Griffin Hart to greet me.

  After ten minutes, I suspect he isn’t here, though where he is, I don’t know. And I can’t figure out why he’d ask me to come to his home office instead of his business office.

  After another minute or so, my curiosity gets the better of me. I start to nose around his desk to see if he left further instructions. Sure enough, on his desk is a note.

  Mr. Montgomery,

  If you’re reading this, I trust you completed my errands in a timely manner. You will sit in the chair by the sliding door to the patio, hands palms up on your thighs, and wait for me.

  Don’t disappoint.

  ~S

  I read the note a few more times to make sure it’s real, that this isn’t some joke. Palms up? Is he serious? I mean, how would he even know? And, S? Who the hell is S?

  The phone in my pocket buzzes. I pull it out, glance at the screen. Text from Sir.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God! S equals Sir.

  A bolder, more comfortable-in-their-own-skin type of person would admit how fucking hot and turned on they are. I’m not that person. Instead, I adjust my crotch and read the text.

  Sir: You aren’t sitting down.

  Sir: Do what you’re told. Now.

  My eyes widen as I read the text messages, then scan the office. Shit. He can see me. But how?

  Cramming the phone back into my pocket, I walk across the large office to the sliding glass door that opens to a patio. Next to it is a simple, wooden chair. Plain, but sturdy.

  I sit down, rub my palms against my slacks, then remember I’m supposed to place them up. I do as instructed. The phone inside my pocket does not buzz again.

  I lose track of time after the first ten or so minutes. The sun coming through the window is hot on my thighs, my upturned palms, but I don’t dare move. Not even to wipe the drip of sweat off my forehead, or relieve my aching shoulders, tight from tension.

  No. Not tension. Anticipation.

  After what feels like forever, the knob on the office door turns slowly, and the presence that is Griffin Hart steps inside.

  I wince at how fucking striking he looks in his blue tailored suit, then divert my eyes out the window so he can’t see the effect he has on me.

  It’s wrong, this effect. He’s my boss. I’m straight. Definitely not gay, despite not having many girlfriends. I guess I always wondered what the point was because my parents had already picked out my future wife.

  Now, I’m not so sure that was the reason. Doesn’t matter. I need this job, need my family’s approval and financial support. Living in California is cost prohibitive for a recent college grad. Hell, most people, actually.

  “Mr. Montgomery?” Griffin’s voice brings me back from my mental ledge. “Did you hear what I said?”

  Licking my lips, I stare into his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t.”

  “Everything okay?” he asks, his brow crinkling
with concern.

  “Honestly?” I say before I have the chance to fully think it through.

  Griffin’s dark eyes harden. The muscles along the edge of his jaw ripple and writhe. “Always honesty, Aiden.”

  I think I might be into you, which terrifies me because I can’t be gay. I just can’t. I’ll lose my family, my friends...my entire life will be gone. A gilded cage is better than having nowhere to live.

  “I’m cramping, and my back hurts from sitting in one position for so long.”

  Griffin breathes a sigh of relief, and I can’t begin to imagine what that was for.

  “Stand,” he says simply. I obey, and God. Being under his control is the easiest thing in the world.

  “Turn around.”

  When I do, his hands go to my shoulders. His strong fingers work out the knots below my shoulder blades and along my neck to the back of my skull.

  My brain tells me it should feel weird, him touching me, massaging me, his hands on my body. My body doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, it wants more of him touching me, against me, working out all of my kinks.

  “Is this okay?” he asks as he glides his hand up the back of my neck.

  A moan escapes my mouth, and I huff out a huge breath, which makes me relax even more. “Yes.” The word leaves my lips without my brain’s permission, but I can’t give a fuck about that right now.

  His grip on my neck tightens, his entire body presses against my back. He leans in close, his lips grazing my earlobe. That one movement ratchets back up my tension, but in a good way.

  “Yes, what?” His tone is little more than a growl. My dick is little less than fully hard.

  “Yes, sir.” The words tumble from my lips as if giving myself over to him completely would be simple. Easy. It would also ruin me.

  Having lost control over my body from the moment he walked into the room, I press my hips back, my ass sliding along his hard front.

  His hard front. Holy shit.

  Mr. Hart’s grip on my neck tightens even more. His other hand goes to my hip. He squeezes, causing me to gasp, before pushing me away and stepping back.

  “I trust you got everything done that I asked,” he says, voice calm, as if he’s unaffected by what just happened.

  I don’t understand how that can be true. I’m painfully affected, the evidence leaving no room for negotiation in my slacks. Taking a few calming breaths, I beg my body to chill. To relax. To not be so damn hard.

  It doesn’t work.

  Instead of facing him, I stare out the sliding glass door to the garden beyond. “Y-yeah. Yes, sir. I did.”

  He points to the chair. I catch the motion in my periphery. “And it’s obvious to me you can follow directions. Do what you’re told.”

  “I can, sir.” I want to do so much more.

  “Do you like being told what to do? Like giving up control?”

  Closing my eyes, I swallow hard. My mouth is dry, so it’s difficult to speak. I do it anyway, because he asked me a question, and I don’t want to disappoint him.

  “I do, sir.”

  His office chair creaks, signaling that he’s sitting at his computer. “Why?”

  “Makes things easier, sir.”

  A chuckle rumbles his chest. “What things?”

  “Everything,” I answer, because it’s the best, most honest answer I have.

  Mr. Hart remains quiet for a long time. I’m tempted to turn around, but he didn’t tell me to, and I’m still hard enough it’s best if I don’t.

  “You’re dismissed, Mr. Montgomery,” he finally says. “You did well for your first day.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I head for the door, not once looking at my boss.

  “See you tomorrow at eight sharp,” he says.

  I nod, then get out of there as fast as I can.

  Chapter 3

  The next few weeks fly by.

  Mr. Hart keeps me busy running errands, following him around the office to learn the business, and taking copious amount of notes. My wrists and fingers cramp after the third day, so I make sure to stretch, and make good use of the company gym after hours.

  I’ve never really been a huge gym buff. Preferred to play team sports and jog instead. But with how hard Mr. Hart has me running, keeping in shape is a must.

  My work phone buzzes. I can’t help the thrill that spikes through me when I see who it is.

  He has to know what he does to me. And I’m pretty sure him programming his title into the phone is the proof.

  Sir: Meet me at my house in an hour. Wear workout clothes and running shoes.

  I stop by my house to change my clothes, which takes longer than it should because I’m torn between looking good for him and wearing something comfortable. I have no idea what he has planned, but I have to imagine it’s workout related.

  I’m halfway out the door when my father stops me. “Aiden. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “Sorry, Dad. No time to talk. Gotta get back to work.” I palm my keys, try and close the door.

  He puts his foot in the way, blocking it. “You look like a slob, Aiden. Don’t forget how lucky you are to have gotten this job. The real test of what kind of man you are is if you can keep it.”

  My gut drops to my shoes, not only because of how small I feel underneath my father’s microscope, but also because, if I don’t move my ass, I’m going to be late.

  “I know, Dad. Mr. Hart asked me to change clothes.”

  The judgmental eyebrow I know all too well encroaches on his hairline. “That’s a strange request.”

  He has no idea, this is one of the least strange things Griffin has asked of me.

  “Not really. It’s my job to go where he goes, be available to him for anything.” A thrilling tingle followed by heated shame burns through my bloodstream at the thought of being available to do anything for Mr. Hart. “I’m probably just going to be taking notes while he works out.”

  I pull out the phone, check the time. “Sorry, Dad. I really have to go.”

  “I’ve invited Lily and her parents over for dinner tonight. I expect you to be home by six so you can greet them when they arrive. I expect you and Lily will be spending more time together now that you’ve graduated college, with her only a semester behind you.”

  “Lily?” Her name leaves my mouth like a curse word. It isn’t her fault. She’s nice enough. Pretty. Kind. Everything my parents want for me. She just isn’t something I want for myself.

  “Yes. Lily. Your future fiancé.” My father’s eyes harden, issuing the challenge and the threat of what comes after if I refuse, argue, or basically want to be my own person.

  I should tell him to fuck off. That this is my life. I’ll do with it what I want. I’ll do who I want.

  “S-Sure. Six it is. Sounds good.”

  I’m a damn coward, but I’m also going to be a late coward. I don’t know why, but something tells me I don’t want to find out what happens if I displease Mr. Hart.

  I know I’m in trouble the moment I arrive. Not only am I fifteen minutes late, Mr. Hart is standing in the middle of his office, foot tapping an impatient rhythm. His arms are crossed over his toned chest, visible through his lycra tee. His biceps bulge from the strain hardening every muscle from neck to calf.

  The source of the strain has to be me. Has to be that I’m late. I open my mouth to make an excuse, to tell him that it was my father’s fault, not mine. But Mr. Hart doesn’t want my excuses. He’s made that clear already. It would only piss him off further if I went down that path.

  Lowering my head in what I hope is a submissive gesture, I put my hands behind my back and hunch my shoulders. “Sorry I’m late, sir.”

  “You know how much it displeases me when you don’t follow directions, don’t you, Mr. Montgomery?” His tone is harsh. Strict. But he isn’t cruel, and he doesn’t even sound angry. He sounds...almost happy. Has he been waiting for me to screw up? And now that I finally have, he can punish me?

  Fuck.
A part of me wishes he would. Punish me. Control me. Force me over the straight line I keep dancing around.

  “I do, sir.”

  “You’ve excelled at following directions for weeks. It’s disappointing...”

  I expect him to say that he’s disappointed I let him down. I failed in some way. That I’m not good enough for this job.

  “...that you’ve waited so long.”

  “What?” My head pops up, my eyes searching his. That was not what I expected.

  I also don’t expect for him to be so fucking ravenous. The look on his face. Jesus.

  That’s when I feel it. The pieces inside me that are too rigid, snap. Break. Fall apart. Fall away, until it’s just me and a man that makes me want to admit the truth I’ve denied my whole life.

  My dick instantly thickens. My lungs struggle to take in air. I suppress the urge to whimper. To cower. To get on my knees in front of him and beg him to own me in any way he wants to. Every way. Not just my job, career, and future. But my body.

  Griffin approaches me in the slow way a jungle cat stalks prey. “Do you remember when you said giving up control makes everything easier?” he asks, his voice taking on a deep quality that has my nerve endings firing in rapid succession.

  I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that statement for weeks. About what it could mean for you. For...us.”

  I don’t dare speak. Dare breathe. I can’t say it, because I don’t have the balls, and I’m not sure I’m ready to make the leap. But if he gets there on his own, I won’t stop him. Won’t deny it.

  “You know what I think, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I think you want me to take control. Full control. Because you don’t have any. Not at home. Not at your job. And not with this.”

  Crowding my body with his, Griffin presses his chest against mine, our thighs touching. He forces my knees apart with his leg, wraps his hand around the steel rod in my shorts.

  I unravel.

  One goddamn touch destroys me completely. I should be ashamed of the noise that works its way up my throat, out of my mouth. But the sensation of him touching me is too good.