Submitting to Her

by Max Sebastian

  In this curious new fantasy, although the woman I was increasingly of the opinion I loved was apparently cheating on me to my face, I was still the one making her come. I was the special one. I was the one who served her, and eventually I would be rewarded with the ultimate access.

  "Take off your clothes."

  I almost didn't hear her order, my mind wandering to thoughts of my goddess being worshipped by other men. But thankfully, her voice was sharp enough to penetrate my daydreams.

  I flicked a quick glance at the door, concerned that it was unlocked.

  "I didn't say look at the door," she said.

  I started unfastening my buttons. I could hear the cleaning woman outside, or at least her vacuum cleaner. What if she burst in on us while I was servicing Zoey? She'd probably run screaming for the hills, or perhaps for the human resources department where she could report our depravity.

  "Come on, speed it up. I don't have all night."

  I pulled my shirt off, the cool air of the air-conditioned office raising goose bumps on my arms, and hastily folded it up to lay on the chair in front of her desk. Off came my shoes, then my pants and underwear came down all in one.

  Socks off, and I was completely bare. If the cleaner came in now, she would get a real shock.

  "Good." My head of department looked up at me, and nodded, her eyes running over my body as I stood to attention.

  For a moment or two, she just continued working, leaving me standing there, my cock semi-hard as though it wasn't quite sure whether to be aroused by all this or frightened. Still, the vacuum cleaner hummed outside, and I don't think it was only my paranoia suggesting that the sound was growing louder.

  My heart pounded inside my chest.

  Then she said: "Stand in the corner, Jones. You're very distracting when I'm trying to finish up the Philips proposal."

  "Yes, Ms Schoenberg."

  I did as she wanted. Hey, if my punishment for neglecting my duty over the weekend was to be a nice not-so-little ornament for her office, that was fine with me.

  "Face the wall, Jones, there's a good boy."

  I turned to face the bookcase, and started to count the books on the shelf in front of me to stave off the growing fear as the sound of the vacuum cleaner designated its location to be increasingly close to this office. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Zoey at the desk, just working away at her report, apparently completely unconcerned at the danger posed by the unlocked door.

  Was she insane?

  My head was reeling as I heard the vacuum now just outside the door, the pitch of the motor rising and falling as the cleaning woman whirled it around the floor not more than a few feet from where I was standing without a stitch on.

  I tried to calm myself with the idea that this was merely my punishment. Somehow, Zoey had engineered it so the cleaning woman would know not to disturb us. She had instructed her that she needn't concern herself with this particular office tonight.

  Then the door opened.

  I gasped, but then tried desperately to stifle my reaction, fearing consequences.

  Giselle said softly: "Oh, sorry, Miss Zoey."

  I was gripped by blinding panic, white-hot heat swamping my entire body. Was the open door shielding me from the cleaning woman's eyes? I felt myself blushing, quivering with embarrassment even though I couldn't be sure I was seen. Even breathing was difficult - it felt as though the oxygen levels in that room had suddenly halved, like we were suddenly at high altitude.

  "No, it's all right, Giselle, you can clean in here," I heard Zoey saying, and the horror overwhelmed me.

  I heard the run-of-the-mill clunking sound of the vacuum as she brought it into the room, and then the door closed, and I heard the cleaning woman, Giselle, catch her breath at the sudden sight of this naked man standing in the corner.

  There was a pause that seemed to go on forever as I knew her startled eyes were running all over me, no doubt rather confused at what she saw, and probably highly amused.

  "I'm sorry, Miss..." she said.

  But Zoey said: "Oh no, you just go right ahead. Move any... objects... if you need to."

  I tried to focus on a single book sitting on the shelf next to me - Who's Who 1981-95, the driest of titles - and go into some kind of state of meditation. Keep breathing, block out the darkness around me, the thoughts that a young cleaning woman was sniggering at me as she cleaned the office.

  I even shuffled a little closer to the bookshelf, as though it might somehow hide my brutally exposed penis from the intruder, allow her to see me only from the back.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see movement, and then she was cleaning along my bookshelf, and I could see her trying to look at me without making it obvious what she was doing, and I knew how ridiculous it was for me to try to conceal myself.

  Oh God.

  I felt a little tingle in my loins at the prospect of her looking at me. Oh, this was a bad, bad thing. The thought that she had seen me, the question of whether she was impressed with me - my relatively athletic body, my cock - somehow prompted a tickle of early arousal.

  Please, God, no.

  I looked down and could see my cock twitch. Oh, that would be the worst.

  I tried desperately to think of horrible, awful things to quell my burgeoning erection, but nothing could quite dislodge the full horror I was currently experiencing, and so I was left with absolutely no defense. I glanced down to see my manhood swelling even as I watched.

  Then I felt a breeze behind me as though the cleaning woman had passed by very close, and I detected the crisp, overly sweet scent of perfume overlaid with cleaning products.

  A soft hand touched my arm just above my elbow, and I visibly jumped.

  "I'm sorry," she said in a quiet voice, "could you just move over a little?"

  Her gentle European accent and close proximity brought me to full hardness. Oh God, what must she have thought of me?

  I did as she asked, and as I moved to the side, to stand in a place in front of the bookshelf that I knew she'd already cleaned, our eyes connected, and a pulse of shame shot through my heart.

  She was quite attractive, which only made it worse. Before I turned away to focus again on the bookshelf, I caught a slight smile on her lips. There was pity in that smile, more than amusement. Empathizing with someone else who was downtrodden by those in positions of power.

  Giselle seemed to take her time cleaning the place in which I'd been standing, and then she touched my other arm briefly, allowing me to return to my position. Before resuming my careful observation of Who's Who 1981-95, I noticed Giselle's eyes drop briefly to my groin, checking out my equipment up close.

  I felt as though my humiliation was now complete, full-to-bursting. It was now veering into strange new territory where it was becoming a thrill. Like when wine had been open too long, and turned into vinegar, turned into something else. Was Zoey turning me into a sexual freak? Had a streak of voyeurism and exhibitionism been inside me all along, to be revealed only when this girl I adored decided to have sex in front of me, or invite another woman into the room to peer at me? Or was this thrill something entirely new?

  Were these strange reactions to difficult stimuli common among men? Some kind of innate behavior, perhaps, from the days when humans ran in packs and humped whatever they could get their hands on in the hope that their genes would be passed on. Or was it just me, and I was becoming a monster?

  Giselle seemed to take her time cleaning in there - I'm sure we would have gotten faster service if she wasn't distracted, didn't feel the need to dust the bookshelves on that particular evening as well as vacuum the carpet.

  Eventually, I heard Zoey thanking her, and she was saying quietly in reply: "Of course, you are welcome, Miss."

  And she was gone.

  She hadn't acted or sounded like someone who was going to run for her lawyers, or hammer down the door to the human resources department. She'd sounded respectful, someone who wasn't going to ques
tion things she didn't understand. She had an immigrant's desire not to cause trouble in her new country.

  It was a huge relief when the door to the office closed again, and this time I heard Zoey locking it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "So I can see that you enjoyed that, Jones."

  Zoey Schoenberg stepped beside me, and I felt her cool fingers now encircle my cock, even giving me a little squeeze to emphasize her point.

  I remained silent, abiding by the Question Rule.

  "I'm not sure punishment should be something one enjoys, should it?"

  "No, Ma'am."

  It felt gloriously dirty to have her standing there next to me, wearing her normal office clothes while I was naked. She was holding my cock as though wanting to help me pee.

  "Well, we'll have to think about that," she said, and dropped my manhood again to move back over to her desk. "Perhaps I should reconsider using young women in your discipline like that."

  My hardness was not going away. I was hoping desperately that I might soon get the chance to perform my duty, servicing our head of department once again. Yet after that last comment from her, I was now curious as to whether she'd conspired with the cleaning woman beforehand to set up my punishment.

  "Come here," came her command, and I turned to find her leaning on the front edge of her desk, having removed her skirt and panties. She was still wearing her white blouse, her shoes and thigh-high black stockings, and looked as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on whatsoever - except for the startling display between her thighs.

  Her pussy looked simply stunning the way she stood, legs slightly parted, butt perched on the edge of her desk. Yet it was her eyes - so dark and stern and brutally intelligent behind those delicate glasses - that drew me over, made me so desperate to please her now.

  I approached, trying not to seem like a slavering fool, though I was completely on fire inside. With one flick of a finger, she directed me down on the floor in front of her.

  "Now, you know what to do, Jones," she said.

  I tilted my head upwards, and craned my neck forwards, and was rewarded with the scent, the warmth and the delicious flavor of Zoey Schoenberg's exquisite pussy.

  *

  You would have thought it might have become fairly routine. After work, I'd stay late, and then appear at her office at 6pm, knocking politely before entering, often to find her waiting for me like that, leaning against the front of her desk, with or without her skirt or underwear, for me to come forward and kneel before her for worship.

  It wasn't routine for me, however.

  Every day I felt so fortunate to be given another chance to please her, another opportunity to experience her, to see her beauty and attempt to enhance it with soft moans and shrill cries of ecstasy. To inspire secret lust in those dark eyes, to breathe in the earthy spice of her arousal, to nuzzle into her divine pussy, nose tickled by her little smudge of dark hair, tongue buried in her smoldering vagina, mouth flooded with her savory goodness.

  I loved her completely, I was obsessed by her, but thanks to my terrible guilt over how I'd treated her when she was promoted, I felt certain she couldn't ever feel the same way back. My awful guilt was something that would stay with me, lingering along in the background, but serving her did seem like some kind of penance at least.

  Even after what had happened with Brandon, I felt that a worse punishment was possible. Some day, Zoey would tire of me, and feel able to simply drop me like an empty wrapper. In the mean time, every minute I shared with Zoey Schoenberg felt like I'd won the lottery. Being able to serve her like that, and have her smile at me, stroke my hair, offer me encouragement, complements and praise as I feasted on her intimately - that was heaven.

  And I felt like a demigod whenever she came.

  Sure, I had to start wearing loose pants to hide my reaction every time she entered the room. I had to quietly wash my sheets every time my dreams strayed into erotic territory. It was all worth it.

  Then one evening, she finally gave me sweet, sweet release.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a fairly ordinary late Thursday afternoon, and as usual I waited for my colleagues to vacate the premises with an increasing sense of excitement, sitting at my desk quietly trembling, increasingly less able to focus on the work in front of me. Being a Thursday, according to our regular schedule I might expect to chauffeur our vice president to the gym, before taking her home for a post-workout massage.

  But this time, my colleague Paul was fussing around until six-thirty - he was planning on going straight from the office to a first date, and so was staying later than usual.

  "You think I should take flowers?"

  "I don't know - I never did any of that Internet dating."

  "It's only a first date, right? Might scare her off if I overdo it."

  "Just don't take an ax with you."

  Paul was nervous, and I found it mildly entertaining talking about his introduction to online dating. But if I had any degree of telepathic ability, my attempt to project it all at my colleague to silently encourage him to get the hell out of the office ASAP was failing miserably. I guess that was one super power I was going to have to do without.

  At last, he left, and hoping his unforced overtime hadn't cut too badly into my time with our head of department, almost the moment the elevator doors closed shut on him I was up on my feet and knocking at Zoey Schoenberg's office door.

  "Come."

  I opened the door, slipped inside and closed it behind me as quickly as I was able so as not to waste a moment of precious time. I didn't cast my eyes in my boss's direction until the door was firmly closed.

  "You can lock it, Jones. This time."

  I felt my cock, already hard in my pants, throb. This was new. Obediently, I twisted the catch, hearing the clunk as the door bolt shot through to seal us from the world outside.

  Then I turned - and gasped.

  Zoey Schoenberg had cleared most of her desk, and was lying across it, completely naked.

  "I thought I'd give you the news before sharing it with the rest of the team," she said.

  She was lying on her side, as though positioned by an artist for a nude study. Leaning on one elbow, hair covering one breast, she was a breathtaking vision, her curves so streamlined and perfect, her dark eyes sparkling behind her elegant black-rimmed glasses. An inspirational goddess laid out before me to worship.

  For a moment or two I stood frozen to the spot, gazing at her. I could see she was aroused from the single visible nipple, so hard on her breast. Her sex was concealed by her closed thighs, though a hint of her dark pubic hair provided an enticing signpost to what she might offer.

  Even now, every time I saw her, I found myself amazed that she had allowed me the access I had so far enjoyed. I felt so unbelievably fortunate she was attracted to me. The difficulty was in not appearing like a pathetic, quivering wreck. I had to hold myself together.

  "We won the RJS account," she said, beaming, her pretty smile lighting up the whole room, and igniting the combustible mix within my stomach. "Isn't that great news?"

  "Yes, Ma'am," I said, smiling myself.

  "Take off your clothes and come here," she said. "I think a big reward is in order tonight."

  Man has never before disrobed so fast. Think ricochet sounds as buttons flew from my shirt. I saw her smile again as my cock was revealed, already rock hard before she'd even laid eyes on it.

  "Come here," she said with a husky note to her voice, rolling over onto her stomach now to press her breasts into the desk beneath her, and reveal the tempting roundness of her behind.

  I didn't need asking twice, approaching her, and then following the signals from her eyes to stand directly in front of her face.

  "You have such a nice cock, Jones," she said, taking hold of my shaft in one hand now, and looking up at me with a lusty grin. "Did I ever tell you that?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "It's been difficult for me to res
ist it, you know," she said, biting her lip as her focus returned to my swollen manhood. "But that's been necessary for your discipline."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  She kissed the end of my manhood, and pumped the shaft a few times with her fingers, checking out the hardness, the girth. Then she closed her eyes and took the end of my cock inside her mouth, appearing to be in some state of bliss as her lips were sealed around me, bathing my sensitive tip in her warm wetness, as her hand pulled on my shaft.

  After so long without attention, I had to focus hard to avoid a premature end.

  For a few moments, as she withdrew me from her lips and amused herself with it, exploring the shape of my organ with her tongue and her lips, rubbing it gently over her velvet cheeks, smiling in delight as she played with it like a favorite toy, her womanly power seemed to soften, and she became almost girlish again in her thrill at experiencing my cock once again.

  "Mmm… so beautiful…"

  She'd hold it back and watch as her hand pumped me, then slip my purple helmet inside her irresistible hot mouth again, perhaps to suck me, perhaps to slide down my shaft and fill her cheeks with my pulsating flesh.

  The number of times she looked up at me, with affectionate, possibly even adoring eyes, smiling even though her lips were wrapped tight around my girth, it felt somehow as though we were taking another brief vacation from our normal power relations.

  She must have been ecstatic at our contract win - the first really big coup of her department leadership - and I was ecstatic that I'd been able to help her win it.

  I now found myself caressing her head as she bobbed up and down on my shaft, running my fingers through all that silky brown hair, and I suddenly scared myself that this was a transgression of our rules. Yet she merely looked up at me and smiled again, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, and continued fucking me with her mouth.