Submitting to Her

by Max Sebastian

  After the event, there was a little time for drinks in the bar before we headed upstairs to change for a formal dinner. Zoey was high on a successful conference and the fresh pine scent in the Oregon air, so we stayed for a few drinks before dashing upstairs to retrieve our glad rags.

  There at the bar, there was plenty of flirting for my beautiful boss, whose top two shirt buttons had mysteriously come unfastened somewhere on the walk from the seminar room to the hotel bar.

  She was laying it on - the coy smiles, the easy giggles, the lingering stares, unconscious playing with her hair, and even the occasional touch on someone's arm. Her frequent glances my way, checking that I was seeing what she was doing, reassured me she was doing it only to wind me up. But as I felt the flicker of jealousy mixing with forceful arousal to make me feel quite quesy at watching her playing up her femininity and flaunting it for the other men, my mental reassurance couldn't quite dislodge the powerful biological reaction I felt seeing her flirting with others.

  By the time the bar started to thin out as executives dashed off to change, Zoey was accepting business cards as though she were running a prize draw.

  I eventually dragged her away reminding her that she was presenting one of the industry awards during the small ceremony after dinner.

  "That was fun, wasn't it?" she asked me as we headed up in the elevator to our floor.

  "Certainly was," there was a faint quiver of anxiety in my voice. I do hate being late, and this was a black tie dinner we were heading towards.

  "Lot of hot guys at this conference." She grinned at me, knowing the effect she was having on me. "You think I should find someone to join us later?"

  I laughed, acting as though I thought she were joking - though after what she'd done with Brandon that night back in Philly, and not forgetting the way she'd loaned me out to our CEO as a bizarre bribe to win her approval, I knew I could never entirely discount the idea that she was going to do something wild and terrible.

  In answer to her question, I said: "I think these guys know too much about who we are and who employs us."

  "You're telling me what to do?" she pouted, but there was a smile buried under her pout, from the knowledge she was getting to me.

  Up on the 12th floor, we navigated the maze of hallways and found our room once again. Naturally, the company had booked two rooms for the event, but we weren't going to use one of them.

  Zoey's teasing seemed to overflow into her changing for dinner - as I quickly stripped off and hopped into the shower for a quick rinse, she was running at a leisurely pace, and when I came out of the bathroom ready to pull on my shirt and tux, expecting her to slip into the shower after me, I found that she was still in her clothes from the conference.

  "We'd better hurry," I said, looking at my watch.

  Zoey gave me a look of mild surprise - but then I saw her eyebrow twitch, as though she had some mischievous plan that was just about to be set in action.

  "You're telling me what to do, Jones?" her accusation had a playful tone, but I was suddenly unsure where she was going with this.

  Was she really going to turn up late to the dinner, just to play our personal games?

  "No, Ma'am," I said, compliant.

  She looked me over, taking her time before removing the white shirt from my grasp.

  "On the bed," she said.

  Well, who was I to question my boss? If we were late, we were late. My heart started beating a quicker pulse as I sat on the bed, then pulled myself over to lie where she directed me, on my back.

  While I'd been in the bathroom, she'd been looking through her suitcase, and lying there on the bed, I now saw her produce a length of quarter-inch rope as if by magic. This did not look like something that was going to be completed within the 20 minutes we now had before the official start of the dinner.

  "Arms up," she said, stepping around to the head of the bed, and I noticed that our bed was suitably designed for the rope to be looped around so that my wrists might be firmly shackled in place.

  Zoey was proficient in her rope work, making me wonder if some workshop or other at a teenage summer camp had been perverted into useful skills for kinky sex.

  "Very good, Jones," she said as she moved onto my ankles, my cock swaying a little as I lay there watching her, uncertain as to my immediate fate. "You know, I've never really had someone I could really practice this on?"

  "You're not practiced?" I asked her, surprise robbing me of a deferential tone.

  She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to imagine me as some kind of timid virgin, Jones."

  "No, Ma'am."

  "Good," she said, finishing up her final knot before standing to admire her handiwork - and my naked, exposed self. "I think I'll take a shower, now."

  I should have known, of course, that she'd want to fool around a little now she had me so firmly bound in place. I lay there, comfortable enough, listening to the sound of the water stream, the pitter-patter as Zoey's body came between the flow and the tiled shower floor, and I figured at least I wasn't uncomfortable. She'd tied me so the ropes didn't cut into my arms or legs. Let her have her little moment of fun making me wait.

  I was patient, I didn't complain.

  Then the water stopped, and I waited with bated breath for her to emerge from the bathroom. Naked, in underwear, whatever - I just wanted her, wanted her to return to me and reward my patience with her body.

  Still, I waited.

  Then at last, she emerged - and I was a little shocked to see her all perfectly presented for a formal dinner - little black cocktail dress over smart black hose or stockings, immaculate make-up complete with elegant crimson lipstick, long hair tied back in a severe but sexy ponytail, and black stiletto-heeled shoes that could have killed a man had she trampled on him.

  My breath was forcibly removed from my chest.

  "So, you've probably realized you're not going to make it to the dinner, Jones," she said, walking slowly up to me beside the bed.

  "Yes, Ma'am," I said, hiding my shock, my faint irritation.

  "I'll pass on your apologies. I'm sure if I tell people you're tied up, they'll understand."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  She looked down at me, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. "God, you know how horny you make me, Jones? Knowing I have you here for me, desperate for release?"

  I didn't know what to say, I was so startled. Was she really going to attend the dinner and leave me like this? I saw her shiver - the power she had over me irresistible just then. She leaned over me, stroked my chest, running her cool hand down my stomach, before grazing my hard cock with her nails.

  "Delicious," she said. "You do keep yourself nicely in trim, Jones. I approve."

  "Thank you, Ma'am," I said. What else could I do but go with the flow?

  "God, you know how wet you're making me? Even straight after my shower?" she flashed her eyes at me. I prayed she'd give in to her temptation, stay and finish me off.

  I wasn't quite sure what she was doing, she seemed to dance a little jig. And then she stooped, and I saw her flicking her panties over her knees, before retrieving them from the floor.

  "Risky, I suppose, but risk brings with it a certain… thrill, don't you think?"

  Somehow, it seemed hard to breathe, the air overly thin, starved of oxygen. She was going down to the dinner without underwear? I was suddenly a little more concerned. If the alcohol started flowing, what if she gave a tipsy executive the wrong idea? Or what if she had certain intentions to give an executive the wrong idea?

  With a mischievous chuckle, she dangled a pair of black satin panties over my face. What was she doing?

  She pressed them to my mouth and nose, and I could actually feel the dampness in the material.

  "You see?" she said. "And that's just the time I've spent getting dressed and putting my make-up on. You make me so wet, Jones."

  I breathed in her glorious scent - it made me tingle all over, the dark spice direct from her womanhood
.

  "Try to get some rest, Jones," she said, as I watched her go, trying not to succumb to the rising panic I felt seizing my internal organs one by one. "I'll return as soon as I can."

  As she walked to the door, I saw the plunging back line of her dress, and knowing she had nothing on under that thin scrap of material, I felt quite concerned that the evening's entertainment was going to get the better of her. Then she was bending over to pick up the 'do not disturb' sign that lay on the carpet, and I saw it was thigh-high hold-ups she wore. They gave her an extra hint of sexual mischief, adding to the pressure I felt watching her.

  When the door to our room clicked shut, leaving me straining at the rope, I knew there was little I could do but trust that my Zoey wanted me above all else.

  *

  I don't know how long I waited. I guess the dinner would have gone on perhaps an hour and a half, and then the awards ceremony an additional half hour. I tried not to think about the time passing - it only slowed down the experience.

  I had to focus on the positives, I knew that. I had been through similar feelings as I had when I'd been in Philly, waiting for Zoey to come home with Brandon. Thinking of the possibilities of her being with someone else, the dark jealousy swirling around my insides, mixing and conflicting with the strong burst of arousal at the thought of my sexy Zoey flirting away, attracting the attention of men who might possess her momentarily, but would never have her as I did.

  The key solace for me was the virtual certainty that Brandon was not around this time. I held on to that belief as I lay there, imagining her sitting at the dinner table, laughing at the jokes of the interested men around her, batting those pretty eyelids, twirling her hair, licking her full lips, her thighs jostling as she thought about fucking them, as she sat there with no underwear.

  Waiting there, without even a television on to distract me from the thoughts about what Zoey was doing, I tried to keep calm.

  I told myself that I had to stop the paranoid thoughts. She had a dinner to sit through, and then an awards ceremony that she could not miss - she was presenting one of the prizes, as an award sponsor. I trusted she wasn't going to slip out of the dinner with one of her new male friends to find some shady corner somewhere to explore her lack of underwear.

  I had time on my side.

  Once I was calm, I knew the only thing I could do was take things step by step. Firstly, I wriggled a little and found the most comfortable position I could, the position I could lie in so that my muscles ached least. Knowing I was able to lie for a long period of time without it hurting much, that kept me sane.

  Carefully, without expending too much energy, I tested my bonds. Zoey had tied me well, and the ropes were too strong for me.

  All I could do was wait, and hope she would return to me in good time, pray that she wanted her sexual gratification from me alone.

  Yet despite all the positive energy I tried to channel, I still had that awkward sense that I'd brought this on myself. I'd suggested to her before that if she was fooling around with a random stranger that would never likely affect our normal lives, I'd be okay with her taking her pleasure as she liked.

  I tried to focus on just how hot it actually was to have a girlfriend like Zoey - so attractive, so desirable. And to have one as strongly sexual as she, that was incredible.

  As the minutes ticked slowly by, I felt that same strange buzz I'd felt while watching her with Brandon that night in Philly. My own pride seemed to fall away, my increasingly tired body finding no use for it just then. In its place, I recalled how wonderful it felt to see Zoey smile, see her laugh, see her moan and come like crazy. What if some other guy had snuck her into a bathroom stall and was making her feel that good? Wasn't it good that she should feel so fantastic? That she should get to experience the thrill of "strange" cock?

  As long as she came back to me afterwards - as long as I was special to her, I was the one she loved, I was the one who made her feel best of all, all would be okay.

  Lying there, my humility returned. My sense of place - my sense of pleasing her. I actually hoped she'd stay out longer, as long as she wanted. Long so that she'd come home buzzed and happy - even if all she did, after falling through that door, was curl up beside me on the bed before falling asleep.

  I relaxed, and tried to embrace the arousal I felt, though I couldn't do anything about it with my hands bound.

  I even managed to fade into a shallow sleep.

  *

  I jerked awake at the first movement of the handle on our door, a jolt of panic and fear pumping adrenalin into my bloodstream.

  As the door opened, over the sound of my own breathing, I heard her giggling, the clear signs of alcohol in her system.

  "Still here, sweetie?" she asked, as though I could have escaped.

  "Yes, my Goddess," I said.

  She laughed, "I had such a good time. Knowing you were up here completely helpless, waiting for me to come use you. Mmm…"

  She climbed up on the bed and straddled my chest, and I felt the butterflies stirred up in my stomach at the heat of her body up on top of me. She leaned back to check the bindings on my ankles, then pulled forward to check out the rope around my wrists, her soft breasts touching down over my face as she reached for the bindings, her cleavage so warm and smooth where it wasn't covered by her dress and bra.

  I inhaled a deep lungful of her floral scent from between her breasts.

  "Very good," she said, planting a brief peck on my lips as she moved back down my chest, so that I could taste the wine on her breath. "Now I'm just going to use the bathroom, but I'll be right back, I promise."

  She walked to the bathroom in a very leisurely manner, and I knew she'd take her time in there.

  The questions whirled around my head. Had she done anything with anybody? How drunk was she? Had anyone seen that she didn't have panties on?

  I couldn't help but gasp as she emerged from the bathroom again. She was wearing a black leather corset and lace-up boots that went all the way up to her thighs like stockings - and nothing else, her bare pussy startling, yet hard to take my eyes away. I wasn't usually one for kinky leather stuff, but Zoey looked so hot.

  She creaked as she walked toward me.

  "Good boy," she said. "You've been so good tonight, I feel like rewarding you."

  "Thank you, Ma'am."

  She climbed up onto the bed once again, her leather creaking all the way, straddling me. She made me wonder how she'd fitted this outfit in her overnight case.

  "You know, I need to do better at restricting your orgasms, Jones," she said, picking up my cock and wrapping her fingers around it as it stood just inches from her pussy. "You've had it too easy recently."

  "Yes Ma'am," I said meekly, silently suppressing my disagreement in the matter.

  "But maybe I should allow you tonight," she said. "Since you've been so good."

  "Thank you, Ma'am."

  My cock was so hard as she began stroking it, I swore I could feel the blood coursing through it.

  "Okay, here's your reward," she said. "Tonight, and tonight only, you get three wishes. You can take them at any time you like, and I have to grant them - but you don't get them back."

  "Thank you Ma'am."

  This was an interesting game - I could have asked her theoretically for anything, yet I didn't want to waste the opportunity.

  She lifted herself up a little, opening her legs so I received a killer view of her pussy, though the purpose of her move was to give herself access to use my hard cock as a kind of sex toy, rubbing it against herself, brushing her pussy lips with the tip of my cock, nudging it against her clit.

  "Are you thinking of a wish?" she asked me, as she now sat down on me, crushing my hardness in between her legs, before beginning a rocking motion to glide her wetness up and down my shaft without granting me any penetration.

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  The sensation of her heat against my manhood, and the way she gyrated her hips and accelerated he
r rocking on me, threatened to make me come before she'd barely started.

  I had to hold on.

  "Tell me what happened when you went downstairs," I asked her.

  "You're sure you want that to be one of your wishes?"

  I nodded. She slowed her motion as she spoke, allowing me to bring myself under control.

  "How long do you think I've been gone?"

  "I'm not sure - two, three hours?"

  She sniggered. "No way I'd leave you tied up that long - and I couldn't resist knowing you were up here waiting for me like this. The ceremony was before the dinner, this time, not after. I slipped out once I finished presenting our award. Are you aching?"

  "I'm okay," I said. "Tell me what happened."

  She continued stroking me, rubbing me up against her pussy as she told me about the fear she'd had entering a room full of suited executives with her pussy completely exposed to the open air.

  "I was trying not to blush," she said. "It took a couple of glasses of wine for me to calm down."

  "Do you think anyone knew?"

  She flashed her eyes. "Before everyone sat down, I think a couple of the women were looking at me trying to figure how I'd completely got away with no panty line in a dress like that. I don't think the guys really knew - except one guy."

  "One guy?" My ears pricked up.

  Zoey gave me an impish grin, and I couldn't quite tell whether or not she was now just making something up to wind me up. I suspected she was, but from what had happened with Brandon in Philly, I could never be entirely sure.

  "He was a little older than you," she said, moving off my body now, lying beside me on her side, in a comfortable position to play with my hardness. "You know - silver flecks in his hair. A bit of a cocky so-and-so, but totally gorgeous."