Submitting to Her (10 page)

So I had to suffer - and Zoey was not going
to make it easy for me.

My co-workers even remarked on the way she
was dressing these days, and I had to rein them in a little to keep
their focus on the job at hand.

In particular, whenever she wore fishnet
stockings to work - even with a slightly longer skirt to downplay
it a little - the testosterone levels in the office shot through
the roof. My colleagues on the sales floor were finding it hard to
keep their tongues inside their mouths.

"Wish she'd go visit a few of my clients
dressed like that," Finnegan muttered as I declared a unilateral
ban on spending fruitless time staring at our VP's door hoping she
would appear again.

"Finn, please," I said.

"Hey, I'll get some of that action - my
clients won't budge." That was Brooks, who like Finnegan wasn't
having a good month.

I sighed, "You guys saying you need a woman
to help make sales? Maybe I should fire you, hire a few women
instead."

In fairness, our sales team was horrifically
male - we did badly need more of a gender balance, that was true
enough. My recruitment policy took a significant diversion after
Zoey tamed me, but back then we were unlikely to recruit anyone
extra unless our numbers improved.

The semi-joking threat got the boys to simmer
down, but there were still a multitude of glances directed toward
Zoey's door, just a little more subtle. And some of those glances
were mine.

It wasn't just her dress sense that got me
going.

I'd be sitting at my desk, and she'd send me
increasingly risky messages through the instant messenger system.
While she avoided email, which was traceable, the IM system seemed
safe to her.

She'd kick off mid-morning, perhaps,
with:

> I'm bored of the McKammon account.
Entertain me?

The question mark signaled that I could talk
to her, I guess, though in real life her demands were not optional.
I'd want nothing more than a quick walk into her office for some
high-risk mid-day oral servitude. But there was always the slight
chance she actually did want details on what the sales team was up
to, how things were going.

I'd usually feel it best to err on the side
of caution to begin with:

> Do you want me to run through where our
other key accounts stand?

I'd wait a moment or two, and she hit back
with something more suggestive:

>I'd rather find out about how your key
account is standing.

And then I'd be looking around the room,
checking to make sure I was safe, that noone else could see the
words appearing on my screen. I never needed to worry - even when
there was someone looking my way, the size of the text on my screen
was too diminutive for anyone to actually read unless they were
peering over my shoulder.

Sometimes, when I judged her mood was right,
I might tease her a little myself, play the innocent regarding her
innuendo:

>I can tell you that RGV Ingrams is close
to committing to Construction Week, if that's what you mean?

She'd soon show her true colors.

>Don't be facetious. I'm not interested
in your clients at the moment, thank you, Jones.

I'd stifle a snigger. I liked flirting with
her on IM.

> Do you realize what a pack of
slobbering hyenas you've turned our sales team into today?

> I haven't even spoken to the sales team
today. What could be on their minds?

Zoey could be really quite casual in our IM
banter, but I made the effort to remain respectful. It wasn't that
I was concerned she would suddenly take offense and want to punish
me - I found I actively wanted to be respectful. I wanted to put
her on a pedestal, adore her like the goddess she was.

So, for example, in hinting that her clothing
choice was distracting my colleagues, I tried to avoid any sense I
was criticizing her.

>I think it may have something to do with
the way your outfit highlights your incredible beauty particularly
well today.

> And does that mean you're a slobbering
hyena as well?

>I have a bucket on hand to keep from
messing up the carpet.

I could imagine her shut away in her corner
office being amused by my attempts to tread carefully in our
conversation, and I liked it.

>I'm sorry I've caused you such
trouble.

>It's no trouble. I can handle it.

>Can you handle it if I was to tell you
that right now I'm thinking about your beautiful hard cock?

>That would make it a little more
difficult.

>How I'm thinking about your next reward,
when time comes...

> And what are you thinking my next
reward might be?

>Maybe it might involve putting your cock
somewhere hot and wet. Are you slobbering right about now?

>I can't help it, Ma'am.

>Is your cock nice and hard as you sit
there, imagining me sucking it?

>Like a rock. I'll have to sit here the
rest of the day, or someone will see it.

And at that point, often the messaging would
stop for a while, and she'd leave me to stew in the thought of her
rewarding me, taking our sexual congress to the next level, perhaps
even allowing me release.

I could usually tell her mood, and a little
about what kind of entertaining she might be craving, from her
dress sense. Very short skirts often meant she'd need me to go down
on her the moment our colleagues had gone home. More conservative
attire might mean she was off to the gym after work, and would need
a massage afterward. Pants seemed to mean a night off for yours
truly for whatever reason.

Later on, fishnet stockings came to mean she
felt like tying me up.

Being the default dominant male before Zoey
had come along, I'd never been shackled by anyone else before. I'd
never even thought about it as an option in the bedroom - and
whenever I heard about it in the media, I always thought it some
weird kind of kink for scary people in leather and gimp masks.

The first time, she took me to a hotel. It
was a nice hotel, but walking in with a beautiful woman whose legs
were bound in black fishnets made me feel so unbelievably seedy.
The fact she'd hiked up her skirt and added garish bright scarlet
lipstick on the way over made it feel even more like I'd picked her
up from some street corner somewhere.

We had a few curious glances from other hotel
patrons, and naturally as we stepped up to check in, Zoey received
a full up-and-down from the receptionist.

"It's a nice hotel," she said to me on the
way up to our room in the elevator. "Thought it might be good to
get away from it - really let go."

I trembled as she said that. What was she
planning?

"When I started as an intern," she was
explaining while I quivered next to her, "this is where they put me
up for the first week until I got an apartment sorted out."

"That was nice of them," I said, my thoughts
tumbling out of my mouth since I was a little on the nervous
side.

"They wanted to impress me, I guess," she
said, overlooking my unauthorized speech.

It did feel good to get away from it all, and
indulge in the stylish yet anonymous interior of a top hotel. Ours
was an impressive room - complete with a large four-poster bed,
with clean white bedding and semi-transparent white curtains at
each corner that made the place look more suited to the tropics,
perhaps, for some colonial island governor's master bedroom.

Even before she ordered me abruptly to strip,
I was tingling all over and my cock was straining in my pants -
hoping desperately that this night would see Zoey allowing me the
honor of going all the way with her. I'd done seriously well to
control myself, but it was getting faintly ridiculous.

Once naked, standing almost to attention as
my boss wandered around me, inspecting my body, my manhood quietly
bobbed in the chill of the air-conditioned air, like a racehorse
straining to get out of the starting gates.

She enjoyed teasing me, stepping slowly
around me, occasionally touching me, feeling out my muscles and my
ass as though I was some bull about to be auctioned, leaning in to
inhale the scent from my skin. She even playfully patted my rigid
cock a few times.

"Lie on the bed, Jones," she ordered. "On
your back."

I did as she asked, hoping she was going to
ride me, wondering if the rock-hard nature of my cock might entice
her to take our connection to the next level.

Craning my head to look at her, I watched as
she whipped off her skirt - then gasped as I saw that she wasn't
wearing panties. Had she been that way all day in the office? Wow.
My colleagues would have gone nuts if they'd had any inkling.
Framed by the garters holding up her stockings, her pussy was
positively mouthwatering with her little patch of dark hair
accenting her startling exposure.

She removed her jacket, slinging it over a
chair, and then as she unfastened the buttons on her shirt, she
slowly revealed the wicked black lace and crimson satin of a
beautiful and luxurious corset.

It took my breath away. My God - what a thing
to wear all day at work, hidden until now. Zoey might not have the
largest breasts in the world - and wouldn't have suited them - but
the corset she wore enhanced her curves, pushed up her cleavage and
emphasized her glorious femininity. The fishnets gave her an added
touch of the burlesque, all adding up to the kind of vampy look
that screamed sexual power.

She was stunning, she was extraordinary, she
was my goddess and I was desperate to worship her.

"You like?" she asked me, though she could no
doubt tell from my expression what kind of an effect her outfit was
having on me.

"You look amazing."

She beamed at me. "It makes me feel so
powerful. Given me a buzz all day knowing this was here, and that
I'd get to show you."

She laughed, adding: "Almost gave in to
temptation in the lunch break."

She approached the bed, and crawled slowly up
my body like some kind of panther on the hunt, slinking up towards
my head, a devilish seductress come to take my soul. The feel of
her fishnets brushing my skin as she moved up to straddle my chest
invoked ripples of arousal all through my body - what an incredible
creature I had before me, so close I could smell her intoxicating
scent.

I pushed up my hips to her as the intense
heat of her body pressed to mine, as though trying to tempt her to
use my manhood, to put me out of my misery. She wasn't having any
of it - she continued moving up my body, giving me her heat but
nothing more, though as she neared, I at least had a stunning
view.

Leaning over me, I thought she aimed to
simply tease me by pushing the ample globes of her breasts in my
face, feeding my lust with a burst of a jasmine-accent perfume. But
that wasn't her intent - she continued moving, reaching for the
white cotton curtain trailing down the nearest column, then
trailing the material around my wrist.

I couldn't help but offer a wide-eyed look of
surprise at this, but I certainly didn't object. She gave me a
mischievous smile, her eyes hinting that she had plans for me. Then
she stretched the other way, binding my other wrist similarly with
the curtain - leaving me with some movement, but not sufficient to
achieve anything.

Wrists suitably tied, now she lifted off my
body, and tended to my ankles - shackling me with the other set of
curtains at the foot of the bed, so that I was splayed out like
Prometheus on his rock, ready to face my own torment.

"How does that feel?" she asked me.

"Good," I said. "Comfortable."

"But you can't move."

"No."

"Excellent. You're just an object for me to
use, Jones."

I waited for her, not quite able to see what
she was up to, unable to quite conceal the tremble in my body. What
were her plans for me, now I was completely vulnerable to her every
desire?

I felt her climb back onto the bed, and then
straddle me again, this time facing away from me, hovering over my
hips.

The searing heat of her pussy touched down on
my waiting shaft, and I very nearly lost control.

"Mmm… that feels good…" she said, teasing me.
"I bet this would feel so good inside me…"

Somehow, I managed to hold on.

Then she was edging back, upwards towards my
head, moving slowly and rubbing her warm, smooth body over my own.
The sensation of skin on skin was so incredible, so erotic even
without the touching of erogenous zones.

She edged back a little more, offering me a
superlative view of her firm behind, her hands reaching back to
knead her flesh, teasing me a little further before it was time to
give into her own desires and ease her pussy into place over my
face.

"Oh God… that's what I need…"

Tongue flicking out to press into her burning
hot flesh, I tasted her, even as my heavy breathing was saturated
with the dark scent of her arousal. She allowed me just to lick
her, to nibble on her pussy lips and delve the tip of my tongue
into the tight confines of her womanhood to seek out her succulent
flavor. I could feel her fooling around with my erection - not
actually trying to give me sexual release, but using my cock as a
plaything to turn herself on further.

Her want became stronger, so that she took
more and more of an active role, pushing back to press herself on
my mouth, using me for her own ends. Her moaning drove me wild.