Submitting to Her (11 page)

I couldn't help but think, as I struggled a
little for air while keeping my tongue available for her to rub
against, how wonderful it was to truly appreciate a beautiful woman
in this way. I also felt what an enormous wasted opportunity it had
been that I'd never really had the chance to do this before Zoey -
considering all the women I'd been with in the past decade.

Sure, my past encounters had never appeared
to disappoint the women I'd been with - but how many of those
orgasms had been real? I wondered if I'd achieved it at all until
Zoey had come along.

"Oh, that's it, Aiden, just there… suck me,
suck my pussy…"

But really, until Zoey started using me for
her own ends like this, I honestly hadn't known what was possible.
She'd opened my eyes. It wasn't just knowing this was physically
possible, it was knowing that this was something she wanted, and it
wasn't going against etiquette or protocol to feast on her like
this.

I think guys developing their sexual ability
take a lot of leads from their female partners - who else do they
have to learn from? The women I'd had to learn from had been so
eager to please me first and foremost, they hadn't bothered to show
me how to please them.

"Oh you make me so wet…"

Zoey had come along and blown my world. She
made me feel like a beginner, even at the age of 30. I had so much
to learn - and yet just knowing that I had so much to learn seemed
like an important first step, challenging the enshrined belief that
I was experienced in the ways of sex, that I'd done it all and knew
it all.

Suddenly I felt my cock enveloped by the most
irresistible heat, the soft texture of her mouth closing around my
sensitive, throbbing flesh.

Oh God - I was going to lose it.

Her hands gripped around my shaft as she
began sucking me, her tongue swirling around the ridge of my
helmet. Her whole body rocked as she bobbed her head down on me, in
time with the grinding of her pussy on my face. I kept up my oral
assault on her slippery groove, but my mental focus was on toning
down my own arousal, keeping myself under control. She had not
given me consent to orgasm yet - and I so badly wanted to show her
I was strong.

I knew I would feel better to get my
much-delayed release, but I was actually grateful when she finally
let up and climbed off me. I wanted this to continue.

"Oh God that was amazing," she said as she
dismounted, breathless, flushed, exhilarated. I couldn't say
whether she'd had an orgasm or not - that last stretch, my mind had
been so focused on preventing myself exploding in her mouth.

"I love the taste of your pre-come," she
whispered before pulling herself up to kiss my mouth, her lips
hungrily sucking on mine, her tongue delving inside my mouth,
tasting a little salty, I realized, from my own emissions.

Bound by that confining corset, her fulsome
breasts brushed against my chest as she kissed me, the lacework a
little scratchy but so sexy, the mere texture on my skin, so unlike
the textures I was used to, stoking my fires again. I was just too
turned on to object to tasting my own pre-come in her mouth -
besides, my mouth was lined with her own flavor, and she didn't
seem to object to that. I guess there was something sexy about our
emissions blending like that, where they shouldn't.

Now she straddled me again, and this time she
brought her pussy up to my face from the front, where she could
watch me eating her as she rode my mouth. I was provided the most
scintillating view up her body, from her beautiful mound framed by
fishnets and suspenders, up her extravagant corset and her shapely
cleavage to the hot flush that pervaded her pretty face.

She wiggled her hips playfully once she'd
satisfied her itch once more, but wasn't going to fuck my face for
long, sliding instead back down my body for another sensual kiss of
the mouth, her thighs locking around my waist, her chest crushing
mine, her firm rear poised just far enough away to keep my manhood
from venturing too close to her exposed sex.

"You don't mind that I'm completely addicted
to your oral skills, do you, Jones?" she asked in between kissing
me.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," I said
honestly.

"It's your fault I'm so hooked - but I will
give you your own release one of these days, I promise."

She edged back, sitting up to grasp the
straining column rising from my loins, positioning it between her
thighs where she could use it to her own ends - while keeping me
from mine.

"Oh God, I love tying you up," she said,
rocking her hips to graze her clit against my rigid shaft. "But we
are going to have to buy some rope, Jones. Do it properly."

It seemed so decadent checking out of our
hotel after only a few hours. Zoe left me to pay, waltzing out of
the building leaving everyone in the lobby under the impression I'd
just slept with a high-class call girl.

I kept my eyes well away from any accusatory
stares, though I caught a blush on the face of the receptionist who
checked me out. What could I do? I could hardly make a declaration
that she was my boss, not my whore. That I hadn't even come the
whole time we were up there.

I was sweating with need as I drove home that
night, trying to keep the carnal thoughts out of my head.
Eventually I was able to calm down, though I wondered just how long
my personal resolve would last.

I became Zoey's frequent chauffeur, and while
I still did my duty regularly within her office, often she'd have
me take her home instead, where she could use me to her heart's
content without threat of interruption, and then send me
packing.

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I'd usually take her
to the gym, even acting as her personal trainer. It meant I'd be
acting dominantly with her - something to which she seemed
strangely responsive. I, on the other hand, after years of
dominating my sexual partners, now felt actively uncomfortable
ordering her around, feeling more of an urge to kneel before her
than lord it over her.

Still, I enjoyed seeing her in her skintight
gym clothes, and when she worked up a sweat, she was always keen to
head back home afterward for a slow, sensual massage.

Friday night came to be a kind of date night.
It meant I missed my regular night out with the guys, but I was so
obsessed with my new relationship that it seemed far too easy to
cast aside my age-old tradition.

One particular Friday, Zoey was out of town
for the day, meeting with a law firm in Alexandria, leaving me
wondering all afternoon whether I would get to see her that
evening. I'd sent her a couple of texts and an email subtly asking
her plans for the weekend, and heard nothing in return. Five
o'clock turned up, and my colleagues began to leave, and still I'd
had nothing from her.

Six o'clock came around, finding me
completely alone in the office again, the distant sound of vacuum
cleaners ramming home the depressing message that I should just
wrap it up, head home.

But as I pulled on my jacket ready to head
down to my car, I heard the quiet ring of the elevator arriving on
our floor. My heart skipped a few beats. Scooting over to lean out
into the aisle, I could just about see all the way down there as
the elevator doors opened. The sight of the FedEx guy made my heart
sink.

"Aiden Jones?" He called, spotting me lurking
there like an idiot.

"That's me," I yelled back.

He handed me a small box, and by the time I'd
got the packing tape out of the way, he'd already left the
building. Those delivery guys have big routes to get around.

I hadn't been expecting anything - certainly
hadn't been expecting what I received. A pair of little black lace
panties and a movie ticket.

What a nice way to be invited out to the
pictures. The ticket gave me enough information to track down the
right theater, and I arrived just as the lights were fading for the
showing - spotting a smiling Zoey Schoenberg towards the back,
nicely distant from anyone else.

"Hey," I said quietly as I took off my jacket
and found my seat.

"You got my message, then?" she grinned.

"I guess so. I think you dropped something
when you were FedExing me the ticket," I retrieved her panties,
dangled them in front of her.

"Thought you might need some incentive," she
shrugged, then lifted her feet up onto the top of the seat in
front. In the silver-blue light from the movie screen, I could see
that she hadn't bothered to replace the underwear she'd sent over
to me by FedEx Express.

The rows were spacious for a movie theater,
but I'm not entirely sure how I managed to wedge myself in
position. I had the motivation to find a way, and as it turned out,
feasting on the delicious brunette through the first two acts made
it quite the most memorable movie experience I'd ever had. Zoey
seemed to enjoy it too.

I did pretty well on the whole, focusing on
Zoey's needs, dispensing with my own. Our relationship certainly
wasn't nearly as extreme as some of the dominant-submissive
arrangements out there, which seemed to suit both of us down to the
ground.

Zoey mostly referred to it as a female-led
relationship, rather than dominance and submission. She teased me,
she surprised me, she denied me release until I started having the
first wet dreams I'd had since being a young teenager. But there
was no out-and-out humiliation, no actual bodily harm, no real
pain.

I got the impression she hadn't really done
this before me. I was fine about that, I was more than happy for
her to learn on me. But she told me once that she wasn't a
dominatrix, she didn't want to be. She liked telling me what to do,
liked having me at her beck and call, but she wasn't going to set
up some kind of Red Room or dungeon full of scary medieval
implements. She wasn't going to degrade me and turn me into a
sniveling slave - she wanted to impose her will on a man, not a
mouse. She took pride in my achievements at work, encouraged me to
excel. And the way she rewarded me was the best motivation a worker
could ever have.

I think if she'd wanted any of that, I could
have accommodated her demands. But she didn't want to hurt me,
didn't want to debase me, didn't want to mock me - despite the
hardship I'd put her through for all of six months after her
promotion.

Outside the protections of our privacy, she
treated me as just another colleague, though now she had me firmly
under her thumb in the hierarchy. What we had together remained
secret, for us to enjoy - though there were the occasional risks,
not least the continuing use of her office after hours.

It turned out I was particularly talented at
controlling myself and sticking to the rules, if I had her pleasure
to focus on. I found my own pleasure in witnessing her beauty and
contentment, indulging in it, and the overwhelming bliss I
experienced from making her smile, making her moan, making her
come.

Zoey's mood varied, naturally enough -
sometimes she felt like being strict, plenty of times she'd reward
me for my dedication by relaxing the rules, allowing us to spend
time in "Ordinary Mode", almost like normal boyfriend and
girlfriend. Plenty of times she just didn't have the energy to be
overly dominant, allowing me free reign to pleasure her and soothe
her aches and pains as I saw fit. I took pride in learning how to
please her, and while her strength was thrilling when she imposed
it, those tender periods were sweet and heavenly respites from the
pressures of our working week.

And then we went to Philadelphia, and the
cozy stability we'd settled into was suddenly thrown into sharp
disarray as a figure from her past appeared.

A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light.

- William Wordsworth, Perfect Woman

In our business, we're away from the office
quite frequently, pursuing key clients, attending industry events
at which to raise the profiles of our publications and attract new
advertisers. On those occasions when Zoey was taken out of town for
a few days on end, or when I flew off to another part of the
country to tie up my own deal or appear at another tiresome
seminar, I had time to consider just what was happening to me.

I wasn't quite prepared for how much it hurt
to be apart from her for significant lengths of time, however. It
had been something of a Damascene conversion as I discovered the
real purpose that surrendering to Zoey's intense and irresistible
authority gave to my life. Yet when we were apart for more than a
day or so, it really started to become obvious the kind of
emptiness I felt without her around.

Looking back, I think I always had that sense
of being incomplete, and my earlier efforts to bed as many shiny
but vacantly pneumatic blondes as I could lay my hands on had been
a way of distracting myself from that emptiness.

Thinking about my sexual history, I realize
that all the real high points along the way had been when women I'd
been with had displayed little glimpses of the kind of power that
Zoey lived every moment she was with me.

It had started with the loss of my virginity
at the end of high school in the sunny corner of a Pennsylvania
cornfield, when Sally Donovan had grown tired of me kissing her and
nothing else. After a stern talking to from my father in the
Baptist-inspired name of sex education, I had been under the
impression that if a guy attempted intercourse with a girl before
their wedding day, it would be deemed a sexual assault, with the
guy ending up in jail. Sally had told me to quit stalling and lie
back so she could get a condom on me, and then she'd straddled me
without so much as another word. At the time, I think I was so
overwhelmed by the loss of my cherry and the life-transformation
that represented that I completely missed the underlying thrill of
being ordered to lie back and allow Sally to make use of my
equipment for her own ends.