Submitting to Her (9 page)

"Never."

"You're pretty good. But seriously? Where the
hell did you go to college? The guys were always giving us back
rubs - it was an easy way to - "

"Get into your panties?"

"Well, maybe I shouldn't say 'easy'."

I couldn't help but wonder what Zoey would
look like in her tennis outfit, with some Ivy League groupies on
hand to give her rub-downs after her matches. The jealousy burned
inside me, but I found I actually liked the idea that this hot
sports girl was now stretched out in front of me, and I could run
my hands all the way down her body, almost. Certainly I pushed the
boundaries on how far my hands could venture under her towel,
anyway.

"You like me talking about getting massages
by other guys?"

"Not particularly."

"You're jealous? Everyone in the office says
you date a different girl every week."

"It was never every week," I insisted, though
I'd noticed a hint of admiration in her voice, pride in her own
ability to tame such an apparently wild animal.

"Well, you don't get to do that any
more."

"No, Ma'am."

That warmed my insides like I couldn't
believe - she wanted me to commit to her, to see only her. I was
more than willing, strange as it seemed considering my dating
history.

A little more oil, and I moved on to her
legs, teasing out her calves and thighs, and then moving up to slip
not-so-innocently under the towel again, this time from below.
Edging a little further each time, seeing her smile as I managed to
spread the oil up over her round behind.

"Feel good?" I asked her, edging up the towel
now to expose her behind, and the pinkness that lay between her
thighs.

"Oh, yeah," she moaned, then flinched and
giggled as I poured a little cool oil over her buttocks, before
boldly using both hands to squeeze and fondle her flesh there.

Well, this girl had allowed me to wedge my
face into her pussy, so I guess she was warming up to the idea of
me seeing her naked. As I massaged her pert derriere and her
thighs, I drew her legs apart a little, and she wasn't stopping me.
Was this all par for the course for a massage? Is this what
happened to her after tennis in college, and when she had her
injuries?

She said: "Are you sorry I've forced you to
stick with me now?"

"Not at all."

"You seem to like it."

"Like it?"

"Being led by a woman. I would never have
thought."

My hands got closer and closer to her pussy,
the inner edges of my hands even brushing over the edges of her
sensitive pinkness here and there as I rubbed her butt, sweeping my
hands down her inner thighs.

The little groans as I did so made me bolder,
so that I was actually nudging her pussy lips, squeezing them
together as my two hands swept down her body.

"I don't have a problem with it," I said.

"I'm surprised. You never struck me as
someone who would be told what to do by someone like me."

"I probably wasn't. You opened my eyes."

I wanted to bury my face between her thighs,
but she hadn't told me to. Would I cross the line into disobedience
by doing so?

"You want me to turn over?" she asked, and I
agreed as though it was something I'd been just about to request. I
had conversation privileges, but the power was still hers, after
all.

The towel slipped to the floor as she turned
over, and neither of us was going to retrieve it. And there was
Zoey, lying on her back, entirely naked before me. Stunning. Her
pale breasts pointing up, her nipples stiff as I poured out more
oil over her flat stomach and thighs. Her eyes were closed in
complete bliss as I began to caress her again, my hands sweeping
over her body, starting off lightly again before gradually stepping
it up.

"You know," she said, softly, "I don't want
this to be only about you saving your job, Aiden."

"No, Ma'am."

"If you want this to continue, you have to
choose to continue."

"Yes Ma'am," I said. There were a few
fireworks going off inside me - just a few, as the butterflies in
my stomach were hogging much of the airspace in there, but
certainly a rocket or two. Choose to continue - oh boy, did I want
to continue. "I would choose to continue as long as you wanted me,"
I added, feeling strange to say it. I hadn't had a long-term
relationship with anyone for so many years.

She smiled. "Good. You know, in a healthy
relationship, the submissive has as much power as his Mistress. You
can walk away at any time. I want you to know that."

As I slipped my hands over her skin, I had to
stifle a gasp. Submissive. Was that what I'd become? Seemed kind of
obvious, but I'd never thought about it in those terms before. I
guess what we were doing was kind of out there. This was the kind
of thing you did in shady clubs in the wrong end of town, wasn't
it? Not with your boss in the office.

"Mistress…" My lips betrayed my thoughts
while I was thinking them, leaving me too distracted to stop myself
uttering the word.

Zoey giggled. "You sound nervous."

"Never been called submissive before."

"You know, I'm learning about this as well,
right?" she sighed. "I guess I find it hard to maintain a cruel
exterior with you. Even though you deserve it."

"Yes, Ma'am."

From this side, particularly with her cute
breasts there for me, it seemed less like a massage and more like
out-and-out fondling. Oh, I did her arms, and paid some attention
to her shoulders, but it was gliding my hands over her breasts,
grazing over her hard nipples that got her moaning.

Squeezing her breasts like this - was this
what had happened after tennis?

Quiet sighs became little gasps and moans, my
hands toying around her breasts a while before I eventually moved
down again, over her stomach and down to her thighs.

I could smell a hint of her arousal in the
air, even above the scent of coconut. I had to try my best to keep
calm as I coaxed her thighs and calves from the front, then subtly
edged open her legs again, so my caresses along her inner thighs
could reach all the way up, and nudge the sides of her pussy, so
sweet and pink beneath her little patch of dark hair.

She said: "I love the way you touch me,
Jones."

Oh God, how wonderful did it feel to receive
praise from my Mistress? I wasn't sure I liked thinking about her
with that particular label - it was attached to weird, fetishy
things - but how else did I refer to her status? Goddess, perhaps.
I certainly intended to worship her to the best of my ability. Her
power over me made it thrilling to receive a complement, because it
was an outward sign that I pleased her.

"I love touching you," I said.

"Well assume you have permission to touch me
wherever you want this evening," she said in that wonderfully
relaxed, blissed-out honey tone.

Left hand continuing to slide over her
thighs, my right now concentrated on her pussy, two fingers in
particular rubbing down either side of her rose-blush lips, teasing
her, coaxing out those deep moans that made the hairs rise on the
back of my neck.

Then all pretense seemed to slip away, and I
was using both hands to touch her there. And a finger slipped
inside her slippery folds, penetrating her pussy.

"Oh God," she shivered, and I couldn't help
but think of a certain tennis player in college, now even wishing
this was the way it had gone back then. So hot. I wanted my
beautiful Goddess to have had this kind of pleasure before me,
though that selfish part that still pulsed inside wanted me to be
the best she'd ever had, of course.

One finger became two, and as her moans
encouraged me onward, my massage had turned fully into more. My
fingers sought out the heat and the wetness, focusing the pressure
around her clit and then inside her soft pussy.

I wondered if I had actually learned
something from the long process of massaging the rest of her body -
I was touching her in a way I'd never really touched a girl before
- slower, more sensual, responding to the rhythms and motions of
her body and her breathing.

She was so wet, and at last, I couldn't
resist any longer, and now my lips touched gently down over her
clit, my tongue slipping out to dip into her wet folds, and Zoey's
moans turned suddenly deeper, more chesty.

Pushing up her thighs for easier access, she
didn't stop me - almost seemed to expect it, lying there on her
back, eyes closed, mouth open as she sucked in oxygen, responding
to my own mouth now fastening upon her sensitive flesh.

"Oh, Aiden Jones, what are you doing to
me…"

As I licked her, her head tilted back and she
seemed almost to be in pain, hands gripping the towel beside her as
though coping with agony. Yet her breathless moans were so candid
to the overwhelming pleasure flowing through her body, making me
wonder if my massage had somehow tuned her up, emphasizing the
sensations from my tongue.

How strange it was to consider that when I'd
been with other girls - the one-a-week dates that Zoey had
jealously alluded to - I'd rarely given much oral sex, if at all.
It hadn't ever been because I didn't enjoy it, even with girls who
weren't as incredible as Zoey. Somehow, it felt to me as though
something had been overlooked in the process. I'd always been so
keen to get that notch on my bedpost that I'd simply rushed on by,
while my dates had always been the kind of girls that had just
wanted to please me, and be used by me.

To really appreciate this, time needed to be
taken - and that time was not only the guy's to take. The woman had
to be able to lie back and relax, enjoy it, allow her partner to
spend the time.

I felt I needed more time to perfect this,
once again considering the need for research to become a better
man, a better lover. Yet with a plaintive cry, she was shuddering
through a wonderful climax, and my time slurping her juices was
ending.

"Oh that was incredible," she sighed as I
picked myself up, stood up straight as though ready to serve her
further. "You know, Jones, normally Tuesday and Thursday nights, I
go to the gym. I could do with this kind of massage
afterwards."

"I'd love to, Ma'am," I said.

She smiled, sat up on the table and reached
for me.

"Sit down on the couch for me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And pass me the oil - I think you deserve
some payback."

I did as she asked, and Zoey now sat on the
floor in front of me, pouring out some of that coconut oil into her
palm.

"I think my hands are a little cold," she
said, "but you'll soon warm them up."

I did flinch as her fingers closed around my
shaft, pale and chilled as icicles. She used both hands to spread
the oil over my full length, and then slowly began to explore me,
checking out my erection in a patient fashion, perhaps mirroring my
slow exploration of her pussy at the tail end of my massage.

"You remember that you're not to come until I
say that you can, don't you, Jones?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, hopeful that I would
get that release soon.

"Good," she said, sliding her fingers all
over my sensitive hard flesh, feeling me out via the slippery oil.
"I enjoy the pleasure you give me, but I also enjoy the pleasure I
give you - and I don't want you taking that for yourself. I control
it."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She poured a little more of the cool oil over
the tip of my cock, making me flinch slightly once again.

"If you have an orgasm without my permission,
you'll be punished, Jones," she said, putting her hands together to
close around my well-lubricated shaft to continue pumping me, both
hands together able squeeze me so tight.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"If you take your own orgasm, you'll only
have to wait longer for another one," she said, and then she
briefly stopped pumping me to add: "Oh, and if you do slip one off
behind my back, you'll tell me - or else the punishment will be
worse. Understand?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Great. Then I think we're done for the
night, Jones."

God, I walked right into that. I guess in
life there's always a balance of good and bad - everything can't
always go your way. I had saved my job, I had the most beautiful
woman I'd ever known ready to use me for her own sexual pleasure -
and tell me how I was to fulfill her every expectation, which was
valuable in itself - there had to be a downside somewhere.

So here was my downside - walking back out to
my car, my loins throbbing with a denied need.

I guess, looking back, Zoey had started
dressing in power suits ever since she'd been promoted to the vice
president position, and although my sulky attitude meant I had
entirely failed to notice the change in her from the librarian
she'd been before, she had definitely changed.

But now she'd taken control of me, taken
control of my orgasms, I think she was encouraged to go even
further, wearing particularly hot outfits just to rub it in my
face. Short skirts became scandalous, bras became seriously
push-up, shirts went a little more transparent. Taunting me.

Yet it was her confidence I found most sexy,
her knowing attitude and the occasional mischievous glance that
told me in no uncertain terms she knew exactly what affect she was
having on me.

I spent some restless nights after tending to
Zoey's needs either in the office or her apartment - lying in bed
all worked up with no release possible. Sure, I was tempted to
cheat on my pledge. But despite feeling convinced I could cover up
the physical signs of my transgression, I knew full well that I'd
find it difficult to lie to Zoey. She'd only have to ask a few
questions and I'd cave.