Submitting to Her (6 page)

To taste that sweet pussy once again.

Nevertheless, I sat there staring at her
email a while, trying to read meaning into that short collection of
words. Did her brevity mean she was angry at me? It didn't seem to
be particularly angry of tone. "Thanks" - she was grateful for my
turning over a new leaf, my promise of targets being smashed. "Keep
me updated" - surely that was obviously a clue that she wanted me
to stay close, to keep her informed. She still wanted me.

Damn it, it was infuriatingly difficult to
infer genuine tone in emails.

By the time it got to five o'clock, our whole
office seemed different - lively, energetic, focused. I felt I was
really achieving something - but there had been no peep out of
Zoey's office. Through the afternoon, I'd gathered intelligence on
what my team were up to, firing three or four emails to my boss
with updates on particularly interesting developments.

It was hard to strike a balance - I didn't
want to seem too obvious, craving attention from her, and yet I
wanted to try anything I could to provoke some kind of clues as to
how she was thinking, and in particular what her view was on our
little arrangement following the weekend.

The rest of my team started leaving - after
five o'clock this time - and I was feeling so nervous again, I was
verging on nausea. I waited. Perhaps I should have dreamt up an
excuse to enter her office that day. I had been too busy to even
think of it, and with what we were working on, there was no need to
bother her that day. I waited a while - six o'clock came and went.
I was still working.

Then she emerged from her office - and just
walked out, without even looking at me.

I was shattered - I felt the wind truly
knocked out of me. Why was she rejecting me now? Was this her
revenge for my foul treatment of her? Get me hooked, and then leave
me completely cold turkey?

I went home feeling heart sick, like I'd felt
after being dumped by my first love back in high school. Maybe she
needed to see more results than just a day. But the next day was a
similar pattern, with my team responding well to my new regime, but
no real sign of Zoey all day. It wound me up so tight.

At half past four, I dreamt up a reason to
call on our new head of department. I knocked on the door, my heart
in my throat.

"Yes?"

I entered the room, standing almost at
attention a few paces inside the door. Zoey was sitting at her desk
as usual, buried in a mountain of paperwork. She hadn't been idling
while we were hard at work outside.

"What is it?" she asked me, not even looking
up from her work.

"I... uh... I brought you the Villier report,
Ms Schoenberg," I said. I wondered if calling her by that name
might somehow remind her of our Friday evening together.

"Thanks," she said, sounding like any other
girl fresh out of college might when dealing with a guy who wasn't
of much importance to her.

My heart felt as though it was being squeezed
in a vice. I stammered, "Uh... great... just thought... you know...
it might be useful for your P62(b)."

I waited for a long heartbeat, and there was
nothing. So I turned on my heel and headed for the door.

"Jones?" Her voice stopped me. Even just
saying my surname, there was a new sternness, a new power to her
that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Yes, Ms Schoenberg?" I turned back to
her.

She looked up at me now. God, she seemed so
young sitting there. Was she really my boss? Had she really been
promoted above me, so soon after her college graduation? Well,
wasn't that what a costly education at one of the top places got
you?

"You've done well," she said. "I've been
noticing the improvement in the team."

"Thank you, Ma’am," I said. I hadn't any idea
how she'd been monitoring our progress, having not made it out of
her room yet this week.

"Have you... kept your other promise?" she
asked.

I gulped. "Yes, Ma’am." My cock was tenting
my pants - I was surprised she couldn't tell I'd kept my other
promise.

"Not one touch?"

"No, Ma’am."

"Good," she said. "Then we've only got the
small matter of your theft to discuss."

I felt a jolt through my heart. "Theft, Ms
Schoenberg?"

Zoey stood up, leaning over the desk. She
said: "I left something behind in my office last week, and as I
understand it, you took them." God - her panties. What a trap I'd
walked into.

She walked over to me slowly, breathtaking in
a power suit that had an even shorter skirt than normal.

I tried to stammer out some kind of denial or
excuse, but my tongue was somewhat tied, and before I could really
say anything, she said: "I thought we agreed: if it's only you and
I, you do not speak unless answering a question."

I nodded.

She approached me. I could smell her perfume,
I did my best to inhale as much as I could without appearing to.
God I needed her. She stood inches in front of me, looking me over.
I wondered if I ought to be kneeling, or bowing or something like
that. She hadn't told me to, however.

She reached into my pants pocket, and her
dexterous fingers managed to retrieve her underwear.

"So, you did take them," she said.

"I'm sorry, Ms Schoenberg," I said, but she
shook her head, held a finger to her lips.

"You'll have to be punished."

I felt her hand move around to my crotch now,
tracing out the shape of my hard cock through the fabric of my
pants. Oh God, what I would have given for some release.

She said: "It's such a shame, because it
seems to me that you could really do with some relief. You know,
your work so far this week does deserve some reward..."

I was filled with hope, but then she added:
"Too bad we'll have to wait until tomorrow night. Theft cannot go
unpunished, you know."

"No, Ma’am," I said. Another slight
transgression of the question rule, but she let it pass.

"Okay then," she said, turning now, to walk
back towards her desk. "You'll continue your good work with the
team, and assuming all goes well, you may get some kind of
bonus."

Resuming her seat, she dismissed me from her
office.

But, just before I left, she called out:
"You'd better not do anything tonight to risk your reward,
Jones."

I knew what she meant, and groaned.

Another trip to the gym that evening, and I
was going nuts.

Ordinarily, I think I would have been fine to
go without tending to myself for a while - I don't know, I never
really tried it, but even if I had a busy week, invariably the
weekend came along and there would be some kind of date, or I'd run
into somebody on a night out, so that sort of self care was rarely
needed.

I believe I probably could have done the
whole Seinfeld 'Master of My Domain' thing longish-term, too. But
having Zoey around me in the office, having been so intimate with
her - I was obsessing.

The next day, again, proceeded as normal. To
keep myself going, motivated for the usual day in the sales room, I
had to tell myself something was going to happen that evening after
work. Only once did a colleague - Brooks - ask me if everything was
all right, suggesting I seemed a little preoccupied as Zoey exited
her office to head up for a meeting upstairs.

"Oh you know - trying to get my head around
this Fitzroy proposal," I said, citing one of my clients I knew he
knew nothing about.

"You're slipping boss," he laughed.

"Must be getting old," I said, then added:
"But not as old as you, of course, Brookie."

Joking around a little diverted attention
from my own inner turmoil, and I managed to hold on sufficiently to
keep it all to myself. I felt so strange, and it was an unusual
feeling for me. I'd never before been involved in a relationship
more complicated than a sales pitch - and my relationships had all
invariably ended the morning after my sales pitch, so I hadn't even
had to manage a customer account as far as the opposite sex was
concerned. Now, suddenly, I was hooked on a particular girl and
completely unprepared for dealing with it.

How on Earth was I supposed to manage this
particular account?

At 4:30 that afternoon, I received an email
from Zoey asking me to attend her office at 5pm to update her on
the team's activities. God - the moment I saw that email pop up in
my in-box, my heart started racing. I naturally dwelled on her
brief instruction, my insides warmed by hope, my eyes meandering
between the few words she'd written, trying to ascertain if there
was subtext in there, subtext indicating she wanted me
physically.

Shortly before the appointed hour, I saw Zoey
return to her office, greeting Finnegan briefly on her way in,
followed by a brief conversation in response to his polite question
as to how she was doing.

At 5pm, I noticed to my horror that five
other members of our team were entering Zoey's office - the senior
salesmen. I followed them in, and took a seat on one of the chairs
she had assembled in front of her desk, thinking it a cruel
trick.

"Okay, we're getting back on track," Zoey
said to the six of us. "Why don't you update us on where everybody
is, Aiden?"

She turned to me. I'd reacted to hearing her
use my first name, rather than the surname she'd used while
dominating me on that fateful Friday afternoon. Did she see
disappointment in my face?

I hadn't prepared anything to say for this
meeting, not imagining it would actually turn out to be a proper
sales update. I could see the others were a little annoyed this
should be taking place at 5pm, when they should have been on the
way home. Well, I'd have to wing it.

"Of course," I said to our precocious head of
department. It wasn't so bad. I had a good idea what everyone was
working on, what progress they'd made recently, and what our
deadlines were. I had a positive message to recount - I had been a
good lieutenant to our previous head of department, and in six
months we hadn't slipped so much that I hadn't been able to pull
things back towards a more promising direction within a few
days.

Once I was done, Zoey asked the others a few
things, mostly trivial matters, and then asked me more questions
about what was coming up for the rest of the month.

At the end, it was half past five, and I
could tell the others were itching to get out of there. Our vice
president said she was pleased our team had begun to get back to a
good operational environment, and stated her intention to hold
weekly update meetings at this time to go over everything. There
was a quiet groan at that from my sales colleagues, but our boss
let it go. I remembered her previous attempts at weekly meetings
with some amusement - the number of people that had failed to turn
up, even managing a few worthwhile excuses, which had prompted the
concept to die a death.

This time, I got the feeling our meetings
would be very successful going forward - I'd make it so, if Zoey's
new confidence faded.

At last, she dismissed everyone from the
room.

"Oh... Aiden, would you stay behind, please?
I want you to take me through some of the Villier numbers before
you go home."

"Sure," I said.

That analytical part of my brain was whirring
into action again, assessing her use of my first name. She'd been
acting completely normal around me when our co-workers were
present, and that was clearly a good thing. I think my co-workers
would have been a little baffled to hear her start referring to me
by my surname.

Yet as my colleagues now streamed out of the
room with the clear intention of getting the hell away from this
building as quickly as they could, I found myself hoping
desperately that once the door closed leaving only the two of us
there, Zoey would start using my surname again.

"That went well, didn't it, Jones?"

Her voice had changed, as soon as we were
alone. I felt a burning in my chest and a tingle in my loins.

"Yes, Ms Schoenberg. Very successful."

"And we'll have more successful meetings each
week from now on, won't we? Really improve the communication
channels."

"Yes, Ms Schoenberg."

Slowly, she rose from her chair, and walked
around to the door, which she once again locked, managing to do it
so quietly I couldn't even hear the mechanism.

"I appreciate what you've been doing, Jones,"
she said quite casually. "I've told the CEO that things are getting
back on track, and she's pleased as well."

Zoey stepped in front of me, and leaned back
on the edge of her desk, an incredible picture in her crisp white
shirt and dark thigh-length skirt, black nylon stockings and
calf-covering black leather boots.

A couple of the buttons of her shirt were
undone, allowing me a tiny glimpse of black and red lace underneath
her shirt, which by itself seemed to raise my temperature a degree
or two. I didn't remember those being unfastened during the
meeting. I think I would have noticed.

"I think rewards are in order, don't you,
Jones?" she asked.

"Yes, Ms Schoenberg," I said, still feeling
faintly ridiculous addressing a girl so much younger than me as
though she were my teacher, though my craving for my new boss
transcended any mild humiliation.

"But that's only your primary directive
you've taken care of," she said. "I think you've rather failed in
your secondary directive since you went home on Friday."

I couldn't help but gasp at this. What did
she mean, failed? I'd done everything she'd asked of me in the
office - the team was working at maximum efficiency. Was she
changing the rules? And was this apparent failure of mine going to
prevent my reward?