For Her Pleasure

I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A NICE EVENING! he started reading. He looked at the clock. His wife would be home any minute. He read on. AND THAT YOU’VE BEEN A GOOD LITTLE BOY AND BORNE YOUR PUNISHMENT. ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR SHOWER IN THE MORNING? JUST TO GET CLEANED UP? OR IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE? BECAUSE I CAN TELL, YOU’RE A LITTLE SHOWER WANKER, AREN’T YOU? WELL, YOU’RE A LITTLE WANKER FULL STOP. ARE YOU BEATING IT RIGHT NOW, LOVE? He looked down at his hand on his groin. Blushed. OR ARE YOU WAITING UNTIL TOMORROW? MAYBE BOTH!

WELL, YOU RUB IT IN THE SHOWER IF YOU WANT, SWEETIE. BUT REALLY, TRY AND HOLD BACK THIS TIME, OK? AND IF IT ONLY TAKES YOU TWO MINUTES AGAIN, LIKE THE PATHETIC DISPLAY I SAW TODAY, THEN IT WOULD SEEM YOU HAVE A LITTLE PROBLEM. DO YOU, LITTLE BOY? BECAUSE I KNOW TWO WORDS THAT WOULD DESCRIBE WHAT I SAW IN MY OFFICE TODAY, ONE THAT STARTS WITH P AND THE OTHER WITH E

There was more. Dear lord, it went on. But he heard the front door open just then, his wife’s footsteps coming into the foyer. Quickly he clicked off his phone as she walked into the room.

‘Hon, you’re absolutely beet red!’ she gasped when she saw him. ‘You’re sick. I knew it!’ She put her things down and came over to feel his face. ‘Yes, hot, hot, hot.’ She clicked off the TV. ‘Up you go and get some sleep! If you don’t rest up you’ll be no good for work tomorrow.’

He read the rest of her email in bed, listening to his wife bustle around downstairs, one hand holding his phone, the other holding his rock-hard shaft. He couldn’t even wait until tomorrow morning in the shower. He tried to hold back, like she said, but his mind was abuzz, his body felt greedy. Even as he tried to deny the truth of what she was saying, his body betrayed him. He didn’t even get to the end of her email before his demanding cock was spent.

She had instructions. Instructions for what to do if he wanted help for his, his problem.

It started with arriving at her office the next morning.

Chapter 3

As instructed, he knelt on the floor of her office in front of her. At her feet.

He’d barely caught a glimpse of her before he prostrated himself. His position did, though, afford him the ability to look closely at her choice of footwear. Heels again. Perhaps she always wore heels to work. Today they were a houndstooth pattern with black spiked heels, again open-toed, with a little black bow across the top, underlining the very small opening. God, the way he could see just the tiniest bit of two toes drove him crazy! He imagined himself on his hands and knees, cramming his tongue into that tiny space. His cock shifted in his trousers.

She pulled out a box from her desk drawer. It was about the size of his fist and it was gift-wrapped. Automatically he reached up to take it but she pulled it back a little

‘Ah, ah, ahh,’ she said. ‘Not quite so fast. If you read my email thoroughly, I believe you have something to say first?’

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. It was hot. He knew what he had to say, what she wanted him to say. And yet it seemed impossible to say it. He could barely form the words in his mind, much less have them pass over his lips.

‘Aw, are you having a hard time, love?’ she said. ‘How about I help you along. Why are you here?’

He swallowed. ‘You, um, said you would help me.’

‘I did say that, yes. And now, what is it again you need help with?’

Oh, God. She knew what. He knew what. He knew she knew. Why was she making him say it?

‘I uh, I sometimes have a little trouble … lasting.’ He paused. ‘You know, sexually.’

She stared at him a moment. Blinked. ‘Sweetie, I hope you’re not intentionally being obtuse. Or maybe you just didn’t read my email carefully enough. Which is also disappointing because I put a lot of care into my correspondence and I expect close attention to the details in return. If you want me to work with you on fixing this then I am going to need more willing cooperation going forward. Do we understand each other?’

His pulse was racing. Was she chastising him? She was. He was at her feet, she was lecturing him, his heart was slamming in his chest and it was making his cock so hard. His brain was a jumble. Fuck.

‘Yes. Yes, I think so.’

She sighed. ‘No, I don’t think so. That answer alone proves otherwise.’ She walked over to her desk, put the gift-wrapped box on top of it and turned to him, crossing her arms delicately over her ample chest. ‘I am going to help you out and remind you of a few things this time, because I understand that you are learning. But for next time just keep in mind that I am not normally so lenient.’ She paused and walked back over to where he knelt. ‘You are to address me as Mistress or Miss or Ma’am.’

He did remember that. Her use of those words combined with how she addressed him – sweetie, love – could not help but call to mind the portion of her presentation that he knew she would be doing this very afternoon at X Architects on how the use of diminutive names in a workplace setting can offend or humiliate an employee. Did he feel offended? Definitely not. Humiliated? Yes. God, yes. In the best way, yes.

However, when he first heard what she wanted him to call her he just felt ridiculous actually saying it. But now there were her eyes. One look into the depths of those fiery, dazzling eyes and somehow it seemed anything but ridiculous. Somehow it seemed totally and completely right.

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘Better. Now I told you specifically what words to use to describe your problem.’ A beat. ‘Didn’t I?’

He looked down. ‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘Look at me.’ He obeyed. ‘I know this is hard for you. But this is your one chance.’ She bent down and put her face close to his. ‘You need to say it. And you need to say it now. And if you can’t –’ she looked at him so hard right then, so hard he felt it all the way through him, felt her glare zinging through his body, making it pulse and almost vibrate ‘– then you can just get up off my floor, turn around and go back to your self-imposed prison.’

Oh. Oh! She understood. If there was any doubt before, there was none now. This was it. She was right. He had to. He had to say it.

‘I –’ he started, and he didn’t think he could. But her eyes. Again, her eyes. They were not stern now. They were compelling, willing him to speak.

‘I suffer from … premature ejaculation.’ The last two words spilled out of him, like a sigh, like a waterfall, like an exhalation. He waited for something horrible to happen now that it was out there. In the room. In the world.

But, of course, there was nothing. Nothing like that.

What there was, was her.

‘Well, sweetie,’ she said, placing a slim finger under his chin and raising his gaze to meet hers. ‘That was well done.’ She smiled lovingly at him. ‘There’s just one last thing. If you want my help you need to agree to obey me. To submit to me. Always. Do you agree?’

He hesitated a moment. Only a moment, while he thought of words like inappropriate, vulgar, reprisal, lawsuit. But he cast those aside. Cast them all aside because all he could think of now was what she said about his self-imposed prison. And how he couldn’t go back to it.

‘I do.’

And he was rewarded with another one of those heart-crushingly sexy smiles.

She walked back to her desk, picked up the box and handed it to him. ‘Let’s move to the couch while you open your present, shall we?’

His heart hammered in his chest as he sat beside her. She was giving him a gift! What could it possibly be?

He opened it and immediately was puzzled. What at first glance appeared to be a watch, he could see after a second, was not.

‘I know it doesn’t seem so, but it was actually very expensive. It’s vintage, you know. They don’t seem to make them any more.’

He continued staring. The numbers around the edge going up to 60. The two hands, one bigger and red, the other smaller and black. The two silver buttons on the side.

It was a small stopwatch. With a wrist strap.

His heart pounded harder, although he still wasn’t quite sure why. He looked up at her, not knowing what to say.

‘Aw, you’re confused, aren’t you, darling? Well, don’t worry. I’ll explain it to you.’ As she spoke she took the gift out of the box, took off his own regular watch and began strapping this new one on his left wrist. ‘This is your collar. It has two purposes. One is as a visual reminder. Your cock belongs to me. When you see your watch throughout the day, I want you to repeat that in your head. My cock belongs to Mistress. Say it now.’

‘My, my … cock belongs to Mistress,’ he stammered as she finished strapping on the watch. She turned his wrist over and they both stared at it.

‘And since your cock belongs to me, I get to say when you come.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I have the feeling you come way too often.’ The last three words came out like daggers, each one landing – thwack! – right into him, making him burn bright with shame. ‘Am I right? Was I right in my email when I said you like to jerk it in the shower? Did you do it in the shower this morning, love? Be a good boy. Be honest.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ he said. Then, a little shakily, ‘And in bed last night.’

She turned her face into a pantomime of horror. ‘Why, you horny little wanking pervert! In my office, in bed at night, in the shower this morning. God, you really need to learn to control yourself.’ He winced and squirmed. Her chastising words burrowed their way into his humiliated heart. ‘And since it seems perfectly obvious that you can’t, then I will.’ Oh no. No, no. ‘Your first rule of submission to me is this: no coming unless I expressly allow it.’ Shit. ‘Do you understand?’

It’s no big deal, he told himself. Except, oh, God, he enjoyed it. He wriggled and squirmed at the realisation of how much. He needed it. Frankly, to not have that release scared the fuck out of him. And yet. He nodded.

‘And I don’t see my allowing it as happening any time in the foreseeable future.’ Oh, good God, what had he gotten into? ‘OK, sweetie?’ Her smile returned.

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘Very good,’ she said. ‘The second purpose of your gift is with regard to time. Time is your issue, isn’t it? Or, rather, timing. So this stopwatch is perfect. Because your submission will be a lot about timing. As in, timing you.’ She pressed the top button. Tiny ticking noises burst from his wrist as the red hand glided smoothly around the dial.

Oh, God. GOD! His face burned bright, the hottest it had ever felt. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her and he couldn’t stop his mind racing to picture himself doing – God knows what! – while that ticking measured his performance. Or lack thereof.

She chuckled as she watched the realisation dawning on his face. ‘Oh, sweetie, your face is priceless. Honestly!’ She sat back on the couch and smiled. ‘Well, enough about that for now. I imagine you need to get back to the office.’

He glanced automatically at his watch, saw the stopwatch instead and immediately felt a twinge of heat. My cock belongs to Mistress. God, already. He looked at her face. Knowing was plastered all over it.

‘Yes, I, uh,’ he swallowed. ‘Canavan actually texted me on my way here. He wants to discuss something.’

‘Oh, yes, I know. We spoke earlier.’ Oh, shit. His head whipped around to stare at her, his eyes bulging.

‘Your first act of submission to me is this: when Mr Canavan asks you what he’s going to ask you I want you say, “Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.”’

That’s when he knew he was fucked.

* * *

He was sweaty again by the time he returned to his office.

This time it was not an embarrassed but horny sweat, though. This was an all-out panic, I’ll lose my job, my wife’s going to leave me, my life is over kind of sweat. He spent the car ride imagining what question it was Canavan was going to ask him. Ms Halliwell said you wanted to give her a foot massage. Or, Ms Halliwell said you wanted to be treated like a dog. Or perhaps, Ms Halliwell said you had the idea to fornicate with her foot!

Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.

He almost didn’t go back to the office. What for? To be brought before the committee of which he was chair? To be hauled in to HR? Oh, and then he’d be home early. He’d have to face Anne. He could never explain it to her. He barely understood it himself.

Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.

When did he ever say any of this was a good idea? It was most unequivocally evident that it had all been a very, very bad idea. A very bad idea indeed. If only he could take it all back. If only he could go back just one day, to yesterday when she first walked in the room. And do it all over. This time like a proper man. Instead of a humping dog. Oh, God. He would stop all of it, take it all back right this second, if only he could just have everything go back to normal.

That is why, when he found himself standing in front of Ed Canavan’s desk, with Ed Canavan speaking words he could barely hear – such was the clatter going on in his head – he was floored when what Ed Canavan actually said was: ‘Ms Halliwell tells me there’s an International Coalition Against Sexual Harassment Conference going on in Washington next month. Said you thought it might be a good idea to go. Did you say that?’

He blinked.

‘Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.’

‘Well, that’s great! Shows great dedication to the committee.’ Canavan came around his desk and put a conspiratorial hand on his shoulder. ‘Look, I feel like you understand how important it is that we get all our Is dotted and Ts crossed on this harassment stuff. I want all our policies to be as up-to-date and airtight as we can make them. We just can’t afford to have another incident like last year, with Jarvis.’

‘I –, I –’ He let out a quick breath and collected himself. ‘No, I understand perfectly well, Ed,’ he said as his racing pulse started returning to normal. ‘I’ll make sure everything’s rock solid.’ Like his cock at the thought of being at a conference with her. That is what this was, right?

‘Good man,’ Canavan said, clapping his shoulder and walking back behind his desk. ‘I’ll make sure your clients are taken care of and that you’re compensated. I don’t want you to worry about that. I appreciate you taking this on for us.’

He had turned to walk out when Ed said, ‘Damn, my watch stopped. Do you have the time?’

Automatically he looked at his wrist.

Stopwatch.

My cock belongs to Mistress.

‘I actually –’ he floundered. Ed stared at him. Then at the obvious fact that he did have what appeared to be a watch on his wrist. ‘Huh, funny thing, mine’s not working either! How’d ya like that?’

He backed out the door. And fled.

* * *

Did he know when his phone rang as soon as he returned to his office that it would be her? Not then. But he would become accustomed to her almost spooky ability to predict his actions.

‘Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good meeting with Mr Canavan?’ Her voice coming through the phone was like ribbons of silk weaving around his body.

‘I did,’ he said.

‘I did, what?’ she demanded.

‘Uh, sorry! I did, Mistress.’

‘The next time you forget, we’ll have to do something drastic to make sure you remember. You don’t want that, do you, sweetie?’

‘Er, no, Mistress,’ he said, although he wasn’t altogether sure.

‘Good. We have two weeks until the conference. We should take this time to get to know each other better. I don’t like to travel with strangers.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘So I have some questions,’ she said, and then he could hear her, in crisp neat tones to someone in the room with her, presumably her assistant, requesting coffee and some statistic reports. ‘You have time, don’t you, sweetie? For me?’

He glanced down at his full calendar.

‘Of course, Mistress.’

She chuckled. ‘Good!’ He heard her assistant come back with coffee. Then the sound of the door closing. He heard her take a sip. ‘So, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Ed tells me you’re married …’

* * *

So many questions. They kept coming, more and more. And yes, there were questions like what books did he read, what TV shows did he watch, who was he going to vote for in the upcoming primaries. But then came questions that could have been filed under the title ‘Inappropriate Questions That Are Surely Sexual Harassment’. Questions about habits with his wife. Oh, he thought about Anne, his dainty little Anne with her fair skin and pale-blonde hair, her petite, almost boy-like figure that he had always adored. The things Mistress asked, her giggling tone, the almost belittling way she spoke of his beloved wife. God, part of him wanted to gasp in horror, slam the phone down, run home and throw his arms around Anne, cover her body up with his like a shield. Why, oh, why then did he do nothing of the sort? Why did he not only submit to her questions, but also feel himself getting hard over them, as though divulging the most intimate details of his relationship with his wife, such a depraved and disloyal act, were in fact the most intoxicating aphrodisiac? Mistress’s desire to learn about him was voracious, like she was eating him alive. He felt that. Or that in answering her he was ripping himself open and laying his insides out for her to casually peruse and then choose something to examine.

He dutifully responded to everything.

And then she named him. His name was not Paul. But she named him SubPaul. He could not help but wonder if it was because it sounded like ‘sub par’.

Chapter 4

‘We’ve got a lot of time to kill here,’ Mistress said. ‘Let’s play twenty questions!’ Mischief and cheekiness radiated from her beautiful face like warmth from the glow of a fire. ‘Tell me how you feel about spanking.’

Sitting next to her, he could barely endure the sweet torturous mixture of arousal and struggle he always felt in her presence. In combination these two polarising impulses seemed to converge, conflict and compel the feelings to multiply in a seemingly never-ending vortex of lust and desperation.

‘What’s the matter, sweetie? You’re so quiet! Are you not excited about our trip?’ she chirped, opening a blanket and spreading it over them. He was by the window, she the aisle. She lifted the arm-rest between them and snuggled demurely into his side, making his heart-rate elevate as he simultaneously caught a faint whiff of her gloriously unique feminine scent and a flash of cleavage from her low-cut dress. Following his gaze she giggled and whispered, ‘I never wear a bra on a long flight. Too uncomfortable. Especially on a red-eye like this.’ He smiled wanly. Well endowed as she was, he had never seen her go bra-less in public. But the dress she wore was tight and seemed to hold her in. The effect was mind-blowing and now he understood why his eyes had been drawn to her as if by magnets. He’d been even more mesmerised than usual by her figure, her breasts, as he’d watched her while they were waiting in the terminal. No bra. No bra lines. Nothing between his arm, which her chest now pressed against, and those exquisite mounds of flesh he so coveted; nothing but the soft fabric of her royal-blue dress. She often wore green; it was probably her best colour, contrasting so strikingly with her crimson hair. But today it was blue and it gave her a lovely quality of the elements: fire and water.

‘Anyway, I asked you a question, love. Do you like to be spanked?’ she asked, a little too loudly.

‘No, Mistress,’ he murmured, eyeing the other passengers. ‘I never really understood the appeal.’

‘Is that right?’ she said. And smiled. The way she smiled melted him down. A smile that made his heart keen and his cock drip. It was a smile that said she could see all the way into his psyche, back to his lonely childhood, down to his core, a smile that made him feel small and helpless and cared for, all at the same time. A smile that made him, above all, desperate to please her.

‘Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?’ And she arched one gorgeously manicured eyebrow.

Laughter across the aisle drew their attention. They both glanced back to the centre seats one row behind, which were a mass of giggling, hair and perfume that wafted over to where they sat. An entranced young male flight attendant stood in the aisle proffering bottles of wine and little bags of snacks like sacrifices to the goddesses of cool. ‘I am predicting we might have trouble getting any attention on our side of the aisle tonight,’ Mistress said. ‘Then again –’ she leaned back over to him, giving him another peek down her dress ‘– you might like it better if less people see what we get up to,’ she purred into his ear.

His prick had been growing steadily since she first pressed her soft curves against him. Now heat warmed his face as it continued to grow. His mind, like the needle on a skipping record, could not fit in a groove to play out what plans she might have in store for him on this five-hour flight. He couldn’t seem to form any thoughts; his brain just spun and spun on the sights she flashed him, the words she fed into his brain. He could only swallow and sit in patient torment.

Watching him try to work things out, she reached over and rumpled his hair. ‘Sweetie, you’re so cute when you’re horny and petrified!’ She drew her hand down the side of his face, gazing into his brown eyes with her jade-green ones. God, she was beautiful. His heart stuttered in his chest and he suddenly had to gasp for breath. ‘Goodness, my darling, what’s the matter? You’re working yourself into a lather!’

But she knew. He knew she could see his brain wildly trying to imagine all the torturously awful and wonderful things she could do. She read him like the proverbial book, or Penthouse Forum letter, remembering what came before. Dear Penthouse, I’ve never written a letter like this but I have a Mistress who likes to control me. God. She could make him want something almost more than life, but then force him not to want it, to struggle against it with everything he had. She was always weaving her precise words around him, securing him just as she wanted.

More giggling drew their attention again. Noticing the flight attendant and his growing obsession, Mistress remarked, ‘I know you’re a talented architect, my sweetie, but I can’t help but think how much you would enjoy working in the service industry. I know it hardly pays the big bucks but we know how you like to serve.’ Her eyes fell on him at the last word and he blushed hard. He jumped a bit as she slid her hand beneath the blanket and squeezed his ever-stiffening prick over the loose trousers she’d instructed him to wear. ‘Aw, one of those darling little things has her shoes off and her feet stretched out. You’d like bringing her and her friends drinks, now, wouldn’t you?’ she said. She squeezed his now fully erect cock. ‘Well, my goodness! I have barely done anything and your tiny stick is practically bursting out of your pants! What’s gotten you all excited, horny boy?’ He stammered and, seeing that no answer was forthcoming, she went on. ‘I mean, if you’re horny over serving them, massaging their feet, I could probably arrange it. They might like that! And I know you would. Shall I ask them for you, darling?’ she said.

‘Oh, God, no, Mistress!’ he protested and she squeezed his shaft harder. You, only you, he thought, as he remembered her slender, succulent foot in his lap as he caressed it, her shoe in his hands as he knelt at her feet to slip it on. He did like to serve, but serve her, because to be used by her, to be her tool, her plaything, her slave, was his bliss. She could lean over and ask those girls; it would not be out of character for her to actually do it. Oh, God! The shame. She mustn’t! ‘Please, Mistress! I only ever want to serve you.’

‘Aw, that’s sweet.’ She patted his knee. ‘OK, love, calm down. I won’t ask them.’ She giggled and began stroking him over his trousers. ‘Now, my darling, how does that feel? Do you like that?’