Submitting to Her(25)

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."