For Her Pleasure

‘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.