Ben Rawsall – dark blonde, green eyed, six feet three or so and a charismatic dresser to boot. He wore a navy blue suit, with a white pocket square and some tassled loafers as the rest of the office moped around in black and striped suits. It was clear from our first meeting that he wasn’t interested in ‘conventional’, there was no HR department, there were no obvious rules, there was nothing to stop him doing whatever the fuck he wanted. I liked that in a man.
He was in his mid-to-late 30s, but he looked tremendous for his age. Handsome, the angles in his face carved in an acute symmetrical manner, his broader shoulders leading down in a luscious trail to his thin waist. I could always see how muscular his legs were against the close-fitting pants. He hired me after a tense encounter at a university mixer, the chemistry in the air from the start. After a few charged moments in his corner office, one hand on my throat and his other hand stroking me underneath my panties, it became obvious we couldn’t maintain just a ‘professional’ relationship, he wanted to know how far he could take me. Time was spent between Excel sheets and bed sheets. Most of my hours became dedicated to pleasing him, in the office and out of it, like a good little girl should. Just four weeks out of my torrid and sexually deprived relationship with James, I became a slave to Mister Rawsall, waiting for every instruction.
Lunch-time breaks were more decadent than the usual sandwich or Deliveroo affair at most offices around the country. He would leave a few minutes before me and then I would get a WhatsApp, saying which location to meet him in. It was our own carefree game and I was all too happy to play along, to keep things between us a secret around the office. I wasn’t naive enough to believe such a CEO-employee romance wouldn’t affect the firm. It made me hot thinking about how our illicit activities could be discovered at any moment, with one slip up, one off-remark in the office, around the coffee stand.
Lunch-time was an hour of me, all to himself in nearby luxury. He always chose a 5* hotel for us. Call it an acquired habit. It was me on all fours on his bed in the Midland, my work skirt hiked up, sharp strikes to my bum, jolting a coil of pleasure all along my spine and torso as I ate up the delicious pain. Sometimes I had to wait, I wasn’t allowed my enjoyment until he allowed me to have it. That was the foremost rule. My skin had to eat the cracks of the whip, my backside had to taste the strikes of the leather, I had to be red enough for his satisfaction and he was not the easiest man to please. Initially, I struggled with the idea of waiting for my pleasure, but after a few times I grew more accustomed to it, I grew to accept it as part of me. Some days in the office were too much to bear due to the anticipation, the thought of my submission often left my skin heated, my heart pounding and my inner thigh wetter than usual. Sometimes he would text me from his office, telling me not to get too wet for him, to be patient, it was always deliciously hot looking into his eyes whenever he would walk past my desk before one of our lunch breaks, seeing the primal instincts rushing around inside of him. Sometimes he just wanted to humiliate me, to show just how much power he had over me and what he could do to me whenever he wanted.
Getting back into the swing of entering in numbers into Excel after those sessions was always tricky. He would sometimes keep my soaked panties for his own pleasure at my torment or remote control my ecstasy till I was creasing in my seat trying not to draw anyone else’s attention. It was all power and psychology for him and I basked in it, I gave up to something I had been missing for too long, the old me would have seen it as demeaning in some ways, belittling, but when I was with him and when he did those things to me, it just felt right, something clicked inside me. Ever the exhibitionist, him ever the voyeur, we both basked in our office games, trying to get a rise out of each other. There were rumblings in the office, of course there were, his co-founder Sebastian Grosvenor had had words, he didn’t trust me, he was right not to, but Ben had ultimate authority around there, Sebastian was unable to intervene as long as work wasn’t affected.
One night, the office emptied completely, apart from us, I had just done the photocopying for him, the stock profile files. I felt him approach me from behind, his hips rolling into my lower back as his hands swept across my collarbone towards my breasts, teasing open the buttons to my cream-white shirt, the rumble of his voice immediately taking me to salacious places. I was already a mess from the afternoon’s torture and happy to be putty in his hands, I wanted to be used that night, I wanted to be thoroughly had, edged, slapped, forced to do things. Taking my hand, he led me to his office, shutting the door and drawing the blinds, with only the outward facing window to the building letting the moonlight shine through. Staying almost fully clothed in his suit, he would hurl me onto his table, his strong hands leaving me bare after a short struggle to undo his belt and he would stand over me, like a Roman God, eventually taking more layers off. His stomach muscles would grace mine, the granite-like surface too much for me not to caress as I stared deep into his eyes, helpless, powerless to stop him doing whatever he wanted with me. The moon splashed over the rest of his body and his powerful hips plunged into me, alternating between fast and slow to make me grip him harder and moan louder. When I felt like I wanted to come, he would muffle my voice, making me wimper into his hand and beg for more. He splayed me on the table, both on my front and my back, until the early hours of the morning, a vigorous energy coursing through him, a submissive lust buried in me as his tongue lapped me, his fingers curled against me and left me a shuddering and sticky mess. If I felt like gushing without his command he would slap me firmly, reminding me who was in charge, before plunging his girth deeper into my delicate folds. It was the longest we had ever made love. As the office clock struck 4am, we kissed deeply, my heart beating at ten thousand miles per hour as my lungs struggled for breath, the sweat pooling across my back and chest. I dug my nails into his back for what seemed like forever and clung to him as he stood up to walk around the room. My little shudders and gasps fell into his ear as pleasure overcame me with each thunderous movement of his pelvis, eventually igniting beautiful spurts of ecstasy from him. We fell back onto the table and I collapsed on top of him, dragging my nails across the slick surface of his chest and nestling close to him. He turned to face me.
“You’re excused from work tomorrow Miss Stephenson.” He cracks a devilish smile as I nod. “Let’s go back to mine. There’s wine in the cooler.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/g3eul9/the_enigmatic_and_the_submissive_bdsm_mf
Beautifully written. Very nice