Authors: Max Sebastian
Tags: #Sex, #threesome, #Bdsm, #domination, #submission, #mmf, #submissive, #cunnilingus, #femdom, #ffm, #dominant, #sub dom
Submitting to Her
Max Sebastian
Warning
: This is an
erotic story intended for adults only.
SizzlingStories.com
"On your knees..."
Aiden Jones is horrified when a young woman
gets his long-awaited promotion because corporate is fast-tracking
female college graduates to fill some kind of gender quota in the
company.
He stubbornly makes life difficult for his
new boss, leading resistance among the sales team. But when she
grows tired of it, and offers him the choice between the end of his
career and submitting to her absolute control, there is nothing he
can do but accept her authority.
Zoey Schoenberg has had a crush on the
company's top salesman ever since she started as an intern on the
fast-track program.
Now that she has absolute control over him,
she's going to really make the most of it - and show him just how
thrilling a truly female-led relationship can be.
But Zoey has a dark secret in her past that
could threaten everything...
Copyright © 2013 by Max Sebastian
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred
online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by
Kenny Wright
. Image
licensed from Dreamstime.com
ASCENDANT
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
- Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman
One
What's the professional thing to do when
you've been in line for five years to head up the department, and
when your boss finally retires three years overdue, they go ahead
and promote someone else - someone fresh out of college, someone
who's only been at the company six god-damn-months?
Sit down and take it, I'll bet. Don't take it
personally.
"It's just business".
Well, I didn't do that. I wasn't your
right-on turn-the-other-cheek businessman, I was more the
self-centered, arrogant prick kind. Bullish, self-absorbed,
abrasive, chauvinistic, antagonistic - and all those other bad
qualities that marked me down as a killer on the sales floor.
And who could afford to be a saint in this
economy? It was dog eat dog. Pacing the office all hooked up to my
wireless Bluetooth website, hands whirling with Lucas from CI
Systems on the other end of the line, bullshitting me about how the
circulation's down on our popular IT monthly, I needed to be fully
confident in myself. Our company and others like it go down the
tubes if it doesn't have me - and guys like me - pushing, pushing,
pushing.
We couldn't be doing with co-workers who
shrank from persuading grandma to part with her chocolate chip
cookies for a smile and a song.
I had a somewhat huge sense of entitlement
regarding my long years of service, so rather than sit back and
feel happy for my wet-behind-the-ears new boss, I turned myself
into a road block within the team. I continued to manage the 15
guys under me, but according to my own schedule, not the schedule
of Ms Zoey Schoenberg of ivy-encrusted Brown University.
"Uh… Aiden, have we got the Hudson proposal
written up?"
"Almost. Couple of tees need dotting, a few
eyes to cross."
"That's what you said Tuesday."
"Couple of hitches in the pricing. Bob's on
the case."
Sure, it was childish, I was sulking. I was
gutted not to get the job that had my name all over it for so long.
I mean, this was a girl who didn't hit a single sales target the
whole time she'd been with us - and suddenly she's in charge of us
all, supposed to make sure we all hit our goals. Quietly, the word
got out that we were not going to play ball with Little Miss Ivory
Towers.
Those initial six months, I could see my
attempts frustrating our new vice president. We still hit most of
our targets - there was commission at stake here - but we gradually
took it down, so the numbers appeared to decline where it counted.
Not so much that it ate too badly into our pay checks, but in a
business that's supposed to be growing, we made it clear things
were not going too well.
There were other things - paperwork didn't
get done on time, invoices were temporarily misplaced or forgotten.
Information she requested somehow failed to reach her until she'd
asked three or four times. You get the idea.
My team was loyal, they knew how long I'd
waited for this job. I made sure we were all in on it. We all got
into work five minutes late, and left the office five minutes
early. Meetings started late, and overran. Things that were not
done well enough suddenly appeared to make the grade.
And nobody stopped for a friendly chat with
Ms Schoenberg.
I know, I could see she was suffering. The
way she massaged her temples when we came in for a meeting. The way
those dark circles emerged under her big brown eyes. The little
silent sighs she thought I couldn't hear every time I told her
something wasn't ready, or a mistake had been made, or one of her
big new leads simply was not going to happen.
She was always in the office first thing in
the morning, long before anyone else got in, and judging by the
time stamps on her emails, she always stayed late into the
night.
"Aiden, this number's just too low - we can't
offer full pages for this kind of rate."
"Hey, it's what they're willing to pay - we
can't push them up any more. We'll lose the whole account."
"We're twenty percent below target on the
issue."
"This economy? Not many people hitting
targets."
I was being pretty awful to her, I freely
admit. It was totally fueled by my crushing sense of injustice. I
just didn't care. I'd seen young executives forced out before,
having failed to cope with the stress. I was certain that if we
carried on underperforming for long enough, our overlords on the
Board would decide this wasn't working, and that nice big leather
chair in that corner office would be mine.
Of course, I needed taking down a peg or two
- but no one around me was telling me what a humungous piece of
shit I was being.
"Does she really think we can sell to a bank
the fed's just bailed out to the tune of $68 billion?"
"She's got this theory that companies in a
shit storm need to advertise to get themselves out."
"That something they teach on her MBA course?
Jesus."
My co-workers hadn't much noticed Ms
Schoenberg when she was the quiet brunette at the desk by the
overgrown pot plant, the lone woman in the office bucking the
testosterone-driven trend for selling advertising in our specialist
magazines and journals. Now she was our new college fast-track
boss, they really weren't impressed. Many of them were older than
my three decades, and felt even worse than I did being bossed
around by someone so much younger. Her leads were wrong for our
titles, her strategies couldn't sell fish to a sea lion.
Away from the office, my guy friends laughed
at me. They saw it as my just desserts, losing my promotion to
someone like Zoey Schoenberg.
"How many little hotties have you screwed
this year, Aide? High time one of them screwed you back."
"Thanks, Robin. Thanks for your support."
As far as they were concerned, it was sweet
revenge for all those times I went home with a gorgeous girl
itching to get naked, while my friends went home to an empty bed -
or worse, to a peeved girlfriend or sour-faced wife waiting with
arms folded and lips pouting around what-time-do-you-call-this
questions.
The wives and girlfriends in our circle
weren't impressed by my new boss either, or what I told them of
her. When we were out with them - perhaps for dinner or a house
party, or a celebratory drink or two in a nice bar - they always
turned my moaning into evidence I basically needed to find the
right woman, settle down, start doing what they were doing in life.
Work to live, not the other way around.
My married friends seemed constantly
obligated to peddle me the whole commitment line, but mixed within
it was this strange idea about finding someone to take over my
life. Give up control. They weren't even subtle about it.
"You need a bit of female leadership in your
life, Aide," Marty Williams would usually tell me over a few drinks
of an evening, always linking in my office gripes to my complete
inability to hold down a relationship for longer than three months.
"It can't be healthy having everything your own way. You never
heard of Karma?"
"So I should just settle down and stop having
sex like you?"
"There's benefits," he'd say, and then his
whole argument would evaporate as a single text from his wife made
him suddenly stand up and apologize before grabbing his coat to
flee the scene.
God, how could you live like that? At the
beck and call of some woman at home. A butler, only unpaid.
Vic Rennie, on the other hand, liked to live
vicariously though my social life, so his advice to me was to look
on the bright side.
"Work sucks," he said. "Everyone knows that -
fuck it. Go out and enjoy yourself outside the office - stop
focusing on work so much. Let the bitch rot in her high-and-mighty
job. Forget about it - focus on the tail."
"Tail?" On that occasion, his wife Rona
happened to overhear his advice. I saw Vic blush like a schoolgirl,
and found myself wondering how our stud college linebacker had
found himself so completely powerless like this.
