A Year of Submission - Cover

A Year of Submission

Copyright© 2011 by BobRooney

Chapter 3: The Third Week

BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3: The Third Week - It all took one year, from the moment he first noticed her, to his complete and utter submission to his mature, sexy co-worker.

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Slavery   Heterosexual   BDSM   DomSub   FemaleDom   Oral Sex   Petting   Foot Fetish   Slow  

On Monday I was racked by regret and self-doubt. What were my feelings all about? Why did I make such a fool of myself? She was a complete stranger, and what I did was not really flirting. I did not know what it was.

She was a stranger, and I did not want anything to do with her. This was just a stupid fluke, and it would pass. Soon I would be back to ogling the blonde three doors away.

I stayed in my office and kept my eyes on the computer screen or on my desk. But there was something lodged inside my head, and I could not get it out. My muscles worked furiously to keep my head faced away from my office window.


I succeeded on Monday, but not on Tuesday. I had a meeting first thing in the morning, and all the way to the meeting room I cast my eyes about me, searching for her.

For the rest of the day my head swiveled from my desk to the office window and back again, my pulse racing every time the sound of heels came clicking down the corridor. The blonde passed by many times, but I did not really take notice anymore.


On Wednesday I resumed walking. It seemed that everywhere I went, my path led through the accounting department. Strange. I had rarely been there before, but now people who worked there seemed to become more and more familiar to me, as I sought out that one person.

I cursed the person who had designed accounting. For some reason they had decided that these office did not need windows. My heart jumped every time I read a door sign with a female name, but I had not idea which one was hers.


Thursday turned me into a philosopher. What did I want? In my fantasies, what did I desire from this woman?

There had been a lot of love-making in my dreams, certainly. Both wild, panting sex, and slower, more tender sensuality.

But that was not all. What I had dreamed about was doing things for her. The books, the coffee, and every little service and favor I could think of. And she would answer: "Good boy." And smile. And pat me on my head.

 
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