By BLEEP! The card reader sounds as the security gates whoosh open. You enter the lobby and press the button for the elevator. It feels like a relatively dreary Monday morning at the office. The usual dull chatter between co-workers echoes around you. Phone in hand, you scroll through a range of junk emails. Discounts and newsletters fill your screen as you take a sip of the now lukewarm coffee in your other hand.
Eavesdropping on a nearby conversation about the company’s performance this quarter you let out a sigh. Silently wishing your colleagues would talk about ANYTHING except work right now – Mondays are hard enough.
DING! The elevator doors slide open and you step inside. Glad to get away from the mundane conversations, you tap the button for your floor. Internally delighted to be riding solo in the lift for a change. Just as the doors begin to shut, a hand reaches in to reinforce why you hate Mondays – it’s full of disappointments.
“Morning Rick!” a voice erupts, as you look up from your screen. Karen, the nosey bitch from the fifth floor – making you wish you took the stairs.
“Mornin,” you retorted, hoping to end the conversation there.
“Get up to much for the weekend?” she asks, as you step to the side to make room for the rotund lady. (Maybe it’s all those kids she pops out).
You cast your mind back to your activities this weekend. Being chained up naked in some stranger’s house with a leather hood on. Forced to worship his boots and cock along with some encouragement from an electro plug. Pretty tame actions in your perverted opinion.
“Nope,” you responded after some delay.
“Well I had a lovely barbeque at my neighbour’s house,” she announces.
“That’s nice,” you said, eyes fixed on your phone hoping the rest of the elevator ride will be in silence.
“You have a new department head starting today, right?” she asks “I hope they’re as nice as Chris”
Chris was a dick. But to your delight he recently took another job, meaning a new boss in your department.
“Yeah me too. I guess we’ll see,” you reply.
DING! The elevator arrives at your floor. You wave the fat bitch a polite goodbye and step out. Once at your desk you toss off your satchel and set the coffee cup down. Getting yourself mentally prepared for another long week.
“Well look who decided to show up,” your desk-mate Jordan laughs.
“It’s not even before nine yet,” you react with a grin, “How was your nephew’s birthday?”
“It was a baptism and don’t even get me started,” Jordan says sarcastically, “Sometimes I think I’m adopted. How was your hot date on Saturday?”
Jordan is probably the only saving grace about this place. He keeps you sane throughout constant company restructures and last-minute deadlines. He also has an in-depth knowledge of your sex life. Despite being a straight guy himself, he is always keen to learn about your ‘adventurous sexcapades’ – as he calls them. Jordan isn’t obnoxious about it and is often begging for more details.
“It was alright. I couldn’t really take him seriously. Something about his accent just threw me off,” you reply.
“Where was he from?” Jordan enquires.
“I think Australia,” you say, taking a seat at your desk waiting for your PC to boot up.
“Did he say CRIKEY?” he laughs.
“No,” you say blankly, “So has the new department head arrived yet?”
“Nah, they want us to gather in the board room in ten minutes to greet him. I heard he’s pretty young not much older than us,” Jordan informs, while stretching out his arms and yawning.
Logging in, you decide to tackle your overcrowded inbox from the weekend. Getting into the zone you browse through a few marked urgent. A few moments later you break from your trance as colleagues around you begin to rise from their desks.
“Let’s get this show on the road!” Jordan says, in a sing-songey voice.
The small conference room fills with people. Bodies outnumbering the available chairs meaning you have to stand by the door. Sitting in the middle the obvious new face in the department. Wearing a well-fitted, designer shirt and tie, he sits back with arms crossed silently nodding hello to everyone who enters the room. Jet black hair with a high-fade and well-groomed facial hair. Probably in his earlier thirties. He’s obviously very athletic given his build and size.
THUD! The conference room door closes and black-haired man sits forward and begins to speak.
“Alright everyone. I know there’s been lots of changes around here recently and I don’t aim to throw fuel on the fire. This department hasn’t exactly been the golden child of the company, but I believe we can turn things around. Trust is something that I believe is integral to what we do here. It’s give and take. I may expect a lot from you. I may push you more than you’re used to, but this is how we grow.” he says, drumming his fingers on the table “over the next few weeks I’ll be reviewing your performance and we can find out if everyone is,” …he paused,… “comfortable where they are.”
There is noticeable tension in the room as he continues on about his plans over the coming weeks. Perfect! Just as you thought it’s another power-hungry boss ready to make dumbass changes with no experience or direction. Glancing over at Jordan you raise your eyebrow as the speaker drones on about leadership. He lightly chuckles in response and you smirk.
“Don’t you agree, pink tie?” the speaker broadcasts, as the entire room turns in your direction and you kick yourself for deciding to wear pastel colours today.
“I’m so-sorry?” you say surprised.
“I think I may need to reinforce a stricter office dress code,” he laughs.
You begin to feel your blood boiling as your embarrassment fills the room with laughter. What a fucking tool! You run through your possible comebacks to yell at this asshole, but when you think of something to say he’s already moved on to speak about KPIs. You grit your teeth for the rest of the meeting.
“Well ever hear of making a good first impression?” Jordan jokes, as you sit back down at your desks.
“He’s obviously just looking for someone to use as a scapegoat. Doing some macho alpha-male bullshit,” you say, still slightly pissed, “I give it a month until they realise he does more damage to this place than good.”
“Oh really?” you hear a voice behind you. You slowly turn your chair to see the black-haired hunk smirking down at you.
“Uh- um,” you stutter.
“I came over to apologise for singling you out in there, but I do think giving someone your full attention during a meeting is important, right?” he asks.
“Yes…” you respond, blood beginning to boil again.
“And don’t worry Rick I think the pink tie brings out your eyes,” he says, before giving a smirk and walking off in the direction of the elevators.
“Well at least he knows your name…” Jordan jokes.
“Shut up,” you say defeated.
—
BLEEP! The notification from the gay fetish app you frequent, chimes. Swiping through your phone you open up a recent chat message log. A local Dom who shares a lot of your interests you’ve been talking to for a few days. He asks what you look for in a scene.
‘I enjoy being controlled and forced into submission from Dominants who know how to handle a sub. I like for a scene to involve a protocol and to be pushed to my limits by someone I can look at as a superior,’ you type into your phone and press send.
The subway carriage lurches and lunges as it flows along the track. You scroll though more of your newsfeed trying to pass time on the evening commute. Seconds later another chime.
‘Very good. I expect my subs to follow a list of rules. I aim to show you your place at all times. Any more pics to show?’ you read.
You scroll through your camera feed attaching a picture of yourself drinking from a dog bowl on all fours -your face unseen of course- and another of your cock locked in chastity. You hit send. Another few minutes pass before your phone chimes once more.
‘You’ll do alright. When should we organise a playdate?’
Giving it a think-over. You’ve had another terrible day at work. It’s just gone 5:30pm, by the time you get home will you still be in the mood? Giving a sigh, you reply:
‘We can do tonight? Does your place work?’
Another chime.
‘2352, 25th Avenue Street. You will ring the buzzer. Once you enter the building take the elevator to the sixteenth floor. Second door on the left. I want you hooded and kneeling by the door naked. Wear your hood in your profile picture. Understand slut?’
Your erection instantly shoots up. You cross your legs in an attempt to hide your arousal from the old lady sitting opposite. Quickly writing a response, you close your phone and smile. Maybe Mondays aren’t so bad.
Once home, you quickly shower and pack a bag of various kink gear. A collar, dildo, some rope and restraints. Nothing fancy. Opening up GoogleMaps, you check the address. It’s about a twenty-minute train ride away. A pretty nice side of the city too. Probably an older guy who’s done pretty well for himself. You actually enjoy playing with older Doms – they’re usually the more experienced ones. Of course, you have your age limits. Then again you would probably break those limits if someone knew how to handle you right. Zipping up your rug sack, you do a quick check of everything and set off for your kinky adventure.
—
BLEEEP! The intercom rang as you type in the apartment number from your phone. The building is on a pretty bustling street, very central to the city. Glass doors open into a large foyer with a cream-tiled interior and a concierge desk off to the right. Decorative walls filled with art are lit from above with warm lights.
After a delay, the doors releases, and you enter the foyer giving the well-dressed man behind the concierge desk a nervous glance. He pays you no attention as he continues to watch the match from his iPhone. The elevator bongs as you shuffle inside and press the button for sixteen.
The lift continues to rise as you get that instant nervous pang in your gut. The one you often get before a session. Wracking your brain for all the worst possible outcomes. Maybe he’s an axe murdered. Maybe he’ll push my limits too far. Maybe he’s that grand uncle you’ve always had your suspicions about.
Taking a deep breath, you focus on the reason you’re here. To get some relief from the awful day you’ve had. The doors mechanically whirr and open to a generously decorated hallway. Heading over to the large, ornamental door reading ‘2352,’ you knock. You immediately kick yourself as you remember what you were ordered to do. Waiting a few seconds – nothing happens.
‘Maybe he didn’t hear me… that’s a relief,’ you thought.
Putting your fingers on the ornate handle, you gently push and the door creaks open. As it closes behind you, you decide to lock it for good measure. A dark entrance greets you. Clearly a second door gives someone access to the main hallway of the apartment. You drop your bag and begin to strip. Starting by unbuttoning your duffle jacket and hanging it on the empty coat rack beside you. Next, you lose your flannel and jeans – folding them carefully next to your rug sack. Lastly, you remove your underwear placing it on the pile of neatly folded clothes and retrieve your rubber mask.
The mask is one of your favourites. It has a built-in rubber blindfold and gag and fits like a glove. The staple to any good fetishists wardrobe. You unzip the mask and slip it gently over your head – ensuring all the holes line up properly. You slide the internal gag into your mouth and bite down on it. Once your satisfied with its position and comfort you kneel down on the cold tile floor. You wince immediately as your knees touch the icy cold surface. Your arms are crossed behind your back as you bow your head and wait.
One-minute passes. Then two minutes. Finally, fifteen minutes pass as you shiver in the cold entrance before you hear the door facing you open. This guy clearly knows what he’s doing. You bite harder into your gag as he approaches without saying a word.
CLANK! His boots thud on the cold tiled floor, as he approaches you and pushes your head further down with his leather covered hand. He pushes and pushes until the top of your head hits the hard floor. Crouching down, you hear the creak of his leathers as he hunches over you. You breathe hard through the nose holes in your hood. Struggling to keep your hands behind your back without losing balance.
A few seconds, and he pulls your hooded head up a bit and wraps something around your throat. You grunt as he tightens it on your neck and you hear a ‘click’. He stands up and lets you resume you kneeling position before clipping what you assume to be a leash to the collar.
You feel a force pull you forward and you begin to stand up.
“NO!” he responds.
You slowly resume the kneeling position and begin to crawl on your hands and legs after him. You follow blindly into a room with hard wooden floors and instructed to kneel. The unknown Dom circles you, taking in his recently acquired sub. He rubs his hand over the hood on your head, testing your gag before moving down to squeeze your ass. Earning another grunt from you.
You hear his leather creak once more as he takes a seat in front of you. A hand still sitting possessively on your rubber-hooded head. You feel his hand worm its way to the back of your head before forcing it gently down towards his crotch. You come into contact with the leather covered appendage and feel his arousal through the hood against your face. He presses you firmly against ‘it’ and you can feel the heat radiating off his hardening member under the leather.
You breathe in through your nose, relishing the delightful aroma of leather. Your growing arousal is evident by the erection dancing between your legs. He gently presses his boot against your crotch.
“This belongs to me for the duration of tonight, slut,” his voice deep, he releases you into a kneeling position once again, “I know how boys like you work. You may be untrained, but I believe we can teach you a thing or two. Trust is something that I believe is integral to what we do here. It’s give and take. I may expect a lot from you.”
Wait. You heard this…
“I may push you more than you’re used to,” he announces, as he reaches up and unbuttons your blindfold, “but this is how we grow.”
Your eyes go wide, your pulse runs like crazy, you chew down on the gag enough to leave teeth marks. The man sitting with a wide grin, in full leathers, is the same guy who called you ‘pink-tie’ earlier this morning. Your NEW BOSS!
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