Kyoko Church - For Her Pleasure

‘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.

Oh, God. GOD! His face burned bright, the hottest it had ever felt. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her and he couldn’t stop his mind racing to picture himself doing – God knows what! – while that ticking measured his performance. Or lack thereof.

She chuckled as she watched the realisation dawning on his face. ‘Oh, sweetie, your face is priceless. Honestly!’ She sat back on the couch and smiled. ‘Well, enough about that for now. I imagine you need to get back to the office.’

He glanced automatically at his watch, saw the stopwatch instead and immediately felt a twinge of heat. My cock belongs to Mistress. God, already. He looked at her face. Knowing was plastered all over it.

‘Yes, I, uh,’ he swallowed. ‘Canavan actually texted me on my way here. He wants to discuss something.’

‘Oh, yes, I know. We spoke earlier.’ Oh, shit. His head whipped around to stare at her, his eyes bulging.

‘Your first act of submission to me is this: when Mr Canavan asks you what he’s going to ask you I want you say, “Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.”’

That’s when he knew he was fucked.

* * *

He was sweaty again by the time he returned to his office.

This time it was not an embarrassed but horny sweat, though. This was an all-out panic, I’ll lose my job, my wife’s going to leave me, my life is over kind of sweat. He spent the car ride imagining what question it was Canavan was going to ask him. Ms Halliwell said you wanted to give her a foot massage. Or, Ms Halliwell said you wanted to be treated like a dog. Or perhaps, Ms Halliwell said you had the idea to fornicate with her foot!

Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.

He almost didn’t go back to the office. What for? To be brought before the committee of which he was chair? To be hauled in to HR? Oh, and then he’d be home early. He’d have to face Anne. He could never explain it to her. He barely understood it himself.

Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.

When did he ever say any of this was a good idea? It was most unequivocally evident that it had all been a very, very bad idea. A very bad idea indeed. If only he could take it all back. If only he could go back just one day, to yesterday when she first walked in the room. And do it all over. This time like a proper man. Instead of a humping dog. Oh, God. He would stop all of it, take it all back right this second, if only he could just have everything go back to normal.

That is why, when he found himself standing in front of Ed Canavan’s desk, with Ed Canavan speaking words he could barely hear – such was the clatter going on in his head – he was floored when what Ed Canavan actually said was: ‘Ms Halliwell tells me there’s an International Coalition Against Sexual Harassment Conference going on in Washington next month. Said you thought it might be a good idea to go. Did you say that?’