Under Control: A BDSM Love Story

Of course being at work the next day was excruciatingly awkward. Opening up to people does that, especially if it’s a fucked up secret like mine. Hector was acting like his usual self, however, if not being slightly nicer to me. He still had me working, though. And he still had me call him sir, and he continued to refer to me as Ms. Jones.

Even though I was tired beyond all belief from staying up late and all the stress from the previous day, I was working hard, probably to stave off any thoughts of what we had talked about. The last thing I wanted was an emotional breakdown during work hours. I typed at the computer non-stop, even when I didn’t have any letters to write. I didn’t want my mind to wander, and keeping my hands and eyes busy was the best I could do for the time being.

I guess he could tell I was stressed because he called me into his office. I went in on unsteady feet, suddenly realizing how tired I really was. I stood in the spot in front of his desk, biting my lip. “Do you need something, sir?”

He looked up at me, and I could tell he was thinking very deeply about something. “It appears to me, Ms. Jones, that you are not in a state fit to work.”

My heart pounded when he said this, and my knees threatened to give out. Was he about to fire me? I braced myself. “No sir, I’m fine.”

“You’re practically falling asleep at your desk,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I began to panic. “I’ll try harder, sir. I promise none of my duties will go unfulfilled.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Ms. Jones,” he chided. “It’s your health. I can’t have you taking sick days off this soon after I hired you.”

“I won’t,” I reasoned. “I realize I can’t afford to do that.”

“What do you suggest we do about this?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, very afraid now that he was going to fire me. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, as your psychologist, I think it would be best if you took a break,” he said. “For your mental health.”

“A break?” I murmured, in a daze. I really was extremely exhausted.

“Just a short one. About an hour or two. Take a load off. Lay down on the couch. Get some sleep.” He folded his hands on his desk and gave me a significant look. “And for the love of God, stop stressing yourself out. I am not going to fire you.”

His last words took me by surprise. Being in my haze of exhaustion, I wasn’t sure what he was getting at until I realized I was biting my lip so hard I had drawn blood. I quickly stopped, trying to force myself awake.

“Now go on,” he said, gesturing to the couch.

“Sir, I’m not sure if--”

“It’s not a request,” he said, his eyes full on me now. “It’s a command.”

I stood for a moment, unsure of whether or not I really should let my guard down. I wasn’t sure if this was some sort of test. I figured it was better not to risk it, and I slowly walked over to the couch and sat down on it, already feeling slightly better.

“Now lay down,” he said.

I was still a bit uncertain, so I looked at Mr. Davis to see if he was serious. He definitely looked like he was. I let myself sink back on it, becoming even more drowsy when I had reclined all the way.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and after considering for a moment, I did as I was told.

“Are you sure you won’t need me to--”

“Shh,” he said, and I fell silent. “Just relax. Don’t think about anything, don’t worry about anything. Just let go and… drift,” he cooed, his voice deep and soothing.

I felt a bit uncomfortable knowing he was watching while I couldn’t see him, but I kept my eyes shut anyhow, not wanting to push my luck with him. After a while I noticed how tense my face muscles were, so I loosened them and immediately felt better. Taking note of this, I went to work loosening up the rest of my muscles until all the tension was gone in my body. Finally I could relax, and I really did slowly feel myself drift off into sleep….



I came back into consciousness after what seemed like only a few minutes, but as I cracked my eyes open a bit to look at the clock above Mr. Davis’s desk, I realized it had been almost two hours. Mr. Davis was still there, however, and so I didn’t dare move a muscle. His back was turned to me, and so I was sure he didn’t know I was awake yet. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he spoke.

“Delilah,” he murmured, so quietly I almost didn’t hear. I waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, I decided to answer him. Before I could open my mouth to speak, however, he interrupted. “Such a good girl.”

A chill went down my spine when he said that. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if I could say anything. I could tell something strange was going on, but I wasn’t sure what, so I remained silent.

He turned his chair around so that he was facing his desk, and I quickly shut my eyes once more so he wouldn’t notice I was awake. When we had been that way for some time, I decided to chance cracking my eyes open a bit again so I could see what he was doing. He was sitting there, looking intently at something that wasn’t in my line of vision, and I guessed it was one of the drawers in his desk. He seemed to be deeply considering something, though I didn’t know what. After a bit, he leaned down and I heard the creaking sound of the drawer being pulled open. He rustled around in it for a moment, then straightened up and brought out the item he had taken from the drawer, placing it gently on the desk.

My heart practically stopped. It was the riding crop I had seen in my desk drawer a few days before. He was staring at it almost excitedly, his chest heaving and his lips slightly parted in awe, it seemed. This was most definitely strange. I continued to watch him, unable to stop.

“Delilah,” he whispered again, leaning back in his chair. His hands left his desk top again, and in a moment I heard the low, dull sound of something…. It became clear to me as I saw him move his arms around a bit that he had undone his zipper. Panic welled in my chest when I saw him lean back with a sigh, keeping his gaze on the riding crop lying on his desk. His left shoulder was moving slowly up and down, and it dawned on me that he was masturbating. With me in the room.

Wrong, this is so wrong! I was thinking. The worst part was… I couldn’t stop watching. I wanted to, but somehow I just couldn’t. It made me feel sick and perverted. Close your eyes, you sick fuck! I yelled to myself in my head. Stop him! Tell him you’re awake! Anything! It was no use, however; no matter how much I hated myself for it, I could not close my eyes.

“Ms. Jones,” he groaned quietly, “position yourself… face-down… across my lap.” He stroked slowly up and down, biting his lip as he stared at the riding crop. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I looked on, angry that I was frozen in place by my own fear and curiosity. What if I stopped him and he fired me for seeing him do this? I thought, and I was struck by a horrible anxiety. I can’t afford to lose this job! It was then I decided that for better or worse, I had to sit the whole thing out. I was mortified.

“What do you mean you won’t?” he said, his hand stopping. “You’re being a bad girl.” A devious grin crossed his face. “I’m going to have to punish you.” His stroking began again and a shiver went through my body. Was he… fantasizing about me?

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My boss -- my psychologist -- was masturbating while fantasizing about me. My heart beat faster as the realization fully came to me. This was too crazy to be real. And yet there he was, sitting behind his desk and stroking his manhood. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit curious, but I refused to let myself think about that.

“Bend over my desk, Ms. Jones,” he growled lustfully, startling me out of my thoughts. Out of instinct I almost complied, but I stopped myself from moving, remembering that he thought I was still sleeping. I tried my best to calm my breathing, as I realized I had started breathing faster. “Yes,” he said, his grin widening. He looked at the riding crop. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you will never forget.” With his free hand he reached over to the riding crop, picking it up slowly and bringing it close to his face as though admiring the craftsmanship that went into it. Then suddenly he brought it down hard on the desk, making a loud cracking sound. I jumped in spite of myself, but he was closing his eyes now as though savoring the noise. It was all I could do not to let out a sigh of relief.

“What’s that?” he said, as though speaking to me, and opened his eyes again. “You say you’d like another? Oh, what a bad girl….” He let his voice drift away before bringing the riding crop down again, hard. The sound almost made me jump again, and I had to keep myself from letting out a whimper. Even hearing it done to an inanimate object almost hurt. But at the same time, with Mr. Davis getting such pleasure out of it, I was curious. I could never understand the concept of deriving pleasure from pain. The idea that a psychologist would be into that seemed so odd. Without thinking, I licked my lips as I continued watching what was going on.

“Get on your knees,” he murmured, closing his eyes again now, “so I can come in your mouth, you bad girl.” As he said this, his strokes became faster and his breath became short. He started moaning quietly, and despite how dirty I felt for watching this, it was strangely invigorating to me. Titillating, even.

Stop it, I scolded myself, trying to shut my eyes. You really are insane. Now stop watching! But I couldn’t. I cracked my eyes open again, as much excited about his release as he was. It was like seeing animals mate -- you’re disgusted by it, but at the same time intrigued. You wanna know if they’re getting as much pleasure out of it as humans do.

He kept going, faster and harder, and I was wondering if it would ever be over. After about thirty more seconds of this, he bucked a bit in his chair, and I could tell he had reached his climax. “Mm, Delilah,” he groaned loudly, and his motion slowed down to a stop. He went quiet for a while, his eyes still closed in the ecstasy of the moment. My heart was rushing, adrenaline coursing through my body. This must be what he meant, I thought, my head swimming with confusion. I really am an adrenaline junkie, otherwise why would I have watched that whole thing? But it was still a mystery which kind of adrenaline this was: the kind that comes with fear, or the kind that comes from sex? I pushed the thought from my head, feeling like even more of a pervert.

Mr. Davis cleared his throat, startling me from my thoughts, and he reached over his desk for some tissues. I made a mental note never to use any of the Kleenex from that particular box. He started cleaning himself up, and after a moment he whispered, “Swallow it all. That’s a good girl.”

My stomach went in knots as I heard that, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit flattered. Was this really what he thought about behind closed doors? Having me swallow his come? Although none of what took place was ideal to me, I couldn’t deny that Mr. Davis was an attractive man. I shook the thought away, suddenly becoming angry. I had quit my job because my boss was going to force me into that. But at the same time, Mr. Davis was not forcing me into anything. In fact, up till that moment I thought any form of sex with me would be the last thing on his mind. He just didn’t seem like the type of guy. And, I reasoned with myself, he wouldn’t have masturbated if he had known you were awake.

That settled, I shut my eyes again, trying to calm my breathing. The office was quiet, and Mr. Davis did not move or make a sound. It was not long before I finally drifted off to sleep once more.



“Ms. Jones,” said Mr. Davis.

As I opened my eyes and saw him standing there next to me as I lay on the couch, I started back. For an instant the whole scene came back to me, and all the disgust and intrigue came back to me at once.

“Time to wake up,” he added. “You’ve had quite a sleep.”

I hesitated a moment before sitting up, feeling a bit groggy, but overall more refreshed. “Sorry about that, sir,” I said quietly. “I had the strangest dream.”

He smirked. “Oh, I guess I’ll have to dock that from your paycheck.” When I threw him a worried glance, he just chuckled. “Kidding. But I suggest you get back to work now, just to be on the safe side.”

“Of course, sir,” I said, sitting up and stretching out. From being in such a haphazard sleeping position, my skirt had hiked its way up my thighs, and when I noticed this I quickly pulled it down to its original place. I looked up in embarrassment to see if Mr. Davis had noticed, and in doing so our eyes met. I quickly glanced away, but he just let out a breath of laughter and walked over to his desk.

“I placed the letters I need you to rewrite next to your computer. There are quite a few so I hope you won’t have trouble with them.

I looked at him for a moment, assessing everything in my mind. There was a good possibility that the whole masturbation thing really had happened in my dreams. After all, I was asleep. Sometimes dreams can seem very real, even though they aren’t. Maybe the dream was just a result of sexual frustrations of mine.

Yes, that’s exactly it, I thought to myself, relieved to find an answer that made sense. There is no way he would ever feel that way toward you.

Having come to that conclusion, I let myself smile. “It won’t be a problem at all, Mr. Davis.”

“Good,” he said in that way of his.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Davis?” I asked.

He gave me a long once-over before answering, “No. That will be all.”

With that, I stood up and left the room, wondering about the nagging in the back of my mind.