Under Control: A BDSM Love Story

Author's Note: SO sorry for the wait, everyone! Thank you so much for being patient! I was so busy with school and friends, and I was also having trouble figuring out what to do with this chapter. But now I'm pretty much back on track with the story, so hopefully there won't be any more really long waits for you guys anymore!

Anyways, sorry again and I hope you enjoy!



Incredibly, things began to fall into a sort of routine over the next month. Of course there had been the initial schedule: work in the mornings, lunch together at noon, work in the afternoon, and therapy in the evening. But that soon changed to accommodate our “activities”. For the first few days Mr. Davis had me bent over his knee at least five or more times during work hours, though it seemed after a while he learned that he needed more self-control if he were to truly control me properly. In the end he settled for punishing me at the end of the work day. He had it down to a system -- rather than warning me the moment I made a mistake, he took note of it so that when the time came to clock out, he could tally it up and decide the punishment I would receive and the severity. Time-out was mild, spanking was a bit more intense, sensory deprivation (being tied down, blindfolded, gagged, and ears plugged) was even more harsh, and caning was the most severe he would get. When I had finally figured out his system, I began to exploit it, testing my boundaries and figuring out which lines could and could not be crossed. Of course, Mr. Davis knew exactly what I was doing and each time I thought I had it all mapped out, he would change it up. Just a little, though. Just enough to keep me in the dark, while enabling me to still know my place. In any case, I found myself looking forward to five o’clock, which was when the leash would go on and the punishment would be dealt.

The humiliation was ever present, however. He made it a rule that I would show up to work without underwear, no excuses. It made riding the bus to work rather difficult, but on the other hand it made that and other menial tasks thrilling; I never knew if someone would accidentally catch a glimpse of what was beneath my skirt. Also, on most days Mr. Davis would choose not to take the collar off of me, which meant I had to go around with it on everywhere I went. And I mean everywhere. The shower, the grocery store, and anywhere in between. The looks it drew from curious eyes was always enough to make my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Although I eventually got used to it for the most part, I would still sometimes find my hand wandering up to the thick strap of leather around my neck, and each time I did, I would find myself fantasizing about my boss.

And in spite of the fact that this was all completely wrong, it seemed… normal to me, somehow. Like this was the way things were meant to be. I finally found my place in life as Mr. Davis’s secretary; his pet. Yet I couldn’t help thinking it was something more than just a sense of duty to him as his employee. On some nights I would lay in bed, staring into the darkness, and my heart would flutter in my chest. It occurred to me many times that perhaps I really was in love with him. I didn’t want that to be true. Falling in love was one of the last things I wanted, not when I had been so damaged before. Deep down I knew it was the trust thing I was afraid of. I didn’t want to allow myself to be fooled again; to have my dignity and happiness shattered by the one I put my faith in most. I would argue with myself about this for hours. I think another part of me was just afraid that in the end I would be rejected. After all, Mr. Davis was completely oblivious to how I felt about him. What if this was all one-sided?

But somehow all these things melted away when I was in his presence. In his office, all I could think of -- all that existed to me -- was him. Nothing in the world had ever been as important to me before. It crossed my mind that perhaps I was becoming obsessed; that maybe each time I saw him and felt my heart racing, it was just another craving for the adrenaline that coursed my veins whenever he tied me up. The idea scared me. I had never been addicted to anything before, and if this was what addiction was like, it scared me because… I didn’t want to give it up. Each time I came to this realization, I also became more aware of how unstable I truly was, and how very much I needed Mr. Davis in my life.

Learning how to switch out of the submissive frame of mind turned out to be more difficult than turning it on. Although I was referred to as Delilah after work hours, I still used the formal title for Mr. Davis. Somehow it didn’t feel right to call him anything else. Perhaps because calling him by last name seemed more respectful in my mind. Either way, he did not mention it, and so I felt no reason to stop. He said he wanted to control me always, and I would let him. This was a way of showing him that he was in charge, and that I was acknowledging his power over me. Most of the time, when starting a sentence with his name, his eyes seemed to gleam with… well, pride, I suppose. And in turn, that made me happy. There was nothing I liked more than to see my master pleased.

With how natural everything between us seemed, I shouldn’t have been surprised when he said he thought we ought to take things to the next level. I mean, that was logical, right? Things can only go so far before they have to go further. But, somehow I was surprised. Perhaps I had become too comfortable with being uncomfortable. Either way, it was going to change. Mr. Davis loved pushing my comfort zone to the limit.

“What do you think, Ms. Jones?” he said, standing in the doorway of his office, sipping a cup of coffee.

“A- about what, sir?” I stammered, looking at him from my chair.

Mr. Davis made a small gesture with his head and I quickly corrected myself by kneeling on the floor. I sometimes forgot that he always wanted me that way when speaking to him. I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and knew he was making a mental tally of my mistake. The thought made my heart race in excitement.

He took another sip before continuing. “Well, we’ve been, uh, working together for quite some time now….” His emphasis of the word made my cheeks burn red.

“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.

“Think we should have a private business meeting somewhere?”

The thing about us is we had not seen any customers. At all. Ever. We were constantly alone, and had never once actually talked about business. Sure, he had an endless amount of typing for me to perform, but other than that there had been no hint of outside interest in his small, obscure practice. In fact, some days I was surprised he wasn’t at all upset by this. Part of me thought that perhaps he was one of those types who like to let the good things come to them. But of course I knew better than that. Mr. Davis was to me like a lion was to a gazelle; no hesitation in claiming the prize. He was the type that made his own success, no matter what the cost. I chalked the lack of business up to the bad economy. People could hardly afford physical health, let alone mental.

I knew this remark was a test. He was testing my trust for one, seeing if I would drop my doubts and agree to it; and he was certainly testing my obedience. If I agreed, there was a possibility of new sorts of punishments, and if I disagreed I would definitely be punished. And since he was my boss and I loved him, he could say the world was made of green Jell-o and I would agree with him.

“If a private business meeting is what you want, sir,” I murmured, giving him a playful look, “then a private business meeting is what you’ll get.” Mr. Davis had a gleam of mischief in his eyes and he walked over to where I was kneeling, placing his mug on the desk behind me. “After all,” I continued, leaning close to him as he pulled the leash from his pocket and clipped it to my collar, “I am your secretary. I must do as you tell me.”

“Hmm,” he mused, gazing down at me as I waited attentively for his command. “I want you ready by nine o’clock tonight.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, and after a few seconds the minute hand hit the twelve, making it the end of the work day. “Delilah,” he finished, giving the leash a firm tug.

This was the signal he gave me when he wanted me in his office. Obediently I went onto all fours, following him on my hands and knees as he walked into the back room and shut the door.



“What naughty things have you done today, Delilah?” he asked, standing before me. I did my best not to be distracted by his hard-on.

“I’ve been a bad girl,” I said, cowering under his stare. “I spilled coffee on the keyboard.”

With that he began unbuckling his belt and sliding it out of the loops on his slacks, not taking his eyes off of me.

I swallowed hard and continued. “I accidentally mixed up some files.”

“They’re in the wrong alphabetical order now,” he scolded, folding the belt over and taking it in both hands, and snapping it together loudly. I flinched, my pulse pounding in my ears in fear and, admittedly, excitement.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured. “I forgot to ask permission before entering your office.”

“And what else?” he growled, pulling his arm back so that the leash gave a rough jerk. The loop was around his forearm so that he could use both his hands for the punishment.

“I forgot to empty out the trash can,” I said, biting my lip when I finished.

“That’s four strikes, Delilah,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know what to do.”

Of course I did. Not only had I gotten four strikes before, but he was also prepared for it with the belt already in hand. Still, I feigned stupidity, looking at him with wide, confused eyes. I loved testing him, seeing if I could at least partially melt his stone façade. Also, I loved hearing him tell me exactly what to do.

“Bend over my desk,” he said, giving the leash a small tug.

I stood up and turned to face the desk, then slowly, sensually, I bent over so that my rear was sticking out for him. I arched my back, making his target nice and rounded for the punishment.

For a moment he was silent, and I braced myself for contact. What I did not expect was the soft touch of his fingertips, so gentle that I could hardly tell he was touching me at all. He stroked up and down my bottom, giving me goosebumps. I could feel myself blushing in embarrassment and excitement at the same time.

“Put your arms behind your back,” he said, breaking his contact with me.

“Sir?” I said, unsure of what he meant. This was new. Usually he would simply get down to spanking me with the belt.

“Bring your arms behind your back so that your wrists are crossed,” he repeated evenly.

He was changing things up a bit like he did sometimes. I didn’t want to push my boundaries any further at the moment. Slowly, hesitantly, I did as I was told. I could feel the cool leather of the belt as he began skillfully wrapping it tightly around my wrists. When he finally buckled it once more, I could not even twist my hands around; it was so tight. I could already feel my fingers going slightly numb, and I knew I would be in for some pain very soon. Without my elbows to rest on the desk, I had no option but to lean all the way forward until my chest and chin touched the surface uncomfortably. This caused my rear to be raised even higher, making it an even better target.

He left me in this awkward position for a while, and at first I thought this would be the punishment: to be left like that until I became achy. But the moment I felt his hands slide my skirt up my thighs and up over my butt, I knew he had different ideas. I was panty-less and exposed, awaiting his verdict. And once again I felt the soft, soft touch of his fingertips on me, caressing my behind, my thighs, my tender area. My heart raced out of control as I felt slide down my warm, moist slit, parting the lips as he brought his finger up and down, up and down. My mind was blank; this was the first time he had dared to really touch me this way. He had spanked me, tied me up, fondled me, had me swallow his come, and yet he had never really touched this very spot. I bit my lip, feeling myself become wet with anticipation.

He continued to tease me slowly, up and down my slit, barely making contact with my clitoris each time until I thought I would go crazy with desire. Without even thinking I spread my legs, making myself completely open to his touch.

“Delilah,” he whispered, his finger pausing on my most sensitive spot. I breathed in sharply, the temperature rising in my body.

“Sir?” I murmured in response, arching my back against his touch.

“You know what I want,” he said, his voice deep and more intense than ever before. Demanding, and yet somehow it seemed as though he was asking permission.

I said nothing; I simply spread my legs further, knowing he would get my meaning. I wasn’t sure I was ready. I knew if I wasn’t right then and there, then I would never be. I didn’t want to think about it; I just wanted to be in the moment. To be a good girl. To give him everything he desired. I wanted to please him.

I could feel his other hand slide gently up my arm, to my shoulder, to my neck, where the collar sat snugly. He softly ran his fingertips over the exposed skin of my neck. “I want you to make a decision right now. Don’t think about this.” I could tell he meant the collar. “Is this what you really want?”

My mind was a blur. I didn’t know what I wanted. I did love him, and the timing was right. Everything was right, it seemed. If it had to be with someone, I wanted that person to be him. Forgetting my fear, my past, my conscience, everything, I turned my head to look at him. And slowly, firmly, I nodded my head, my eyes locked with his.

His finger slid down my warm, wet slit once more and without further hesitation he slipped it inside of me. I let out a moan, feeling anxiety and relief all at once; relief from finally receiving follow-through and anxiety from wanting more. The need for him to take me was almost painful, and as he began to move his finger in and out, I could feel my impatience growing. I fought the urge to ask for more, knowing he was in charge and would do things his way. He continued on for a minute, moving his finger in circular motions, spreading me open a bit. And then, slowly, he eased another finger inside of me. I gasped loudly before biting my lip to stifle a cry. It hurt just a bit, since his fingers were bigger than mine. However, he seemed to pause, knowing that I was still a bit too tight for him to press on. I was aware that being tense was probably not helping the issue at all. I closed my eyes and took a breath, doing my best to relax myself. After a few moments, Mr. Davis moved his fingers at a steady pace, and as I finally adjusted to it I began to enjoy it. I let out a moan, arching my back more to greet his hand as it moved against me. I pushed myself back toward him a bit, trying to signal to him without words that I was ready for more. Mr. Davis continued in spite of this, and I knew not to rush him. He took his time, making sure to slide his fingers completely inside of me before pulling them out again. I was almost going crazy from the need to have him take me fully.

After a few minutes he stopped his activity, and I strained my upper body so that I could look over my shoulder at him. I felt myself blush as I saw him lick my juices from his fingers, slowly and thoroughly, his eyes almost rolling back in ecstasy. He made a quiet sound of approval in the back of his throat.

“You taste so good,” he murmured.

“Th- thank you, sir,” I stammered, not really sure what else to say.

He reached down to the waist of his slacks, unzipping them and drawing out his already stiff member. I felt a shiver course through me, not just from excitement but from fear. This is it, I thought, swallowing the lump in my throat. And yet as he came close to me once more, positioning himself behind my spread legs so that the glistening head of his erect cock barely touched my warm entrance, I felt as though my stomach was gripped with fear. An old and dormant paranoia struck me, far stronger than the urge to be satisfied by my master. He’ll just leave me, my mind said. He’ll take what he wants and toss me away, just like everyone else did. I was trying hard to push these thoughts away, but the more I fought them, the harder they fought back. What if he fires me? What if he just fucks me and then fires me? And then, a more horrible thought: I don’t think I would be able to keep from killing myself if that happens.

I was brought back to reality with the gentle feeling of fingers touching my wrists. “Delilah,” said Mr. Davis, the welcome sound of his voice squelching the confusion in my brain. I listened, my heart pounding in my chest. He paused a moment, his hand not leaving mine. “You want to belong to me… don’t you?”

I barely nodded, not knowing any words that could get across just how much that was true.

His hand stroked my bound wrists gently, and though I could barely feel the contact past the numbness, it meant a lot to me. “It’s easy for that to be true when you’re trapped.” He paused again, and I knew he was thinking hard about something. After a moment I felt movement against my wrists, and then a huge release of pressure. He had taken the belt from my wrists, and the blood began to flow properly to my hands again. It took a while for the confusion to wear off before I brought my hands in front of me, using my arms to brace myself on the desk. At last I was able to look at him over my shoulder.

His face was very serious, his eyes locked onto mine. He slid the loop at the end of the leash from his arm, and held it up so that I could see it. Then, after a moment, he handed it over to me slowly. I wasn’t sure what he meant by this, but when he didn’t do anything else, I knew he wanted me to have it. I hesitantly took it from his hand, and gave him a questioning look. “It is your choice. You have the choice to walk away from me, Delilah. You have the freedom. At this moment, you are in control.”

I shook my head, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

“You can say no,” he replied simply.

I looked at the leash loop again, the weight of what he was saying finally coming to me. He was telling me he was not my father, nor was he any other man. He cared enough for me to give me a choice. He wanted me to make the choice for myself, not because I thought I had to. I could say no right now if there were any doubts in my mind, which there were. But even stronger than those doubts was the desire, the need, to finally get past my fears. Ultimately, if I were to stop now because of my past, I would be letting it control me. I would be giving up any power I had left over my own choices. I knew that this was what I wanted, but the wounded part of me would never let me enjoy this moment.

I thought back to when I was a kid. I was ten years old, and it was the fifth time my parents were uprooting me from school; no warning, no apology. By that time I was already dealing with keeping what my father had done to me a secret from my mom. There was reason for moving. My father had been laid off again for being a drunk, and the move was the only way he had a chance to find another job, so “no” was never an option for me. Never. I couldn’t say “no” when I wanted him to stop drinking, for his health and ours. I couldn’t say “no” when I steadily slipped into the depths of an emotional breakdown. I certainly couldn’t say “no” when my father decided that he’d had enough of life and enough of his family.

And it hit me with a stunning reality, the fact that I could take all of this in my hands and turn it into something good. I was holding the leash. I was in charge. Slowly I began to lift myself from Mr. Davis’s desk, standing up straight and turning to him, looking him directly in the eye. I couldn’t read anything in the burning hazel, nor did I need to. I knew everything already. He had given me something nobody else had ever given me before. A chance. A chance to make my own choice about something so important. And in that, I knew that he felt something for me in return. Whether or not it was love, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t really matter. All I knew was that he at least respected me, and that was more than my own family had done.

I continued gazing into his eyes, and slowly I felt myself sink down to my knees as though I were watching it happen from outside of my own body. Then, after a moment, I handed him the leash once more. You see, it wasn’t only my decision to make. I finally knew I could really trust him, and that made him just as worthy to choose.

He continued to look at me, the intensity almost too much. I swallowed and said, “Whatever you want… it’s fine with me. Sir.”

I can’t even begin to describe what I saw in his eyes when I said that. Every thought, every emotion that could possibly be felt at one time, seemed to flash across them like a strange iridescence. Maybe, in a way, he had just discovered that he could trust me, too. He stepped close to me, and after a moment I leaned forward, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. I kissed and licked his member, awakening it once more. I took his length into my mouth, coating it with my saliva. Then Mr. Davis pulled gently on the leash, and without a word I bent over the desk with my legs spread. At this point words had become meaningless. We each knew what the other wanted. Mr. Davis slipped the leash loop around his arm once more to free up his hands. He wet the tip of his fingers with his tongue, then slowly brought them between my legs, running them up and down my slit. His touch was electric through the influence of my arousal, and I wanted him badly. All of him.
“Please fuck me,” I whispered, closing my eyes and savoring the contact.

He drew his hand back and then I could feel the firm, round head of his cock resting against my entrance. I braced myself as I felt him exert pressure, and then --

The sharp ringing of the telephone startled me just as the sound of a gun shot would have. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked over my shoulder at Mr. Davis, who seemed as though he really would have liked to kill whoever had just interrupted him. Already I could feel the mood rapidly dissipating, as well as his erection. I bit my lip, somewhat disappointed. Actually, very fucking disappointed, though sort of relieved in a way. Mr. Davis sighed and tucked his member into his pants, zipping them up once more.

“You should answer that, Ms. Jones,” he murmured.

Slowly, hesitantly, I stood up straight. I pulled my skirt down and adjusted my clothes a bit as Mr. Davis unhooked the leash from my collar. I looked into his eyes once more, and he gave me a brief nod before I turned to leave his office.

“Hector Davis’s office, secretary speaking. How may I help you?” I said, trying not to let my annoyance cross over to my voice.

“I need help,” sobbed a young woman on the other line. “Can you help me? Oh God, I… just need some help.”

I stared at nothing, my mind becoming clouded and confused. My stomach was once more tied in knots. “J- Jenny?”

“Delilah?” she sobbed into the phone, her words almost incoherent. “I tried again. I need help. I need someone, anyone.”

I swallowed the lump that had risen in my throat, briefly glancing at Mr. Davis’s office door. This is, without a doubt, the worst mood killer ever, I thought.