The Work Trip
The air in the presidential suite of the Glasshouse Hotel tasted of ozone and expensive leather. Below us, the city glittered like a spilled jewel box, but my attention was entirely on the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window: Mr. Alistair Vance, my boss.
For two years, I’d sat across from him in sterile boardrooms, my heart thumping a traitorous rhythm against my ribs. “No office romances” was the company’s first unwritten rule—a line I had never dared to cross. More than anything, it was a paralysing fear of rejection that kept me silent. In the office, Alistair commanded meetings, budgets, deadlines, and everyone around him with effortless authority. I was terrified that if he knew how I felt, I would become just another awkward statistic, a foolish subordinate he’d politely ignore.
Until now. This trip was my chance to tip the situation in my favour, to bypass the terrifying gamble of asking and simply make it happen. I hadn’t packed just business suits; I’d packed my grandmother’s silver locket, its chain cool and heavy in my palm now. I wore it deliberately, letting it rest openly against the black silk of my blouse so he couldn’t help but notice it. Inside wasn’t a picture, but a tiny, perfectly cut crystal—a “focus stone,” my grandmother had called it. It was a silly heirloom, but my obsessive research into hypnosis had taught me that the ritual, the object of focus, was what mattered.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, turning from the window.
“That would be lovely,” I said, my plan clicking into place. “A whiskey for you, and I’ll have a glass of that Riesling.”
While he called it in, the room service order was delivered and placed on the side table, the amber whiskey and pale Riesling sitting completely untouched, mirroring the frantic, nervous hammering of my pulse. While he was momentarily distracted, I unclasped the locket and warmed the crystal under the tap—a trick I’d read about to create a subtle, unusual sensory cue. I returned to the sitting area, the locket gleaming against my chest like a talisman of my newfound, desperate courage.
He settled onto the sofa. I lifted the locket, letting the crystal catch the light. “My grandmother swore by this. Said it helps quiet the noise.”
He leaned in, intrigued. His eyes, the colour of warm whiskey, fixed on the glinting stone. “Is that so?”
“Just watch,” I murmured, my voice dropping to a near whisper. I began to swing the locket gently. “See how the light catches it? It’s like a tiny star… With every swing, you can feel the tension just… melting away.”
His gaze was locked on it. “It’s… mesmerizing.”
“I know,” I cooed, moving closer. “Just keep watching it swing… You’re feeling so relaxed, so heavy. So wonderfully heavy.”
His breathing deepened, his shoulders slumping. “Heavy…”
“Yes,” I affirmed. “When I count to three, you’ll be in a place of perfect peace and obedience… One… Two… Three… You’re mine.”
His head lolled to the side, his eyes half-lidded. “Eleanor,” he said, his voice a flat, distant echo.
“Yes, Alistair,” I replied, my voice thick with desire. “You will do everything I say. You want to please me.”
“I want to please you,” he repeated.
“Good boy,” I purred. “Now, stand up and take off your jacket. Then your shirt. All of it.”
He complied, his movements slow, fluid. Soon his expensive suit was a pile on the chair, and he stood before me, beautifully bare. My eyes roamed over his chest, the hard muscle, the trail of dark hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers. I was in control. The man who commanded boardrooms was under my spell.
“Now the rest,” I commanded, my voice trembling with anticipation.
Alistair undid his belt, the sound loud in the quiet room. He pushed his trousers and boxers down, kicking them aside. He was magnificent, already thickening, his cock rising from a nest of dark curls. I reached out, my fingers brushing against his hip, and he shuddered but didn’t move.
“Turn around,” I ordered. He did, presenting me with the hard, muscular planes of his back and the firm curve of his ass. I stepped forward, pressing my body against his, the silk of my blouse a whisper against his skin. I ran my hands up his sides, feeling him tremble under my touch. I kissed his shoulder blades, my tongue darting out to taste his salty skin.
“Face me,” I whispered.
He turned, his eyes still hazy, fixed on me. I took his hand and placed it on my breast. “Feel how fast my heart is beating for you,” I murmured. His fingers flexed instinctively, a ghost of his own will. “Unbutton my blouse.”
His fingers, clumsy with the programmed slowness, fumbled with the tiny pearls. One by one, they came undone. The silk parted, revealing the black lace bra beneath. His gaze was a physical touch, hot and possessive, even in his trance.
“Now the skirt,” I said.
My hands moved to the side zipper, the sound unnaturally loud. The silk pooled at my feet, leaving me in my lingerie, heels, and the damning locket. I stood before him, a goddess in her temple, and he was my devoted worshipper.
“Kneel,” I commanded.
He sank to his knees on the plush carpet, his eyes never leaving my body. I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my panties and slowly slid them down my legs, stepping out of them. I reached back and unhooked my bra, letting it fall away. Now I was as naked as he was.
“Lie down on the bed,” I said, my voice husky.
He moved to the king-sized bed and stretched out, his cock lying hard against his stomach. I followed, crawling onto the bed and straddling his chest. I could feel his heart beating against my ass, a steady, hard rhythm.
“Touch me,” I ordered, taking his hands and placing them on my breasts. “Squeeze them. Pinch my nipples.”
His hands obeyed, his fingers closing around my flesh. He wasn’t gentle, and I didn’t want him to be. The slight pain sent a jolt straight to my core, making me wetter. I rocked my hips, grinding myself against his sternum.
“Put your fingers inside me,” I breathed, shifting forward so his hand was between my thighs.
He slid two fingers into my slick heat, and I moaned, my head falling back. He began to pump them in and out, a mindless, rhythmic motion that was driving me insane. I looked down at his face, still slack with obedience, and a wave of triumphant power washed over me. I was doing this. I was making him do this.
I leaned forward, my hair brushing against his thighs, and took his cock in my hand. It was hot and heavy, the velvety skin stretched taut over his hardness. I stroked him slowly, from base to tip, my thumb spreading the bead of pre-come that gathered there. I lowered my head and swirled my tongue around the head, tasting the salty, masculine flavour of him.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and his fingers inside me curled, hitting a spot that made me see stars. I took him deeper into my mouth, setting a rhythm that matched the motion of his hand between my legs. We filled the room with the sounds of our pleasure—my soft moans, his harsh breaths, the wet, slick sounds of our bodies.
I was so close, so lost in the sensation, that I didn’t think. I shifted my weight, pressing down harder on his hand to get his fingers deeper, and in doing so, my knee came down hard on his thigh.
“Oof!” he grunted, a sharp, involuntary sound of pain.
The sound was like a splash of ice water. The spell was broken.
Alistair froze. His fingers, which had been driving me to the brink of ecstasy, stopped completely. He blinked once, twice. The fog in his whiskey-coloured eyes began to clear, replaced by a dawning, terrifying clarity. He looked down at his hand, still buried inside me, then up at my face, flushed and contorted with pleasure.
“Eleanor?” he said. His voice was no longer flat or distant. It was his voice. Deep, questioning, and laced with an authority that had been utterly absent a moment ago. “What the fuck?”
Panic, cold, sharp, and utterly paralysing, seized my chest. My breath hitched, a sudden wave of icy dread washing over my euphoria as I realised just how naked, exposed, and entirely vulnerable I now was beneath him. I tried to scramble off him, desperate to retreat, but his other hand shot out, clamping down on my hip like a steel trap, holding me firmly in place.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he growled. His gaze dropped from my face to the silver locket resting between my breasts. He stared at it for a long, silent moment. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. “A focus stone. Did you really think you could hypnotize me with a parlour trick?”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, my body trembling violently with a mixture of raw fear, humiliation, and a lingering, shameful arousal.
“Don’t you?” He leaned in, his face inches from mine. “You brought me up here. Dangle your little trinket. You wanted me under your control.” He slowly, deliberately, curled his fingers inside me, making me gasp. “Well, you had your moment, Eleanor. But the trance is over. And now it’s my turn.”
He withdrew his fingers, and I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped us over, pinning me beneath him. His weight was delicious, his body a hard, hot cage of muscle. He settled between my thighs, his cock nudging at my entrance.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
I was helpless, caught in the snare of my making. “You,” I breathed, the word a desperate plea. “I want you inside me.”
He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound. “Good answer.” He thrust forward, sinking into me in one slow, deep thrust that stole the air from my lungs. He filled me completely, stretching me in a way that was both a shock and a homecoming. There was no gentleness, only a raw, primal taking that I met with an equally desperate need.
“You wanted to be in charge,” he growled against my ear, his teeth nipping at my earlobe. “You wanted to break the rules.” He began to move, his strokes hard and deliberate, each one pushing me deeper into the mattress, claiming me completely. “Well, so do I.”
My nails dug into his shoulders, my body arching to meet his powerful rhythm. The fantasy I’d so carefully constructed was gone, incinerated by the white-hot reality of him. This wasn’t a pliant puppet; this was Alistair, and he was fucking me with a possessive fury that was more intoxicating than any trance I could have ever woven.
He hooked his arms under my knees, lifting my legs, pressing them back until they were nearly against my chest. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, hitting a place inside me that made my vision blur. The sounds coming from my throat were unrecognizable, desperate cries of pleasure that mingled with the slap of skin on skin and his guttural groans.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough with exertion.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. The man I had lusted after, the man I had tried to control, was now staring down at me with an intensity that made my whole body tremble. His face was a mask of raw desire, his jaw tight, a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“You feel that?” he grunted, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust. “That’s me taking what you offered. That’s me taking control.”
I could only moan in response, my body tightening around him as the tension coiled in my belly, winding tighter and tighter. He reached between us, his thumb finding my clit, rubbing it in tight, merciless circles. That was all it took.
The orgasm that ripped through me was violent and absolute. I screamed his name, my body convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. My inner muscles clamped down around him, and he followed me over the edge a moment later with a hoarse shout, his body shuddering as he poured himself into me.
He collapsed on top of me, his weight a welcome anchor in the aftermath of the storm. We lay there for a long time, our ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. The city glittered silently outside the window, a witness to my fallen plan and my spectacular, unexpected surrender.
Finally, he rolled off me, but immediately pulled me into his arms, tucking me against his side. He played with a strand of my hair, his touch now gentle, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before.
“So,” he said, his voice back to its normal, resonant tone. “What happens tomorrow? Back in the office?”
I tensed, the anxiety of Monday morning crashing down on me alongside the reality of what I’d done. “I… I don’t know. I’m sorry, I…”
He silenced me with a soft, lingering kiss. “No office romances,” he said, a wry note in his voice. “But this… this wasn’t an office romance. This was a business trip. And I believe our business here is just getting started.” He shifted, his hardening cock pressing against my hip. “In fact,” he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck, “I think we have some… overtime… to log.”
