Office Submission

A dominant enforces submission by compelling a former authority figure to sexually dominate a disciplined subordinate, demonstrating control and cementing psychological ownership.

  • Score 8.2 (6 votes)
  • 306 Readers
  • 2085 Words
  • 9 Min Read

At noon, sunlight, warm and forgiving, spilling through Simon’s pristine penthouse windows. Dean stretched lazily in a plush armchair, the scent of expensive coffee mingling with the faint ozone of the city far below. Across from him, Simon nursed his own cup. The rigid tension of the earlier period had softened into a weary, almost shell-shocked resignation. His usually impeccable, silver-streaked dark hair was dishevelled, falling across his forehead, utterly at odds with his polished authority. A robe of deep crimson silk hung open carelessly after the morning event, revealing his mature, powerful frame—a torso still visibly defined beneath a dense mat of dark chest hair that trailed down over a flat stomach. His muscular thighs hinted beneath the silk, testament to discreet trainers and controlled power now visibly unspooling.

Adam, quieter than usual, perched on the edge of the sofa opposite Dean. He put back his simple charcoal trousers and a crisp white dress shirt stretched taut across his muscular physique—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and powerful arms maintained through disciplined routine. His short, neat salt-and-pepper hair gleamed in the morning light, but his observant eyes, usually masked by professional neutrality, flickered towards Dean with a mix of residual awe and dawning comprehension. The frantic energy, the desperate power plays, the shattering of their established worlds – it all lay submerged beneath the calm surface of this shared morning. Dean orchestrated the casual conversation, a low murmur about inconsequential things – the market’s opening, the view, the quality of the beans – his ease a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere still clinging to Simon and Adam like invisible dust. It was a performance of normalcy, a deliberate pause in the game he now controlled absolutely, allowing his two pieces to absorb the magnitude of their surrender in the gentle light of day.

The hours drifted by with deceptive tranquillity. They ordered lunch, the clinking of cutlery the only significant sound against the hum of the climate control. Dean moved through Simon’s domain with an unsettling familiarity, helping himself to the bar, flicking through a coffee-table book on art deco architecture. Simon watched him, the complex tangle of resentment, fascination, and profound fatigue etched onto his aristocratic features contrasting sharply with his dishevelled state and open robe. Adam mainly remained silent, a coiled spring in his sharp shirt and trousers, observing the predator at rest, processing the irrevocable shift in their dynamic. Dean’s relaxation wasn’t idle; it was the stillness of a panther after the kill, supremely confident. He saw the cracks in Simon’s polished facade, the hunger for direction warring with humiliation in Adam’s eyes. The ruins of their former world weren’t physical; they were internal, psychological landscapes he now surveyed with detached satisfaction. The shared submission cemented in the moonlight bound them tighter than any contract, and Dean savoured the quiet hum of his victory throughout the long, sunlit afternoon.

As the sun dipped below the skyline, painting the penthouse in long, amber shadows, the enforced calm of the day began to fray at the edges. Simon’s attempts at conversation grew more strained, the crimson silk robe gaping further as he gestured with uncharacteristic agitation. Adam’s stillness within his formal attire grew edged with nervous energy. Dean felt the subtle shift, the undercurrents resurfacing as daylight waned. He rose languidly, stretching the casual power that radiated from him even in repose, and drifted towards the commanding Chesterfield sofa. The city lights began to wink on below, mirroring the rekindling tension in the room. The interlude was over. The memory of the previous night, of their shattered facades and absolute capitulation, pressed in as darkness reclaimed the space. Dean knew the time for passive observation had passed. The web, spun in the crucible of their submission, was complete and taut. The game was unequivocally his. With a deliberate, unhurried motion, he sank back against the buttery leather of the sofa, the moonlight once again streaming through the vast windows to find him exactly where he intended to be – the calm center, watching the Pillar and the Sentinel in their states of disarray and tension, amidst the ruins of their former world, bound together now only by their shared submission to the Unconscious Catalyst. The web was complete. The game was his, and he knew what to do next.

Dean reclined against the buttery leather of Simon’s Chesterfield sofa, his naturally athletic frame—honed by casual basketball, not obsessive training, relaxed yet radiating latent authority. Moonlight streamed through the penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows over the two men standing rigidly before him: Simon Kensington-Morley, 50, the Pillar of Power Undone, and Adam Price, 35, the Silent Sentinel Craving Command.

Simon’s silver-streaked dark hair was dishevelled, falling across his forehead in a way utterly alien to his usual polished authority. He wore a robe of deep crimson silk hanging open carelessly, revealing his mature frame—a powerful torso still visibly defined beneath a dense mat of dark chest hair that trailed down over a flat stomach. His muscular thighs hinted beneath the silk, testament to discreet trainers and controlled power now visibly unspooling. Adam, meanwhile, stood in simple charcoal trousers and a crisp white dress shirt stretched taut across his muscular physique—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and powerful arms maintained through disciplined routine. His short, neat salt-and-pepper hair gleamed under the low light, and his observant eyes, usually masked by professional neutrality, flickered between Dean and Simon like a trapped animal.

“Simon,” Dean’s voice cut through the silence, low and resonant. “I want you to fuck Adam.”

Simon flinched, his mature, handsome face paling. “Dean, I—”

Now,” Dean interrupted, his unnervingly intense hazel eyes locking onto Simon’s. “Adam’s pleasure is your sole focus. I’ll guide you.” He nodded toward Adam, whose powerful jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. “He’s earned it. And you… You need to prove you can serve my will.”

Simon swallowed audibly, his gaze darting to Adam. The butler’s ramrod-straight posture faltered almost imperceptibly, a flush creeping up his neck. After a charged silence, Simon gave a stiff nod.

“Good,” Dean purred. “Strip. Both of you.”

Simon moved first, fingers trembling as they fumbled with the silk belt. The robe slipped from his broad shoulders, pooling at his feet like spilled wine. He stood naked, exposed in the heart of his domain: powerful torso fully revealed, dense chest hair covering his pectorals, trailing down to his groin. His cock was half-hard—a betrayal of his conflicted state. Lines of exhaustion marked his face, but his eyes burned with dark hunger.

Adam followed, movements jerky at first, then shifting into resigned efficiency. He unbuttoned the white shirt with strong, capable hands—hands that could disarm, subdue, protect—revealing the defined planes of his chest: hard pectorals, a ridged abdomen honed by disciplined routine, dusted with minimal body hair. Visible scars—a pale slice along his ribs, a puckered mark on his flank—spoke silently of a past in military or high-level security. He pushed his trousers down, stepping out of them, standing naked beside his former master. His muscular physique was imposing, yet laid bare and vulnerable. His cock, thick and flushed, stood rigidly erect—undeniable proof of his body’s surrender to Dean’s command.

Dean surveyed them: the Pillar of Power Undone and the Silent Sentinel Craving Command, both trembling slightly in the cool air. The contrast was devastating—Simon’s mature, hairy authority laid low; Adam’s scarred, disciplined strength disarmed.

“Simon,” Dean commanded, pointing to the floor before Adam. “Knees. Prepare him.”

Simon dropped to his knees with a grace undermined by the tremor in his limbs. His gaze fixed on Adam’s cock—thick and demanding—before shifting to Dean for confirmation. At Dean’s nod, Simon’s calloused hands (from years of golf and sailing, not labour) settled on Adam’s hips. He leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the base of Adam’s shaft.

Adam gasped, his powerful frame tensing. His observant eyes flew to Dean’s face, seeking permission, reassurance, something. Dean held his gaze, a silent command: Submit.

Simon’s tongue darted out, tracing the thick vein along Adam’s length before taking the head into his mouth. Adam shuddered, a low groan escaping him as Simon sucked with increasing confidence, hollowing his cheeks. Dean watched Adam’s disciplined mask fracture, replaced by dazed arousal, shame, and the latent desire Dean had ignited. Simon’s hands gripped Adam’s muscular thighs, steadying himself as he took him deeper, throat working to accommodate him.

“Look at him, Adam,” Dean murmured, stroking his own cock through his faded jeans. “Your CEO. On his knees for you. Does that satisfy your loyalty? Or does it terrify you?”

Adam whimpered around the sensation, his broad shoulders shaking. Simon moaned, the vibration wringing another gasp from Adam.

“Enough,” Dean ordered. Simon pulled back instantly, lips swollen, chin glistening. “Stand up. Bend him over the sofa.”

Simon rose, helping Adam turn toward the massive, low-slung sofa facing the windows. Adam moved with silent efficiency, bending forward until his hands braced against the backrest, his firm, muscular ass presented—vulnerable. Simon positioned himself behind Adam, his cock nudging Adam’s entrance.

“Fingers first,” Dean instructed, rising to stand behind Simon. He placed a guiding hand on Simon’s lower back, feeling the dense mat of dark hair beneath his palm. “Open him for me.”

Simon obeyed, slicking two fingers before pressing one against Adam’s tight ring of muscle. Adam hissed, his knuckles whitening on the sofa.

“Relax,” Dean commanded Adam, his voice brooking no argument. “You take orders. Take this.”

Adam forced a shuddering breath, muscles yielding as Simon’s finger breached him. Simon worked patiently, scissoring, stretching, his other hand gripping Adam’s hip. When he crooked his fingers, Adam cried out, back arching. “There!

Dean smirked. “See? He knows what he needs.” He guided Simon’s other hand to Adam’s cock. “Keep him hard. Now I want you to fuck him… push in.”

Simon lined up, pressing forward steadily. Adam tensed, a choked gasp muffled against the leather. Dean watched the stretch, the way Adam’s powerful thighs trembled, the sweat beading on his salt-and-pepper hair at his temples.

“Deeper,” Dean urged, his hand tightening on Simon’s shoulder. “Own him.”

Simon thrust fully sheathed, drawing a ragged moan from Adam. Dean guided Simon’s rhythm—slow, deep rolls of his hips that soon had Adam pushing back, meeting each stroke. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mingling with guttural moans.

“Faster,” Dean commanded. Simon obeyed, his thrusts growing urgent, driving Adam into the sofa. Adam’s moans escalated—raw, unfiltered sounds Dean had never heard from the stoic butler. “Harder! Make him feel who’s fucking him!”

Simon slammed into Adam, his own powerful torso straining, sweat darkening his chest hair. Adam’s hand fisted in the sofa cushion, his other reaching back to clutch Simon’s hip, pulling him closer.

“Please!” Adam begged, voice shattered. “Simon… fuck—!”

Dean circled them, his gaze raking over the tableau: Simon’s mature frame dominating Adam’s disciplined build, the scars on Adam’s flank stark in the moonlight, Simon’s silver-streaked hair plastered to his forehead. He gripped Adam’s jaw, forcing his head up. “Who does he belong to, Adam?”

“Y-you… Dean,” Adam gasped, tears streaking his cheeks.

“And who gives him permission to fuck you?”

You!”

Dean released him, nodding at Simon. “Make him come.”

Simon’s hand tightened on Adam’s cock, stroking roughly in time with his thrusts. Adam’s body bowed, a guttural roar tearing from him as he came untouched, spilling over Simon’s hand and the pristine leather. Simon followed seconds later, hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside Adam with a choked sob.

They collapsed against the sofa, Simon draped over Adam’s heaving back, both trembling. Dean approached, his shadow falling over them. He gripped Simon’s hair, pulling him off Adam. Simon slumped to the floor, dazed.

Dean stood before Adam, who still braced against the sofa, breathing raggedly. He unzipped his faded jeans, freeing his thick, flushed cock. “Clean him off,” he ordered Adam, nodding at Simon’s spent body.

Adam hesitated only a second before sinking to his knees. He leaned over Simon, his tongue sweeping over Simon’s stomach, gathering the cooling semen with silent efficiency. Simon whimpered, too spent to protest.

“Now me,” Dean commanded.

Adam shuffled forward on his knees, his mouth closing over Dean’s cock with practised skill, honed not from desire, but from disciplined observation and repurposed for Dean. Dean groaned, thrusting shallowly into that warm, wet heat, watching Adam’s observant eyes fixed on his face, seeking approval.

When Dean cum, it was with a low snarl, fingers tangled in Adam’s short, neat hair. He marked Adam’s throat, then hauled him up, smearing the mess across Adam’s cheekbone, mirroring Simon’s earlier mark.

“You belong to me,” Dean stated, his voice echoing in the vast space. He traced the streak on Adam’s face, then looked at Simon’s prone form. “Both of you. Remember it.” He zipped his jeans. “Adam. Clean Simon up. Put him to bed.”

As Adam moved to obey, Dean stood at the window, watching the city lights. The Unconscious Catalyst surveyed his conquests: the Pillar broken, the Sentinel collared, bound only by their shared submission. The web was complete.

Report
What did you think of this story?
Share Story

In This Story