Acts of Submission

Chapter 5

Snow washed her hands, trying to scrub away the phantom scent of ink and s*x. She exited the bathroom and walked back to her desk. Every movement of her arms rubbed the fabric against her tender breasts, reminding her of the word written there. She sat down, the ache between her legs unbearable. She was an admin clerk. She was professional. She was efficient. And she was owned.

Snow breathed out, feeling the heaviness on her chest even though it just an ink. She tried to freshen up but she still looks messy, desperate even. She sighed, theres no use. She already is, so she just continued her work feeling her p***y throbbed and drip every second that passed.

Shes sat at her desk, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, but the reports on her screen might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. Her mind had vacated the premises hours ago, hijacked by a dark, predatory presence that lived in her phone and whispered commands into her ear. The word "owned" was seared into her skin, hidden beneath her sensible blouse, a brand that burned with every breath she took. But the physical mark was nothing compared to the psychological cage she had willingly stepped into.

Her mind drifted, untethered from reality, slipping into the fantasy that had been playing on a loop in her head since the message came through. She didn't see the grey walls of the office or the rows of filing cabinets. She saw him. She saw the Anonymous Man. In her mind, he wasn't a faceless avatar anymore; he was a towering figure in a bespoke suit, the fabric dark and expensive enough to strangle her. He was standing right behind her chair, his presence suffocating, smelling of sandalwood and cold authority.

Snow, he called her but her mind immediately thought of other words.

Slut, w***e, b***h, Cumdump. The names sent chills over her spine. She hummed for anticipation. Her body even arched as if she was being possesed.

But her mind carried on. She imagined his hand settling on her shoulder, heavy and possessive, before sliding up to wrap around her throat. It wasn't a gentle caress; it was a claim. His fingers would dig into the soft flesh of her neck, pressing just hard enough to restrict the flow of air, to make her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird. She wouldn't pull away. She would melt back into him, tilting her head to expose more of her vulnerability, offering her life up to his grip.

"You thin you can hide from me?" the fantasy him whispered against her ear, his breath hot and mocking. "I can smell you. I can smell that wet desperate cunt of yours dipping all over your office chair. Im surprised you havent humped on it. Because thats what desperate sluts like you, do."

Snow squeezed her thighs together under the desk, a pathetic attempt to stem the flood of arousal that soaked her panties. The friction was delicious but nowhere near enough. She imagined him spinning the chair around, forcing her to her knees on the rough carpet. She would look up at him, eyes wide and wet, her mouth open in a silent plea. He wouldn't kiss her. He wouldn't touch her gently. He would grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head back, arching her spine until it hurt.

"Bend over," the phantom voice commanded. "Show me what belongs to me."

In her mind, she was bent over the desk, her cheek pressed against the cool wood, her ass high in the air. She wasn't the admin clerk anymore; she was a vessel, a toy for his amusement. She imagined the cool air hitting her exposed skin before the sharp, stinging impact of his hand came down on her ass. The slap would echo through the office, shocking and loud, marking her as his property. He wouldn't stop at one. He would spank her until her skin was burning red, until she was whimpering and grinding her hips against the desk, seeking more pain, more friction, more anything to relieve the ache between her legs.

She could almost feel the phantom sting, the heat radiating from her imaginary cheeks. She imagined him spitting on her, the saliva hitting her puckered hole, degrading her, lubing her up for the taking. He would tease her, running the tip of his c**k along her slit, coating himself in her juices, but he wouldn't enter. Not yet. That would be too easy. He wanted to break her first.

"Please," she whispered, the word slipping from her lips before she could catch it. The woman in the next cubicle shuffled some papers, but didn't look up. Snow flushed, the shame burning hotter than the fantasy, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

In her mind, he had her by the hips, his grip bruising. "Beg for it." he demanded. "Beg for me to ruin you."

"Snow?" Agatha, a co worker called her and her imagination completely shut.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah?" She stood up and straightened her skirt and walk together with her. She fanned herself feeling all hot and red until they came to their mini conference room.

"There they are!" Her boss, Sharon greeted them as they walked in while a man in a casual suit eyed Agatha and specifically Snow.

"Agatha and Snow will be the one assisting you for your store opening." Sharon beamed at them and Snow just nodded. And as her movements got more big. A little of her inked breast got shown, but she moved fast hoping that no one saw.

Until she looked at the man in front of her. He was completely eyeing her. He smirks like he just won a prize. What is his problem?! Snow got frustrated and crossed her arms

"Im sorry sir, but Im afraid we didnt catch your name." Agatha asked and offered a handshake. Which the man accept showing his forearms and a tattoo. A tattoo so familiar, she saw it last night with a bulging hard on.

"Marcus Calloway."