The Bosses New Toy

Chapter 1: Revelations

For some people this would be inconceivable. For others it's a deep fantasy they hold onto for years. I was definitely that second category. I was pretty good a keeping my more intense desires under lock and key.

I was 22, about 6ish months out of college life. I got a decent internship at a law firm, I didn't get benefits but hey I was getting paid. Technically I had 3 bosses that were in partnership, but in practice only one of them acted like my boss. We were friendly, formal but friendly. I only ever called her Ms. Frost, she wasn't much of a first name person.

All that set up is so you understand how I ended up at a bar, celebrating a huge case win. I didn't have any direct involvement but I was still dragged along. I drank very little compared to my colleagues, but I was definitely susceptible.

I was my lonesome when Ms. Frost decided to lean in, her voice cutting through the roar of the celebration. "You look like you're ready to go, and frankly so am I," she said, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene of spilled gin and loud laughter with a subtle flicker of distaste. "How about we slip out and have ourselves a real drink at my place? Far away from the noise."

I foolishly agreed. She drove, apparently she hadn't been drinking like at all, and I spent the 5-minute ride in a state of oscillating panic and adrenaline. Her home was a modernist fortress of concrete and glass tucked away in the hills, the kind of place that made you feel like you should be wearing a tuxedo just to stand in the driveway. Inside, the silence was so heavy it felt physical.

She poured me and herself fancy looking white wine in even more expensive looking glasses. "So you've been with us close to half a year now, and yet I feel like I barely know the person in front of me," she said, leaning back against a white marble countertop. She wasn't looking at me, but rather at the reflection of the room in the window.

I gave her a pretty bog standard answer. Oh I grew up with two loving parents, I moved away from home, miss a couple of thing, found a couple new things. The standard corporate-safe biography. I was playing it safe, treating the conversation like a deposition where the goal was to provide no incriminating evidence of my own awkwardness. I waited for the inevitable pivot back to the case win or my filing speed, but Ms. Frost didn't pivot the conversation that way. In fact things got rather romantic.

I know it sounds crazy, but when your frankly smoking silver fox of boss starts making moves, you don't think "oh god I could get fired". One thing led to another, and eventually I found myself lying on her bed. She was over top of me, I always did prefer it that way, and the chemistry was just off the charts. We had this kind of rhythm, this flow to our movements, that felt like we had been doing this for years.

My arms were above my head, being held in place by Ms. Frost. Then I felt a sharp tug and it dawned on me. She wasn't pinning my wrist down, she was tying me up with nice quality rope. It was the kind of rope that was frankly comfortable. Once she knew I couldn't fight back, she sat up, all her weight on my waist. I wanted to say something only for my slacked jaw to be met with a ball gag.

She plucked my glasses off my face and everything went out of focus. "I might have lied, I do know or a thing or two about you," she whispered, her voice now devoid of that corporate rigidity. Now it was more sultry, more raw. Her nail twisted my shirt as she spoke. "I know about the kind of porn you jerk off too, how you keep loading online shopping carts with womens clothes only to delete them the second you hit the checkout page, and the way you look at my heels when you think I'm not paying attention."

Oh fuck.

"But you know the best part?" She asked, which frankly was rhetorical because I couldn't speak. "You're exactly my favorite kind of project."

She didn't immediately dive back in. Instead she climbed off the bed, grabbing another length of rope. I could feel her coiling it around my left ankle. "So here's the deal," she murmured, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous bedroom. "I'll give you everything you want, a domineering partner, feminization, the thrill of being completely helpless. In return I ask that you willing submit." She pulled my leg taught.

Before continuing she moved and started coiling rope around my free leg. "I'm not forcing you hand here, you're a grown man," she murmured, though the ball gag made any form of verbal consent an impossibility. "You can say no, I'll respect that, and you can walk back to your car right now. But we both know you won't." To prove her point, she gave the ankle loop a firm, sharp tug that pulled my leg out. Now I was basically an upside down Y, with my legs spread wide and my arms pinned. The vulnerability was absolute, a physical weight that matched the silence of the house.

She got back up on the bed and strattled my hips. "So whats the verdict." She said pulling the ball gag out of my mouth. The sudden rush of air felt like a cold shock to my system. I tried to speak, but my voice was a pathetic, cracked version of itself. I managed to mutter a "if I say yes, what do you expect?"

"Expectations are for the office," she murmured, her thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a lightness that contrasted the heavy constraints of the rope. "Here, I have little expectations, only that you listen and remember who's in charge. You're a smart young woman I'm sure you could figure it out."

That was distinctly the first time anyone had called me a woman, and it felt good, like brain scratching in a place I hadn't known existed. The word didn't feel like a tease or a prank; it felt like she had just read a secret written in a language only the two of us spoke. I tried to swallow, but my throat was as tight as the ropes around my wrists. I didn't want her to let me go. I didn't even want to know how she'd found out about my browser history; the fact that she had looked, and more importantly, that she didn't find it pathetic, was a level of intimacy I wasn't prepared for.

"What would you like me to call you." I sheepishly asked, turning my head to the side as her thumb continued its slow, rhythmic exploration of my jawline. The power dynamic had shifted from a professional hierarchy to something far more visceral, and the air in the room felt thick, charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

"Honestly I like the way you call me Ms. Frost," she whispered, her voice vibrating against my skin. "It keeps the boundary clear. However I'm more curious as to what you'd like to be called."

"I don't know."

"That's okay, eventually you'll just know it when it hits. So is that a yes?"

"Yes Ms. Frost."

"Good girl, now stay still," she commanded, which wasn't hard given the current state of my limbs. She slid off me with a fluid grace and walked toward a large, mahogany wardrobe that looked like it belonged in a museum. The sound of the heavy doors opening echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable rustle of fabric. I lay there, my heart hammering against my ribs, wondering if the "project" part of her plan involved a wardrobe change or something more permanent.

She returned with a thin black choker and a small box of press on nails in a soft, iridescent pearl.