I´ve been wanting to write something involving some kinks like CMNM, voyeur, exhibition, domination.
Here´s an introduction to what this may lead to. It´s a slow burn, hope you are patient.
The full-time assistant
CHAPTER 1
It was one of those slow nights at the hotel bar where I worked. I had been there for a year, and I’d met all kinds of people. But nothing had prepared me for what happened that night. Right in the middle of the bar sat a man who commanded attention—Dominic Bennett. He was in his mid-forties, with an imposing presence that seemed to fill the room. His dark hair, streaked with gray, framed a strong jawline adorned with a well-trimmed beard. He wore an expensive suit that accentuated his fit, broad shoulders, and exuded an air of confidence that drew the eye.
As I dried glasses behind the bar, I noticed him down his fourth glass of scotch, and when the empty glass hit the counter, I approached.
"Rough night?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He shrugged, his gaze steady. "I've had worse," he replied, pushing the glass toward me for a refill.
I wasn’t as skilled at reading people as the more experienced bartenders, but I could sense something beneath the surface. He looked like a businessman—maybe a meeting hadn’t gone as expected, or perhaps an investor had backed out. I didn’t think it was a problem with a lady; even as a straight guy, I could tell he was undeniably attractive.
"Do you have a room here?" I asked while refilling his glass, trying to make some small talk. His gaze shifted to me, lingering—assessing. I wasn’t trying to imply anything; I just wanted to make sure he didn’t have to drive after drinking so much. "I mean… are you sure you want another?"
Without a word, he reached under his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and slid a hundred-dollar bill across the bar. I hesitated for a second before shrugging and pouring him a double. As I walked away, I heard him chuckle.
"My assistant quit," he said suddenly, downing half the glass in one go.
I raised an eyebrow. "That’s a new one," I said. "I’ve seen people drink over breakups, getting fired… but losing an assistant?"
"Couldn’t handle it."
"Too much pressure?"
"Nah…" He shook his head. "I think my requests were fairly reasonable."
"Maybe it was the money," I offered, though judging by the size of his tip, that didn’t seem likely.
"Money has never been the problem," he stated firmly.
I nodded. "Maybe he didn’t feel qualified. You know, like impostor syndrome? Sometimes you get in your head and sabotage yourself."
He shook his head. "More like a moral issue."
"I see… that kind of work, huh?" I wasn’t judging, but I could understand why someone wouldn’t want to do something illegal.
He chuckled again. "And yet, you were willing to let me drown in alcohol for a tip."
"You wanted privacy," I said simply.
"Depends on the point of view." His smirk was subtle but deliberate. "What else are you willing to do for a tip?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on me, his attention unnervingly sharp.
I hesitated for a moment. I’d had plenty of sexual offers during my time as a bartender—from men and women—but this didn’t feel quite the same.
"Look, man… I appreciate it, but I don’t do that."
I’d had offers before. Once, I went home with a customer—a mature woman, good-looking, big breasts. But the night ended with me trying to calm her down as she sobbed about cheating on her husband. Not exactly worth it.
"I don’t want you to suck my dick," he said plainly. "I just want to know if you’d follow orders for a nice tip."
I hesitated. He didn’t want sex… so what the hell did he want? "You mean like… kill someone?" I asked, only half-joking.
Dominic laughed. "See? That’s what I’m talking about. I’m not asking for the moon here."
I was still confused when he reached into his pocket and pulled out another crisp hundred-dollar bill, placing it on the counter. "Do you want this?"
It took me a moment to answer. I nodded. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, more intrigued than willing.
He shrugged, as if thinking on the spot. "I don’t know… uhm… what about you sell me your underwear?"
I blinked. "My underwear?"
"Yeah. Your underwear."
"You mean the ones I’m wearing right now?"
He nodded.
I let out a dry laugh. "You want me to go to the restroom, take them off, and sell them to you?"
"Oh, no," he said smoothly. "I want them right now. Take off your shoes, pull your pants down, take off your underwear, and put them here." He tapped the counter.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "You’re kidding, right?"
He sipped the last of his drink, eyes locked on me, completely unfazed. I glanced around—the bar was nearly empty. No one nearby. Then my gaze dropped to the hundred-dollar bill.
I’d been struggling with money. It was tempting.
I let out a slow breath. It wouldn’t be the first time I undressed quickly—I’d stripped in record time before when bringing a girl home. This wasn’t that different… right?
Toeing off my shoes, I unbuckled my belt, pushed my pants and underwear down, and stepped out of them. The blast of cold air from the AC hit my bare ass, making me tense. My instinct was to pull my pants up immediately, but Dominic held up a hand.
"Underwear first."
I exhaled sharply, grabbed my boxer briefs, and set them on the bar. My pulse hammered as I glanced around, checking for witnesses. Still no one. I yanked my pants back up, tucked in my shirt, and breathed a little easier—adrenaline still rushing through me.
Dominic picked up the underwear, nodding approvingly, that smirk still on his face. For a second, I thought he’d do something weird—smell them, maybe—but instead, he neatly folded them and tucked them into his jacket pocket.
I took the hundred-dollar bill and slipped it into my pocket—the easiest tip I had ever earned. And that was the moment I stepped onto the path of my own surrender. I was a 23-year-old college dropout, juggling two jobs—bartender by night, personal trainer by day—just trying to make ends meet.
Dominic Bennett introduced himself, extending his hand—the same one he’d just used to grab my boxer briefs.
"I’m Connor," I said, taking it. His grip was firm, unwavering.
"Nice to meet you, Connor," he said before sliding off the barstool. "I guess I’m done here."
"You want me to call you a cab?" I offered.
"There’s no need." He stood there for a moment, then added, "And just in case you’re interested in the assistant position… I’ll be in room 1069. Feel free to knock when your shift is over."
It was the strangest job offer I’d ever received… well, technically, I’d never really received a job offer before. I was usually the one asking for the opportunity.
That’s why, despite all my doubts, I pressed the button for the elevator.
Walking down the quiet hallway, I stopped in front of the door to room 1069. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and knocked.
A moment later, Dominic opened the door. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew I’d come.
"I’m glad you came, Connor," he said smoothly. "Come in."
I stepped inside, taking in the luxury I’d never had the chance to experience before. The room was spacious, with a king-sized bed in the center, a sleek desk, and a massive flat-screen TV.
"Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward the bed.
I hesitated before sitting on the edge of it. Dominic, meanwhile, settled into the chair at the desk, watching me with quiet amusement.
"Forgive my manners! Do you want something to drink?" Dominic asked as he got up and walked toward the minibar. "You can drink, right? Your shift is over…"
"I’m fine, thanks." I stayed perched on the edge of the bed, feeling a little anxious about this supposed job interview.
"Just so you know, you’d be allowed to drink while working for me," he said, pouring himself a glass. Then, as he turned back to me, he added with a smirk, "…sometimes. When I allow it."
"Yeah… about that," I interjected. "What exactly are you expecting from me as your assistant? I mean, I dropped out of college. I have no experience other than bartending or guiding people through a gym. I don’t even know what line of work you’re in."
"Well, that’s the good part," Dominic said, settling comfortably into his chair. "You don’t need a degree to follow orders."
I frowned slightly, but he continued.
"I’ve had plenty of highly qualified and even overqualified assistants, and I’ve realized that was my mistake—trying to mold them into what I truly want."
"And what exactly is it that you want?"
He fell silent for a moment, letting the question hang in the air. The pause felt deliberate, almost like he was sizing me up.
Taking a slow sip from his glass, he finally said, "Connor, having power… it changes a man. It’s given me a particular appetite—for dominance."
"Dominance?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," he said, leaning forward slightly. "A hunger to make others do as I say."
I let out a short chuckle. "So why not just hire, I don’t know, a prostitute, if that’s what gets you off?"
His expression darkened slightly, but not with anger—more like amusement. "Because I don’t want a whore, Connor. The kind of dominance I crave goes far beyond barking a few orders and hearing some call boy pretend he likes it while moaning… ugh… ‘daddy.’"
I smirked at that. "And you think hiring a personal assistant and expecting him to agree to all that is the solution?"
Dominic exhaled, shaking his head. "I’ll give you that, Connor. That’s been my mistake. And it’s cost me a few legal fees to avoid getting sued."
"So… you want me to do everything you say. But what if I don’t like it? What if I don’t want to do something? What if it’s too much for me?"
Dominic tilted his head slightly, watching me with that unreadable expression. "Like undressing at your current job just to sell me your underwear?"
I didn’t answer. My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing.
He smirked. "I think you have potential, Connor. And this will be gradual. You can always walk away if it’s too much." He took another sip of his drink before adding, "Which, of course, I wouldn’t want you to. So… I’ll go slow."
To be honest, it felt weird—but also, somehow, appealing. It was easy money, and I had a million questions.
"What happens if I say yes? I mean… when would I start? Do I have to go to your office? Is it a normal work shift? And… would you pay me every time you give an order? Before or after?"
Dominic chuckled, clearly amused. He knew he had me. "Take it easy, Connor." He leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same knowing smirk. "Like I said, we’ll take it slow. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made before. You’ll be on probation—so you can decide if this is for you… and I can determine if you’re fit for the position."
Dominic stood up and clapped his hands together—a clear signal that the meeting was over. I startled slightly before getting up as well.
"I want you to think this through properly," he said. "So, you’ll stay here."
"Here?" I glanced around the luxury room, confused.
"Yes. Get comfortable. Order room service. Use the bathtub. And tomorrow, I’ll send someone to pick you up."
"I have work tomorrow," I said instinctively.
"Oh, right…" He sighed, clearly displeased by the inconvenience of my other commitments. "The gym thing. What time should my driver pick you up?"
"There’s no need," I started, but the sharp look he gave me made it clear that wasn’t an option. I corrected myself. "Uh… nine. I need to go home and change first."
"I’ll send something for you to wear," he said dismissively. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, "Now. Give me your clothes."
"My clothes?"
"Yes. You’ve been working in them all night." He tilted his head slightly. "You’ve slept naked before, haven’t you?" Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, "If you’re shy, there’s a robe in the bathroom… though I doubt that’s the case, considering how quickly you dropped your pants at the bar."
His smirk made my stomach flip, but I didn’t argue. I stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Sure enough, a white robe hung neatly on the wall. But my eyes were drawn to something else.
Right beside the sink, laid out in plain view, were my boxer briefs—the ones I had sold him. The fabric was soaked, an unmistakable stain darkening the front. He had jerked off all over them.
A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Disgusted? Flattered? Turned on? I swallowed hard, pushed the thought aside, and quickly undressed, wrapping the robe around myself. Then, stepping back into the room, I handed Dominic my clothes.
He took them without a word and walked toward the door.
Dominic turned back and said, "I left another tip on the nightstand, just for agreeing to come over. I hope it's a nice incentive for you to consider being my… let’s not call it a personal assistant."
He paused, smirking.
"I’ll come up with something later."
And then he left, leaving me alone to think about my life-changing decision.
Here´s an introduction to what this may lead to. It´s a slow burn, hope you are patient.
The full-time assistant
CHAPTER 1
It was one of those slow nights at the hotel bar where I worked. I had been there for a year, and I’d met all kinds of people. But nothing had prepared me for what happened that night. Right in the middle of the bar sat a man who commanded attention—Dominic Bennett. He was in his mid-forties, with an imposing presence that seemed to fill the room. His dark hair, streaked with gray, framed a strong jawline adorned with a well-trimmed beard. He wore an expensive suit that accentuated his fit, broad shoulders, and exuded an air of confidence that drew the eye.
As I dried glasses behind the bar, I noticed him down his fourth glass of scotch, and when the empty glass hit the counter, I approached.
"Rough night?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He shrugged, his gaze steady. "I've had worse," he replied, pushing the glass toward me for a refill.
I wasn’t as skilled at reading people as the more experienced bartenders, but I could sense something beneath the surface. He looked like a businessman—maybe a meeting hadn’t gone as expected, or perhaps an investor had backed out. I didn’t think it was a problem with a lady; even as a straight guy, I could tell he was undeniably attractive.
"Do you have a room here?" I asked while refilling his glass, trying to make some small talk. His gaze shifted to me, lingering—assessing. I wasn’t trying to imply anything; I just wanted to make sure he didn’t have to drive after drinking so much. "I mean… are you sure you want another?"
Without a word, he reached under his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and slid a hundred-dollar bill across the bar. I hesitated for a second before shrugging and pouring him a double. As I walked away, I heard him chuckle.
"My assistant quit," he said suddenly, downing half the glass in one go.
I raised an eyebrow. "That’s a new one," I said. "I’ve seen people drink over breakups, getting fired… but losing an assistant?"
"Couldn’t handle it."
"Too much pressure?"
"Nah…" He shook his head. "I think my requests were fairly reasonable."
"Maybe it was the money," I offered, though judging by the size of his tip, that didn’t seem likely.
"Money has never been the problem," he stated firmly.
I nodded. "Maybe he didn’t feel qualified. You know, like impostor syndrome? Sometimes you get in your head and sabotage yourself."
He shook his head. "More like a moral issue."
"I see… that kind of work, huh?" I wasn’t judging, but I could understand why someone wouldn’t want to do something illegal.
He chuckled again. "And yet, you were willing to let me drown in alcohol for a tip."
"You wanted privacy," I said simply.
"Depends on the point of view." His smirk was subtle but deliberate. "What else are you willing to do for a tip?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on me, his attention unnervingly sharp.
I hesitated for a moment. I’d had plenty of sexual offers during my time as a bartender—from men and women—but this didn’t feel quite the same.
"Look, man… I appreciate it, but I don’t do that."
I’d had offers before. Once, I went home with a customer—a mature woman, good-looking, big breasts. But the night ended with me trying to calm her down as she sobbed about cheating on her husband. Not exactly worth it.
"I don’t want you to suck my dick," he said plainly. "I just want to know if you’d follow orders for a nice tip."
I hesitated. He didn’t want sex… so what the hell did he want? "You mean like… kill someone?" I asked, only half-joking.
Dominic laughed. "See? That’s what I’m talking about. I’m not asking for the moon here."
I was still confused when he reached into his pocket and pulled out another crisp hundred-dollar bill, placing it on the counter. "Do you want this?"
It took me a moment to answer. I nodded. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, more intrigued than willing.
He shrugged, as if thinking on the spot. "I don’t know… uhm… what about you sell me your underwear?"
I blinked. "My underwear?"
"Yeah. Your underwear."
"You mean the ones I’m wearing right now?"
He nodded.
I let out a dry laugh. "You want me to go to the restroom, take them off, and sell them to you?"
"Oh, no," he said smoothly. "I want them right now. Take off your shoes, pull your pants down, take off your underwear, and put them here." He tapped the counter.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "You’re kidding, right?"
He sipped the last of his drink, eyes locked on me, completely unfazed. I glanced around—the bar was nearly empty. No one nearby. Then my gaze dropped to the hundred-dollar bill.
I’d been struggling with money. It was tempting.
I let out a slow breath. It wouldn’t be the first time I undressed quickly—I’d stripped in record time before when bringing a girl home. This wasn’t that different… right?
Toeing off my shoes, I unbuckled my belt, pushed my pants and underwear down, and stepped out of them. The blast of cold air from the AC hit my bare ass, making me tense. My instinct was to pull my pants up immediately, but Dominic held up a hand.
"Underwear first."
I exhaled sharply, grabbed my boxer briefs, and set them on the bar. My pulse hammered as I glanced around, checking for witnesses. Still no one. I yanked my pants back up, tucked in my shirt, and breathed a little easier—adrenaline still rushing through me.
Dominic picked up the underwear, nodding approvingly, that smirk still on his face. For a second, I thought he’d do something weird—smell them, maybe—but instead, he neatly folded them and tucked them into his jacket pocket.
I took the hundred-dollar bill and slipped it into my pocket—the easiest tip I had ever earned. And that was the moment I stepped onto the path of my own surrender. I was a 23-year-old college dropout, juggling two jobs—bartender by night, personal trainer by day—just trying to make ends meet.
Dominic Bennett introduced himself, extending his hand—the same one he’d just used to grab my boxer briefs.
"I’m Connor," I said, taking it. His grip was firm, unwavering.
"Nice to meet you, Connor," he said before sliding off the barstool. "I guess I’m done here."
"You want me to call you a cab?" I offered.
"There’s no need." He stood there for a moment, then added, "And just in case you’re interested in the assistant position… I’ll be in room 1069. Feel free to knock when your shift is over."
It was the strangest job offer I’d ever received… well, technically, I’d never really received a job offer before. I was usually the one asking for the opportunity.
That’s why, despite all my doubts, I pressed the button for the elevator.
Walking down the quiet hallway, I stopped in front of the door to room 1069. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and knocked.
A moment later, Dominic opened the door. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew I’d come.
"I’m glad you came, Connor," he said smoothly. "Come in."
I stepped inside, taking in the luxury I’d never had the chance to experience before. The room was spacious, with a king-sized bed in the center, a sleek desk, and a massive flat-screen TV.
"Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward the bed.
I hesitated before sitting on the edge of it. Dominic, meanwhile, settled into the chair at the desk, watching me with quiet amusement.
"Forgive my manners! Do you want something to drink?" Dominic asked as he got up and walked toward the minibar. "You can drink, right? Your shift is over…"
"I’m fine, thanks." I stayed perched on the edge of the bed, feeling a little anxious about this supposed job interview.
"Just so you know, you’d be allowed to drink while working for me," he said, pouring himself a glass. Then, as he turned back to me, he added with a smirk, "…sometimes. When I allow it."
"Yeah… about that," I interjected. "What exactly are you expecting from me as your assistant? I mean, I dropped out of college. I have no experience other than bartending or guiding people through a gym. I don’t even know what line of work you’re in."
"Well, that’s the good part," Dominic said, settling comfortably into his chair. "You don’t need a degree to follow orders."
I frowned slightly, but he continued.
"I’ve had plenty of highly qualified and even overqualified assistants, and I’ve realized that was my mistake—trying to mold them into what I truly want."
"And what exactly is it that you want?"
He fell silent for a moment, letting the question hang in the air. The pause felt deliberate, almost like he was sizing me up.
Taking a slow sip from his glass, he finally said, "Connor, having power… it changes a man. It’s given me a particular appetite—for dominance."
"Dominance?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," he said, leaning forward slightly. "A hunger to make others do as I say."
I let out a short chuckle. "So why not just hire, I don’t know, a prostitute, if that’s what gets you off?"
His expression darkened slightly, but not with anger—more like amusement. "Because I don’t want a whore, Connor. The kind of dominance I crave goes far beyond barking a few orders and hearing some call boy pretend he likes it while moaning… ugh… ‘daddy.’"
I smirked at that. "And you think hiring a personal assistant and expecting him to agree to all that is the solution?"
Dominic exhaled, shaking his head. "I’ll give you that, Connor. That’s been my mistake. And it’s cost me a few legal fees to avoid getting sued."
"So… you want me to do everything you say. But what if I don’t like it? What if I don’t want to do something? What if it’s too much for me?"
Dominic tilted his head slightly, watching me with that unreadable expression. "Like undressing at your current job just to sell me your underwear?"
I didn’t answer. My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing.
He smirked. "I think you have potential, Connor. And this will be gradual. You can always walk away if it’s too much." He took another sip of his drink before adding, "Which, of course, I wouldn’t want you to. So… I’ll go slow."
To be honest, it felt weird—but also, somehow, appealing. It was easy money, and I had a million questions.
"What happens if I say yes? I mean… when would I start? Do I have to go to your office? Is it a normal work shift? And… would you pay me every time you give an order? Before or after?"
Dominic chuckled, clearly amused. He knew he had me. "Take it easy, Connor." He leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same knowing smirk. "Like I said, we’ll take it slow. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made before. You’ll be on probation—so you can decide if this is for you… and I can determine if you’re fit for the position."
Dominic stood up and clapped his hands together—a clear signal that the meeting was over. I startled slightly before getting up as well.
"I want you to think this through properly," he said. "So, you’ll stay here."
"Here?" I glanced around the luxury room, confused.
"Yes. Get comfortable. Order room service. Use the bathtub. And tomorrow, I’ll send someone to pick you up."
"I have work tomorrow," I said instinctively.
"Oh, right…" He sighed, clearly displeased by the inconvenience of my other commitments. "The gym thing. What time should my driver pick you up?"
"There’s no need," I started, but the sharp look he gave me made it clear that wasn’t an option. I corrected myself. "Uh… nine. I need to go home and change first."
"I’ll send something for you to wear," he said dismissively. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, "Now. Give me your clothes."
"My clothes?"
"Yes. You’ve been working in them all night." He tilted his head slightly. "You’ve slept naked before, haven’t you?" Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, "If you’re shy, there’s a robe in the bathroom… though I doubt that’s the case, considering how quickly you dropped your pants at the bar."
His smirk made my stomach flip, but I didn’t argue. I stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Sure enough, a white robe hung neatly on the wall. But my eyes were drawn to something else.
Right beside the sink, laid out in plain view, were my boxer briefs—the ones I had sold him. The fabric was soaked, an unmistakable stain darkening the front. He had jerked off all over them.
A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Disgusted? Flattered? Turned on? I swallowed hard, pushed the thought aside, and quickly undressed, wrapping the robe around myself. Then, stepping back into the room, I handed Dominic my clothes.
He took them without a word and walked toward the door.
Dominic turned back and said, "I left another tip on the nightstand, just for agreeing to come over. I hope it's a nice incentive for you to consider being my… let’s not call it a personal assistant."
He paused, smirking.
"I’ll come up with something later."
And then he left, leaving me alone to think about my life-changing decision.
