Author's note:
This story contains elements including a workplace romance (with inherent power imbalances), maledom spanking and unprotected sex. As with every story I write, it is purely fantasy and not representative of the real world. It's a slower burn, but very, very sexy... I hope you enjoy!
The Executive Suite
Ava was a woman in a man's world. She commanded every room she walked into, striding in like the thrust of a well-aimed blade, sharp and unrelenting, a killing blow. At fifty-four, she carried her five-foot frame with the precision of someone accustomed to wielding absolute power. Her hourglass figure--wrapped in tailored Alexander McQueen pencil skirts and Valentino silk blouses--was an anomaly in the boardrooms of glass and steel she dominated.
"I'm a successful woman in business, I'm a fucking unicorn," she liked to say,. She thought herself a corporate queen, and she looked like one too; her dark brown hair, swept into an immaculate, tight chignon, glimmered under the fluorescent lights of boardrooms like polished mahogany, her heels clacked down corridors as fearful interns sprinted out of the way.
Truth was, she loved being standing out, she loved the attention. She was CEO of Benedict Dynamic Holdings, an industry-spanning conglomerate with interests in finance, tech, healthcare and energy. She was the best of the best and that's why she had been asked by a friend to give the keynote address at an Ethics in Business conference in Rust City. Who better?
The four-day event was being hosted by the Cedar Consulting Group, which was run by one of Ava's many proteges. The original keynote speaker had pulled out due to illness, so she'd been asked to step in, and, ever gracious, she had.
But she hated going on the road. The private plane flight was fine, as was the limo to the conference center, but she hated having to stay anywhere that wasn't her penthouse apartment, her upstate estate or her beachfront villa.
She had less control in a hotel room; her comfort, so painstakingly cultivated in her home or workplace, was suddenly at the whim of uncaring androids being paid minimum wage.
Travelling for work was one thing, but she'd also lost another comfort -- Muriel, her longtime assistant was away on maternity leave. That's fine, it happens -- but Muriel's replacement had come down with Covid just days before the trip. Much more inconvenient. She was already regretting saying yes to the conference, and found herself in a foul mood all day on the Friday she was due to fly out.
Ava travelled light, she didn't keep an entourage; she took her security detail, her publicist, a few tech nerds and Muriel. She didn't trust enough people, and her grumpiness had only gotten worse when she discovered
Muriel's replacement's replacement. Theo, a young man in his mid-20s, was apparently the only person without weekend plans. He jumped at the chance to join her at the last minute. He was to be her stand-in PA; shadow her throughout the conference.
Ava had been given the briefest of briefings, scanned his resume. He'd apparently been with the company eighteen months and worked his way up all the way from junior risk analyst to... risk analyst. Thrilling. From what she was told, Theo had developed a bit of a reputation in the wider company for being 'eye-candy', known for his good-looks rather than his output. A himbo, Jennifer from accounts called him.
The rumors weren't wrong; Theo was insanely good-looking, it had to be said. He looked like a young Paul Newman. Tall, with friendly blue-eyes, sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. His hair was the kind you couldn't fake--ash-blond, messy in a way that came natural, like he'd just stepped off a boat or out of trouble. Coils of tight curls effortlessly waving, like a breeze rippling through a field of wheat.
Ava found him boyishly handsome but nothing special. Timid and infuriatingly shy. Bumbling, in a word. Any attempt at small talk on the plane or in the car had resulted in a few mumbled pleasantries and awkward silences. She asked if he had ever been to Rust City before. No, he said. She asked him if he'd ever been to a business conference before. No, he said. Did he have a partner? No, he said. No attempt to elaborate, no reciprocating the question. Curt, blunt answers, as polite as could be, then silence.
"Aren't you at all curious?"
"About what, ma'am?" he'd replied. Ava rolled her eyes.
"Anything at all."
Ava squashed any latent attraction she felt towards him ruthlessly. He wasn't a match for her, just like the rest of them. He was intimidated by her, kept his eyes downcast like he was a schoolboy and she was a fearsome principal on the warpath.
That being said, she'd gotten glowing reviews from his supervisors. Those who he worked with directly had said he was more than just eye-candy, he was a capable team member. Gladys, BDH's HR boss and the woman who had saddled Theo on her, had said yes he was a little quiet but he was diligent, punctual and met just about every KPI that was set for him. When he did speak up, he could be sharp, quick-witted, funny even -- with a wry, dry sense of humor. Apparently, that was.
Ava hadn't seen any evidence of that by the time she was stumbling, drunk, back to her room after the conference finished for the night. She was too old to do coke in the bathrooms and too self-respecting to linger for too long, given her speech had underwhelmed that stodgy audience. Oh they'd laughed when she'd made a joke, clapped when necessary, but what else were they to do when she, Ava Benedict, spoke? She had seen a couple on their phones, others yawning, some checking their watches. If she had been a man, they would have been listening with rapt attention. Damn conference was a sausage party.
The afterparty following the main event was worse. Two hours of mingling, drunken dancing and finger food. It was a feeling that coalesced only in the past decade or so, but Ava hated networking. She'd grown tired of forcing smiles and empty platitudes upon undeserving cretins. She had thought she was beyond that nonsense; Laughing at terrible jokes made by terrible people. No, worse than terrible - boring people. Bores, the lot of them.
There was Mullins, the sycophant, Brady the lech and that idiot Susanne Llewyn. She had to drink just to stand them. And when she drank her words, usually razor-sharp and precise, softened around the edges.
Multiple times throughout the night she caught herself using phrases she hadn't said in years-- risible remarks like "I'd love to hear more, you've just
got
