The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Closed Door Policy

by Pan

Chapter 1

The room stank.

It was a smell that I recognized.

Somehow, I managed not to say anything. It was a struggle—with every breath, I knew I was breathing in a part of my boss that I never, ever thought I’d encounter. Ugh! I don’t like the taste or smell at the best of times, and to be surrounded by it in a professional environment was…well, it was something out of this world.

Ron didn’t even look at me the whole time I was in the room, which was probably for the best—no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wipe the disgusted look off my face. It was just so…well, gross. As soon as I’d passed on the message, Ron gave a nod, and I fled from the room and beelined for the one restroom on our floor.

* * *

I couldn’t believe it when the boss told me.

Not that she’s my boss. Not directly. I’m Ron’s secretary, and she’s Ron’s boss. So while she’s the boss, she’s not my boss, if that makes sense.

“It’s a very delicate problem,” Miranda told me. She’d been waiting at my desk when I’d come in on Monday morning; she’d declined my offer of a tea or coffee, and launched straight into it.

I nodded politely, a small part of me wondering why Ron didn’t just tell me this himself. “I don’t want to go into too much detail, but he’s taking some testosterone supplements and has been warned by the doctor that it’s going to have some pretty strong side-effects.”

I’ve never had much cause to talk to Miranda, but of course I admire her. She started the company herself when she was just 21 years old, and now, a mere ten years later, we’ve got offices all over the state. She’s a real go-getter, and she’s never let her gender hold her back.

“Basically,” she said, biting her lip slightly, “it’s affecting his libido. And so Ron has asked me—and I’ve given him permission—to take care of matters inside the office.”

My eyes widened as I realized what she was saying.

“I know,” she smiled sympathetically. “It sounds weird. But he’s told me what his doctor said. If he doesn’t get off throughout the course of the day, it can be dangerous to his treatment. Normally in a case like this, he’d take medical leave, but…”

I nodded. We’d just landed our largest contract yet, and taking a few weeks off right now wasn’t an option for any of us.

“In practice,” she continued, “this shouldn’t have an effect on day-to-day business, but because the bathrooms here are shared, we’re going to implement a simple closed door policy. If Ron’s door is shut, don’t interrupt—for any reason. Does that make sense?”

I nodded again, even as my head reeled. Was Miranda really saying what I thought she was saying?

With a smile, she thanked me for my support on this tricky issue, and walked out the door. As she left, I admired the black business suit she was wearing. When I’d started at the job, I’d worn skirts, stockings—the kind of stuff that men typically expect of their young female secretaries—but after I’d seen the way Miranda dressed, I’d decided to emulate her as best I could.

No more skirts, no more bright colors—no more cleavage, which anyone would confirm was quite a departure from my usual style. No, it was all pants and pant-suits, and I’ve got to tell you—it had really changed the way people treated me.

Especially Miranda. Maybe that was why she’d chosen to pass on the message herself? We’d only met a few times since my dress-code change, but I swear I’ve felt a growing respect from her.

Or, just as likely, Ron was simply too shy to say anything.

When he came in half an hour later, he couldn’t even make eye-contact. He mumbled a hello, and as soon as I’d finished summarizing his meetings for the day, scurried into his office…and closed the door.

Ron’s a sweet guy, and an excellent boss. But he’s the most shy man I’ve ever met, especially around women. I’ve only met his wife the once, and I genuinely have no idea how they got together—she’s a brash bombshell of a woman. Hot as hell, and simply awful. She runs a chain of dry cleaners or something like that—I imagine their home life consists of Ron going home each night and getting his ear talked off while he gives her a foot massage.

That’s just a guess, of course—what do I know? Maybe they’re into BDSM, and Ron goes home each night and ties her up and spanks her.

As I stared in shock at the closed door, I couldn’t help but feel that a testosterone boost was exactly what Ron needed. Poor guy.

Right then and there, I vowed to make the situation as comfortable for him as I could. I’d do what Miranda said, of course, but if there was anything else I could do, I’d do it. He was a good guy, and he deserved all the support I could give him.

* * *

It was forty-five minutes before his door re-opened. I’d held all his calls, exactly as instructed. My mind was spinning. Forty-five minutes! I’d never had a boyfriend who could last more than twenty.

Not that I’d ever think of Ron in that sense, of course, but I couldn’t help be impressed.

When it finally opened, my boss looked…flustered. I wasn’t surprised. We both knew exactly what he’d been doing, and we both knew that we both knew exactly what he’d been doing.

His eyes darted around, and he squeaked an apology.

“Of course,” I said, smiling warmly. I was determined to make this as easy for him as I possibly could. “Do you want your messages?”

Ron nodded, but blanched when I stood up. His reaction took me by surprise, and I froze.

“We can do it out here,” I eventually said, when it became obvious that my boss wasn’t going to fill the silence.

His grateful nod reminded me of why I was doing this. Ron was a sweet guy. I really wanted this to be as easy for him as possible.

I was met with nothing but silence as I relayed the content of the calls he’d missed. When I was done, I expected a thanks, or a grateful nod. Y’know; something.

Instead, to my great surprise, he scurried back into his office…and closed the door once more.

My eyes widened and what he was doing sunk in. Had he…after we…


I took a deep breath, and tried to swat back the judgmental thoughts. For all the time I’d worked there, Ron had been nothing but completely professional.

I’m an attractive girl. I’ve always known it. If the leers from strange men weren’t enough of a reminder, all I needed to do was glance down. Even under the professional garb I wear to the office, my tits are impossible to hide.

But I swear, I’ve never seen Ron so much as glance at them, even when I used to wear my favorite cleavage tops. Most men struggle to make eye-contact…well, Ron has that trouble too, but it’s not because he’s staring at my breasts.

No, Ron was a good guy. This had nothing to do with me; it was a medical issue. It was exactly what Miranda had warned against—his new drugs meant that he didn’t have a choice.

It wasn’t his fault.

I was going to help him get through this.

* * *

The pattern repeated itself several times that day. After more than half an hour of door-closed time, Ron would pop out for just long enough to hear the messages he’d missed…and then disappear back into his office, and close the door again.

It’s a medical issue, I had to keep reminding myself. It has nothing to do with me.

The fourth time it happened, I was starting to get a little frustrated. We had deadlines coming up, and Ron’s condition was making this the least productive day I’d ever seen in this office.

I knew it wasn’t my job to manage the manager, but I was at a total loss. Ron needed my help, and aside from ‘not judging him’, I had no idea what I could do.

It wasn’t like I could go to Miranda and tell her that Ron was spending the whole day jerking off in his office. I mean, it was hardly news—she’d just told me that. Besides, what could she do? It was a medical issue.

The end of the day arrived sooner than I expected. I waited for Ron to come out, which took less time than I expected. Maybe he was finally running out of steam? Maybe he’d get it all out of his system today, and tomorrow we’d be back to business as usual.

Less than fifteen minutes since he’d closed it, Ron opened his door and emerged looking sweaty and nervous. I quickly relayed the last few messages and wished him a good night as I grabbed my coat.

He didn’t respond, and when I turned back to see why…the door was closed once more.

* * *

The next day was mostly a repeat of the first. When I got into work, the door was closed, and again, I only saw Ron a few times, each time for long enough to give him his messages and watch him fail to make eye-contact.

As I read him the messages, I couldn’t help but notice some subtle changes in the man. Was he…taller? Men are taller than women, so I guess it makes sense that testosterone would add some height. Or perhaps he was just slouching less than usual.

Without the usual stream of little tasks from my boss, I was able to get ahead on those jobs that keep on piling up. For the first time in months, I managed to hit Inbox Zero, and got our monthly reports down to Florida before the accounting team had to chase us up.

On Wednesday, Ron spent slightly less time with the door closed. I wasn’t sure if he was adapting to the treatment, or if he was just getting quicker.

Then, just after lunch on Wednesday, we got an urgent call.

It was the client.

“I’m sorry,” I said sympathetically. “I’m afraid that Ron is on another call right now…—“

Before I could finish the thought, the client’s voice was screaming down the line, so loudly that I had to move the receiver away from my ear.

“Of course,” I said. “Yes. Yes, of course—I’ll get him for you straight away.”

Miranda had been very clear—when Ron’s door was closed, he was not to be interrupted.

But this client was more than 35% of our annual avenue. If she left us, I’d be fired. Hell, Ron would probably be fired. The entire branch could be shut down.

I wanted to help Ron, I really did. But the best thing I could do for him right now was ensure that the client was happy.

Shutting my eyes and taking a deep breath, I knocked firmly on the door to Ron’s office.

Then, when there was no response, I knocked again.

Opening the door, I called out.


I’d never called Ron ’sir’ before in my life, but this seemed like an appropriate time to start.

“Sir,” I repeated. “I’m coming in. Please, sir…make sure that you’re decent?”

* * *

As as I left Ron’s office and began running for the bathroom, I gulped down as much air as I could. Clean, fresh air. Air completely untainted by…

God, what had I expected? I have no idea what I’d expected. Almost three straight days of…well, no wonder the room stank.

It stank.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had boyfriends. It’s not a smell I’m unfamiliar with. I’ve never been particularly fond of it, truth be told, but I like men. I really like men.

And when you really like men in the way that I really like men, that smell is something you come to terms with.

My high-school boyfriend—Nico—was my first. And before me, he’d…well, he’d done basically what Ron had done. By himself, in his room, over and over in a day.

It had reeked. I mean, it really stank. I think his parents only let him get away with it out of awkwardness.

But even Rico’s room, with its teenage hormones and endless bouts of self-pleasure…it hadn’t even come close to the smell of Ron’s office.

As soon as I got to the bathroom, I threw up. I kneeled down and delivered the contents of my stomach directly into the toilet bowl.

And even after I washed my mouth out with water, applied some perfume, AND brushed my teeth with my emergency desk-toothbrush, I still couldn’t shake it. Even with my desk-fan on high, it still stuck around like…well, like a bad smell.

Ron’s a good guy. He’s a good boss, a good man. He’s always been decent, and I knew how hard this was for him. I wanted to do everything I could to help…but, god.

No office could be allowed to smell like that.

I knew I had to do something.