Femal domination fiction

The Power Behind the veil: FemDom Story

Amazon Description:

Between the face we show to the world, and the face we hide carefully away there is a veil. Between pretence and truth, illusion and reality. 

Sharon Lane seemed like a nondescript, menial employee of Kearney-Griffith, paid to clean toilets; Sir Arthur Bannion was a top executive, senior partner, and esteemed member of the board. 

His lie was never exposed, and perhaps never would have been, but for the day that they both got stuck in the same lift.

And the veil was torn…

Extract:

Sir Arthur Bannion did not look at Sharon Lane, and Sharon Lane certainly did not look at Sir Arthur Bannion. They each found something extremely interesting elsewhere in the gleaming compartment of the lift as it whisked them swiftly upwards from the ground floor of great financial house of Kearny-Griffith, the vast institution from which they both obtained their living. 

But this his was the only similarity between them, and this was really no similarity at all because Sir Arthur was going directly to the top level to his office suite as a senior partner, and Sharon was only going up one level to start her shift as a cleaner. 

If Sharon had glanced at Sir Arthur, she would have seen disgust and impatience written subtly all over his tanned, intelligent face. This sort of situation would never normally have arisen, but the executive lifts were out of order, a victim of the electrical problems currently plaguing the huge establishment, and so for a limited time, and only in this elevator, the distinction between executive and menial staff was inconveniently suspended. 

The executive lifts ran right up the corners of the glittering building, affording a full view of the city that quickly grew more and more panoramic as the graceful, glass-sided capsules glided smoothly and swiftly upwards. Sir Arthur counted on it being part of a morning affirmation of his eminent position and multifarious achievements. He loathed elevators, but he loved that one. The senior partners and other VIPs had the lift all to themselves, and of course had the best view, stretching over the magnificent buildings of the financial sector right out over the river and dimly, to the sea. 

It was like his life all over again, beginning at the ground floor and rising swift and high past all the intermediate ranks, the middle management and accounts, HR and requisitioning, all the way up to the men who called the shots, the board of directors, the gleaming table hidden away where the select few gathered every day to discuss the fate of all of those below. His office was on that highest level, if one did not count the rooftop restaurant, and the view was a song of daily inspiration that set him up for the day by the time he stepped out into the tidy, spacious, glittering world of the top level offices. 

So it greatly annoyed and distressed him no end therefore to have to use the service lift, with its fully enclosed, stainless steel walls running deep within the innards of the building. It was hidden from sight, just as the intended occupants were intended to be hidden from sight. These were the menial operatives that should fade into the background along with all the other incidental and commonplace components of the corporate body. 

He glanced briefly across at the woman with him in the lift. She was the perfect example of the type of person that he should not be having to deal with, a plain, middle-aged woman, dressing in that pathetic two piece white cleaner’s uniform with the interlocking K and G company logo embroidered in gold on the lapel. The sensible shoes at one end, and the pinned hat on the tight bun of her hair at the other. And he could smell her; the squalid, pungent aroma of bleach, with lighter overtones of soap and lemon. All extremely unwelcome reminders of toilets, drudgery, filth and mediocrity.  

It was such a painful contrast from the neat blazer and beige slacks he was permitted to wear as a senior player. It was so like another world to him. 

What made it even worse was that he could not even be sure that the woman would get off at a lower floor and move herself away quickly. Despite the exalted status of his circle, there remained a need for toilets, and toilets needed cleaning. She could as well go right up to the restaurant, where there were even more toilets for her to clean. He wrinkled his noble, aquiline nose, and made a mental note to bring up the subject of the executive lift at the morning meeting. He imagined that he would not be alone in his intention. Surely the present situation was fast becoming a priority to everyone. 

Sharon was just as anxious as Sir Arthur for the situation to return to normal, feeling intimidated and ugly next to the dapper, languidly handsome man in his early fifties. He was wearing some sort of subtle aftershave. Sharon could smell it even over the lingering odours that permanently leeched out of her uniform.  

The sides of the lift were reflective enough to show an image of her form, slightly distorted, and the unflattering result only served to make her feel even more out of place and unattractive. 

She recognised the man with her well enough. He had spoken for the company once or twice on the regular occasions when all the staff were assembled together, some safety brief, or company progress report. Then he had been all charm and easy condescension, as if to prove that the least of his staff were profoundly important and precious to him, and by extension the great financial institution itself. 

Such tender feelings were not in evidence that particular morning in the service lift, and Sharon found a black sort of amusement in it as she recalled how passionately he had spoken about ‘the team’ and ‘togetherness’. This did not obviously extend to actually noticing a menial member of staff unless absolutely required to do so for form’s sake. 

It did not surprise her. Underlying all the fine words and noble policy statements, she knew well enough what was expected of her, the unspoken reality of her position as a cleaner of toilets. She was the lowest of the low. 

She had always known what was expected of her, and her life had followed accordingly. She was married with two children at University, and a husband who mended cars for a living. It had all been expected of her, and she had duly obliged, with a patience that had been exemplary, especially the way she had permitted her husbands intimate attentions in the bedroom; attentions that had never touched her deeply, but then that had not been expected of her in the age in which she grew up either. She loved her children, but they were at that stage of life where they were desperate to prove their independence, and she saw little of them. 

Sir Arthur had likewise to a large extent fulfilled the expectations of family and education, and congratulated himself on this point every day…

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3 thoughts on “The POWER Behind the Veil: Femdom Fiction”

  1. This is one of my favorite stories from Mistress Cruella Pain. She can really surprise me with the twists and turns that some of her stories take.

    I’ve been stuck in a few elevators, but I have never been lucky enough to be stuck in an elevator with Sharon.

    The closing scene in the bathroom blew my mind.

    Reply
  2. I too like this story and partly because it’s not Ms Cruella usual, but also because of the manner in which she conjures the sense of a quite downtrodden and ordinary woman, but one who none the less when the opportunity arises shows she is far far from that.

    Reply

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