Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
You earned this.
“No,” I whispered, though it was not really a protest. It sounded too much like pleading.
I pictured myself over that desk, naked and exposed, and in the picture my hand had strayed between my legs before he gave me permission. In my mind that became the reason. Not my bad head now, though that had started it. Playing with myself. Being caught with my own fingers where they should not have been. The belt coming down because I was shameless and needy and couldn’t leave myself alone.
My body answered that thought with a surge of wetness so intense it made me groan.
I rubbed furiously, no rhythm to it now, only friction and shame and the horrible, delicious inevitability of my own response. My hips started to move against my hand. I hated that. I hated the needy little motions of my own body, the way I would have despised them in another woman and yet could not stop making them.
And somewhere in the middle of it, so gradually I didn’t realize it at first, the man at my back changed.
The hand on me was still hard, still possessive, but no longer cruel in the same way. The voice I heard was lower, calmer, more controlled. Not Gowry’s open contempt but something worse for me because it reached deeper. Correction without contempt. Authority that did not need to sneer.
By the time I understood that the face in my mind was not the senator’s anymore, my pulse was hammering and my fingers were slick and frantic.
Porter.
I actually stopped for one heartbeat, shocked enough to go still.
Then I touched myself again.
That was the worst part. I knew now whose voice I was hearing when I imagined being told what I had done wrong, and instead of recoiling from it I arched into my own hand with a little broken sound.
In my head he had found me like this in the lingerie, spread out and pink and already wet from reading his profile and disobeying before we’d even met. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded exact.
Did you touch yourself without permission?
The imagined question made me clamp my lips together so hard they hurt. I nodded to no one. My hand worked faster. I could almost see him taking in the state of me and deciding, with that cool male certainty, that I needed to be taught a lesson before anything else.
The whip in my mind was no longer Gowry’s belt. I didn’t know what Porter would use, only that I imagined it landing with deliberate spacing, each stroke given for a reason. I pictured myself bent over, cheeks burning, listening while he told me why girls who played with themselves behind their sponsor’s back ended up with sore bottoms… bottoms on which they couldn’t sit down for a day… a week… a month…
If I hadn’t come so close to climax already, I would have giggled at the fact that the hugely endowed man in my imagination refused to end a sentence with a preposition.
I was so close to the edge already that the shift from one fantasy to the other hardly mattered to my body. If anything it sharpened everything. I could feel the sting across my ass in anticipation, the humiliating spread of my own wetness, the knowledge that he would punish me and then make me hold still and take more.
His hand, maybe… his firm, open, enormous hand. Falling over and over on my naughty bottom.
My free hand slid over my stomach and behind my hip, almost by accident. Then further… lower.
I hesitated only a second before letting those fingertips stray between the cheeks a horrible man had whipped with his belt… and a wealthy, kind-but-demanding man might spank with his open hand, the way a paternal figure teaches a girl the lesson she’s earned.
The touch there, in the middle, on the tiny button, jolted me. I had barely ever done more than wash myself there—never mind touched like that… on purpose. The sheer strangeness of it sent a fresh hot shiver through me. I pressed gently, not inside, only circling the tight little place while my other hand kept rubbing my clit in quick desperate motions.
In my imagination Porter noticed at once.
Not there, Alex. Not yet, you dirty little whore.
The words came to me as if spoken right against my ear, and I moaned aloud because what followed them in my mind was even worse: his hand parting me, his fingers testing, assessing, deciding what I would be made to learn. The line from his profile flashed back at me with humiliating vividness. Anal training… important part of your life.
I nearly came just from the thought of him saying, very calmly, that he was going to fuck me there.
I pressed my fingertips more firmly against my forbidden back entrance and shuddered. My whole body felt overfull, over-sensitized, as if every nerve had been stretched tight. I imagined him making me lie still while he spread me open with lubricated fingers… not rough or careless… simply inexorable. I imagined the unbearable embarrassment of it, the way he would watch my reactions as if they interested him only insofar as they told him how to proceed.