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)
I knew that. In some hard, lucid corner of my mind, I knew it perfectly. The door was there. My clothes were on. He wasn’t holding me down. I could leave this pretty little bathroom, push back through the café, go up into the ordinary city, and never see him again.
But the thought of the cane had gone through me with such force that I felt myself reaching, almost automatically, for the buttons of my blouse.
I have no choice, I told myself.
A quieter voice answered at once, from somewhere still sane: Of course you have a choice. You’re making one.
I silenced it.
I have no choice. He’ll whip me. With a cane. I couldn’t bear it. I have no choice.
My fingers moved badly at first. I nearly missed a button. I could feel him watching, and that made my face burn all the hotter. I slipped the blouse off my shoulders and folded it before I could stop myself from doing something so absurdly mannered. The gesture made me want to die. It also seemed perfectly in character for me, which made it worse.
My skirt came next.
I have no choice.
I stood in the ivory bra-and-panty lingerie he had ordered me to wear, exposed enough that I wanted to cover myself and too far gone to do it.
His gaze traveled over me in one slow pass that made every inch of my skin feel newly awake.
“There,” he said quietly. “Better.”
I felt a deep furrow develop on my brow.
He came toward me then, and I took a backward half-step before I could stop myself. He didn’t comment on it. He only took my wrist and turned me with effortless certainty.
“Bend over the toilet.”
My heart lurched. “Porter—”
His hand closed around the back of my neck, not rough, just decisive. “Now. And you just earned extra spanking. You will call me sir.”
I obeyed.
The porcelain was cool under my palms. I heard the rustle of my own breathing in the small room. Then I felt his hand slide over the curve of my bottom, over the thin fabric of my panties, and a helpless shiver went through me.
“Spread your legs.”
I hesitated perhaps half a second. His hand rested, waiting.
I moved my feet apart.
“Wider.”
I did.
The position felt instantly pornographic. Bent over a toilet in my lingerie, thighs parted, waiting for him. I could feel wetness already between my legs, humiliatingly undeniable. I heard him shift behind me, close enough that I could sense his heat without his touching me.
Then his palm cupped me through the damp silk at the front of my panties.
I jerked.
He made a low sound near my ear. “Yes. I know.”
My forehead touched the wall above the toilet. I bit my lip hard.
His fingers stroked me through the soaked fabric with expert, maddening pressure, enough to make my knees weaken at once. “Such a wet girl,” he murmured. “And still pretending she’s here because she has no choice.”
I closed my eyes.
“You’re going to get that spanking,” he said softly. “On your lovely bare bottom. And then I’m going to put my finger back in your ass. And then, very likely, I’m going to fuck you.”
The words made my whole body tighten around nothing.
“No,” I whispered, though there was no force in it at all.
His hand moved more firmly. The silk dragged over my clit in a way that made me gasp. “No?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Every nerve seemed to have narrowed to the place his hand worked between my thighs.
“Because from where I’m standing,” he said into my ear, “you seem very interested in being fucked.”
His middle finger found me through the panties, pressed, circled. I made a sound before I could stop it, a humiliating little cry, and at once his free hand covered my mouth from behind.
“Quiet.”
I nodded against his palm.
He kept touching me, slowly, inexorably, as if he had all the time in the world. I could feel wetness spreading through the gusset of my panties, then beyond it, soaking the silk, making each stroke slicker and more unbearable. My body had no dignity left in it. I shook. I pushed back involuntarily into his hand. I tried not to and failed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Feel what happens to you when a man takes charge.”
I might have sobbed if his hand hadn’t still covered my mouth. My thoughts had become fragments. Shame. Heat. Fear. Need. His words. The pressure of his body at my back. The awful fact that he was right about my responses even when I wanted him wrong.
His fingers worked me higher and higher through the wet fabric until my thighs were trembling violently and the room had begun to take on that unreal brightness that comes just before climax. I could feel it building in me in swift, ruthless waves.
Then suddenly it stopped.
He took his hand away from between my legs. Then from my mouth.