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 could never have imagined a man saying those words to me while I stood crying over a puddle of my own urine on a marble floor. No one should have. The fact that they made my chest constrict and my pussy clench hurt the most.
Then I couldn’t stop. My bladder emptied in a hot relentless stream while I stood there bared despite my clothing in every way that mattered, skirt on, tears on my face, a man watching me with calm masculine approval of my mortification as if I had just learned something important.
When it finally ended, I was still trembling. I looked down at the floor and then at him, horrified beyond speech.
He stepped closer and brushed one knuckle lightly under one wet eye. “There. You did it. You’re learning to be the kind of good girl who pees on the floor when she needs to be taught a lesson.”
I let out a little desperate laugh through tears. “Your reward system is so fucked up.”
His mouth moved, just slightly. “Yes.”
“You did this.” I almost babbled now, overwhelmed enough that the words came without strategy. “It’s your fault. You dragged me here and wouldn’t let me go and now you’re… you’re praising me, for…” I gestured uselessly downward. “For peeing on your floor like a toddler.”
“My floor can be cleaned,” he said. “What matters is that your body is beginning to understand that resisting what it needs only makes things harder.”
“That’s not logical.”
“It’s my logic,” he said. “And you’re going to have to get used to it, because it happens also to be the logic of your body’s needs.”
I stared at him with tears still drying on my face, hating how the words affected me, reaching inside where I couldn’t seem to rid myself of their meaning.
Then he said, very matter-of-factly, “Take off your clothes.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re going to clean this up naked.”
My lips parted and I just stared at him for a long moment. To my dismay, a smile crept onto his face. The smile said that, yes, he knew exactly what I needed, as dark and hot as that thing might be.
“Or I’ll whip you,” he said.
I laughed once, a tiny, wrecked sound, then reached for my blouse with fingers that hardly worked. He watched while I undressed. He didn’t hurry me, and he didn’t help. He simply stood there in his perfect suit while I unbuttoned and unzipped and peeled away the clothes I had so carefully chosen, the nice lingerie beneath them, everything. By the time I stood bare before him, my skin felt over-aware of every inch of air in the room.
His gaze moved over me slowly, possessively. “Better.”
I wrapped my arms around myself without thinking.
“Don’t cover up.”
I heard it in his tone, this time, though he hadn’t spoken the words: or I’ll have to use the cane. I dropped my arms.
He gave a single nod, then turned and left the bathroom. I stood there naked and shivering over the puddle I had made, staring after him in disbelief, until he returned a moment later with a bucket and a flat mop.
He set them down near the sink. “Clean it thoroughly. You can put your clothes in the hamper over there. I’ve got clothes you can wear out when I’m through with you.”
Oh, no. The way my heart raced at this new revelation of this man’s intentions had more of need to it than of fear or shame. I tried desperately to find some kind of composure. I looked at the mop, then at him.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
I almost asked whether he intended to supervise. Instead I bit my lip.
He seemed to understand the unasked question anyway. “When you’re finished, leave the bucket and mop here. Then come find me in my office.”
My stomach tightened. “And then?”
“Then,” he said, “you’ll get the spanking you’ve earned.”
He left me with that.
For a long moment I didn’t move. Then I picked up my clothes and put them in the hamper. Then I filled the bucket. I mopped up my own puddle naked in a millionaire’s bathroom while my skin flushed and cooled and flushed again.
Every so often the fact of what I was doing would hit me again, and I would have to stop and close my eyes.
I’m naked.
I peed on his floor.
He’s going to spank me when I’m done.
That last thought stayed with me most persistently of all. It threaded through each stroke of the mop, through each wring of the pad into the bucket, through each breath I tried to steady. He hadn’t touched my ass cheeks in punishment, and already I felt his hand there, somehow, in anticipation. I remembered his threat of the cane. I remembered his hand in the café bathroom. His probing, degrading finger in the tiny hole. I remembered the way my body had yielded and betrayed me over and over.