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)
He let me settle. Then he said, “Do you understand now that I can use you from anywhere I want?”
The blush that rose in me felt almost feverish. “Yes, sir.”
“And that your body answers me just as well when I’m not touching you.”
I shut my eyes. “Yes, sir.”
A little pause.
“Good. That matters.”
Something in his tone, some cryptic note of affection, made my throat tighten.
He continued, “You’ll sleep with the plug in. If I decide to check on you later, I expect to find you properly in bed, not wandering around, and definitely not touching yourself. From now on, masturbating without permission means the cane for you.”
CHAPTER 20
Alex
When I woke up, I felt like I had slept for a century. My body had the heavy feeling that comes after too much sensation, followed by deep sleep. For a few seconds I didn’t know where I was, only that the sheets were luxurious and cool and that every muscle below my waist seemed to remember the previous day in separate, accusatory detail.
Then I became aware of the plug, and all of the preceding day’s events came into mortifying focus.
I shut my eyes again at once, as if that could undo either the memory or the physical fact of it. My bottom was still sore from the spanking, though the pain had gone from blazing to deep and tender. Between my legs I felt used in a way that by itself made my face warm to fiery heat. I could remember the table, his hand on my wrists, his voice in the speaker from upstairs, the pillow. A fresh wave of mortification went through me, absurdly potent for something that no longer existed except as memory and the shameful lingering scent in the room.
I rolled onto my back carefully. Pale morning light had made its way around the edges of the curtains. The apartment felt silent in a luxurious, insulated way that made it seem less like a place in a city than a sealed environment designed for someone else’s purposes. My sponsor’s purposes.
His convenience.
I exhaled and reached for my phone on the bedside table. A notification from the SA app dominated the screen.
My finger shook a little as I opened it. Porter’s message was brief and exact, in the tone he seemed able to use whether discussing legislation, dinner, or what degradation should befall my body next.
A: I’ve been called into an early meeting. You may take out your plug. You have an appointment at 11 at the salon on the ground floor of the building, for waxing per my preferences. I’ll be back around 4. I want you in the white lingerie set. Nothing else. P.
I stared at the message until the words stopped feeling like words.
You may take out your plug.
Waxing.
White lingerie set.
Nothing else.
A slow pulse went through me low in my belly, shameful enough that I nearly tossed the phone aside. How could he do that to me so efficiently, in perfectly grammatical sentences. Not even his voice. Not his hands. Just instructions, and my body had already begun to answer.
I set the phone down and lay there for another moment, gathering myself, or trying to. In truth there was less self to gather than I would have preferred. Porter seemed able to reduce my rationality to a thin layer floating over sensation, and the worst part was that something inside me kept helping him do it. I could tell myself, with some justice, that my circumstances left me little room. I needed the apartment. I needed the money. I had agreed to his rules by not walking away. All of that was true.
It was also true that when he wrote I was allowed to remove the plug, my first reaction had not been relief alone. It had been something more complicated and more humiliating: the feeling of being cared for inside the same structure that controlled me.
I sat up slowly.
The movement made everything below my waist announce itself again. The plug pressed differently at the new angle, and my breath caught. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood carefully. For one dizzy second the room seemed to tilt. Then it settled.
In the bathroom mirror I saw a woman with sleep-swollen eyes, red hair in a wild cloud, flushed cheeks, and a look I did not much care for. It suggested that she might be amenable to the dramatic, humiliating changes the world had just brought into her life.
I looked down at my own naked body and felt the heat rise again. Breasts marked faintly where I had lain against sheets and pillow. Thighs pale and bare. Between them, curls that would not be there by noon… if I obeyed my sponsor.
When I obeyed my sponsor, I corrected silently, because I already knew I would.