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“Tonight, you’ll walk beside me with my come still drying on your thighs. You’ll wear my collar and more, and throughout the evening I’ll manipulate your body toward arousal. If you behave like the angel I know you can be, I’ll grant you pleasure when we return. And if you don’t, you know what will happen.”
Wait. What? I’m so heady with want I haven’t fully processed anything at all. I’m standing, aroused and alone, and he’s already walking toward his room to get dressed. I stifle a whimper. I’m so turned on and used, and he just… left me like this. On a holding pattern. No pleasure granted unless I earn it.
In a mindless fog, I go to my room and allow him to dress me again.
He tells me the names of the politicians and their wives and what to expect, but I barely process anything. I can’t think beyond the physical right now. My focus is on the bundle of nerves between my thighs, the pressure and heat I can’t staunch. I’m dying for some relief. Something. Anything. Not only does he not grant that to me, but when I’m dressed, he produces a little contraption from his pocket with a wicked gleam in his eye. Hot pink, the bottom is small and egg-shaped, with a tiny neck and probe-like thing at the end. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life, but still feel trepidation rising. I know it’s something dirty and wicked.
Standing me in front of him, he lifts my dress and pulls my panties down. I begin to tremble when his warm, strong hand glides between my thighs. I want him to grant me the release I crave, but he doesn’t. Parting my legs with the back of his hand, he gently fingers my swollen folds and glides the egg-shaped part in my channel. I gasp, holding onto his shoulders, when he manipulates the slender neck of the device so that the little probe part presses up against my clit.
Oh my God. It feels as if he’s shoved his fingers inside me and pressed his thumb to my clit, and I’m already ready to lose my mind. I tremble, holding tighter to his shoulders.
“What are you doing to me?” I whisper.
“Merely exercising a little control.”
A little?
To demonstrate, he flicks a switch in his palm and my lower body throbs.
Oh, God.
He can’t very well take his belt to me in a room full of people at an event, so instead, he’s going to control me in another way.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I say in a little voice, trying not to snap out the words that will earn me trouble. I’m not at all relishing the thought of orgasm torture in public.
He grants me the ghost of a smile before his lips twist, and a shadow crosses his features. “We’re leaving soon,” he says. He opens the door and the team that prepared me the night before comes in.
I stand in front of the mirror, miles away with my main focus between my thighs, while they pin my hair and run a mascara brush through my lashes, glide on lip gloss, and spritz with me something that’s softly scented like lilacs.
I don’t really know what they do to me. I can hardly focus beyond the sexual arousal that heats my veins and makes my mouth dry. He’s manipulating that fucking device, and I can hardly think straight.
“You know very little Russian, Calina,” he says behind me. “Do not forget that.”
“Mmmph,” is all I can say, because he’s right. I can hardly speak at all. I blink at the beautiful woman in the mirror in front of me and wonder at the glossy eyes and parted lips, the flush along her chest and cheekbones because I’m so fucking turned on and needy.
Soon I find myself tucked into his car, and he’s buckled me in. There are people in uniforms who open the doors for us, and a driver in the front. It’s opulent. Luxurious. I’ve never been in a car like this, never been treated like royalty. But my mind is hazy and unfocused. He told me he’d grant me pleasure tonight, and I might die waiting.
“You know,” he says with a casual shrug, holding a drink to his lips. “I might allow just one before we arrive.”
I don’t need to ask what he means. I hold my breath when he pulls me onto his lap. At the feel of his cock on my ass I squirm, so hot and ready and needy, but soon I forget everything but the vibration in my most private parts.
“Go ahead, kisa,” he whispers in my ear. “Just one before we arrive, with the promise of more to come.”
He lifts my skirt, drags his hand between my thighs, presses his thumb to the little device manipulating me, to my throbbing clit, and I fly apart. I’m so primed and ready, my climax rips through me like lightning, crashing my senses and stealing my breath. I hold onto his neck as I rock in his lap, wantonly shoving my hips against his hand until the last spasm of ecstasy shudders through me and he in my ear, “Sladkaya tugaya pizda. So pretty when you come. The flush of your cheeks as pink as your nipples. Your sweet gasps like the breath you draw when I spank you. Sweet, naughty little girl.”
