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“What now?” she asks, so innocently, I could laugh. I hold back, pulling the remote from the side of the seat and turning it on. “Oh!” she squeals, figuring out what’s next.
“How does that feel?” I ask. Her eyes dilate at the vibrating sensation coming from the bar between her legs.
“It tickles. Turn it off,” she demands. She’s ashamed now to be facing me so aroused. I turn the dial higher. “Oh God, off! I said off!” she yelps, trying to pull her arms free. Her mouth falls open, struggling to fight it. She wants to show me she’s mad, but she’s too close. I turn the dial higher. “Ohhhh…” she moans. Her hands stop fighting as she grips the swing chain for support. With each level I increase, her moans become louder. Her eyes shut as she begins grinding against the swing. “Oh, fuck—fuck—Jesus…” her voice fades off as her much-needed orgasm blasts through her.
I’m tempted to increase the speed just to watch her squirm into another fit of pleasure. I’m more tempted to whip my cock out and beat off to the scent of her, making her swallow me just as I come. I drop the remote and unlock her from the chair. She’s in my arms immediately as I hoist her up and with a tight restraint around her, I carry her to another private elevator leading straight to my office, struggling with right and wrong. She’s not built to withstand the things I want to do to her. She’s young. Way too fucking innocent.
I drop her feet to the ground, barely offering her a hand to steady herself. There’s silence between us as I walk over to the window and stare down at the empire I’ve built.
“So, um…are we done then?”
Far from it.
I turn, startling her, and go to the bookshelf holding the contract she signed. “Change of plans,” I say, pulling out a new form, one with stricter guidelines.
“What do you mean, change of plans?” Her mouth drops open as her eyes widen. Good, she should. I throw the new contract on my desk. “Sign this.”
She leans over, picking up the contract, more confused. “Why? I already signed one. What’s this one for?”
I throw her a pen, and she catches it. “To give me what I want.”
“Yeah, for the night. Then you give me what I want.”
“And now you’re going to be mine for longer.”
Her sated expression changes to one of anger. “What do you mean, longer?”
“I just extended our deal.”
“Wait, what?” she gasps, tossing the contract back on the desk.
“I’ve extended our deal. Thirty days. You belong to me.”
THAT NO GOOD, LYING, SON of Satan, piece of shit!
I throw myself onto my bed, resting my head on my pillow. The sun is just coming up, and I’m exhausted. Defeated, crabby, completely sated, but mostly, exhausted. I’m surprised Christine isn’t home, but also thankful I don’t have to explain where I was all night. Showing up at dawn wearing a dress that costs more than my monthly tuition and lipstick that screams I’ve been up to no good doesn’t really coincide with the “I’ve been at the library studying all night” excuse.
It took everything in me not to murder the spawn of Satan in his own office. One month? He was insane. To even think I would put up with all his messed-up club craziness for a whole flippin’ month? Super loco. Insane in the membrane. Wackadoodle! Plus, I didn’t have a month. I needed that contract now. More like, hours ago.
My phone has a ton of missed text messages. The mean girls club asking where I am, giving me deadlines before they destroy my best friend’s dreams. I feared coming home empty-handed, but I wasn’t going to agree to spend another second under the claws of that sadist jackass.
I toss onto my side, beating my pillow to fluff it and curl into the fetal position. My vagina is still super sensitive, and embarrassment sets in thick. What in God’s name was I thinking? Had I gone temporarily insane to go along with all that? Okay, I’ll admit, I was intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? I’ve always heard about those types of places, but never truly believed them to be real. Because who willingly does that shit? Apparently, a whole underground society of sickos. So…maybe it wasn’t totally sick. Those people truly looked like they were enjoying themselves. And if I were honest, I wasn’t completely put off watching either.
I groan, throwing my fleece blanket over my head. What’s wrong with me? Even further, what’s wrong with him? We had a deal, and he completely screwed me. Ugh. If I wanted to get technical, I got screwed twice—once by a vibrating chair, the other by that jerk-off who totally lied to me. He said one night. I stuck to my end, and he jerked me over.
