Page 23 of Force Me To Obey


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e open road, feeling dizzy, shaken, scared still, and exposed.

Chapter Eight

The hours between 42 North St. and Monday in the office went by in a daze. I don’t think I ever woke to reality as I took my long hot shower and washed my hair. I flashed back frequently to the scenes in the house, especially the last with Preston. I tried to remember his every word, understand my faults and his attitude, and then recapture the embarrassing body rush that made that exchange so weirdly sexual. My humiliation taunted me, as repulsive as it was. It tapped a need in me I would have never known was there without it having been so clearly pointed out. I remembered Ryder’s cruel words, and Preston’s, and thrived on them both. Hate had turned to love, had turned to obsession—a mania I couldn’t chase from my mind.

I finally drank a glass of wine to calm my thoughts, so I could rest. I drifted into my dreams about eight o’clock and didn’t resurface until six-thirty the next morning.

Then, the instant I came to, reality reared its snide face, reminding me that it was Monday, my weekend was over and I would return to my master’s domain in little over an hour.

***

The first few hours of Monday morning went by as normal—normal except for the fact that any second I expected Preston to summon me. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he ignored me. He’d certainly done so in the past, for days. But now, more than ever, I needed some cue from him about where our relationship would go. I needed his reassurance, his guidance. I didn’t know how to think without him directing my thoughts.

At three, after seven torturous, wasted hours, I walked through the main office trying to get noticed—and I was.

“Skye, a few minutes, please.” Preston came out of nowhere and disappeared down the hall before I could respond to his request. I followed him and stood at the doorway, while he sat in his chair. “Your behavior at the house was regrettable, but fortunately, you finally seemed to redeem yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come here.”

The office door was still open, so that anyone who came far enough down the corridor could see the scene that followed.

He turned me toward the wall. “Bend over.” A shudder of apprehension raced up my spine, as I spread my legs and obeyed the instruction, presenting my master with my naked ass, nicely outlined in a black garter belt and lacy stockings. Pushing up my short skirt, he opened my cleft and inspected the widened orifice. In the last few hours it had been reverting to its “pre-fucked” state.

Finished with that buried territory, he pushed me upright and briefly inspected the marks on my ass—far fewer than I expected there would be considering the amount of caning my butt received that Saturday night. After motioning me to the front of his desk, he reached in a drawer, pulled out a disinfectant cloth and wiped his hands.

“It’s a shock to the system, no doubt,” he commented tersely, “but you survived. And you’ll survive a whole lot more.”

I heard a knock on the door behind me. “Am I interrupting?”

I turned my head, seeing Joel McNary there, and my entire being flinched. For just an instant, I saw Ryder in his place, the same cocky attitude, the same smug pretty-boy looks. They were clones of each other in attitude and substance. Maybe I was wrong to color Joel McNary with the same shades and passions, but at least for an instant, they were the same man in my eyes.

“Not at all, come in,” Preston welcomed him.

Joel strolled forward. “And how’s the project?” he looked directly at me, while addressing Preston.

“Like any other novice. If I could only turn off her brain, I’d get better results.”

I realized then that they were talking about me. And when Joel eyed me with a knowing look and smiled, I wanted to shrink to the size of a mouse and scurry away.

“He knows?” I looked at Preston pathetically.

“Of course, I know, Miss Skye pose-in-the-nude-on-the-internet Sinclair. Pres and I drew straws to see which one of us would have you.”

Drew straws! Like I was some trinket? My heart beat so fast, I thought I would pass out. I couldn’t say a word, though dozens of nasty ones marched through my head—swine, rat, bastard, m’fucking asshole. Apparently, my angry feelings showed; certainly eyes were riddled with spite.

Joel turned grim, speaking to Preston again, “You’ve gotta put a lid on that temper of hers, Pres.”

“Think so?” He remained totally cool. “Maybe you’d like to help?”

“Help? Hell, you know me. I’ve been dying to get at that fat ass.” I shriveled a little more inside, while my anger grew. Paradox? Yes, but I was riddled with them that day. “Shall we close the door?” He didn’t wait for Preston to answer him—the need for privacy was obvious. Either that or the entire office staff was on to the game.

“Have at her ass, if you like; it obviously didn’t get caned enough on the weekend.” Preston casually added his two cents, and then melted into the woodwork, content to sit at his desk and observe as remotely as a judge.

Despite the humiliation that made me angry, that made me sweat and my stomach sour, my crotch was so engaged, so wet just from their nasty banter that I couldn’t hide the truth when Joel McNary pushed me over the edge of the desk. He flipped up my skirt to inspect me as Preston had just done. And with the cool touch of his hand on my cheeks, I practically came. When he felt between my thighs, the first orgasmic shudder rippled through my belly. No! I had to get my bearings. I had to stop myself. I couldn’t let them know how much I hungered for this degradation.

But then, my arousal was impossible to hide. Joel brought out the evidence of my lust—sticky, shiny, sex juice coating his fingers like honey. “Suck it, slut,” he presented his hand to my mouth, and I licked it clean.

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