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His eyes flash defensively for a moment. “You arenota hostage. Do you understand? I’m keeping you here for your own protection becauseyouchose to interfere with something that didn’t involve you. I would give anything to not have you here right now.”
I sigh heavily, unimpressed with how much he’s deflecting. “Then let me go. If you’re so pissed off that I’m here ruining your master plan, then send me home. I have absolutely nothing to gain from telling anyone that I know that your briefcase exists.”
“Yeah, well, I know how women like you are. You have nothing interesting going on in your life, so as soon as you find out what’s in that briefcase, you’ll be all over social media talking about it. You want your fifteen minutes of fame just like everyone else. I don’t know you well enough to think otherwise.”
I pause, my ears perking up. “Wait, what’s in the briefcase?”
He hesitates, his eyes growing wide as he realizes the massive mistake he’s made.
“Doesn’t matter to you. Forget I said anything,” he replies. I can practically feel his face breaking out into a sweat. Any cover he had now is gone.
“You have to tell me now, or I’ll find out myself,” I snap.
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have to do anything for you.”
In a fit of frustration, I pick up the plate of food and hurl it at his head.
I miss by only a few inches, but a piece of sausage smacks him in the eye before the whole platter smashes into the wall behind him. The noise is absolutely brilliant – a harsh, bright crash filling the blue, sleepy space of the bedroom.
“What the fuck was that for?!”
I hardly see him move before he’s practically on top of me, pinning my arms to the headboard above me. “Don’t ever,everpull some shit like that again. Do you understand me?”
I crack an insubordinate smile. “What are you going to do, kill me? You don’t want to kill me. If you weren’t a pussy, you already would have.”
He wants to pick me up and toss me through the window. I can see it in his eyes.
But instead of harming me, he stares into my eyes as he leans part of his weight on me. There’s that warmth again, the subtle hint of his cologne that I was pleasantly blessed with as he carried me. If this were a scene in a movie, he would lose control of his ego and kiss me deeply. But I’m supposed to be disgusted by such a thought, so I put it out of my mind entirely.
He doesn’t kiss me, but his misguided, impotent anger manifests again as he flips me over and spanks me hard through my shorts.
“Maybe I won’t kill you, but I can do that, and next time I won’t hold back. So you might want to tone down your attitude a little,” he says with a stone-cold serious expression.
I’m blushing hard from my cheeks to my lower belly, and I consider pulling my sweatshirt over my face so he can’t see it.
It must be too dark for him to notice, because he gets up off the bed and leaves without another word. I figure he would have at least teased me for getting so flustered by a spanking, and I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t.
Now, all my food is on the floor, but it feels just a little too worth it now that my ass is throbbing from the impact. What a stupid trade off! Yet here I am, perfectly satisfied with it.
The carpet is clean enough, I suppose, and I don’t see any evidence of animals running around the house, so I slip out of bed and collect whatever looks salvageable. There’s a decent spread of food here, and I feel a little guilty for wasting it. Still, the satisfaction of getting spanked overrides my desire to eat.
My mind slips back into that same profane fantasy, sleeping with a married man and getting caught by his wife. What’s wrong with me? Why would I ever want to do such a thing?
Knowing that Aleksander was holding back makes me even more curious about how practiced he is at spanking women. Is it something he does often, and for what reason? Is it just because he enjoys hearing them yelp in pain before he fucks them?
My pussy begins to pulse slightly in my underwear, and I curl up in the bed again, too embarrassed to not be covered bysomething. I want him to spank me again, but I fear that I’ll make him angry if I keep testing him. I might just have to be happy with what I’ve gotten.
Under the blankets, I slip my hand in between my legs, feeling the comforting warmth as I consider sliding my hand into my panties. It would feel so wrong to do, masturbating in a place where I’m being held captive, but the wrongness of it all catches up to me. I slowly ease the waistband of my underwear down, tucking my hand inside until I can glide my fingers over my clit as it throbs steadily.
I’ve never even masturbated at work or at a sleepover when I was younger, so touching myself in a foreign bed feels alien and unnatural to me.
My clit tingles with every tiny stroke as I play with it slowly, feeling around for the most sensitive spot as I allow my fantasy to take over. I feel dirty for masturbating in someone else’s bed, especially in his house, but something tells me that he wouldn’t be opposed to such a thing. I’d even love to see his reaction if he caught me. Would he spank me again? Call me a dirty slut or an attention whore?
Right now, I feel like I’d do anything to find out, but I’m not going to let this man manipulate me into having sex with him. I might be extremely attracted to him, but he’s still a dangerous stranger with too much power. There’s no predicting what he would do with my trust if I gave it to him.
For now, I need to keep my fantasies, and my hands, to myself.
9
