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My brain had really only begun to take in and to process what Christian had said about the algorithm. I only had the vaguest idea of whatalgorithmmeant, anyway—and the idea that Selecta had used one on me to do more than simply, say, show me the posts they wanted me to see, on my social media feed seemed to open a trap door beneath my feet into some terrible abyss of potential shame.
Sure, Selecta obviously knew a shit-load about me. Only when the billionaire who had clearly decided to make himself my sponsor at least for a night began to propel me across the floor of my own apartment, with the much-too-certain goal of spanking my bare ass, did the possible extent of the megacorp’s knowledge sink in.
Much worse, Christian’s words had also shaped the darkness of the abyss into frightening, monstrous forms—all the scarier because, to my horror, they fascinated me. Did they know about… had theytoldthis man about… about what I had seen, in my mind’s eye, when I had disgraced myself in front of the photographer? When I had come for the first time, thinking about what a man like Christian G might do with me, if I failed to obey him?
The idea seemed to bring a fresh surge of strength to my limbs. I tried desperately to renew my struggle against Christian’s grip, twisting to the side and pulling in what I thought might represent an unexpected direction. For an instant I thought I would get free, and I had a moment of panic as I realized I had no idea what I would do next, if I did manage to get away from him. Again, to my dismay, that strange disappointment tugged at the back of my mind; something in me seemed humiliatingly ready to fight against my natural independence.
Is it natural, though?asked a voice in my head.Isn’t itmorenatural to accept a wealthy, gorgeous man’s guidance, even when you have to learn your lesson over his knee?
Especiallywhen you have to submit to his judgment that way?
The moment of thinking I would slip out of Christian’s grasp ended nearly as soon as it had begun, though. He tightened his grip expertly, one of his hands encircling both my wrists behind my back, and he applied enough pressure so that I gave a little cry of aching discomfort. I scooted forward in front of him, the only way I could travel that would relieve the force on my arms.
We had reached the couch. I looked down at its imitation leather surface and had a moment of hot-faced realization as to why Selecta had upholstered it that way. They knew—their algorithms told them, maybe—that rich men would want to fuck their sponsored bed girls on it.
That those bed girls were the sort of young women who got shamefully wet between their thighs when a billionaire movie producer twisted their arms behind their back and marched them to the couch for a spanking… that they feared making a mess when their new sponsors deflowered them on their apartment couches… that cleaning up after getting fucked would represent a much simpler task for a bed girl, if the couch where her keeper fucked her had a non-porous covering…
Really,my roiling mind tossed up out of the storm,it’s foryou, isn’t it? You live here: you’re the one who’s going to have to wipe down the couch after your dominant billionaire keeper takes your virginity here in your living room.
A sob burst from my throat, my chest—from even further down, it felt like. I had only an instant to gaze at the gray faux leather surface, and to remember how surprisingly comfortable a place to sit this couch had proven, earlier that day when I had watched a silly action movie to take my mind off the date. Then Christian had begun to turn me, using my forward momentum to upset my balance so that he could simply lift me off the floor as he sat down.
He spun me round so that I faced the end of the couch, and beyond it the little entryway where he had kissed me for the first time. I saw the apartment door, and for a moment I thought,If I can only get there, I can get out, and away.
But it wasn’t true, was it? Even if I got into the hallway, security would catch me. Not the man about to punish me over his knee—me, the disobedient associate member a billionaire had decided to spank and to fuck. They would catch me and return me to my keeper, and he would spank me harder… would do more than spank me… would do one of those things the aesthetician had hinted at… the ones I had tried to banish from my wayward thoughts ever since that humiliating ‘beauty’ session where she had prepared my pussy to wear Christian G’s lacy lingerie, and to please his hungry eyes when he at last unwrapped his new toy.
My view of the door changed radically. It became a view of the arm of the couch, with a little bit of door above it. An instant later I understood that Christian had toppled me over and bent me at the waist. I noticed then that my mind and my body had become disconnected in some fundamental way. Somehow I had turned into an observer of a naughty girl’s first discipline session as well as the soon-to-be-punished offender.
My upper body had come to rest on the couch, my chin cushioned against the same upholstery whose shameful nature I had just understood. All my breath had rushed out of my mouth, I observed. As I turned my head so that I could see the picture window and the lights of LA I drew more air in, knowing I would need to speak soon though I had no idea what I could say to stop this insane scene.
I started to struggle again. The moment of expert manhandling had taken me by surprise, and it had triggered such a tempest of thoughts and feelings that my almost-exhausted body, strangely distant from my mind, had ceased to resist. The sight of the window, though, and a sudden horror at the idea someone might see into the apartment, brought a new wave of defiance. I kicked with my legs and tried to twist my upper body away and off the couch.
Maybe I can get the security guards to… to let me at least have a few minutes? And then Christian… he’d be so… so disgusted with me that he’d leave. And find another toy, another girl to keep in luxury.
Those thoughts stirred such a terrible welter of emotion that I thrust them back and let my body’s fruitless struggle occupy my whole consciousness. The moment of compliance had let my muscles rest, and brought back some of their strength, so yet again I thought I might actually slip out of the grip of the huge, strong hand around my wrist.
Christian’s left elbow pressed hard into my back. His right arm came down across my upper thighs, bending me with such little apparent effort that it drew a whimper from my chest as he crossed his right leg over my knees.
“You’ll learn to hold still for your punishments, Leah, if I’m going to be your sponsor,” he said, and then he spanked me. Once, but very hard—or it felt very hard to me, hard enough that I cried out, though the force of Christian’s hand had to travel through the fabric of the pretty green romper.
CHAPTER15
Leah
I had been spanked. A good portion of my mind found it ridiculous that a single slap from a man’s hand—even a billionaire’s hand—could bring me across such a titanic threshold, but my heart and my imagination and above all my body clamored to the contrary: that one spank threatened to take me from an independent young woman to a submissive fuck toy. My limbs rebelled: although it felt like my strength had almost completely gone, I tried again to kick and to twist away.
The sudden need to feel like I had done everything in my power to resist Christian’s crazy idea of ‘discipline’ overwhelmed me. I had to show him that I had no intention of learning to hold still while he spanked me—or of learning anything.
He tightened his grip, bending my arm a little further so that I yelped. Then he brought his hand down again just as hard as he had the first time, in the very same place right in the middle of my bottom. I yelped again at the sharp sting of the spank, trying in vain to get my head around far enough to see him above me.
“Stop!” I yelled. My eyes went back to the enormous window. Heat surged through my entire body. If someone were watching, they must have seen me struggle, right? The idea that an observer might suppose I had gone over a man’s knee submissively and willingly suddenly seemed worse than the spanking itself.
“Your real punishment hasn’t started yet,” Christian told me. “This is to get your attention.”
“What?” I demanded. I didn’t even want to know, though, did I? If I listened to his notion about how my ‘discipline session’ or whatever was supposed to work, I would give into it, wouldn’t I?
But Christian’s calm voice made it impossible to think straight.
“Your actual spanking will start when you take off your romper and lay yourself over my knee.”
