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“Oh, no,” Christian murmured. “I’ve barely even started.”
I felt his fingers hook into the waistband of the lacy thong. I felt him start to pull it down. I cried out in protest, and I squirmed fitfully, but his left hand tightened its hold and bent my arms upward a little more, to keep me obedient. The panties offered no protection, of course, but the idea that Christian had waited untilhedecided to expose my pussy to his lustful gaze sent a jolt of humiliation through my system.
“Spread your knees,” he commanded.
What I hadn’t even remembered—because of course my mind hadn’t wanted to recall it—was what he had promised to do to the place he had just stripped of its lacy covering.
“Oh, no…” I sobbed, fear filling my chest. “Please… please, sir?”
Christian’s response arrived only an instant later, or not even an instant. The hard spanks, delivered much, much more rapidly than his earlier punishment, seemed to rain down within a nanosecond, as if no gap could exist between my impertinent plea for mercy and its stern reward.
Somewhere in my head I understood that the feeling of instantaneous justice had to come from the mental detachment, the floating that seemed to take hold of me when this man exercised his control over my body. That realization, however, had nothing at all to do with what felt like the important part of the experience: the essence of the frightening, arousing new world into which Christian had taken me worked on a far stronger, far more basic level.
I screamed, and struggled, because I couldn’t help struggling at the fiery pain my would-be keeper brought to my poor bare bottom. I felt my panties around my lower thighs, just above my knees, a useless tangle. I clenched my bottom-cheeks, trying to soothe the pain. I rode the back of the couch with my bucking hips, trying to lessen the force of the spanking. Instead of moving the blows around my backside in a slow, steady rhythm, Christian gave me five at a time in each spot: my right hind cheek, my left, my right upper thigh, my left, and then…
My whole body seemed to explode with sensation and emotion when he began to punish me in the very middle, low down, only a tiny distance from the place he had commanded me to open and to expose. I arched my back and raised my head on my taut neck as his strong fingers seemed to command that humiliation even more arrogantly and urgently.
“Sir… sir,” I cried pitifully.
My legs opened, my knees spreading so that I could feel the stretch of the thong’s elastic waistband, restraining me. My pretty, lacy bra felt like a harness, suddenly: Christian’s mastery had turned the lingerie he had purchased into a delicate kind of bondage for me, the girl he had likewise purchased.
I had to get it over with: the terrible, terrible part that he had promised… the part that would bring my first punishment to a close, so that I could…
Get rid of him?My brain, off in space, started a conversation with itself.You know he’s not going to fuck you without your consent. So, of course, you’re going to tell him to leave. You’re going to let him do the horrible thing, because you have no choice—obviously—and then you’re going to take the allowance and buy time with it. Time to figure out whether there’s any prospect of finding asanesponsor in this crazy so-called program.
The thoughts flashed through my mind, and I had the feeling they might have gained some traction—might even have snapped me out of the distant realm Christian’s punishment had sent me to—except for what he did next. He didn’t spank my pussy, not immediately anyway. Instead he plunged his hand between my thighs and began to rub my clit firmly and rapidly with his expert fingertips.
His thumb went between my bottom-cheeks, and he touched the tiny opening there boldly, pressing against it so that I cried out at the terrible indignity as much as the jolt of pleasure. I thought of what he had told me about the ultimate form of discipline he intended to use in training me… the horrid but fascinating idea of sealing me, up front.
I knew somehow that Christian absolutely intended that I think of it, and of how he could still enjoy me along another, tighter path even if he closed my pussy… of how that would bring much less pleasure for me, his fuck toy, but provide him with a way to use his property for his own degrading delight nonetheless.
Christian kept playing skillfully with my clit even as his thumb instructed me, wordlessly and yet terribly shamefully, about the rights he meant to claim over my body. He masturbated me so firmly and with such expertise that he had me sobbing, on the brink of orgasm within a second or two.
“Oh, God,” I whispered as my hips desperately rode his knowing hand. “Oh… oh, no…”
Then, showing his dominant wisdom even more clearly, he left me there. He pulled his hand away. I gave a wailing cry of need. My back arched and my bottom squirmed as if I could somehow find his fingers again and steal the climax from them. My face went as hot as an oven, because I had forgotten to close my eyes, to keep myself from seeing what it looked like in the reflection in the huge window, the lewd scene suspended as it seemed in the darkness outside the apartment.
He loomed over me, still impeccably if casually dressed in his white oxford and perfectly worn jeans. I bent over the back of the couch, my naked backside raised for Christian’s every whim. My face had gone as red as a beet, and my eyes sparkled with tears.
“Ask me to spank your pussy,” Christian said, his voice calm but very stern.
“What?” I cried. Emotion seemed to boil up in my chest.
“You heard me, naughty girl. You know you need it. Ask for it.”
Oh, no.He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair.
He knew it wasn’t fair; I didn’t even have to wonder. Christian had no intention of ever showing me fairness; that wasn’t what this was about in the slightest. He had billions of dollars: keeping me as his submissive fuck toy represented no more than a rounding error in his budget. That entitled him to use a sweet, independent young woman like me exactly as he chose, with absolutely no regard for whether she felt he had shown her a shred of ‘fairness’… whatever that idea might mean in this already unfair world.
Sweet, independent young woman.I had thought of myself that way for a long time. My attempt to game the New Modesty had seemed to me not to change that, even when I had sat in my apartment and refused to answer the door for dates I had agreed to go on. I had begun to realize… really, Christian had started to force me to see… that I had an essential willfulness lurking inside me, though.
You know you need it.I felt my face scrunch into a woeful pout; I watched it happen in the window, and I saw to my even greater embarrassment that Christian had his eyes on me, in our reflection. His gaze seemed so cool, his assessment so calm, that it made my own inner turmoil all the greater.
“You don’t have to ask in words, Leah,” he said as a little smile curved the left side of his mouth. “You may put your hands behind you and spread your thighs for me, to show me you accept your punishment.”
He accompanied his words by releasing my wrists at last. The flash of impulse to get up and try once again, in vain of course, to escape, only lasted a split second. But how could I possibly follow his filthy command—or suggestion, or however I was supposed to understand it? If I couldn’t ask in words, how could I possibly ask that way?
My arms had fallen from my back to my sides. My fingers seemed to twitch as my mind processed the terrible dilemma. My thighs trembled, too: for an instant I almost decided to try closing my knees to see what would happen.
