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But instead of withdrawing his hand, or reprimanding me for my shameful wantonness, Christian said, “Shh, sweet girl,” and he laid two fingers gently on the front of my panties, precisely on top of my tingling clit, and he started to rub.
“This is how I inspect a naughty pussy,” he said softly, almost as if he spoke only to himself.
I felt the muscles in my lower back, in my ass, in my thighs, light up with pleasure and spasm uncontrollably. I gave a little cry as I felt my whole lower body squirm and rise, desperate to rub against my master’s too-gently caressing fingers.
My arms struggled against the cuffs. My knees tugged at the straps holding them, trying to spread even further, provide even better access to the naughtiest parts of me.
With my eyes tightly shut against the degrading sight of Christian’s ‘inspection,’ I threw my head back, sobbing, “Oh… God… oh… oh… sir… please…”
But my keeper’s touch remained light. Up and down his fingertips went, pressing just a little each time, at the place that tingled with terrible, fierce need all the more at each touch, and then at the lower spot where his hardness had tamed me once before, his rigid cock fucking me into submission.
He worked me slowly and rhythmically. I took my lower lip between my teeth and let out a tiny, involuntary whimper with each motion of his fingers over the lace of my naughty panties.
“You’re getting your panties very wet, Leah,” he said, so softly I had to strain to hear him. “I think you’ve been teaching your little pussy to respond to a man’s touch. Have you been playing with yourself, Rebel?”
I opened my mouth to question, to protest, to deny, but all that came out was a panting, gasping breath.
“We’d better get these off you,” he murmured, “so I can conduct a proper inspection.”
My pussy clenched hard. I had no idea how the seemingly innocent—even slightly menacing—wordinspectioncould provoke that helpless response. I didn’t think Iwantedto know.
“Apartment,” he said. I opened my eyes, surprised, and managed to keep them where Christian had told me they belonged: his left hand, on his huge manhood, still stroking himself almost idly—as if he simply meant to show me, his fuck toy, that billionaire keepers get to enjoy themselves as they like while kept bed girls must wait until their owners judge them worthy of pleasure.
“Open toy cabinet,” his voice said, and I heard a click from behind me, in the headboard.
“What…?” I started, twisting my head in vain to try to see what sort of shameful toys Selecta had provided for a sponsor’s pleasure, and blushing furiously at the thoughts that filled my wayward mind.
I saw only Christian’s right hand, having left my soaking panties and my needy pussy bereft, reaching over my head. I heard a moment of rummaging as he located what he wanted, and then I saw his hand return, holding something I took a moment to recognize as blunt-nosed safety scissors.
I let out a little cry as I understood all too well. Like the wordinspection, the sight of the scissors sent a shockwave of arousal through my body. The knowledge that a man meant to cut off my underwear… to destroy the expensive, pretty thong… in order to render my pussy and bottom fully available for his punishment and his pleasure—it made my whole backside squirm with need even as it stirred a fluttery panic in my belly.
“Wait…” I said, my good-girls-don’t-ruin-their-nice-underwear instincts suddenly, weirdly taking hold of me. “Wait… sir… can’t you just… I mean, I won’t try to run away…”
The babbling part of my brain had taken firm hold; I didn’t even really know what I meant to say, except that having Christian use the scissors on the prettily decorated elastic waistband of the expensive thong seemed like… just too much. Too much of just about everything. My eyes had followed the movement of the shears all too closely; he held them only an inch away from my left hip.
He didn’t answer me for a moment. Instead his left hand moved over, leaving his hardness swaying menacingly next to my upraised right thigh. I had a terribly ambivalent moment as I longed for the touch of its warm shaft against my naked skin and dreaded it at the same time, and felt bizarrely like the scissors and Christian’s enormous cock represented two sides of the same dominant, brutal, impossibly seductive coin: my master’s lust and his power over me.
The fingers of his left hand pulled on the front of my panties; he just put them in there and tugged, so that he could insert the open vee of the scissors’ blades into the elastic, ready to cut. As if that were simply something a man did with the lacy white panties he had dressed his fuck toy in.
I let out a little cry of fear and helpless arousal.
“Please…” I whispered. “Please… can’t you just… you know, take them off?”
“Look at me, Rebel,” Christian commanded.
Startled, I raised my eyes to his. His gaze seemed to see straight into my roiling mind and my wayward heart—the frightened but urgent warmth that I couldn’t help feeling toward the wealthy, gorgeous man who had, it seemed, claimed me as his own.
“These panties belong to me,” he told me. “I’ll do as I like with them, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll buy you new ones.”
He looked down. My eyes followed his, to watch as he squeezed the handles of the scissors and cut through the decorated elastic. I felt the fabric pull away, and I let out a little whimper, lifting my gaze to Christian’s face only to find that his attention remained on my private parts.
With butterflies of naughtiness in my tummy, feeling sure that if he noticed I had my eyes raised he would punish me, I still couldn’t stop looking at the hungry expression in my sponsor’s eyes as he drew the ruins of my panties up my right leg, until they were a useless tangle against the cuff that restrained my thigh, opening me for his use.
He looked up again, and I felt my eyes widen in fear. I lowered my eyes, my face hot and my heart racing, but Christian said, “No, Leah. Keep looking at me.”
He looked down again, though, and I felt his hand between my thighs, fondling me very gently, taming me, making me sob with need. His smile returned, as if in satisfaction at his bed girl’s responsiveness to his dominant touch. His eyes returned to mine, but he continued to stroke my pussy, fingers moving up and down the tingling inner petals of my tender, still nearly virgin slit.
“You’ve been playing with this little pussy, haven’t you, naughty girl?” he asked softly. “Once a girl like you gets started, she can’t stop, can she?”
