Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 12
Ingrid
The subway station swallowed me whole, the racket of train noise on damp concrete and stale air closing in around me. Every step reminded me of my lack of panties, a constant, surprisingly still raw reminder of Mr. Alden’s paddle. The soreness at the base of my spine pulsed with every move, each throb a twisted blend of pain and arousal.
Just focus on right now, I tried to persuade myself, pushing through the turnstiles. My desperate reason’s voice lost itself amidst garbled announcements, and then the rhythmic roar of the metal wheels of an approaching train.
I descended the stairs, each step bringing a little wince. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows that seemed to strip away my composure. The crowd jostled and pressed, only making me think about how exposed I felt beneath my skirt, how vulnerable.
Trying desperately to push those thoughts away, I stepped onto my train. I scanned automatically for an empty seat, my pulse quickening as I realized I probably shouldn’t sit down at all today if I could help it. To my dismay, a man stood up to offer me his seat. Confused and flustered, blushing, I took it so that I wouldn’t have to come up with some explanation of why I wouldn’t want to sit.
My backside came down hard on the rigid plastic and I had to bite my lip from uttering a little cry of discomfort. The train started to rumble forward, and I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, from mortification as much as from the ache in my bottom-cheeks.
Sit still! I told myself, but it was impossible.
I fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing my legs, feeling the hem of my skirt ride up just a little too high. The sensation sent a shiver of both shame and excitement through me. I seemed caught between worlds—my conservative upbringing clashing violently with the unwelcome but somehow absolutely necessary thoughts and emotions Joseph Alden had awakened in me.
What if someone sees?
I shifted again, trying to find a position that wouldn’t aggravate the soreness or fuel the fire burning below my tummy. The question seemed to hang in the air around me… whether I would actually enter the lobby of the shining Selecta building, ride the elevator, step out of it into the luxurious corporate offices. With every passing second, the train hurtled me toward that destination, but I somehow kept telling myself I had a choice. I could still simply get on another train and go home and pretend none of it had happened.
“Good morning, Miss Vogel,” a security guard at the front desk greeted me as I entered. I stopped and blinked at him, taken aback that he knew my name. He smiled and pointed to a far corner of the lobby. “System tells me who you are, and where you’re going. Have a good first day.”
I blinked again, my thoughts roiling. Just a piece of tech, I told myself. Selecta is a tech company, after all. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Alden had somehow told them to make me feel especially controlled, especially watched.
I managed a polite nod, my voice caught in my throat. The lobby was a hive of activity, but I barely registered it. My focus remained on the elevator, the ride up, and then—Joseph Alden. My new boss.
I kept telling myself that I could get off the crowded elevator at a different floor. That I would get off the elevator—at fifteen, at twenty-two. I wouldn’t ride up to thirty-four, the Selecta executive level.
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal the executive suite on thirty-four. Opulent and grand, it seemed a world away from my modest apartment. The plush carpet muffled my footsteps as I walked toward Cathy’s desk. Each step felt like a journey, a test somehow both of my resolve and of my sanity.
“Good morning, Ingrid,” Cathy said brightly, looking up from one of her three screens.
Run. My rational mind whispered it desperately. You can still get back in the elevator. It doesn’t matter that Cathy, the woman who booked your Brazilian wax and knows that your pussy was made smooth and bare for Joseph, just greeted you as a colleague.
She had risen, smiling. My heart flipped.
“Um,” I said, heat flooding my cheeks. I forced a smile onto my face that I hoped would match Cathy’s. “Good morning!”
“You can follow me down the hall,” she told me. “I’ll show you your desk. It’s right outside Mr. Alden’s office but I’m guessing you probably need a refresher on how to get there.”
“Yes, thank you,” I replied, my voice to my dismay barely above a whisper. Her presence reassured me despite what she knew; at least she apparently could pretend this office was a normal place of business, and the fiction seemed to rub itself off on me a bit.