Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
To my horror, he nodded.
“Yes, Leah,” he said softly. “I do mean that. I’m going to discipline you on your pussy when you show this kind of willful disobedience.”
A sob wrenched itself out of my chest. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. The terrible conflict inside me raged to a height that felt dizzying in itself.
I looked into his eyes, feeling my face turn into what could only look like a naughty girl’s pouting, almost comical plea for mercy despite her knowledge that she’d misbehaved.
He paid me a month’s allowance. At the platinum level. My imagination, utterly beyond my control now, ran heedlessly onward. He’s paid good money to enjoy me as he likes. I’m a fuck toy—his fuck toy—now. Shouldn’t he spank his fuck toy on her pussy when she refuses to do as he says… to give him what he’s paid for?
A terrible shudder went through my whole frame at the thought—at the mental image of me, obediently walking back to the living room and, in front of the picture window, taking off my clothes to show him his new possession. Then another, even more violent one gripped me as I seemed to see alongside that picture another one: of the consequences of disobedience, of Christian…
He reached out and grabbed me. His right hand seized my left upper arm and he spun me around. He had moved so quickly, after moving so deliberately, that it took me completely by surprise. I didn’t start to struggle until Christian had already begun to march me back toward the couch.
I thought he would turn a little, to go around the sofa, would sit back down and take me over his knee again, so I tried to pull in the opposite direction. Christian only used that movement to propel me where I realized he actually wanted to go: not into the living room but only to the back of the couch.
He threw me over it—it felt like he had thrown me, anyway, though I also felt again the precision of his actions, how he only used as much force as he needed. My upper body landed on the cushions with my arms at my sides, and when I tried to rise, rebellion and fear having taken full hold of me, I felt his left hand immediately pressing down on the small of my back, effortlessly holding me in place, bent over the back of my couch.
His right hand, then, on my upraised bottom. I had more than half expected him to spank me, but instead he took advantage of my posture to slide that hand inside the seat of the romper, the same way he had done when he had me over his knee. Even before he took hold of my pussy I cried out in helpless need for the return of the skillful fingers to the place I craved them the most.
When Christian did begin to masturbate me in a firm, rapid rhythm, I whimpered and moved my hips in search of more friction, more pleasure. Within a second or two, I could hear wet, slippery sounds coming from the wayward place he seemed already to know much too well, and he had again already brought me so terribly close to orgasm that a wild part of me thought, He should punish my pussy… a wanton pussy like mine needs correction from a firm-handed man… a dominant man with a rigid cock.
To my distress, though, Christian slowed his right hand’s rhythm. Then he spoke.
“I’m going to take the romper off now,” he told me, his voice hard but—to my surprise—not angry. A thrill of something like gratitude and even joy rose from my chest to make a hot flush in my face at the thought that Christian the billionaire could do this to me—for me, said a voice in my head—without losing his temper. “I don’t want to rip it, but I will if I have to—if you can’t hold still… and as you can imagine, Leah, if I rip the romper I’ll have to punish you for that, too.”
“Oh, God,” I gasped as the hand on my back lifted, and I felt both his hands at my shoulders, starting to pull down the pretty green garment. How could something so obviously unfair and unjust somehow nevertheless… what? My mind sought desperately for a word: a verb that might express the dismaying way this man’s insane words and dominant actions affected me.
Work, my mind said. That’s the verb you want. You mean, how can something so unfair work so frighteningly well for you?
“Oh, God,” I repeated in a whisper, to the couch, as I felt Christian stripping me. He had the romper down to the middle of my arms. I knew he could see my bra straps, and that gave me an irrational thrill of embarrassment—why would I care about my bra straps when he was about to pull the romper down all the way and see the naughty thong?