Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard, feeling my pussy clench at his words. Part of me still thought—knew, even—that I should be outraged, should stand up and walk out. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t bring myself to disobey.
With trembling hands, I slowly raised my fist and placed my wadded-up panties on the pristine white tablecloth. The delicate lace stood out starkly against the crisp linen, a lewd reminder of my submission.
Stuart smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmured, reaching out to take the panties. He brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply, and I thought I might die of embarrassment right there.
“You’re very, very wet,” he observed, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Such an eager little slut.”
I squirmed in my seat, acutely aware of the air against my bare pussy, the way my arousal was already starting to dampen my thighs. Stuart tucked my panties into his jacket pocket, as if taking a souvenir of my obedience.
“Now,” he said, picking up his fork as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, “I believe we were discussing Carlyle’s views on heroic leadership. Please, continue.”
I stared at him in disbelief, my mind struggling to shift gears. How could he expect me to carry on an intellectual conversation when I was sitting here, panty-less and aching with need? But the stern look in his eyes told me I had no choice.
I forced myself to take a deep breath and resume our discussion of Carlyle, though my mind reeled with irresistible thoughts and pictures. As I tried to speak about what I remembered from On Heroes, I couldn’t forget my state of arousal or my vulnerability. The fabric of my dress felt impossibly sensual against my bare skin, and every slight movement sent shivers through my body.
Just as I was trying to explain Carlyle’s views on the role of divine inspiration in leadership, the waiter appeared with dessert. The sight of the decadent chocolate mousse nearly made me swoon. The rich, velvety swirl looked utterly sublime, and I could smell the intoxicating aroma of dark chocolate and a hint of something more exotic—perhaps a touch of chili or cardamom.
“This looks amazing,” I managed to say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.
Stuart smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Indeed it does. Please, enjoy.”
I picked up my spoon with a trembling hand, acutely aware of Stuart’s gaze on me as I took my first bite. The mousse was heavenly—silky smooth and intensely flavored. Under normal circumstances, I would have been in raptures over such an exquisite dessert. But now, all I could think about was the punishment that awaited me.
As I savored each decadent spoonful, my mind raced with vivid images of what was to come. I imagined myself bent over Stuart’s bed, my dress hiked up around my waist, exposing my bare bottom. In my mind’s eye, I could almost feel the sting of the whip… or the strap… or the belt… as it striped my flesh, leaving angry red welts in its wake. I squirmed in my seat at the fresh wave of unwelcome arousal that flooded through me.
I did my best to keep talking about Carlyle, discussing his ideas on the cyclical nature of history and the importance of strong leadership in times of crisis. But my words felt disconnected, as if someone else was speaking through me. My real focus was on the throbbing need between my legs and the anticipation of what Stuart would do to me later.
“Don’t you agree, Melissa?” Stuart’s voice cut through my reverie, snapping me back to the present.
I blinked, realizing I had no idea what he had just said. “I’m sorry… could you repeat that?” I asked.
Stuart tilted his head, and I felt my eyes go wide. “Sir,” I whispered. “Could you repeat that, sir?”
My cheeks burned as I realized just how easy, just how natural my boss’ dominance was to him.
Stuart’s eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew he was fully aware of where my thoughts had been. “I was saying that Carlyle’s ideas on the necessity of strong, even authoritarian leadership in times of social upheaval could be seen as somewhat problematic in our modern context. Don’t you agree?”
I nodded, grateful for the chance to refocus on the intellectual discussion. “Yes, absolutely. I mean, although he made some compelling arguments about heroes… the role of, you know, exceptional people—men, really—in shaping history, his views on heroism are pretty outdated.”
“Are they, though?” Stuart mused, and I realized with a lurch of my tummy that he was… what?
Playing. He’s playing with me.
The bill arrived before I had the chance to respond—if I could have found anything at all to say. Instead of looking at the bill, Stuart leaned in close to me and murmured, “Go to the bathroom and edge yourself. Think about taking my cock in your adorable bottom. Don’t you dare come. I’ll know if you do.”