Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
A whimper of fear rose from my chest as I lifted my eyes.
“What kind of girl are you, you little slut?” he asked, his voice hard and his eyes narrow.
“Oh…” I said, because the expression on his face had made me squirm in my chair, and that had made me much too aware of the plug in my anus. “Oh… I’m… I’m…”
The words would not come.
My mouth worked around them, but the sentence remained lodged somewhere between shame and arousal, too revealing to survive contact with air. I stared into his eyes, saw exactly how little sympathy he had for my struggle, and still could not say it.
“No?” he said.
I shook my head once, miserably.
His chair pushed back over the floor with a soft scrape.
I felt the sound in my stomach.
“Stand up.”
I obeyed at once. My knees felt weak. The robe seemed suddenly much too heavy on my body, the belt too tight, the plug too present.
“Take off the robe.”
“Porter… sir…”
His expression did not change. “Now.”
I fumbled with the sash. My fingers barely worked. The thick fabric parted and slid from my shoulders, pooling around my feet. Cool air touched my skin. I stepped out of it because I knew better than to make him tell me again.
“Naked at the table because you couldn’t answer a simple question,” he said quietly. “Come here.”
I went around the corner of the table and stopped where he indicated, between his spread knees. He remained seated, looking up at me in a way that made me feel more exposed than if he had loomed over me. His gaze moved slowly over my breasts, my stomach, between my legs. I tried not to cover myself. I tried not to shift my weight.
He put his hands on my hips and drew me a little closer.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Trembling.”
The tremble turned into a whole body shudder, and a little whining sound from my nose.
His palm slid up and closed around one breast, not roughly, just with complete possession. He weighed it, thumb moving over the nipple until it tightened almost painfully. I let out a little sound I had not meant to make. He did the same to the other, inspecting me as if I belonged to him already in every possible way.
Then his hands moved lower.
He parted me with two fingers and looked directly down at my red-furred pussy. Heat rushed into my face so fast that I almost swayed. He touched the slickness there and held up his fingers between us.
“So wet,” he said. “And all I asked you to do was admit what kind of girl you are.”
I shut my eyes.
“No.” His voice stayed calm. “Open them.”
I did.
He turned me with easy certainty until my back was to him. His hands spread my cheeks and I felt the terrible heat of his gaze on the plug nested there. His thumb stroked around it once, then pressed lightly against the base. My whole body jumped.
“Such a pretty little bottom,” he said. “And we’re going to make it prettier.”
My breath came faster.
“I’m going to have your pussy waxed. Your anus too, since you have a few stray hairs here.” He said it with the same matter-of-fact certainty with which he had discussed committee votes. “We’re going to get you nice and smooth. Then when I put you in lace panties you’ll look as exposed as you should.”
I made a helpless noise.
He laughed under his breath. “When you’re allowed to wear panties.”
That went through me so hard that my thighs trembled. I hated that he so obviously had known it would.
His fingers found my clit from behind, and at the same moment his other hand took hold of the plug and moved it slightly. The combination broke something in me at once. I gasped and pushed back before I could stop myself.
“Yes,” he said softly. “That’s what I thought.”
He kept me turned away while he played with me, one hand at my pussy, one at my plugged ass, until my composure dissolved into little moans and pleading breaths. Every tiny shift of the plug translated through my whole body. Every stroke at the front made me more aware of the fullness behind. I could feel myself becoming mindless with it, the shame changing shape into need too fast to fight.
“What kind of girl are you?” he asked again.
I bit my lip hard enough to hurt.
His fingers left my clit.
I whimpered immediately, and he stood.
The next second he had bent me over the dining table. The edge pressed into my hips. He drew my arms behind me and folded them there, pinning my wrists in one hand so thoroughly that I understood at once how impossible it would be to resist. His other hand rested at the back of my neck for one second, forcing me down.