She walks up to me.
“You know what you did,” she says. “You know what you interfered with. You had no right.”
“Still quite vague, sweetheart.”
My lack of response is winding her up. She came all this way for a dramatic confrontation, and she’s not getting what she wanted. Maybe she thought I would be unsettled by her actions. Unfortunately for her, people with my particular internal configuration don’t actually feel unsettled. Fear is something I rarely get to enjoy, and it is not being triggered by this little thing storming at me.
“You know what you did!”
“It’s a particularly odious female foible to expect men to guess at which one of their sins she is angry about,” I comment.
Her temper gets the better of her. She slaps me across the face. Her soft, sweet hand makes decent contact with my left cheek with a sound that echoes through the room, which is otherwise entirely silent.
The look of horror the very second she realizes she’s actually done it is more than worth the slight sting left in its wake. My gaze stays steady. Nothing in my facial expression changes.It’s like when a puppy bites. You can either gasp to show them that it hurt, and dissuade the behavior that way—the method recommended by trainers. Or you can show no reaction whatsoever. Sometimes this leads to a good gnawing. Other times it just scares the hell out of the little creature because deep down all social creatures know that someone who does not react the way they should is far more dangerous than one who reacts a little too much.
“Do that again, and I will fuck your ass without lube,” I say, my tone even and conversational.
Her eyes widen and her lashes flutter. She swallows the words that leaped to her tongue. She does not want to cross me, not really. She thinks she came here to confront me and make a point, but what she really came here to do is be put in her place.
“You’ve been fucking with my life,” she accuses.
“Laura, if it were not for me you would be facing jail time for reckless assault. Your way of thanking me for sparing you that fate is apparently coming to assault me here. Interesting approach.”
Her face falls because now she’s hit me, which makes her think about the fact she might be abusive, and because she feels ungrateful. This little thing is coming apart so beautifully right in front of me. I savor the moment as it all comes crashing down inside her, how she skipped school and dropped a shift at work just to come and behave rather strangely at a professional conference.
She’s wondering what’s happening to her. If she’s always been a bad person, or if, no, it’s my fault. I’ve done this to her. She’s right on that count, but she won’t accuse me of it again in thismoment because it sounds too narcissistic. If she says that, it will seem like she’s not taking responsibility for herself.
Some men enjoy tying women up with ropes. This woman is tying herself up right in front of me without a word.
“You should go back to the airport and go back home,” I tell her. “You can still make classes in the morning if you do.”
She looks crestfallen. Not only has she not gotten the satisfaction of the public confrontation she imagined, seeing me shaken and having some come to Jesus moment, instead she is now questioning herself even more deeply. So what will she do? Turn tail and skulk out of here? Or will she try to have the fight she so deeply needs to have and get herself in real trouble?
The choice is an illusion of course. I won’t let her walk out of here. Not now. I want those quivering lips wrapped around my cock as she kneels in front of me. I want to fuck her in the most dominating ways, reveling in the power I have over her—a power that only grows the more she tries to resist. Comparisons to spiders and webs are often trite, but in this case, entirely accurate.
“You interfered with my family,” she says.
Oh, she’s decided to argue. Cute.
“I did?”
“The scholarship to a fucking military school, Samuel?”
I don’t like hearing her use my first name like that. She’s never done it before. It has the tone of a shrew housewife berating a husband, and it pricks at my ego in a way that flares anger. She’s done it by mistake, in a sense. I don’t think she wants to provoke me. She wants me to hear her anger and sympathize with it,unaware that the anger is the point. The emotion is the entire meal for me.
I grip her by the chin, holding her firmly in place as I look down into her eyes. “When you speak to me, you address me as Doctor Rollins, or Sir,” I say.
She smirks. Infuriating little thing.
“I’m not calling you either of those things,” she declares rebelliously. “You don’t deserve a title.”
That was rude and bold. Rudeness will be punished. Boldness will be crushed.
I drag her to the bathroom while she protests. She can yelp and whine all she wants. She can scream if she desires. I choose hotels very carefully for their relative privacy. This one has excellent soundproofing so guests are not bothered by activities taking place in other rooms. There could be dozens of coeds being punished in each of these suites and none of us would be the wiser. The thought makes my cock tingle.
Once in the bathroom, I smack her ass hard several times and while her mouth is open from the pained sounds she likes to make in protest, I take a sliver of soap from the sink and slip it onto her tongue, one hand at the back of her neck, controlling her head, the other two fingers on the soap to ensure she doesn’t accidentally swallow or choke on it. I have to take good care of my rebellious little pet, even when she is being punished.
“Let’s discuss matters while this punishment takes effect,” I say, my tone still even and calm. There is no need to get loud with Laura. That would frighten her in a way that would shut her down, and I do not want her shut down.
