Her hips begin to make small, involuntary circles, meeting the pressure of the vibrator. A soft moan escapes her lips, and this one is not forced. It is pure, unfiltered pleasure. Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. The blush has spread down her chest. She is lost in the current of sensation, a slave to the pleasure I have mandated.
I can see the evidence of her arousal now, a glistening slickness on the dark plastic of the toy, on her inner thighs. The scent of her, musky and sweet, begins to permeate the air around us, cutting through the sterile, air-conditioned cabin.
Her thighs are trembling, and her moans are coming in steady, soft gasps. Her back arches, pushing her chest forward, her breasts becoming perfect, offered mounds.
“Come for me, Pup,” I command, my voice rough with my own desire. “Now.”
A broken cry is torn from her throat as her body seizes up. Her legs buckle but she catches herself, one hand slapping against the wall of the cabin for support as waves of her orgasm crash through her. She rides the vibrator through it, her body convulsing, her pleasure a tangible force in the space between us. It is a magnificent sight. The absolute surrender of her body to the pleasure I have orchestrated.
Finally, the tremors subside. She sags, breathing heavily, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. She slowly, shakily removes the vibrator, her eyes fluttering open. They are glazed, unfocused with the aftermath of her climax.
She looks at me, vulnerable, exposed, utterly spent.
I smile. It’s a predator’s smile. “Again.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. A soft whimper escapes her. “Master, please, I can’t…”
“You can,” I correct her, my voice leaving no room for argument. I gesture with my chin towards the toy, still buzzing softly in her hand. “And you will. We have hours before we land. I want you a dirty little needy mess by the time we touch down in Rome. I want you so sensitive you can barely walk when I lead you off this plane, I want you to remember this feeling every time you sit on the silk sheets in my villa. Now. Again.”
The look she gives me is a mixture of exhaustion and a dark, dawning hunger. She is sore, she is oversensitive, but the command has been given. And we both know she is conditioned to obey.
With a shuddering breath she brings the vibrator back to her swollen, sensitive flesh. A gasp is torn from her as it makes contact again. The sensation undoubtedly intense, almost painful now, but she doesn’t stop. She grinds against it, her movements more desperate this time, less about exploration and more about brute force obedience.
She leans further into her pleasure, or her punishment, the line is so beautifully blurred. Her whimpers are constant now, a soundtrack to my enjoyment. She is a vision of debauched obedience, her body used for my entertainment, her pleasure my possession.
I unzip my trousers, freeing my aching cock. I don’t touch myself. Not yet. This is about her performance. My enjoyment is in the watching, in the commanding.
She builds herself up again, slower this time, the sensations clearly walking a fine line between pleasure and pain. Her face is a mask of exquisite torment as she rubs the vibrator around and around her clit.
She is doing this for me. Only for me.
I glance back towards Mateus. He is rigid, staring fixedly at his laptop screen, his jaw so tight it might just crack. He is pretending not to see, not to hear but his neck is flushed a dark, angry red. He is drowning in his disapproval right now.
Good. Let him watch. Let him understand.
This is not a liability.
This is power. Absolute, utter, delicious power. As Grace’s cries begin to climb towards a second, shattering peak, I know with a certainty that feels like destiny, that this is only the beginning.
The door to Giulio’s private office whispers shut behind me, sealing me in a tomb of polished mahogany and unearned success. He was meant to be here. Waiting. Apologetic. Nervous. A man who knows the scale of his failure and is prepared to abase himself for a chance, however slim, to rectify it.
Instead, there is only the low hum of the city of Rome. Even at this time of night, you can hear the distant, grumbling of the traffic, god knows how many floors below, and the profound silence of an empty leather chair behind a vast, pretentious desk.
I let out a soft sigh, the sound absorbed by the plush Persian rug. Of course, Giulio Fortunato has managed to fail one last time. Even this, the simplest of instructions was beyond him.
My gloves are already on, supple black leather that moulds to my hands like a second skin. There is no hurry. This is not a smash-and-grab; it is a recalibration. A necessary, if messy correction to a flawed equation.
I begin my circuit of the room. My fingers glide over surfaces, not leaving so much as a molecule of myself behind. I am a ghost already, a rumour in the making.
The office is a testament to Giulio’s particular brand of avarice. Gaudy gold-leaf frames hold pictures of him shaking hands with politicians whose careers have vastly outshone his own.
The desk is the heart of it. I circle it, taking in the chair’s position, seeing the room as he would see it. I open drawers with meticulous care. They slide without a sound, well-oiled and expensive. Inside, the story is different. The chaos of the real Giulio emerges from beneath the polished veneer. Piles of contracts, some signed, most forgotten along with a half-empty packet of antacids and an almost empty bottle of some cheap alcohol.
I leaf through the pages. His notes are sloppy, a child’s scrawl. Missed deadlines circled then ignored. All this, all this evidence should have been destroyed, and yet it’s here for anyone to find. He wasn’t just incompetent; he was negligent.
I hear the elevator dingfaintly from the reception area outside. A moment later, a key fumbles at the lock. The handle turns.
I don’t startle. I don’t rush. In one fluid motion, I close the drawer and move away from the desk, positioning myself by the bookcase, a casual visitor admiring his collection of unread leather-bound books clearly chosen for the sole purpose of impressing others.
