A motion caught my eye outside—an expensive-looking sports car pulling up to the curb, to the space marked ‘Sponsor Parking.’
The app chimed at the same moment, and I saw Mike starting to climb out of the car. For the next two minutes I stood there, feeling frozen in place, watching the door, wondering if I should open it—wondering what would happen when my sponsor came through it.
The lock disengaged with a soft click, and Mike stepped in, dressed in a dark suit and aviators, emanating the kind of calm, deliberate energy that seemed to make every molecule in the room pay attention. He swept his sunglasses off and smiled at me, not a huge smile, but enough to make my stomach do a sickening little flip.
I tried to say something cool, something sophisticated, but all that came out was, “Hi.” I wanted to die.
“Hi yourself,” Mike said, and the second the door clicked shut behind him, he set down his own bag and—before I could react—put both hands gently on my face and kissed me. It was not a polite greeting. It was not a chaste peck. It was full-on, mouth open, his tongue sliding between my lips and his body pressing me back against the wall so hard I thought I’d melt right down into the floor.
His hands slid from my jaw to my waist, then lower, gripping the curve of my hips through the thin cotton. The pressure made me arch into him, and I realized with a jolt of humiliation that my nipples were already stiff against the inside of my dress. Mike’s tongue was in my mouth, his breath hot, and I could feel the plug shift inside me with each little wriggle of my hips. I whimpered into his mouth—actually whimpered—and the sound seemed to please him. He broke the kiss, lips lingering at the corner of my mouth.
“You look beautiful,” he said, voice low in that way that vibrated straight through my bones. “You ready?”
I nodded, breathless. He kissed me once more, softer this time.
“Show me,” he said.
I blinked up at him for a moment, and then the blood rushed to my face as I understood what he meant. I pretended I didn’t: I didn’t have a choice. I pointed to my suitcase.
“Everything’s in there,” I chirped. “And thanks so much for the shopping trip. I loved it!”
Mike smiled, his eyes narrowing. He shook his head slowly and deliberately. I felt his hand slide around my hip and downward. I whimpered again as he took hold of my bottom through the sundress, through the skimpy blue panties I’d chosen because I thought Mike would like them.
He squeezed, hard enough to make me gasp. His hand was huge, warm, possessive. I tried to wriggle away, but he just pulled me closer, his other hand still cupping my cheek.
“Laura,” he murmured, his voice a little playful, a little dangerous. “You know exactly what I want to see.”
I went rigid for a second, hoping maybe I could bluff my way through. “Mike… sir, I?—”
He cut me off with a slow, knowing smile. “That was cute. But now you’ve lost your panty privileges.” His grip on my hip tightened, and I felt a jolt of shame and excitement run through me. “Take them off for me. Right now.”
I couldn’t speak. My heart was hammering so hard I thought I might pass out. But there was no arguing with his tone, or the look in his eyes. I reached under my sundress and hooked my fingers into the waistband. The blue panties slid down my thighs with agonizing slowness; I bent my knees, stepped out of them, and bunched the cotton in my fist. I handed them over, unable to look him in the eye.
He took them with a little flourish, balling them up and sliding them into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Good girl. Now show me the plug.”
I wanted to melt into the floor. But I hiked up my dress and turned around, feeling the air hit my bare bottom and the plug shift inside me as I bent forward. I thought I heard Mike’s breath catch slightly behind me, as if the sight moved him. Then I felt his huge hand was on my ass, lifting the skirt higher, cool and detached and admiring all at once.
He pressed two fingers to the base of the plug, rocking it gently back and forth. The sensation was so intense I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. “Perfect,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re ready for the big one, I think.”
I had no idea whether he meant it as a compliment or a threat.
Then his hand lifted and came down, a sharp smack that made me yelp. I straightened up, hugging the dress around my waist, my face burning.
“Next time,” said Mike, “don’t pretend you don’t know what I want. Or you’ll start the weekend with a spanking that makes it hard to sit still on the plane.”
My brain hiccupped on the wordplane. I realized I had no idea where we were going, or how we were getting there. I stood there, still clutching at the hem of my skirt, not sure whether to be mortified or thrilled or just plain terrified. Mike looked at me for another long second, then strode past me into the living room. The tread of his shoes on the floor seemed like a countdown, and I found myself following, unable to not obey.
He stopped at the blank space where I knew the hidden door to the sponsor’s cabinet lay. He unlocked it with his phone. There was a faint hiss and a click, and then he opened the door and started to rummage through the shelves like he was picking out snacks for a road trip.
He took it out, and I had to bite my lip to keep from uttering yet another whimper. The plug. The huge one. The one I had dreaded, fantasized about, tried not to think about for two days. He set it on the table with a little clunk. Then he reached in again and took down the martinet. The leather tails looked even more menacing in the daylight, draped over his hand like a horse’s mane.
He turned to me, and I felt my knees go weak.
“Put these in your suitcase,” he said. “You’ll need them.”
I stared at the objects, then at him. “Both?” My voice came out as a squeak.
“Both,” said Mike, with a little smile. “I want you to think of them as accessories you bring for your sponsor’s convenience in training you and enjoying you.”
