I did, my core muscles flexing, and the sensation of squeezing around even just the tip of the huge plug while grinding against the cushion nearly sent me over the edge. I gasped, my movements becoming more desperate.
“Stop,” Mike said again, and I froze, tears of frustration streaming down my face.
He withdrew the plug and set it aside, then his fingers were there again, massaging, teasing. This pattern continued for what felt like hours—he’d let me ride the cushion until I was close, then stop me and play with my bottom, sometimes with his fingers, sometimes pressing the large plug partway in, never quite filling me but keeping me constantly aware, constantly aching.
I had almost forgotten that the taboo scene was unfolding on board a private jet over the Pacific Ocean, and then a little bump and the unmistakable feeling of dropping fifty or a hundred feet added the exhilaration of momentary weightlessness to the helpless pleasure. I cried out, coming terribly close to climax, hearing the rushing sound from the jet engines, remembering that I had become the property of a billionaire who was taking me somewhere amazing to enjoy me, deflower me, fuck all my holes with his huge, rigid manhood.
Finally, I was allowed to dismount. The cushion was slick with my need and the thought of Elena having to clean it—oh, my god, would she clean the plugs, too?—and put it away again brought a new wave of heat to my cheeks.
Mike gathered me into his arms, settled me onto his lap where he sat at the edge of the bed. I collapsed against his chest and he held me even tighter. I could feel his hardness through his pants, and it brought a tiny whimper up from my chest as I thought about what it meant: my billionaire sponsor wanted me that way, but he also had decided to take his time… to savor the shameful, degrading claiming of my innocence.
And, at the same time, he wanted to cuddle, to hold me, to comfort me. He kissed the top of my head gently. He put his right hand on my head, his touch soft but also possessive… yet also affectionate and kind.
“It’s a lot,” he murmured into my ear. “But you need it, Laura. I hope you can start to accept that. You need all of it—the punishment and the pleasure and the training to please a man like me. I don’t need the data in the app to tell me that, as clear as that data is.”
My head moved back and forth in an automaticno, and I tried to say it, too. But a very different word came out of my mouth in a whisper.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, sir. But…” I swallowed hard, burying my face in his shirt as frightening, terribly moving images of the future filled my mind. “But… please don’t whip me?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mike said, turning my face up and kissing me gently before he continued with his dark eyes gazing straight into mine. “I’m definitely going to whip you. Because you’re definitely going to deserve it.”
I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. I let out a little sob as again my head tried to shake in denial.
“I know you can’t admit it yet,” Mike said, his voice soft despite the dominance of his words. “But I know you know it’s true. You’re going to be naughty sooner or later, and that adorable butt of yours is going to get whipped, and I’m going to enjoy doing it.”
CHAPTER 22
Mike
I held Laura for a few moments longer, letting her tremble against me, then pressed the call button beside the bed. Elena appeared within seconds, her expression perfectly neutral despite what she must have heard through the door.
“We’ll take dinner now,” I said. “Set it up here on the bed.”
“Of course, Mr. Gallagher.”
Laura stiffened in my arms as Elena left, and I felt her trying to pull away. “Mike—sir—can I please put something on? Just… just for dinner?”
I tightened my grip on her waist, keeping her exactly where she was. “No.”
“But Elena will see?—”
“Elena has already seen everything,” I reminded her, my voice firm. “And you’re going to stay exactly as you are. Naked. Available. Mine.”
Her face went scarlet, but she stopped struggling. I loved that about her—the way she fought just enough to make submission meaningful, but ultimately gave in when I made my expectations clear. The way she had begun to learn that I would decide—the reluctance in every line of her body as she bowed not so much to my command as to her own need to serve—only made my cock harder.
Elena returned with a rolling cart, expertly setting up our meal on a tray next to the bed. Seared ahi tuna, jasmine rice, grilled vegetables arranged with the kind of precision that came from Michelin-starred training. Laura kept her eyes down the entire time, her arms wrapped around herself, trying futilely to preserve some modesty. The flush that colored her chest and neck was exquisite.
“Will that be all?” Elena asked.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
The door clicked shut, and I pulled Laura closer, settling her between my legs so her back pressed against my chest. I fed her the first bite myself, holding the fork to her lips until she opened. She was still trembling slightly, hyperaware of her nakedness, of my clothed body behind her, of the way I could reach around and touch her anywhere I wanted.
And I did want. God, I wanted.
My two previous Selecta Arrangements girls before Laura had both been beautiful, both submissive, and both had satisfied certain needs. But neither had affected me like this. Neither had made me feel this particular combination of protectiveness and possession, tenderness and savage desire to own every inch of her.
There was something about Laura’s innocence that drove me wild. The way she blushed at everything. The way she tried to resist even as her body betrayed how desperately she needed what I was doing to her. The sensor data didn’t lie—her arousal had been off the charts during every degrading thing I’d made her do. But she still fought it, still tried to maintain some illusion of reluctance, and that made breaking through her defenses infinitely more satisfying.
