My knees actually buckled. The combination of fear and desperate arousal was too much. He caught me easily, holding me against his chest while I tried to process what he’d just said.
“But first,” Mike continued, “we’re going to have a nice dinner. You’re going to kneel at my feet and eat from my plate like a good girl. And you’re going to think the whole time about what’s coming after.”
The minutes until dinner were torture. Mike ordered me to stay naked while we waited, and I sat curled on the bed trying not to think about the whipping, the huge plug, his cock stretching me open in that forbidden place. But my body betrayed me constantly—every time I shifted position, I felt the absence of anything there, the aching emptiness. My sealed pussy throbbed with need so intense it bordered on pain.
When the room service arrived, Mike positioned a chair facing the windows overlooking the darkening ocean. He sat down fully dressed in crisp linen pants and a button-down while I knelt naked on the plush carpet at his feet.
The dinner was elaborate—seared ahi again, this time with a miso glaze, perfectly cooked vegetables, some kind of tropical fruit compote. Mike fed me bites from his plate, his fingers occasionally brushing my lips, while I tried to ignore the humiliation of my position. The food was delicious, but I could barely taste it. All I could think about was what would happen after.
“You’re shaking,” Mike observed, offering me another bite of tuna.
I swallowed hard. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” His hand stroked my hair gently. “But you need this, sweetheart. You know you do. Your body can’t lie.”
CHAPTER 24
Laura
I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. He was right and we both knew it. The sensor must be telling him a very clear, very shameful story—my arousal had been spiking constantly, even as fear twisted my stomach into knots.
After dessert—some kind of haupia cheesecake that I could barely taste—Mike stood and gestured to one of the dining chairs. “Come here.”
My legs felt like jelly as I rose from my position at his feet. He moved the chair so it faced away from the windows, then guided me forward until my hips pressed against the curved back. His hands were firm but not rough as he bent me over it, arranging my body exactly how he wanted—torso draped over the back, hands gripping the seat, knees spread wide on either side.
The feeling of being dominated that way… quietly, efficiently, as if this powerful man knew he could take my compliance with whatever degradation he chose to inflict on me for granted… I felt my brow furrow hard with helpless need even as my heart raced with fear, my body responding instinctively to the complete exposure. I could feel the air conditioning on my sealed pussy, on the cleft of my bottom, even on the cringing button of my anus. My breasts hung down, nipples brushing the upholstery. I tried to turn my head to see what Mike was doing, but the angle made it impossible without craning my neck uncomfortably.
“Eyes forward,” he commanded from somewhere behind me.
I obeyed, staring at the seat cushion inches from my face, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. I heard him moving around the room—the clink of glass, liquid being poured. Then footsteps, and the creak of furniture as he settled into what I assumed was the other chair.
The silence stretched. I could feel his eyes on me, could imagine him sipping his brandy while he studied my exposed body. The humiliation was overwhelming—being displayed like this, unable to see him, not knowing when he would start. But underneath the shame was something else, the even-more-mortifying other thing. The hot, desperate feeling—so deep in my body that it felt more like a primitive fact of my nervous system—that made my pussy clench behind the seal, sending the treasonous wetness trickling out of the little opening.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please just… get it over with.”
“Patience, sweetheart.” His voice came from directly behind me, calm and measured. “I want you to think about why you’re being punished, and what it means to be. What did you do wrong?”
“I… I touched myself without permission.”
“That’s right. You disobeyed me. Even though you knew the consequences.” Another pause. “Tell me what you were thinking about in the shower.”
My face blazed with heat. “I can’t…”
“Of course you can, Laura,” he said matter-of-factly. “And you’re going to, or this will go even worse for your bottom.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, in response to the thrill of fear roused by the calm menace in his voice. “I was thinking about you whipping me. About… about how it would feel. And then I started touching myself because thinking about it made me so…”
“So what?”
“So desperate,” I whispered, shame washing over me in waves. “So wet. I couldn’t help it.”
“Hmm.” I heard him stand, heard footsteps approaching. “The truth is, Laura, you could have helped it. You chose not to. Because part of you wanted this.” His hand stroked down my spine, making me shiver. “Part of you needs to be disciplined firmly, even harshly. You need to feel that a man will take you in hand and give you what you need in every way, while he takes what he wants and makes himself feel good inside your pretty holes.”
As he delivered this terrible humiliation in his calm, steady voice, he fondled my bottom possessively to emphasize every degrading detail. A sob burst from my chest as part of my mind tried to deny it even as another part, to my mortification, felt seen and understood in a way I never had.
“Oh, god,” I whispered.
Mike didn’t respond. I heard him walk in the direction of the closet, where he had put his suitcase. I heard a zipper, then the rustle of fabric, and then he was beside me again, stopping down. Something soft but firm pressed against my right wrist, and I realized with a jolt of panic that he had begun to tie me to the chair with some kind of thin black rope.
