Finally, he pulled out, and I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. But before I could process what was happening, his strong hands were flipping me over onto my stomach.
“On your knees,” he commanded. “Face down.”
I scrambled to obey, my legs shaking so badly I could barely support my weight. He positioned me exactly how he wanted—knees spread wide, my face pressed into the comforter, my bottom raised high in the air.
Then I felt him behind me, felt the broad head of his cock pressing against the no-longer-virgin entrance to my pussy again. He gripped my hips and thrust inside in one brutal stroke, and I screamed into the comforter. This angle was different—deeper, more intense. His lap slammed into my punished bottom with each thrust, sending fresh jolts of pain through the welts.
This is how a naughty slut gets fucked, I thought hazily.Face down and ass up, her master towering over her, looking down to watch his cock surging in and out of her needy little cunt.
The new angle drove his cock so deep inside me that I felt like he was touching my soul. My fingers clawed at the comforter, searching for purchase, for anything to anchor me to reality as another orgasm ripped through my body. I sobbed his name into the fabric, barely able to form words.
“That’s it,” Mike growled above me, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew there would be bruises. “Come on my cock like a good little whore.”
I did. Over and over. Each thrust seemed to trigger another wave of pleasure, until I lost count of how many times my pussy clenched around him. My whole body was trembling, covered in sweat, utterly spent but still somehow climbing toward another peak.
Mike’s rhythm became erratic, his breathing ragged. I felt his fingers dig even harder into my flesh, felt him swell impossibly larger inside me. Then with a guttural groan, he drove deep and held himself there. The hot pulse of his release filling me triggered one final orgasm, and I screamed into the comforter as we came together.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. He stayed buried inside me, his weight partially resting on my back, both of us struggling to catch our breath. I could feel his heart hammering against my shoulder blade, could feel his cock still twitching inside my used pussy.
“I love you,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them. I hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t planned to admit the terrifying truth that had been growing inside me since—when? Since he first spanked me? Since he fed me dinner on the plane? Since this morning when he called me brave?
I felt Mike go still above me. My heart seized with panic. What had I done? This was an arrangement, a transaction. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. That wasn’t part of the deal.
But then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me up and back against his chest without withdrawing from inside me. He turned my face toward his, and I saw something in his eyes that made my breath catch.
“I love you too,” he said softly, his thumb stroking my cheek. “I’ve been trying not to, but I do. God help me, Laura, I’m in love with you.”
EPILOGUE
Laura
One month later, to the day, after four weeks of feverish work punctuated by spankings and fuckings by my billionaire sponsor and new number-one fan, I stood on shaky legs from my seat at the conference table in Mike’s office suite. I could hardly believe I was about to introduce the group of investors Mike had gathered to Givzback—the app I had, with Mike’s help in the form of money to hire crackerjack coders, gotten into pre-alpha wireframe form at two a.m. that morning.
I smoothed down the pencil skirt Mike had chosen for me to wear—professional but fitted enough to remind me who I belonged to—and gathered my notes with trembling hands. The presentation deck was loaded on my laptop, ready to go. I’d practiced this pitch a hundred times in front of Mike, perfecting every word, every gesture, every data point. But now, facing a room full of actual investors with their sharp eyes and expensive suits, I felt like I might throw up.
Mike caught my eye from across the table and gave me an almost imperceptible nod. The confidence in his gaze steadied me, reminding me that I could do this. That I was smart enough, prepared enough. That he believed in me.
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to begin.
“Thank you all for coming today,” I said, pleased that my voice came out stronger than I felt. “I’m Laura Martindale, and I’m here to introduce you to Givzback—a philanthropy platform that will fundamentally change how people connect with the causes they care about.”
I clicked to the first slide, and suddenly the words started flowing more easily. I’d lived and breathed this app for the past month, poured everything I had into making it real. The vision I’d shared with Mike at that first lunch had crystallized into something concrete, something revolutionary.
“The problem with current donation platforms,” I continued, warming to my subject, “is that they’re transactional. You give money, you get a tax receipt, and that’s the end of the relationship. But what if we could create genuine connection? What if donors could see the real-time impact of their contributions?”
I walked them through the features—the AI-powered matching algorithm that went deeper than simple keyword searches, analyzing values and interests to pair donors with causes that would truly resonate with them. The live impact feeds that would show photo and video updates from the actual people being helped. The optional video call feature that would let a donor in Silicon Valley talk face to face with a teacher in Kenya whose classroom they’d just funded.
Every time I glanced at Mike, I saw pride in his expression. It made my chest feel warm and tight, made me stand a little taller. I was doing this for me, yes, but also for him. To prove I was worthy of the faith he’d placed in me.
The presentation flowed smoothly. I answered questions with confidence, referencing the market research Mike had helped me conduct, the testing data we’d already gathered from Mike and a few of his close friends. I could see several of the investors leaning forward, their interest piqued.
When I finally clicked to the last slide—a simple ‘Thank you’ with my contact information—polite applause filled the room. I felt my knees go weak with relief.
“Excellent work, Ms. Martindale,” said an older woman I recognized as the CEO of a major tech accelerator. “Very impressive.”
Mike stood and gestured toward the door. “Laura, why don’t you wait outside while we discuss? I’ll call you back in shortly.”
My stomach dropped at the thought of them discussing my work without me there. What if they hated it? What if they thought I was a fraud, just some college dropout playing at being an entrepreneur? But I forced myself to nod and smile.
