I push myself up, legs weak, body aching. The endorphins have faded. I stand slowly, half surprised I’m still wearing my heels.
“Take that off,” he says, nodding at the camisole. “I want to make sure they box it up.”
He watches me as I strip naked again, then pull my dress on over my nakedness. He gives my ass a slap, smiles at me, and helps me from the room with an arm around my waist. To my shame, I need it. My legs are wobbly.
The main shop is busy. There are at least half a dozen women in here, flicking through the racks. Two men holding shopping bags look at me as we leave the private room.
“We’ll take these,” Alex says, dropping an armful of random lingerie onto the counter.
There’s no choice but to stand there while they wrap everything in tissue paper, packaging it up boxby box. I can’t meet anyone’s eyes, and I stare at the floor, my cheeks flaming.
“Did you get everything you came for?” the assistant asks Alex. She stresses the word, making sure I don’t miss it, then glances at me in time to catch my mortification.
“I certainly did,” he says, smug.
“How wonderful.” She packs all the boxes into a bag, and hands it to me. “We’re so glad you had such a nice time. Come again.”
Someone laughs nervously. My face is burning.
Alex slides his hand around my waist and pulls me against him. “What do you say, Tink?”
Oh, so we’re not quite done with humiliations. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he says, and the attendant beams at him, fluttering her false eyelashes.
Twenty-Eight
Alex
Vicky is in Brooklyn, visiting Carol.
I know this because I can see her location on the map open on my monitor, courtesy of the tracking app I added to her phone while we were in Montana. She’s clearly not found it yet, and I’ve no reason to expect she will.
This is the first time we’ve been apart since then, and I’m not enjoying it.
I send her a text, now that she’s finally unblocked me.
Still sore, Tink? Take a bath when you get home, and I’ll pick up some massage lotion for this evening.
Lotion, lubricant… it’s about time I took her ass. It’ll give her other parts a rest.
My office is quiet. Just me, my monitors, the gentlehum of distant New York traffic in the streets below, and Rita’s dulcet tones. She’s halfway through an update on Greenstone, and I haven’t been listening.
Vicky doesn’t respond, and I toss my phone back on my desk, reclining in my chair. But my attention is still drawn to the dot on the map that marks her location. Why am I so obsessed with her of late?
No, it’s not ‘of late’; I’ve always been obsessed with her. Ever since I first saw her. That intoxicating combination of strength and vulnerability, just begging to be toyed with, baited, owned.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in… ever.
Watching her succumb to me when she won’t even admit it to herself? It’s exhilarating.
Sure, I was slow to see it at first;mea culpa. But now I know what really makes her tick: being pinned down, forced to faceherself, having her needs drawn out into the open.
Who knew she was hiding that, all those months?
“…Which is why the sixteenth pink goose amendment on clause fourteen is—“
“What?” My attention snaps to Rita, in puzzlement that grows quickly to irritation.
