Chapter 63 #2
“We’ll be landing at Ciampino in a few hours, Dumpling,” I tell her, my voice a low murmur meant only for her. “You’ll like the villa. It’s perched on a hill overlooking the city. There are gardens, fountains, a pool that seems to spill into the horizon. You will want for nothing there.”
She offers me a small, sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but the effort is charming. “It sounds beautiful. Thank you, Master.”
I lean closer, my voice dropping even further.
“How are you feeling? You’ve had a few days to rest since our little party.
” The memory of her, spread out and presented to Charles and his brutes is a dark, possessive thrill that coils in my gut.
They used her, but they did so under my command.
They enjoyed my property with my permission and I enjoyed watching her take it all, playing my perfect obedient pet.
A delicate blush colours her cheeks. She looks down at her hands, the picture of demure embarrassment. “The rest helped, thank you. I’m, I’m recovered.”
“Good,” I purr. I let the silence stretch for a moment, watching the pulse flutter in her throat. The hum of the jet is the only sound. That, and the quiet tap of Mateus’s stubby fingers on his keyboard, in an obvious beat of disapproval. “Show me.”
Her head snaps up, her blush deepening as confusion clouds her features. “Show you?”
“Yes.” My tone leaves no room for question. “Take off your dress.”
Her eyes flicker, just for a microsecond towards the back of the cabin where my brother sits, like she hasn’t played this part before in front of him. I see the hesitation, the flicker of shame.
Good. Let her feel it. Let him see it. This is not a secret. This is a demonstration.
“Master…” she whispers, a faint plea.
“Now, Pet.” The words are soft but absolute. “Stand up. Take off your dress. Let me see you. Spread your legs and show me your cunt. I want to see that you are truly healed. I want to see what is mine.”
Her breath hitches. For a moment, I think she might refuse.
That the spirit she tries so hard to hide might flare up but then with trembling fingers, she stands.
She keeps her eyes downcast, avoiding my gaze, avoiding the certain stare I know is burning into her from the back of the plane.
The simple, navy blue dress she wears has a zipper at the back.
Her hands shake as she reaches for it, the sound of the zipper descending a sharp, metallic rasp in the quiet cabin.
The fabric pools at her feet. She stands before me, bathed in the golden light of the cabin, wearing only a pair of simple white lace panties.
Her skin is flawless, a canvas of cream and rose.
The bruises those men left on her hips and thighs have faded to faint yellow smudges, like old watercolour paintings.
Evidence of her ordeal, but also of my care in healing her.
“The panties too,” I instruct, my voice thick.
She hooks her thumbs into the waistband and pushes them down, stepping out of them. She is completely naked now, exposed under the ambient light and my relentless gaze.
“Sit back, spread your legs. Let me see you.” I command softly.
A soft, shuddering sigh escapes her lips. Slowly, hesitantly she sits back in the seat, spreading her thighs up over the arms, offering herself for my visual inspection. She is breathtakingly beautiful.
I feel my cock stir, thickening against the constraint of my trousers. The animal part of me wants to take her right here, right now over the arm of this chair with Mateus as our unwilling audience. But I want more. I want theatre, I want worship, and I want to prove a point.
I reach into the inner pocket of my suit jacket and produce the object I placed there this morning: a sleek, black vibrator. It’s small but powerful.
Her eyes widen as I hold it up, a silent question in them.
“I want you to play for me, Pet.” I say, my voice a dark caress as I hold the vibrator out to her. “I want you to get that beautiful, treacherous cunt nice and wet for me. I want you to show your Master how much you enjoy entertaining him. How grateful you are for all my care these last few days.”
Her hand trembles as she takes the vibrator from me. Her face is a masterpiece of conflicted emotion: shame, reluctance, a flicker of fear, and beneath it all? A dark, responding thrill that she cannot fully hide.
She is aroused by my command, by the degradation, by the sheer power of it.
“Go on,” I urge, settling back into my chair. I loosen my tie, undoing the top button of my shirt. I feel the hard ridge of my erection press demandingly against my fly. “Make yourself come for me. Let me watch.”
She bites her lower lip, her gaze darting around the cabin as if seeking an escape she knows doesn’t exist. Finally, her eyes close and she turns the vibrator on. The low, insistent buzz is barely audible over the jet’s engines, but I can hear it. I can feel it.
She brings it to her core, her hand tentative at first. The tip of the toy brushes against her outer lips and she gasps, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her body jolts as she begins to explore herself with it, circling her clit, carefully avoiding the piercing that is hanging right there.
Her breathing changes, becoming shallower, quicker. Her other hand comes up to cup her own breast, her thumb brushing over her nipple, pinching it lightly. She is getting into it, losing herself in the sensation, just as I commanded. Her performance is becoming real.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my own breath catching. “Look at you. So beautiful when you’re needy, when you’re wet for me.”
Her hips begin to make small, involuntary circles, meeting the pressure of the vibrator.
A soft moan escapes her lips, and this one is not forced.
It is pure, unfiltered pleasure. Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat.
The blush has spread down her chest. She is lost in the current of sensation, a slave to the pleasure I have mandated.
I can see the evidence of her arousal now, a glistening slickness on the dark plastic of the toy, on her inner thighs. The scent of her, musky and sweet, begins to permeate the air around us, cutting through the sterile, air-conditioned cabin.
Her thighs are trembling, and her moans are coming in steady, soft gasps. Her back arches, pushing her chest forward, her breasts becoming perfect, offered mounds.
“Come for me, Pup,” I command, my voice rough with my own desire. “Now.”
A broken cry is torn from her throat as her body seizes up.
Her legs buckle but she catches herself, one hand slapping against the wall of the cabin for support as waves of her orgasm crash through her.
She rides the vibrator through it, her body convulsing, her pleasure a tangible force in the space between us.
It is a magnificent sight. The absolute surrender of her body to the pleasure I have orchestrated.
Finally, the tremors subside. She sags, breathing heavily, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. She slowly, shakily removes the vibrator, her eyes fluttering open. They are glazed, unfocused with the aftermath of her climax.
She looks at me, vulnerable, exposed, utterly spent.
I smile. It’s a predator’s smile. “Again.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. A soft whimper escapes her. “Master, please, I can’t…”
“You can,” I correct her, my voice leaving no room for argument.
I gesture with my chin towards the toy, still buzzing softly in her hand.
“And you will. We have hours before we land. I want you a dirty little needy mess by the time we touch down in Rome. I want you so sensitive you can barely walk when I lead you off this plane, I want you to remember this feeling every time you sit on the silk sheets in my villa. Now. Again.”
The look she gives me is a mixture of exhaustion and a dark, dawning hunger. She is sore, she is oversensitive, but the command has been given. And we both know she is conditioned to obey.
With a shuddering breath she brings the vibrator back to her swollen, sensitive flesh.
A gasp is torn from her as it makes contact again.
The sensation undoubtedly intense, almost painful now, but she doesn’t stop.
She grinds against it, her movements more desperate this time, less about exploration and more about brute force obedience.
She leans further into her pleasure, or her punishment, the line is so beautifully blurred. Her whimpers are constant now, a soundtrack to my enjoyment. She is a vision of debauched obedience, her body used for my entertainment, her pleasure my possession.
I unzip my trousers, freeing my aching cock. I don’t touch myself. Not yet. This is about her performance. My enjoyment is in the watching, in the commanding.
She builds herself up again, slower this time, the sensations clearly walking a fine line between pleasure and pain. Her face is a mask of exquisite torment as she rubs the vibrator around and around her clit.
She is doing this for me. Only for me.
I glance back towards Mateus. He is rigid, staring fixedly at his laptop screen, his jaw so tight it might just crack. He is pretending not to see, not to hear but his neck is flushed a dark, angry red. He is drowning in his disapproval right now.
Good. Let him watch. Let him understand.
This is not a liability.
This is power. Absolute, utter, delicious power. As Grace’s cries begin to climb towards a second, shattering peak, I know with a certainty that feels like destiny, that this is only the beginning.