Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
S tuart
I studied Melissa’s face with great care as she took in my words. To my inward delight—though I kept my facial expression stern—I saw in her troubled eyes that she had appreciated the precision of my language. Insubordination and subordinate had their full and complete meanings for her, as they did for me— in ‘not’; sub ‘under’; ordo, ordinis ‘order.’ Heck, maybe this promising young woman had even studied a little actual Latin—with her brains, I wouldn’t have put it past her.
I watched her mind work through it, saw the light go on in her gorgeous brown eyes as she grasped the central truth I meant to convey: the order of things, here at Selecta Entertainment, belonged to me. Best of all, I could tell just how deeply the idea affected her, on my very favorite level of power-exchange eroticism: a brilliant young woman’s helplessly submissive mind. I had to confess my own heart sped up—and, more problematic, warmed at the thought of guiding Melissa Mitropoulos into a fully self-actuated future.
This girl represents serious emotional complications , I realized. I saw suddenly why I had so studiously avoided thinking too much about her over the past few days—ever since I had seen her walk by my office so purposefully. Romantic, even.
Well, so be it. It wasn’t every day a junior executive who idolized Gibbon, Carlyle, and Darwin joined my team. Even better, and rarer—a gorgeous brunette who clearly wanted to deny just how turned on it got her to have the adorable fuzz on her pussy characterized as a dereliction of duty .
“Do you want to go back over my knee before you get the paddle?” I asked calmly, raising my eyebrows a little. “Because I can certainly do that, Melissa. In fact, it would be my pleasure.”
Melissa swallowed hard and visibly, her eyes widening. Maybe only the folks in Assessment could tell me with absolute precision, but my dominant instinct said that she had just clenched between her thighs at the specific idea of how much enjoyment I got out of punishing her. Her little fists trembled at her sides. They moved inward, as if she wanted to cover the tender little cleft whose slightly unkempt state had put her afoul of my requirements. Then they rose a little, perhaps with a surge of fight/flight in her nervous system.
Then, finally, I saw a pout of resignation come over her face. I felt certain she had reached the inevitable conclusion, the one that would above all help her get her needs met: she had no choice but to obey me, and put herself under my order. She swallowed again, and turned toward my desk. As she moved slowly toward it, I fetched the paddle out from its drawer.
Melissa stood looking down at the polished surface of the desk, as if lost in thought. I could almost see into her mind: she must be replaying the similar scene on her first real day here in the office, when I had inspected her after her paddling from Sharon, then left her unsatisfied instead of fucking her.
It’s going to be very different today, Melissa , I thought, as with a shudder she bent over to support herself on her elbows. Her adorable ass, a very special shade of pink, brought a jump to my already hard cock as she arched her back and pushed her backside out. Very, very different.
Melissa
I couldn’t believe it. Any of it, really: the stripping, the walking, the bending, even the feel of the smooth surface of Stuart’s elegant desk under my spread palms and my bare forearms.
The arching of my back, though: that took me to a new level of incredulity at myself. It had happened so instinctively—as if I had a Melissa inside me who knew how a young woman, naked in her boss’ office for a paddling, ought to adjust her posture to show her… her subordination.
As if that Melissa were getting ready to paddle another girl—a girl who had committed insubordination, or dereliction of duty.
Mandy. I had just pushed out my bottom the way I would have liked to tell Mandy, in a stern, strict voice, to push out her bottom. To show me, one of her bosses, that she knew she had a severe, painful lesson coming. The way I would tell her to arch her back and offer her ass for punishment, because that constituted the real reason I had just consented to my own paddling, didn’t it?
Yes, it absolutely did. Stuart had made it crystal clear: if I wanted the authority to impose order on my subordinates, I had to show that I could comply with—that I could, quite literally, bend over in acceptance of—the larger order of which I represented a part.
I bit my lip to keep from letting out a sob. I could feel, deep in my body, how well I understood the notion, despite its utter opposition to what I had told myself about the workplace I wanted.
I need to assert my authority. I need to paddle Mandy.
I sensed Stuart moving toward me, standing next to me, looking at my naked, bent body.
“Spread your feet,” he ordered sharply. “I want you to know I can see the fuzz on your sweet little pussy. That will help you remember, next time.”
“Oh, god,” I whispered, unable to stop the words from breaking free of my throat. My whole body pulsed with heat, as if my spanked bottom cheeks, from which the soreness had almost completely faded, could ignite shame and arousal many times the intensity of the swats Stuart had given me over his knee.
I shuffled my feet apart, my forehead creasing so hard it hurt. I felt the air moving in a place I absolutely did not want it right at the moment. I remembered Stuart sniffing the air the last time I had found myself in this position. I felt certain the aroma of my current need must be a good deal stronger.
Stuart put his left hand on my waist, his fingers splaying across my skin. The touch sent a shudder through my limbs. I tasted blood as I bit my lip even harder, desperate to keep myself from making a sound. I felt the smooth surface of the paddle brush against my bottom, as if wordlessly admonishing me, and then lift away. I tensed involuntarily, my breath coming in little puffs through my nose.
The first stroke came without warning except for the split-second puff of air against my cheeks. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet office. Pain bloomed across my backside, and I gasped, my fingers curling against the polished wood of the desk. Before I could fully process the sensation, the second stroke landed, slightly lower. The sting was intense, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft wail.
The third stroke fell, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. My bottom throbbed, the pain radiating outward. I waited, breath held, for the next strike, but it didn’t come. Stuart said nothing, giving me no indication of how long this punishment would last or how many more strokes I could expect.
In the silence that followed, my mind began to wander. To my dismay, I found myself picturing Mandy bent over this very desk, her skirt raised and panties lowered. In my imagination, I stood where Stuart stood now, paddle in hand, ready to teach her a lesson about respect and following orders.
The image sent a jolt of arousal through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the thought. But as quickly as that fantasy faded, another took its place. Now I saw myself as I was, bent over and vulnerable, with Stuart looming behind me. In this vision, he brought the paddle down again and again, each stroke eliciting a cry from my lips.
I shifted uncomfortably, terribly aware of the gathering wetness between my thighs. The dual fantasies—of punishing and being punished—roiled in my mind, each one heightening my arousal in its turn. I felt my face flush with shame at my body’s response, at the ever-self-renewing realization that some part of me craved this.
Stuart’s hand on my waist tightened slightly, and I braced myself for another stroke. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain itself, every nerve ending on high alert. I found myself torn between hoping the punishment would end soon and, to my horror, wishing it would continue.
I couldn’t shake the image of Mandy’s insolent face, couldn’t stop imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smirk off with a few well-placed strokes of the paddle. I chewed my cheek as the image made me clench involuntarily. I prayed Stuart hadn’t noticed.
The thought… the mental picture… the… the wish that succeeded that one, though, was much more mortifying.
Stuart should fuck that girl over the desk. It came out that way, in my head. Not me nor even Melissa : just that girl.
The boss has to fuck her, doesn’t he? To show her that he’s in charge.
Me. There, now I couldn’t help it. I did let out a sob, and my hips jerked, thrusting my punished backside even further up and back toward Stuart, as if begging him. He really should fuck me. Punish me with his hardness. Teach me with his cock.
As if he had waited for precisely that sound and that humiliating little movement, Stuart put the paddle down on his desk, right in front of me like a reminder of what my failure to wax my pussy had earned me. His left hand tightened on my waist, and then his right took hold of my bottom and my pussy in a single grasp, his middle fingers pressing against my clit as his palm gripped my punished cheeks and made me cry out.
Without a word, Stuart began to work my bottom and my pussy. His strong fingers kneaded my sore flesh, sending sparks of mingled pain and pleasure radiating through my body. I swallowed hard, chewed my lower lip, wrinkled my nose, determined to remain silent, to maintain some shred of dignity. As his expert touch explored me, though, I found my resolve crumbling rapidly.
Stuart’s fingers ran up and down my slick inner lips, teasing and probing with maddening precision. When he slipped two fingers inside me, curling them to stroke that spot that made my knees weak, a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet office, and I flushed with renewed embarrassment.
But that was only the beginning. Stuart’s thumb found my clit, circling it with just the right pressure to make my hips buck involuntarily. His other hand continued to knead my punished bottom, the sting of the paddling heightening every sensation.
I tried to stifle my cries, but it was useless. As Stuart’s fingers worked their magic, I found myself moaning louder than I ever had in my life. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—wanton, desperate, needy.
“That’s it,” Stuart murmured, his voice low and husky. “Let me hear how much you want it.”
His words, the first he had spoken in long, hot minutes, fueled the fire building inside me. I whimpered as he withdrew his fingers, only to gasp sharply as I felt them probing at my back entrance. I clenched instinctively, but Stuart was relentless. He circled the tight ring of muscle, applying steady pressure until the tip of one finger slipped inside.
“Such a tight little asshole,” he growled. “I bet you’ve never had anything in here before, have you?”
I shook my head frantically, beyond words, thinking despite myself of Grace and Jacob, Georgette and Michael. The feeling was so foreign, so dirty—and yet, to my shock and shame, intensely arousing.
Stuart chuckled darkly. “We’ll have to change that soon. But for now…”
He resumed his ministrations on my clit and pussy, his fingers moving with expert precision. All the while, that single digit remained inside my ass, a constant reminder of my complete surrender to his will.
“Look at you,” Stuart continued, his voice dripping with lust and authority. “Your cunt is dripping for me. Such a greedy little hole, so desperate to be filled.” He punctuated his words by thrusting his fingers deeper inside me. “And this tight ass of yours? I can feel it clenching around my finger. You love this, don’t you? Being spread open, totally at my mercy.”
I moaned helplessly, my hips rocking back against his hand. Every filthy word he uttered sent another jolt of arousal through me. I was lost in a haze of sensation, teetering on the edge of an orgasm more intense than any I’d ever experienced.
“Oh, no,” Stuart said, his voice seeming to come from miles away. “Not yet, you little whore. You’ll come when I let you.” He pulled his hand away.
“Oh, god… please…” I gasped.
“Is there something you’d like to ask for, Miss Mitropoulos?” His hand returned, rubbing a circle on my right ass cheek with maddening gentleness.
“Please…”
I swallowed down the saliva that wouldn’t seem to quit in my mouth, as if every part of my body wanted, shamefully, to submit to Stuart. Could I say it? Could I actually…
The words came out while I was still telling myself I couldn’t say them.
“Please fuck me. Please… oh, god… please… I…”