Chapter 5
Grace
I tried to stop myself, but I dropped to my knees immediately, the plush carpet soft against my skin.
I knew what was coming—had suspected it, anyway, with an unwelcome thrill, from the moment he’d called me into his lap.
But knowing didn’t make it any less overwhelming when he unfastened his belt as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“Have you missed this, Grace?” he asked conversationally as he freed himself from his pants. “Having a man who knows exactly what you need?”
I stared at his erection, thick and imposing, and felt that familiar flutter of fear mixed with anticipation. Jacob had been well-endowed, but Scott was enormous. The head of his massive cock already glistened with pre-cum, and I could smell his arousal, musky and masculine.
“Answer me,” he said, his hand tangling in my hair.
“Yes,” I admitted, the word torn from me. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. Open.”
I parted my lips, and he guided himself into my mouth with slow deliberation.
The taste of him opened like a hot flower on my tongue—salty and musky and male, making my body respond despite everything.
He was thicker than Jacob, stretching my jaw uncomfortably, and I had to focus on breathing through my nose as he pushed deeper.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and I raised my eyes to meet his. The intensity in his gaze made me shiver. “That’s it. I want to see those pretty eyes while you worship my cock.”
His hand tightened in my hair, controlling my movements as he began to thrust shallowly.
Behind him, the monitor continued playing Annabelle’s training, her soft whimpers mixing with the wet sounds I was making.
The parallel seemed almost too obvious—I was being trained too, molded into whatever Scott wanted me to become.
His free hand reached down, fingers finding the still-tender flesh of my punished bottom. The touch made me whimper around him, the soreness from Sharon’s paddle flaring back to life as he squeezed and kneaded the abused skin.
“Such a pretty picture you make,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the garter belt where it framed my bottom.
“Pink lace suits you far better than those dowdy things you came in wearing. You’re going to be quite a different girl now, Grace.
Nice lingerie changes a woman, makes her understand both her place and her power in ways that cotton never could. ”
I wanted to protest, to insist that I didn’t want to be different, that I was fine as I was.
But even as the thought formed, I knew it was a lie.
The delicate lace against my skin, the way it made me hyperaware of my body, the vulnerability of kneeling before this powerful man while dressed like something from a fantasy—it was already changing me.
My arousal had become undeniable, a pulsing need below my waist that grew stronger with each degrading moment.
“I’m going to use your mouth properly now,” Scott announced, his grip tightening in my hair. “It’s going to be rough for a few moments while I take my pleasure. You’re going to take everything I give you, and you’re going to swallow it gratefully. Do you understand?”
I tried to nod, but his grip held me immobile. A muffled “yes, sir” escaped around his thickness.
“Good. If you do well, there’ll be a performance incentive. Something special just for my new intern.” His voice had taken on a darker edge. “Now hold still.”
Both hands gripped my head, holding me in place as he began to thrust in earnest. There was no gentleness now, no consideration for my comfort.
He used my mouth with single-minded purpose, pushing deep enough to make me gag before pulling back just enough to let me breathe.
Tears streamed down my face, and I knew my carefully applied makeup must be ruined.
The sounds were obscene—wet, desperate, punctuated by his low murmurs of pleasure.
My jaw ached, my throat burned, but underneath it all was that terrible arousal that seemed to grow stronger the more he degraded me.
My hands fluttered uselessly at my sides, not daring to push him away, but needing something to ground myself.
“That’s it,” he growled, his pace becoming erratic. “Such a good little cocksucker. Your husband never appreciated what he had.”
The mention of Jacob should have upset me, but at that moment, all I could focus on was the way Scott’s breathing had changed, the tension in his thighs that told me he was close. He thrust deep one final time, holding me there as he came with a deep growl.
The hot rush of his release filled my mouth, bitter and overwhelming. I struggled to swallow, my throat working desperately as he held me in place, ensuring I took every drop. When he finally released his grip on my hair, I gasped for air, coughing slightly as the last of it went down.
“Very good,” he said, tucking his cock, glistening from my mouth, back into his pants. “You managed that quite well for someone out of practice.”
Before I could respond or even catch my breath properly, his hands were on my arms, pulling me up and across his lap.
The position was achingly familiar yet different—Jacob had spanked me this way countless times, but Scott’s thighs felt broader, more solid beneath me.
My bare bottom was elevated, the garter belt framing it obscenely in my mind’s eye.
“Now then,” he said conversationally, his hand stroking over my exposed flesh, “let’s see how responsive you really are.”
His fingers found my wetness immediately, sliding through my folds, back and forth lightly and then with more pressure. I gasped at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“Tell me, Grace,” he said as his fingers began to circle my aching clit with maddening precision, “what do you think about when you touch yourself? What fantasies run through that pretty head when you’re alone in bed?”
“I don’t,” I gasped, squirming as his fingers continued their torment. “I never… I don’t do that.”
His hand stilled. “Never?”
“No, sir.” My face burned with the admission. “It wasn’t… Jacob didn’t like me to. And even before, in the program, it was forbidden.”
“And since Jacob left?” His fingers resumed their movement, slower now, teasing. “Two weeks of freedom, and you never once gave in to temptation?”
“No,” I whispered, though the word came out as more of a moan as he found a particularly sensitive angle.
“Interesting.” His other hand traced down the cleft of my bottom, making me tense. “And what about here? How did you feel when Jacob used this pretty little hole?”
His finger circled that forbidden entrance, and I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped me. The truth was complicated, shameful, but I knew he wanted the simple answer.
“I… I did it because I was supposed to,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady even as his fingers continued their dual assault. “Because a good wife submits to her husband’s pleasure.”
“Hmm.” His finger pressed more firmly against the tight ring of muscle, not entering but threatening. “I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me, Grace.”
“I am!” I protested, but even I could hear the lie in my voice.
“Your body tells a different story,” he murmured, and suddenly his finger pushed inside, just to the first knuckle. The intrusion made me cry out, my whole body clenching around him. “See? You’re practically pulling me deeper, begging for more.”
He worked his finger in further, past the tight resistance, and I sobbed at the burning stretch.
It was so different from Jacob’s careful, almost hesitant treatment of my bottom hole—Scott took his time, letting me feel every millimeter as he claimed this most private part of me.
His other hand never stopped its relentless circling of my clit, creating a maddening contrast between pleasure and the sharp discomfort of penetration.
“You’re so tight here,” he observed clinically, beginning to move his finger in shallow thrusts. “Your husband really didn’t use you properly at all, did he? Just quick little reminders of ownership, never taking the time to truly open you up.”
I couldn’t form words, could only whimper as he established a rhythm—his finger pressing deep into my bottom while his other hand worked my clit with devastating skill.
The combined sensation was overwhelming, unlike anything I’d experienced.
Even through the burn and stretch, I could feel something building, a pressure that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than just physical stimulation.
“That’s it,” he murmured, adding a second finger to my bottom without warning.
I cried out at the fuller intrusion, my body trying to pull away even as his hand on my clit kept me pinned in place.
“You’re going to come for me now, Grace.
You’re going to come with my fingers in your ass, and it’s going to be better than anything that fumbling boy ever gave you. ”
His fingers curled inside me, finding some spot that drew a sob from deep in my chest. Combined with the relentless pressure on my clit, it was too much.
The orgasm hit me like a physical blow, ripping through me with an intensity that made me scream.
My whole body convulsed, clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.
It went on and on, far longer than anything I’d experienced with Jacob, until I was sobbing and shaking over his lap.
“There we go,” Scott said with satisfaction, slowly withdrawing his fingers. “That’s what you’ve been missing.”
I lay limp across his lap, utterly spent, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. My body still trembled with aftershocks, and I could feel tears and mascara streaking my face.
“Get up,” he commanded, his voice returning to its businesslike tone. “You may get dressed.”
I struggled to my feet on shaking legs, bending to retrieve my panties from where they’d fallen.
Every movement reminded me of what had just happened—my jaw ached, my bottom burned from his fingers, and the lingering sensitivity between my legs made me gasp as I pulled the delicate lace back into place.
“Your dress,” Scott prompted, standing himself now and looking back at me over his shoulder as he moved to the door of the screening room.
I pulled the navy dress over my head with trembling hands, trying to smooth my hair back into some semblance of order.
“You may have the rest of the day off,” Scott told me. “There’s a mirror on the back of the cabinet door over there, so you can fix your makeup in here, and you should stop at Human Resources to finish your intake—they’ll give you the code for the app that opens the door to your new apartment.”
I blinked at him. “New apartment?”
Scott smiled. “Nothing huge, but comfortable and very new. I’ll think about your qualifications, Grace, and figure out by tomorrow whether you’re a good fit for my team.”
My face went hot as I tried to subdue the warmth already regathering down there, at the condescension in his tone and the double entendre I couldn’t help finding in his words.
“Thanks for being a good girl for me,” he said, opening the door. “It’s definitely one of the most important things I look for in an intern.”
He vanished through the door, closing it behind him.
I stood there in the empty screening room for several minutes, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My makeup was indeed ruined—mascara streaked down my cheeks, lipstick smeared, my hair a tangled mess.
I looked like exactly what I was: a woman who had just been thoroughly used by her potential new boss.
With shaking hands, I did my best to clean up my face using tissues from my purse, then made my way to the elevator.
The journey to Human Resources felt endless.
Every person I passed in the hallway seemed to know what had just happened, though rationally I knew that was impossible.
Still, I kept my eyes down, clutching my phone like a lifeline.
The HR department was on the third floor, a bustling open office space that felt jarring after the intimate darkness of Scott’s screening room. A cheerful receptionist directed me to a cubicle where a young man in his twenties waited with a tablet.
“Ms. Whitcomb,” he said brightly, not seeming to notice my disheveled appearance. “I’m Tyler. Ms. Fagan has put through your paperwork, so I can get you set up for your new home.”
I managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“Let me just sync your handheld.” He took my device, connecting it to his tablet with practiced efficiency.
“The keycode app is downloading now. Your apartment is in Building C of the Selecta Residential Complex, unit 1247. The app will handle everything—entry, climate control, even ordering groceries.”
As he spoke, I watched icons appear on my screen. One caught my eye—a small camera symbol in the corner.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.
Tyler’s smile never wavered. “Oh, that’s the security monitoring indicator. For your safety and protection, of course. All Selecta housing units have comprehensive surveillance systems.”
My insides lurched. “Surveillance?”
“Standard for Selecta housing,” he said, as if this was perfectly normal. “The cameras are discreet—built into the fixtures and walls. You won’t even notice them after a while.”
“Who has access to the feed?” My voice came out smaller than I intended.
“Your direct supervisor, naturally. In your case, that’s Sharon Fagan as of now. Also security, in case of emergencies.” Tyler handed my device back. “The bathroom has privacy mode, activated by voice command, though that can be overridden by your supervisor if they think it necessary.”
I stared at him, trying to process this information.
Not only would I be working for a company where paddling was a standard form of reprimand, but my boss would have access to watch me in my most private moments at home.
The thought should have been horrifying, but after what had just happened in Scott’s screening room, I felt that familiar, unwanted flutter of arousal.
“You’re all set,” Tyler told me. “The shuttle to your complex leaves every fifteen minutes, twenty-four/seven, from Parking Level 1.”