Chapter 10
Mike
When I got to the door of Laura’s apartment, I found it open. I stood there for a moment, my hand on the doorframe, considering what the open door meant.
She’d left it open deliberately, I felt certain.
She didn’t want to think about the fact that I could open it myself now, that I had access to her apartment—and to her—whenever I chose.
Leaving her door ajar was my new naughty girl’s way of maintaining some illusion of control, of inviting me in rather than having me exercise my right to enter.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, engaging the lock with a soft click.
The apartment was exactly as it looked through the surveillance feed—pristine, barely lived in, the furniture still arranged in the showroom configuration that Selecta used for all their associate member units.
I’d seen it before, when visiting the previous associates I’d sponsored.
But seeing it this time in person seemed different, and I knew it must have something to do with how I’d already started to feel about Laura.
The space felt charged somehow, heavy with anticipation.
“Laura?” I called out, setting the bag of Italian takeout on the kitchen counter.
She emerged from the bedroom, and the sight of her made something tighten in my chest. The red dress hugged her petite frame perfectly, modest but undeniably feminine.
Her light brown hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, still slightly damp at the ends.
She’d put on makeup—not much, just enough to highlight those hazel eyes that had captivated me in her photos.
But it was her expression that got me. Nervous, yes. Frightened, definitely. But underneath it all, I could see the same desperate need I’d witnessed through the surveillance feed an hour ago.
“Hi,” she said, her voice small. Then, after a pause where I could see her working up the courage, “Hi, sir.”
“Good girl,” I said, and watched the flush spread across her cheeks. “You look beautiful.”
She bit her lower lip, that nervous habit I’d already noticed, and looked down at the floor. “Thank you.”
I moved to the kitchen and began unpacking the food, giving her a moment to compose herself.
I’d brought all my favorites from Tosca—fresh pasta, chicken marsala, a caprese salad, tiramisu for dessert.
The kind of meal that said this was special, that she mattered, that I wasn’t just here to use her and leave.
Despite what I knew she felt sure was going to happen tonight. Her unsealing. Her defloration.
Not so fast, sweetheart, I thought, unable to keep a smile from playing on my lips. This is worth savoring… even at the possible risk that I’m out $10,000 for a single night of your company—and a spanking you’ve most definitely got coming.
“Come help me with this,” I said, pulling plates from the cabinet. The layout of the apartment was second nature to me, including where Selecta put the tableware.
She moved to my side, and I could feel the heat radiating from her body, could smell whatever light perfume she’d put on.
Something floral and youthful and utterly intoxicating.
We worked in silence for a few minutes, setting the table, pouring water into glasses.
Normal, domestic motions that felt surreal given what I knew about her—the seal between her legs, the welts probably still visible on her bottom, the desperate way she’d ground against the bed corner earlier.
When everything was ready, I pulled out a chair for her. She looked surprised by the gesture, like she’d expected a lack of courtesy—rudeness, even, of the kind men who call themselves dominant often mistake for authority.
“I think you’re going to love this meal,” I told her. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Laura
Mike hadn’t lied. The chicken marsala tasted so good I thought they must have put drugs in it or something. I savored another bite, letting the rich flavors melt on my tongue. “This is incredible,” I said, and I meant it.
“I’m glad you like it.” Mike smiled at me across the table, and something in his expression was so warm, so genuinely pleased, that I felt myself start to relax fractionally.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I kept waiting for him to bring it up—the seal, the punishment he’d promised, what was going to happen after dinner. But he didn’t. He just ate his pasta, occasionally glancing up at me with those dark eyes that made my stomach flutter.
“Tell me about where you grew up,” he said finally, setting down his fork. “I’m guessing you’re not from the Bay Area originally?”
“Sacramento,” I said. “I kind of think of myself as having grown up in the Midwest, the way it feels in comparison. Suburban. Boring.”
“Boring can be good,” he said. “Stable.”
I shrugged. “I guess. My parents are nice. They just… they had a lot of expectations, you know? My older sister went to Stanford. My younger brother is some kind of math prodigy. And I was just… there. In the middle. Never quite good enough.”
The words came out more honestly than I’d intended, and I looked down at my plate, embarrassed. But when I glanced up, Mike was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“That must have been hard,” he said simply.
“It was what it was.” I took another bite to avoid having to say more.
He let it drop, steering the conversation to lighter topics. What did I like about the Bay Area? Had I explored much of the city yet? What kind of books did I read?
I found myself talking more freely than I had with anyone in months.
About the hiking trails I’d discovered near campus before everything fell apart.
About the used bookstore in the Mission I’d stumbled upon once and spent hours browsing.
About how much I loved the fog, the way it rolled in over the hills and made everything feel mysterious and new.
Mike listened like he actually cared, asking follow-up questions, laughing at my descriptions of getting hopelessly lost trying to navigate BART. The knot of tension in my chest gradually loosened. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he really was different from what I’d feared.
We finished our main courses, and he cleared the plates with the same ease of movement he’d shown earlier. When he returned with the tiramisu, setting it between us with two forks, I realized we’d been talking for almost an hour.
An hour, and he hadn’t mentioned the seal. Hadn’t mentioned punishment. Hadn’t mentioned anything about what was supposed to happen tonight.
I picked at the dessert, the creamy sweetness suddenly cloying on my tongue. My mind started racing. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he waiting for me to bring it up? Was this some kind of test?
I watched Mike take a bite of tiramisu, his expression thoughtful, and the silence stretched between us until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
My hands twisted together in my lap under the table, and I could feel the desperate need building again, that constant aching throb that the seal made impossible to satisfy.
“Laura,” Mike said finally, setting down his fork and looking at me with those dark, knowing eyes. “I think we need to talk about what happened at your college.”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me about the cheating.”
My face went hot, and I couldn’t meet his gaze anymore. I stared down at my half-eaten dessert, my throat tight.
“I… I don’t…”
“Use your words, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Tell me what happened.”
I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the edge of the table. There was no way out of this. He wanted to know, and I’d already agreed to be here, to let him into my life, to give him the right to ask these questions.
“It was my Introduction to Algorithms midterm,” I said quietly.
“I hadn’t studied enough. I’d been… I don’t know, I’d been spending too much time on other things.
Parties. Hanging out with friends. Telling myself I’d catch up later.
” I paused, forcing myself to continue. “When I sat down for the exam, I looked at the questions and I just… I panicked. I knew I didn’t know the answers.
So I pulled out my phone under the desk and looked them up. ”
“And?”
“And I got caught.” My voice came out barely above a whisper. “The TA saw me. She reported me to the professor, who reported me to the dean. They have a zero tolerance policy for academic dishonesty. I was expelled within a week.”
Mike was quiet for a long moment. I could feel his gaze on me, assessing, judging. My face burned hotter with every second of silence.
“Did you try to lie about it?” he asked finally.
The question made my chest tighten. “Yes,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “At first. I tried to say I was just checking the time, that I didn’t use my phone to cheat. But they pulled the surveillance footage from the exam room. They could see exactly what I’d done.”
“So you lied, got caught in the lie, and then what?”
“Then I admitted it.” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. “I told them I was sorry, that I’d made a mistake, that I’d never do it again. But it didn’t matter. They expelled me anyway.”
Mike leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Do you think you deserved to be expelled?”
The question caught me off guard. Did I?
I’d spent the past few weeks telling myself it was too harsh, that everyone made mistakes, that everyone deserved second chances.
But sitting here across from Mike, with his eyes holding mine and demanding honesty, I couldn’t hide behind those justifications anymore.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I deserved it.”
“Good girl.” The praise sent a confusing rush of warmth through me. “Now tell me why you deserved it.”
I forced myself to look at him, even though every instinct screamed at me to look away. “Because I cheated. Because I lied about it. Because I didn’t take responsibility for my own failures.” My voice broke. “Because I took the easy way out instead of accepting the consequences of not studying.”
Mike nodded slowly, and something in his expression shifted. Not anger, but something more intense. More purposeful.
“Laura,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “I can see you’re in desperate need of an old-fashioned spanking over the knee of a man who knows how to take a girl in hand properly.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my whole body go hot and cold at the same time. I had the feeling that Mike had just picked me up and dropped me into a new, frightening—but also somehow exhilarating—world where gravity didn’t work the same way.
“Part of that kind of discipline,” he continued, his eyes never leaving mine, “is the inspection of a girl’s private parts. To ensure she feels the shame she should about having to be disciplined like a naughty little girl.”
I swallowed harder than I ever had in my life. This new world… hot, dark, and red… it contained only the man who had told me to call him sir. Oh, god. Oh, god, he was going to look at me there. He was going to… to inspect me. Examine the horrible seal, see everything… touch everything.
“I think that’s especially important,” Mike said, and now there was a knowing edge to his voice that made my stomach drop, “in view of what I watched you doing this afternoon after your shower.”
My face blazed like the sun. He’d watched.
I had tried to persuade myself that even if he could see, he hadn’t actually seen.
But no. The man who had given me $10,000 for a week had watched me grinding against the corner of the bed like a desperate animal.
My hands flew to cover my burning cheeks, and a whimper escaped my throat.
“And in light,” he continued relentlessly, “of what has happened to your pussy as a result of your defiance at Selecta.”
The shame crashed over me in waves, so intense I thought I might actually pass out. He knew everything. He’d seen everything. The humiliating way I’d tried to get relief, the seal that marked me as too resistant to control myself, all of it.
But underneath the mortification, something else was building.
That familiar, terrible heat between my legs intensified until I could barely breathe.
My pussy clenched hard behind the seal, trying desperately to find sensation that didn’t exist, and I felt wetness beginning to gather at the tiny opening they’d left for me to pee.
I was getting aroused. Getting wet from the thought of being inspected, being spanked, being put in my place by this man who knew exactly what I needed.
What was wrong with me?
Mike pushed his chair back from the table with a scrape that made me jump. “Stand up,” he said, his voice calm and authoritative. “Come over here.”
My legs trembled as I obeyed, pushing my own chair back and rising on shaking knees. The few steps to where he sat felt like miles. When I stood in front of him, he looked up at me with those dark eyes, and I felt pinned in place, unable to move or look away.
“I’m going to take down your panties,” he said matter-of-factly, “and inspect your pussy and your bottom. Then I’m going to spank you over my knee. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I managed, my voice coming out as a tiny whisper.
“Good. Now lift your skirt for me.”