Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
At least, having sat down across the room, Mr. Alden wasn’t as close to me.
“Come here,” he said casually, as if it represented an afterthought.
I swallowed hard. I wondered, with an idiotic little thrill of hope, whether the two impulses from his orders would somehow interfere with one another inside me, and I could just keep on standing there, caught between the old command to strip and the new one to go to him. Maybe, I thought, my body would even try to do both things at once, and I would trip and fall. Maybe I would break my ankle, and Mr. Alden would have to get help and I would get away.
Apparently the action of the wand on my nervous system didn’t have any trouble with that kind of negotiation, though. The latest command overrode the earlier one: with my hands crossed in front of my tummy and my trembling fingers grasping the blouse’s hem, I walked toward him, waves of mortified heat washing through me with every step.
I walked slowly, not from the overpowering reluctance I had in my head—I wished it were overpowering, anyway. The measured pace of my feet, I sensed in the ideas that seemed to bubble up from the dark, shameful part of me, came from not knowing how close my boss wanted me to get, and fear of being punished if I overstepped.
“Look at me,” he said, his tone sharpening again, as if he wanted to ensure I understood that he had no intention of losing the pleasure he clearly took in my abject degradation.
My feet stopped. I raised my eyes. Mr. Alden gazed back at me. He had his arms spread, one elbow resting on each of the armrests of the big leather chair. With his right hand he pointed to a spot on the thick red carpet, two feet or so in front of his knees.
My involuntary reaction told me that the bearer of the horrid compliance wand didn’t need to use words. My feet went of their own accord, picking up the pace a little now that I knew precisely where my boss had decided I should stand, to take off my clothes for him.
I arrived there all too soon, still looking at Mr. Alden’s impossibly handsome face and wondering how it could lack any sign of cruelty or malice given what he had done to me, and planned to do to me. I wanted to look away, out the window or even down at his knees, clad in his elegant charcoal gray suit pants. I couldn’t. It made me feel so lightheaded I wondered if I would simply pass out, but I had not the slightest ability to turn my eyes to anything else. My new boss’ blue gaze, seemingly lit up and made bluer by his golden, slightly curly hair, held me transfixed.
He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. My heart jumped and my knees quaked under me. Somehow I understood, though it seemed shameful and terrifying to me that I could apparently read his mind in some way, that the change in posture represented a command to go on with my most important task.
The one I refused to do. The one that I’m going to get paddled again for defying.
Take off your clothes.
With a little sob I pulled my blouse up over my face. I had a wild little hope, just as stupid as all the others I’d had about the operation of the compliance wand, that when the fabric broke the eye contact between me and Mr. Alden the compulsion to obey his every whim would vanish too.
Instead, when the whiteness interrupted my view of him, the dark heat inside me demanded that I rip the blouse off my face immediately, so that I could continue to obey him. I felt terribly uneasy in that moment, suddenly sure that he would paddle me harder and longer for having blocked his view of my features and my ability to meet his eyes the way he had ordered.
I pulled it off, and the unease gave way to a new surge of heat to my face and, worse, down below, inside my panties. Mr. Alden’s face had such an intent, evaluating expression on it that I felt like a butterfly pinned to a sheet of cardboard as I let the blouse fall to the floor. His eyes traveled downward. I bit my lip and I had to stifle a sob at the sheer frankness of his inspection of my little breasts in my naughty, lacy bra.
My arms twitched with the automatic impulse that came from my habitual modesty: I wanted desperately to cover my chest with my hands. They stayed at my sides, trembling.
“Put your hands under those sweet little tits,” Mr. Alden said. “Offer them to me.”