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)
I swallowed very hard, panic starting to fill my chest. So the game hadn’t ever stopped. Even the beguiling, almost affectionate conversation, the exquisite dinner… all of it represented part of his mastery and training.
“I thought…” I started and then began again, lowering my voice to a desperate, urgent whisper. “Sir, I thought you said this wasn’t compulsory.”
I searched his eyes for any sign of yielding or hesitation. Of course I found none.
“Yes,” he agreed. “You didn’t have to come to dinner with me. I could have started your anal training tomorrow at the office.”
I gaped at him, trying to process his words.
“To put it another way, my dear, lovely little slut, the dinner was an invitation. The butt plug is compulsory.” He paused, as if to watch me comprehend. “Of course, if you choose to quit your new job right now, you can walk out of here with the assurance that Selecta will help you find a new one at a different kind of company. On the other hand, if you choose to stay at Selecta, you’ll take the butt plug and the lube to the ladies’ room right now and put it in your adorable bottom.”
CHAPTER 17
Ingrid
Joseph’s quiet but firm command echoed in my mind, reverberating through my very core. I stared at the thing, its tulip shape, the jewel that seemed somehow both absurd and moving. My heart raced at the thought of obeying, a wild drumbeat of fear and anticipation. His words were simple but heavy with implication: quit my job or continue playing his humiliating, arousing game of dominance.
The idea of walking away seemed like an oasis of sanity, but the thought of obeying him, surrendering to his control, sent shivers down my spine so ambiguous that I felt glued to my seat.
Another girl, I told myself. That’s the person who’s continuing to sit here at this table. A girl who has no choice at all.
It seemed somehow so much easier that way, to pretend it wasn’t me submitting to this degrading demand but someone else entirely.
I reached out. My fingers fumbled as I closed the box with a soft snap. My hand shook as I reached for my purse, lifted it, slipped the elegant velvet-covered box inside. Each movement felt like a betrayal of my own dignity, yet the warmth between my thighs, the wetness I could feel seeping out of my bare, naked outer lips, betrayed another truth.
Get up. I commanded that other girl, the one who had just put the jeweled butt plug in her purse, almost as if I could assume my master’s role toward that other version of me.
It seemed to coax some small bit of strength into my wobbly knees. I rose from the table, unable to look at Joseph, or even in his direction. I moved as swiftly as I thought I could without attracting attention. She made every step purposeful, that submissive girl who had decided to follow the impossibly degrading command, despite the quiver that seemed to run through her body—my body—with each footfall on the restaurant’s gray carpet. The ladies’ room door swung open under my hand, and I slipped inside, seeking refuge in a private stall.
I clicked the lock into place behind me, sealing myself into the temporary sanctuary. My breath came in shallow puffs through my nostrils, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant and, to my dismay, something more primal—my own arousal, beneath the light floral fragrance I had hastily applied before I had gone down to meet Joseph in front of my building.
I looked at my purse, suddenly fearful to reach into it, as if I knew a venomous insect lay inside. My right hand shaking, I retrieved the box. I hung the purse from the hook at the side of the stall. I held the box in both hands and looked at it for a moment.
Another girl, I told myself again. Indeed I felt it more strongly, here in the ladies’ room, because Ingrid Vogel would never find herself in a bathroom stall holding a velvet box that contained such shame.
She opened it. I opened it. I saw again the gleaming silvery thing, and beside it the little tube that seemed like a humiliating reminder of what Joseph had instructed me to do with it, where he had commanded that I put it, outraging my modesty… preparing me for…
For him. For him, there, in my most private place.
She needed it, the other girl. She needed it so bad. She was a slut, just as her boss’ team had declared; working for Joseph, they obviously knew a little slut like Ingrid Vogel when they saw her.
Oh, God.
The cool metal of the plug felt heavy in my palm, its jeweled end gleaming mockingly under the fluorescent lights. I willed my hands to steady as I returned the box to my purse.