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)
“Oh, God,” I sobbed. Do I really have to admit it?
Then, “Y-yes, sir,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted like surrender on my tongue, and I suddenly hated how much they excited me as much as I loved it. Then, a moment later, I felt a surge of pride as I accepted the two emotions as part of the same deeply seated element of my very identity: simply, who I was.
“Kevin, Louis, Martin.” Joseph had taken a stand over me, I realized, his voice coming from almost directly overhead as he addressed the junior executives. His voice was honed with a cruel edge that I could hear even in the way he pronounced their names.
The Game, I realized, capitalizing it in my mind for the first time. He knows how to play the Game.
“I find this cunt and this anus extremely pleasurable on my cock. As Louis knows, her mouth is obedient as well. You’ve done very well this quarter. I’m certain you will enjoy fucking her in all her holes after her paddling.”
CHAPTER 22
Ingrid
Joseph’s words hung in the air, each syllable its own little hot stab of shame, making a mockery of any thought of dignity I might have had.
I enjoy fucking her cunt, anus, and mouth, he had said, the casual objectification leaving me breathless. My cheeks burned with shame, my eyes stinging as I looked down at the polished wood of his desk.
I felt the junior executives’ eyes boring into me. I could see the eagerness, the hunger glinting in their gazes. Kevin, Louis, and Martin… my colleagues, my fellow team members… the men with whom Joseph had decided to share me like a new golf club… like a favorite beer.
Shame washed over me, mingling with the ghost of the anger my reason told me I should feel—simmering wrath that should threaten to boil over into rage.
How dare he speak of me like that? the rational voice demanded. Like a golf club! Like a beer!
But the hotter, redder, darker place swallowed the tepid heat of anger. Crimson need twisted in a coil within me farther down and more basic, in a helpless, undeniable response to the power Joseph wielded so effortlessly.
Silence fell. For an instant I wondered what had happened, and a thrill of mingled hope and perverse disappointment rose in my chest at the thought that perhaps Joseph would call it all off. Then I understood, because I felt the pressure of the air that I hadn’t sensed for the past three weeks, but that I remembered much too well.
The first stroke of the paddle landed with a resounding crack, the sharp pain exploding across my ass. I gasped, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk. The leather inset felt cold against my flushed cheek, a stark contrast to the heat blossoming where the paddle had struck. The pain took a moment to bloom, then started radiating outward in waves that left me breathless.
“One,” Joseph counted, his voice devoid of emotion. He allowed the silence to stretch, letting the anticipation build before bringing the paddle down again. Another crack, another surge of agony. I bit my lip to stifle a cry, my body tensing as I braced for the next blow.
“Two.”
He made each stroke deliberate, calculated to inflict maximum pain with unerring precision. By the third stroke, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, the sting intensifying with every swat. The sensation was overwhelming, a relentless assault on my body and my mind together, the sum of it leaving me reeling.
“Three.”
The paddle came down again and again, each blow a punctuation mark in this cruel lesson. My breath hitched with every impact, the pain building until it was all I could focus on. My vision blurred, tears spilling over as I fought to maintain my composure.
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
I lost track, the numbers blurring together as the torment continued. Each stroke seemed harder than the last, the force behind them growing with Joseph’s apparent determination to break me. My cries filled the room, mingling with the muted sounds of the city beyond the panoramic windows.
“Seven.”
My backside clenched and unclenched in a way that would have felt absolutely mortifying if I could have thought of anything but the fiery, searing agony of my rear end. My legs kicked out uncontrollably, and I put them hastily back in place before Joseph could reprimand me.
“Eight.”
With the ninth swat, the pain rippling through my body grew too much to bear. I straightened up abruptly, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. My hands flew to my throbbing, burning bottom, trying desperately to soothe the searing pain, to defend my poor little cheeks from my master’s punishment. The humiliation of the junior executives’ leering eyes only intensified my distress.
“Please, Joseph,” I begged, my voice trembling with desperation, “no more. I can’t take it.”