by Emily Tilton
And she had calmed herself, and delivered the ultimatum she had drawn up in her head precisely as she had planned it. The fluttering and the heat she had felt at the sight of the exam chair and the sound of the doctor’s polite but firm request that she take off all her clothes had receded as she used her bound wrists, and then Gordon’s command to approach him, to serve for the occasion of the resistance she knew must be effective. If what Gordon and his associates, whoever they were, had done all this in a convoluted effort to get her metadata, Maia had all the leverage she needed since she alone could give them the cryptokey, and the cryptokey would have no value at all to them if they didn’t have Maia running Confidelia.
She had known that the power now lay with her. Gordon had blundered, and Maia would be going home shortly.
Then he had put his hand between her legs, and all the self-denial she had employed to calm herself and ready herself to resist suddenly seemed like her own twisted plot. Her whole body shuddered. Her raised hands pressed against his strong chest: Gordon didn’t have the pecs of the Italian lumberjack or the Nordic surfer, but the subtle power under his wool suit coat and his crisp blue Oxford, paired with the intelligence in his rapacious eyes, made her feel faint now in a way his henchmen couldn’t.
“No,” she whispered again, not of course because her whole being didn’t cry out for the hand to keep doing what it did, but because one part of Maia spoke now to another, her reason pleading with her need to give in to this scene straight out of Catherine’s Story, to the way the wise older man had discovered how wet she got when she thought about taking off her clothes in front of an ocean vista, as strong men watched her undress, with one strong man in particular standing ready to claim her as his own.
They need the metadata, her mind intoned over and over. He can’t do this. They need the metadata.
Maia leaned against Gordon, as his fingers gently entered her, slipped into the soaking wet place where she knew a cock would go, someday, when she finally found the right man, and the thirty-three-year-old virgin who regarded her looks almost as an annoyance that made the right man harder to find, finally got what she so desperately needed. Her pussy, where a cock must go, when the right man told her the time had come.
They need the metadata. Who are they?
“Maia, sweet girl, I need you to take off your clothes for me and have your exam. Then we’ll go to the bedroom. If you say you’ll be a good girl for me, I’ll make you come right now.”
His fingers, up and down. On her clit, pressing, pinching just a little then moving down again, past her pussy, so that he could press a fingertip there, in the naughtiest place, the place Mr. Stonehill loved to fuck Catherine even though it made her cry out that he was too big for her bottom.
Sweet girl. He just called me sweet girl.
He said he would take me to the bedroom.
Maia’s brilliant mind whirled in a way it never had before, and she suddenly understood that everything was very simple. She knew she had no choice, because she needed what Catherine needed, and Gordon somehow knew that about her. Gordon knew Maia needed spanking; he knew she needed fucking; he knew she needed to come right now.
“I will,” she sobbed, bouncing desperately up and down on his hand, trying to rub her clit against the ball of his thumb as he pressed the fingertip further into her tiny anus, as if telling her that she would belong to him there, too.
“You will what?” he murmured into her ear.
Gordon had given all the rational arguments about the metadata back in the boardroom. Why had Maia refused to see reason? Right now she had no idea, and all she had to do was say she would do the thing she desperately wanted to do—and she didn’t even have to admit she wanted it.
She whispered, through the panting he caused with the tiniest movements of his fingers, “I’ll be a good girl.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt him take hold of the small of her back, his big left hand steadying her so that his right, working her clit, could push her straight over the edge of her orgasm and into space, flying somehow under the power of her wantonness, the rocket fuel provided by his knowing hand.
He stripped her jeans down, then, and Maia only had to step out of her sandals, and then the pants and panties. They could all see her red-furred pussy, now, the way she shaved most of it and left a little tuft at the top, just like Catherine did on NMB, because Mr. Stonehill had told her he liked it that way. How did Gordon like a pussy to look, she wondered with a deep blush as he picked her up and put her in the exam chair?
She wouldn’t have to take off all her clothes, then? Wouldn’t have to stand naked in front of the big window? Gordon had commuted her sentence in that regard, Maia realized, just as he had made her come over her hood in the parking garage rather than spanking her with her jeans down.
“Knees in the stirrups, please,” the doctor said. Maia bit her lip, the heat rising in her cheeks, as Gordon helped open her that humiliating way. She hated the gynecologist’s office not because of the embarrassment itself but because of the way her mind and her body reacted to it—the way she always worried about getting aroused even though in the reality of a GYN appointment she never did, since nothing actually arousing ever happened when she lay opened and exposed for the doctor.
Now, though, with Dr. Franklin on a stool looking at her, touching her in a very different way from how her own doctor did; with him rubbing cool, slightly stinging alcohol on the sensitive little place between her vagina and her anus; with Gordon standing next to her, his left hand casually on her right knee; with the doctor saying, for some reason, “There we go—it will come on line in a few seconds”; with Gordon saying, “Go ahead and test her responsiveness for me”; with the doctor’s fingers…
Maia cried out, because the doctor had some kind of cool lubricant on his rubber-gloved fingers as he began to stimulate her clit. Her hips bucked, and her bound fists clenched.
“Perfect,” said Gordon.
The doctor’s hand left her, and Maia whimpered, to her chagrin, to have it return. What had they done to her? Had they given her something, somehow?
“Maia,” Gordon said in a serious voice that made her look up at him with a frown, to see that despite everything he had a kind smile on his lips. She thought again about how he had promised the bare-bottom spanking and changed it to an orgasm; how he had promised she would have to strip in the middle of the living room and changed it to taking her jeans down and carrying her to the exam chair.
Does he love me? The thought suddenly flashed through her mind, and she felt her heart and her body respond with such an inward cry of surprise that her green eyes went wide as she studied his own chocolate gaze.
He spoke again, then, and as his words made their way into Maia’s consciousness, his right hand came down gently on her pussy, so that she whimpered again, as much at the way Gordon seemed to take possession of her in the sight of Dr. Franklin and the big henchman as at the lewd sensation he gave with his light caress.
“You’re going to sell the metadata because you know it’s the right thing to do for your company.”
She felt her eyes open wider, and she gasped, too, because Gordon had accompanied this very simple statement with a very complex caress, up and down her burning inner lips, then further down to touch her anus again, then up again to rub her clit: it felt possessive and tormenting and caring and delightful all at the same time.
“Before I take you to the bedroom and fuck you, and teach you to obey me with my cock in your mouth, your pussy, and your sweet little bottom, you’re going to learn something else very important—the real reason we’ve brought you here.”
Maia closed her eyes as she felt her hips move again, responding against her will to his knowing hand. “Please,” she breathed. If he loved her…
If he loves me, it changes everything, doesn’t it?
“I’m going to be your master, now, Maia.”
Just like Mr. Stonehill, with Catherine. Maia had a
master, too: a master who would spank her, when she was naughty even though she knew better. Who would give her the belt when she needed it.
Like when I refuse to make the right decision for my company, just because I want to be smarter than everyone else.
“Will you whip me?” she whispered. She couldn’t tell where the words had come from—only that she had no choice but to say them.
“When I have to,” Gordon answered softly, still making her his with his fingers. “Do I need to whip you now, to make it clear how important it is to take my advice about the metadata? Do I need to punish you before I fuck you, for playing with this little pussy in your office?”
Maia cried out, for he had used the word this to send her very close to another orgasm. Then, abruptly, he had taken his hand away. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “Yes, I believe I do.”
“No… please…” Maia said, but before she had uttered the s at the end of please, Gordon had picked her up off the exam chair—not as lightly, maybe, as the Italian lumberjack had done, but just as decisively and just as securely. “Where…?” she tried to gasp, but she knew the answer.
“The bedroom, sweetheart,” he said in the same low voice. “I’m going to whip you with my belt.”
“Oh, God,” Maia whimpered. “Please…”
“And then I’m going to fuck you.” He had advanced, carrying her five steps toward a hallway at the end of which Maia could see what looked like the most sumptuous master suite a designer could create. For the first time she let herself imagine what it would be like to lose her virginity to Gordon Ernkat, and instead of the dismay she thought the idea would bring, she felt the heat and wetness rush to the needy place between her thighs. Gordon spoke in an even quieter voice, now right into Maia’s ear. “Do you want me to cut the tie around your hands?”
Maia felt her eyes go wide. She had a moment of panic—fear of a sort she had never expected, and could never have imagined before Catherine’s Story had reached through her laptop screen and seemingly taken hold of her real life.
He had just given her a choice, hadn’t he? If she wanted him to free her wrists, so that she could… well, she didn’t know… fight back? Grab a lamp and hit him with it?
It doesn’t matter: it’s a choice, and… it stands for everything.
The metadata, even. Whatever had really brought her here, whoever they were, Gordon had meant what he said about the way they would secure her cooperation—that she didn’t understand it. Now Maia thought maybe she had started to intuit where she actually stood, and where he did.
Do I trust him?
There. There it was.
Do I trust him to… to…
To be my master. Maia’s heart performed what she could have described as a full three-hundred-sixty-degree flip-flop. Like Catherine and Mr. Stonehill.
Better than any reality show, though, no matter how real.
Gordon hadn’t stopped: he held her above the bed now, and the picture window in the master bedroom stretched almost as far, wall to wall, as the one in the living room. He would make her stand naked in front of it, wouldn’t he? Maia blushed and, down below, clenched hard.
Below her the bed, covered in a gorgeous crimson damask comforter, seemed even bigger than the picture window. He would lay her down on it, on her tummy, Maia knew. Catherine got whipped this way sometimes, when she had been very naughty. Sometimes she had to wear the leather cuffs that bound her wrists together and attached them to her collar; sometimes Mr. Stonehill left her hands free, and Catherine had a terrible time trying to keep herself from putting them behind her, so desperate did she grow to shield her little bottom from the awful belt with which her master taught his sternest lessons.
Gordon held her there, in his arms, and stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Should I cut the tie?” he asked again softly.
If he cut the tie, Maia thought, she would have the same trouble Catherine did. For her very first time being whipped, in preparation for the very first time she would be fucked, that wouldn’t be a good idea, would it?
“No, sir,” she whispered.
Epilogue
As Gordon whipped his wonderful girl, bringing the belt down hard enough to raise stinging pink welts on Maia North’s lovely, creamy bottom but not hard enough to dispel her arousal, he listened to Kevin’s situation report. Maia’s little cries and whimpers as he punished her, the sweet squirming of her backside, the threshing of her red hair back and forth, even the sight of her bound wrists stretched out toward the head of the bed, fists clenching with each lash he gave her… they all made it difficult to concentrate, but at least the operation had gotten back on track after that dicey moment in the living room, and Gordon felt comfortable lending Kevin only a small percentage of his attention.
His cock raged now in his suit pants. He had taken his coat and tie off and rolled up his sleeves before he had removed his long black belt and doubled it around his fist. When the moment arrived to deflower Maia, undressing himself would be almost as simple as undressing her: his fingers already itched to get the green cotton top over her head, her soon-to-be unbound wrists, and claim the pert pink nipples on her tiny, braless breasts.
Kevin chuckled. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t hear that last part, Gordon. Maia just recalibrated and she’s pre-orgasm.”
Gordon paused in the middle of an upswing with the belt. There were times when a dominant’s instincts, for all their vaunted capacity to make the assessors’ numbers irrelevant, didn’t serve him anywhere close to as well as the sensor data did. That held especially true when the girl in question was submitting for the first time, and her master didn’t yet have a full grasp of how her arousal cycle worked: every girl made her way toward orgasm differently, and when a delicate matter like the future of civilization was at stake, a training master needed to remain aware of every piece of information available.
He could have sworn Maia hadn’t been close to ten, a few moments before, and now she had recalibrated—and somewhere deep below the Institute’s manor house the pre-orgasm alarm had gone off: one more lash and his sweet girl would go off too soon—for Gordon’s purposes anyway.
“I’m…” she whimpered softly. “Please… sir… please… I’ll be good…”
He would certainly have figured her for a girl who could come from punishment alone, as long as she could move her hips a bit, but the acceleration the assessors must have noticed with the gold-plated data coming from the perineal sensor nearly defied belief. Gordon dropped the belt, and Maia turned around at the jingle of it hitting the floor, her eyes going wide as she saw that the financier was slipping off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt, dropping his pants.
“Oh…” she said. “I… oh…”
He tugged down his black boxer briefs, so that his long, hard cock sprang forth. Maia gave a gasp that made the shaft leap in arousal, and Gordon couldn’t help grinning. “I’m going to free your hands, now, Maia, and take off your shirt,” he said, trying to keep his voice at least slightly authoritative.
“Okay,” she said, her voice manifesting a little uncertainty at the new direction of Gordon’s dominance. “I mean, yes, sir… please…”
“Nine,” Kevin said in his ear.
He didn’t let her doubt remain: he pulled the blunt-nosed scissors from his pocket, walked around the bed, reached down and cut the plastic tie. Maia’s rapid breathing showed the return of her arousal.
“Ten.”
Gordon picked her up, set her on her knees, gave her warm bottom a possessive squeeze. Maia cried out and threw her arms around him.
“Recalibrator,” Kevin said. “Pre-orgasm.”
This was going to be hard, if he wanted Maia to come at the right moment. Gordon took hold of the hem of the top and swept it over her head as she let go of him for the instant necessary to make her completely naked.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest. “Oh, God. Yes, sir.”
“Turn around and bend
over, sweetheart,” Gordon said softly, holding her very tight for a moment with one hand around her back and the other on her punished bottom. “We both know how this has to go.”
She nodded her chin eagerly against his chest, turned, bent—even arched her back just like an NMB girl would have done when presenting her pussy for fucking. The sight of the pouting slit between her thighs made Gordon’s heart race, made him put his hands on her hips and pull her toward him. His cock against her clit, rubbing. His hand cupping her right bottom-cheek.
“You’re going to come now, Maia,” he said softly, “and then I’ll enter you for the first time.”
“Oh, God. Please… please, now…”
“I need you to say that you want to help me save the world. I know you don’t know what I mean, but all I need from you now is your trust.” He rubbed himself along her lovely pink pussy, made her moan with anticipation.
“And my metadata?” Gordon hadn’t suspected anyone could make the word metadata sound that sexy.
“Yes, sweetheart.” He brought his left hand forward along the length of his cock, used the fingers to rub her clit as he inserted the very tip of his manhood in the place where it would soon fill her up. Maia gasped, her hands clutching at the damask, her hips moving wantonly, begging wordlessly for release. “Do you trust me? Do you want to learn what I can teach you?”
“Recalibrator,” Kevin said. “Pre-orgasm.”
“Yes,” Maia whispered. “Oh, yes.”
The End
Stormy Night Publications would like to thank you for your interest in our books.
If you liked this book (or even if you didn’t), we would really appreciate you leaving a review on the site where you purchased it. Reviews provide useful feedback for us and our authors, and this feedback (both positive comments and constructive criticism) allows us to work even harder to make sure we provide the content our customers want to read.