She sank her teeth a little deeper into her bottom lip, and shook her head.
"I think I just forgot about it, Sir," she replied. And with that, Dravid felt a rush of anger run through him. Forgot about it? He was paying her for her services here, wasn’t he? And she could just stand there in front of him, and tell him that she forgot that she was meant to be serving him a decent breakfast?
"You know that’s not good enough, Megan," he told her, his voice low and so angry that it caught even him by surprise. She chewed her lip and gazed back at him. Her cheeks had started to flush red, and it was obvious that she was starting to get excited.
"I know, Sir," she confessed. He could feel his cock stirring in his pants. Which he knew was what she wanted. And, much as he didn’t want to indulge this sort of bad behavior, he didn’t see what other choice he had but to teach her a lesson.
He leaned back in his seat and sighed, eyes fixed on her, and tried to work out what he was going to do with her next. There was so much that he wanted to try, he didn’t even know where to start. Some part of him, of course, longed to just bend her over, to push himself inside of her and make her moan as he fucked her ruthlessly. But that was, he was sure, what she was hoping would happen. So he had to find something else, some other way of making sure that he got his point across.
Her eyes were pinned to him as she waited for him to respond to her come-on. Her breath was coming harder and faster than it had before, and that flush to her cheeks had turned into a pink glow. There was one thing on her mind and one thing only, and the only way Dravid was going to convince her to drop it was by teaching her a lesson.
"Tell me," he murmured. "When you lived with your dad. When he hurt you. Did you learn to adjust your behaviour?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and then nodded. A small smile was playing at the corner of her mouth. She seemed delighted by his question, as though it was the one she had been waiting for.
"But you ran from them," he pointed out. "Why do you come here and act like you need punishment again? I don’t understand it."
She opened her eyes and looked at him once more, and they were shining with such a fierce light that it almost took him aback for a moment.
"Because I need to learn," she breathed. And he knew this wasn’t about the toast. This was about the training that Stacey had begun, the training that he had been too distracted to carry on. But if she needed it – if this was what she needed to learn – then he would give it to her.
"Bend over the counter," he ordered her, and she did as she was told at once.
He could hear her breathing getting faster, harder, and he couldn’t help but feel the stir of need in his pants. There was something about her eagerness that aroused him, even when he knew he should have been more angry at her than anything else. Moving to the kitchen drawers, he reached for a rubber spatula that was sitting out on the counter. He tested it against the palm of his hand, seeing if it would deliver the harshness that he needed right now, once, twice against his skin. Sure enough, the bite was enough to send a sting through his system. Yes, this would do.
He turned to her, slowly, and rolled up the hem of that little uniform that she had purchased for her work. She wasn’t wearing any panties underneath it, just the way he liked her. So she was hot and ready and bare for him to deposit his seed if he so desired. His cock was starting to strain almost painfully against his pants, but he ignored it. She needed to learn her place in all of this. She needed to understand exactly where she stood. And that meant not giving her what she wanted, the thrust of his cock inside her pussy – it meant delivering a deterrant.
"Count with me, alright?" He ordered her. "Count out the strikes. You can do that, can’t you?”
"Yes, Sir," she breathed, as he reached out and gently massaged the flesh of her ass – since she had gained some of the weight back, she had developed this curvaceous backside that strained at the confines of that little uniform she always wore. In fact, her whole body was so lush and so curvy that he could hardly believe that he hadn’t been able to see her obvious beauty the first time he had laid eyes on her. If he’d known that this version of her was hidden underneath that, maybe he would have felt a little different from the start. Maybe he wouldn’t have waited so long to mark her as his own.
He pulled back the spatula, and landed it on her ass with a sharp thwack. She let out a little cry, something between shock and pain and pleasure, and he watched as the impact rippled through her flesh.
"Count," he ordered her. He didn’t want to make this easy. He could feel that dominant edge rising up in him, the one that demanded all his attention, the one that was impossible for him to ignore. It was as though there was another side to him, a side that he had to keep locked away most of the time, a side that took him over entirely when he was presented with a woman in submission to him. A side that wished to punish, to own, to consume.
"One, Sir," She called out to him, her voice already wavering with pleasure. He could see that her pussy was wet and glistening with her juices, but he ignored it. She could wait. They were doing this on his terms, and that was the end of it.
Another strike. Harder, this time. Hard enough to leave a mark.
"Two, Sir," she managed, and it sounded like her voice was catching at the back of her throat. He felt a sadistic smile rising up his face. Yes. This was how he wanted her. Helpless. Giving in to him. He grabbed her ass where the mark was reddening against her soft skin, and she groaned helplessly. Arching her back, she pushed her pussy towards him, but he chose to ignore it. He struck her again, hard enough that the sound echoed out through the whole room. She squeaked in pain, but then bit her lip to keep it back.
"Three, Sir..."
And with that, he rained down a hail of strikes to her ass, going so hard that he knew she was going to have a hard time sitting down the next day. He wanted her to remember this, above all else – he wanted her to know that she wasn’t to mess with him again, that she wasn’t to leave him wanting for anything. By the time that he was done, he had to catch his breath from the intensity of the beating he had given her, and she was sprawled on the counter, gripping on to it for dear life, a slight mewling escaping her lips as though she was still trying to count out every blow that he had given her but had lost the ability to speak it out loud.
But he wasn’t done with her yet. He had only intended for a beating, just to make sure that she understood what being punished by him really entailed, but he was enjoying himself far too much to stop now. He went to the drawer again, this time pulling it open. What else was inside of here that he could use to make her beg and plead for mercy? He knew that there had to be something.
Sure enough, he found a rolling pin – thick, wooden, hefty. He tested the weight of it in his hands, and then cast his gaze back to Megan, considering what he could do to her with this thing. She looked over her shoulder, and when she saw what he was brandishing, her eyes widened – but she didn’t protest.
"Pull down your shirt," he commanded. "Put your tits on the counter."
She did as she was told at once, peeling down the top of her uniform so that it bunched up around her middle – everything that he needed to have access to on display for him, just like that. In that moment, as he moved around her, he knew that she would have done anything at all to please him. It was hard for that thought not to make him a little dizzy with excitement. He loved the idea of her, so hungry for him, so needy that she would have given in to anything that he wanted to do.
Her generous breasts were pressed to the counter, spread out on the cold marble in front of him; her nipples were swollen and hard, and it took everything he had in him not to lean down and sink his teeth into them, just to hear her squeal. But she might have enjoyed that far too much, and he wanted her to know that this was about her misdeeds. Not her rewards.
Taking the rolling pin at each end, he leaned over the counter and pressed it against her chest – she winced, but didn’t say a word, as he ro
lled it down over her exposed breasts, like he was kneading out dough. She squirmed in the seat but didn’t move an inch, letting him use her just the way he wanted to. He went back and forth, back and forth, watching as her flesh gave way to him. It must have hurt, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, judging by the way the flush to her cheeks grew even more intense, he would have said that she rather liked it.
"Push your tits forward," he ordered, and she squeezed her arms either side of her chest to give him more to work with. He pushed the pin harder against her body, watching as her skin grew red – would it leave bruises? No, he needed something sharper for that.
He moved back to the drawers and pulled them open – and a glistening pair of tongs caught his eye. He grabbed them, tapped them together a couple of times to make sure that they were working, and then turned back to Megan. At the angle he was standing, he could see her wetness leaking helplessly down the inside of her thighs. She was so horny he was surprised she was still managing to keep herself upright – but he intended to change that.
"Do you think you’re sorry enough yet?" He asked her, as he slowly moved back around so he could look her in the eye. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath coming quickly, and she shook her head at once.
"I’m so sorry, Sir," she murmured, and he clinked the tongs together in front of her, trying to decide where he was going to use them. They would pinch and hurt at any inch of her skin, but he wanted to make her squirm – wanted to see that wetness drip all the way down her legs and on to the floor, so he could punish her even more for making a mess. By now, he was totally lost to his desires, nothing else running through his mind but what he could do to her, how he could make her feel.
Reaching the tongs out, he used them to pinch one of her nipples roughly, the metal teeth of the tool digging in to her swollen flesh – she pressed her lips together to keep from crying out, and he sank them in harder, determined to hear her squeal in pain. He moved to the other breast, and sure enough, this one drew a sharp cry of agony from her lips – but she was smiling. The cold, cruel metal left marks on her nut-brown nipples, and he pulled back from a moment to admire his work.
Not just her breasts, but all of it. She had learned so much in the time that she had been working for him, and she still had so much left to learn. And in that moment, he would have shown her all of it. He knew that it was wrong, knew that she was just meant to be working for him and that he should have been smart enough to remember that, but he had never known submission like it. As though it had been built into her very bones. Her desire to serve him, to serve him in every way that it was possible to serve a man, was unlike anything he had seen before, and he felt like it would have been wrong of him to pass up the chance to explore that. To see how far he could take it. He thought Stacey had been the best and most willing sub he’d ever find, but Megan – Megan was something else entirely. She took her punishment like she deserved every inch of it.
He went for her again, this time ruthlessly pinching her nipple in the tongs and twisting it to the side. She gasped in pain, but her eyes locked with his and it seemed to be all the balm she needed to calm herself. Pressing her lips together, her brow furrowed slightly, as though she was convincing both herself and the man before her that she could handle this. That she could take each and every inch of it.
He had to go further. He didn’t know how much more she was going to be able to take until she went over the edge, and he had to play as much and as long as he could while he still had the chance. Diving in to the fridge, he went through everything he could find in there until he came across something that would give him what he wanted – he intended to make a mess of her, and to leave her to clean it all up. He had dominion over her body, and she needed to know that, every way that it was possible to know.
Finally, he laid eyes on what he was looking for. Strawberry sauce, whipped cream, anything that would be easy to drizzle over her body. He grabbed it, and took her by the hair to pull her upright so that he had full access to every inch of her body.
"Tip your head back," he commanded, and she did as she was told at once. He started at the top of her throat, letting the strawberry sauce drip down her skin, and watched as it trailed down, sticky, pink, between her swollen breasts and on to what remained of her uniform. He took the cream next, running a line of it down her back, watching as it slowly slithered across her skin. She was breathing so hard that he could see the rise and fall of the liquids he had applied to her right there in front of him, and shit, if it wasn’t hot as hell to know what he was doing to her.
"You’re making such a mess, Megan," he murmured to her, as he moved the sauce over her hair, letting it drip through her short curls.
"I’m sorry, Sir," she murmured again, and her whole body was quivering as he brought the cold nozzle of the whipped cream against the small of her back; he let out a small squirt, and watched as it moved down, over her asshole. It wouldn’t be long, he promised himself, until he took her in that hole, too. But not today. Not now. He could do anything he wanted with her body, and he wasn’t going to waste that opportunity on something as simple as just fucking her.
"You’re going to have to clean all this up, you know," he told her, as he walked back around her to look at the mess that he had made of her whole body. She was covered in welts, bruises, cream, sauce, and yet, through it all, he could tell that she would have taken a million more adjustments to her presence if it meant that he paid all his attention to her. She had been the one to want this, he reminded himself, and so she only had herself to blame for the punishment that she was taking.
"I know, Sir," she agreed. "As soon as you want."
"Maybe I’ll get you to do it naked," he continued. "On your hands and knees. With your tongue..."
She moaned helplessly, and he could tell from the glazed look in her eyes that she was going to lose her mind unless he gave her something in the way of release sooner rather than later. He looked around, for something that he could use to degrade her further – and that’s when he saw it.
A banana, sitting in the fruitbowl next to his long-forgotten breakfast. He grabbed it, and moved behind her once more.
"Spread your fucking legs," he commanded. She obeyed. Her pussy was so wet that he was surprised she could even keep her legs together any longer. It was obvious to anyone paying attention that she was so responsive to his dominance, to his control, to how much he wanted to control and own her.
"You’re filthy, you know that?" He told her. "You want me to fuck you with this thing, don’t you?”
"Yes, Sir," she breathed. "Sorry, Sir..."
"Sorry for what?" He demanded, as he pressed the curved edge of the fruit against her pussy. She groaned loudly, rocking back and forth against it at once, as though she could hardly take not having it inside her already.
"Sorry for being so filthy," she apologized. "Sorry, Sir, sorry, sorry, sorry..."
And though she kept repeating that word as though it was the only word she knew, he knew that she wasn’t sorry. He knew that she was glad that she had convinced him to give her this treatment. She had misbehaved because she needed this from him, because she needed to be treated this way. Some part of her, craved being used in this fashion, and he couldn’t believe that it had taken him so long to give her what she so clearly desired.
And, as she pleaded for his forgiveness, he finally gave her what she wanted.
Pushing the banana inside of her, he watched as the fruit vanished into her achingly wet pussy. She cried out, loudly, and instantly gripped hold of the counter and began rocking back and forth against it like it was the only thing in the world that mattered to her at that moment. He watched her, in a frenzy, not caring that she was degrading herself but letting him fuck her with a piece of foodstuff – God, he had never seen anything so filthy in his life.
"Tell me again how sorry you are," he demanded. He needed to hear it. He needed to know that what he was doing was justified, at least in her eyes – that
she knew why this was happening and that she was happy for him to use her in this way.
"I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry," she panted, her voice ragged around the edges, as she moved faster and harder back against the banana inside of her. And it was that, it seemed, that was enough to give her what she had needed – he watched as her whole body trembled helplessly, and as the pleasure coursed through her and pushed her over the edge into the release she had clearly been waiting for since this begun.
The guttural scream she let out seemed to rock the very windows of the house, and the sound burned itself into his memory at once. His cock was straining hard at his pants now, but he was able to ignore it for the time being – she could deal with that later. Right now, he just wanted to watch this woman, this woman who had given herself so utterly and completely to him, lose control. And, for now, that was all the satisfaction that he needed.
Though he knew that soon enough, he was going to need more. And that, like it or not, she was going to give it to him. Though he got the feeling that she would be all too willing to deliver on what he wanted.
Chapter 16
Who's the boss?
The moment Dravid stepped through the door, he knew something was wrong. And he felt a wave of exhaustion hit him as he thought about handling it. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with another of Megan’s little games. But he got the feeling that she wasn’t going to give him much of a choice this time around.
It had been a hell of a long day at work, and all Dravid had been able to think about since he got our of the office was sliding on to the couch with a drink in his hand and watching some trash TV until he had forgotten about everything that he had yet to do when he got back to the office the next day.
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