Theirs to Use: A Punishment Reverse Harem Romance(17)
“Turn around,” Green said abruptly. “Hands on your head.”
Karen made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of derision, and turned, placing her hands in the posture commanded. Singleton felt his eyes go wide at the flinty expression that had come into her eyes. For a moment he almost felt inadequate to the occasion: clearly, Green’s methods would be necessary here.
“I don’t like that expression, Karen,” the financier told her coldly. “If it continues, you’ll find yourself over that bench very frequently, and I may as well tell you that there are other ways to punish your bottom than spanking and whipping. That look makes me think you may need a nice fat plug up your anus, very soon.”
The hard expression wavered for a moment, as Karen met Green’s eyes, then flicked her gaze over to Singleton.
“Eyes down, sweetheart,” Green said. “We’ll tell you when we want you to look us in the face.”
As she dropped her chin again, Singleton wondered if Green had noticed that the defiance had returned to her eyes when their gazes locked.
“Say, yes, sir,” Singleton instructed, doing his best to make his voice sound as harsh as Green’s. “Or you’ll go right over the bench this minute.”
Karen swallowed visibly, seeming to swallow down some words that might otherwise have burst out.
“Yes, sir,” she said in a very clear voice, each consonant sounding deliberately in the little room.
“Thank you,” Green replied. “Go ahead and take off your underwear, please. You look very pretty this way. We’ll have her in these things tomorrow, don’t you think, Griff?”
“Definitely,” Singleton replied. “Now show us those little tits, Karen. I felt like I didn’t really get a good enough look at them even when we had you strapped to the exam chair.”
Chapter Nine
Karen thought that perhaps she had found some kind of equilibrium, as she obeyed and reached back to unhook the bra. She could keep a kind of resistance in her heart and her mind, and bring it out in looks and tones of voice, and in the meantime she could plan. She could figure out how to escape, because the moment she had seen the cage and the bench, there in the pretty pink room, she had known she had no choice—she had to run.
For now, though, she had to make it through the next hour, and reach the sanctuary of the promised day off. She almost wept as she thought about it—first with relief because it felt like she hadn’t had a day to herself since she had signed that stupid contract; second because of how these men had made her so pathetically grateful for a day spent confined to the room whose real purpose, of which they made no secret, was the use of her body to make their cocks feel good, in whatever way they pleased.
She shrugged the bra off her shoulders. Mr. Green and Mr. Singleton said nothing, so she started to unhook the suspenders that attached the garter belt to the nylons.
“Did we say nine o’clock?” Mr. Singleton asked.
“Yes,” Mr. Green responded.
“And we’ll start by letting each man come in here and get to know her?”
The suspenders were unfastened. Karen’s face blazed. It doesn’t matter. You’ll escape before then. She kicked off the pretty pumps, careful not really to kick them so that they sailed any distance, the way she had used to do with the few fancy shoes she had had when she worked briefly in an office—when she had thought she could actually keep up with loan payments. She didn’t want the removal of her shoes to draw the men’s attention. Let them concentrate on their conversation: its implications for Karen might be horrendous, but at least those implications lay in a future she could tell herself wouldn’t come true.
“That’s what we said,” Green answered, his voice sounding a little doubtful. “Are we sure we don’t want to start with a gangbang in the living room?”
Oh, God.
As she started to roll down the nylons, desperately trying not to let the sensual feel of the sheer fabric on her thighs distract her, she had the terrible thought that perhaps they could see into her mind and read the struggle there. It occurred to her that this conversation they seemed to be having between themselves was really meant to make that conflict even worse for her—that they intended to break her in that way, and make her like that saleswoman Lydia, who would probably enjoy being gangbanged by ten men.
As soon as she had that thought, when she had the nylon off her right leg and she was turning, suddenly even more self-conscious about how she looked in the revealing thong as she removed the stockings, Mr. Singleton spoke to her, and made it worse.
“Good girl, Karen,” he said. “Thank you.”
How can he say that? How can he… She knew instantly what they would demand, which must represent some essential part of why the blond man with the hazel eyes—the very attractive man—would thank her, of all things.
“You’re welcome, sir,” she said, and felt a surge of pride that she had managed to keep the words from coming out as a sob.
Mr. Singleton at least wanted her to show herself complicit. Consenting, even. Mr. Green, she guessed, didn’t really care very much about that.
It doesn’t matter. You’ll escape tomorrow, or… Or what? Would she throw herself off the balcony of this penthouse? Could she threaten to throw herself off the balcony? They wouldn’t want to lose all that money, would they?