Theirs to Use: A Punishment Reverse Harem Romance(35)
Karen moaned, sobbed. She put her left hand behind her, tucked the thumb into the sensible panties’ waistband and imagined for a moment that the stretch cotton was actually the white lace in which her owners had dressed her for her first gangbang, for her anal defloration.
All those cocks inside her, and his the one that had taught the sternest lesson, his voice the one that had mattered, had made Mr. Green’s cruelty seem like something Karen could bear.
How could she want what she wanted? Need what she needed?
She ripped the seat of her panties down the way she knew Mr. Singleton would if he could see her now. As she rode her right hand in front, her left hand came down sharply on her left bottom-cheek.
Naughty. Wicked. Party. Whore.
Whore.
Oh, God. Please… please…
It didn’t feel anything like the paddling, or the whipping. She couldn’t even reach more than a little bit of her left buttock, but the idea of it made her arousal gush onto her other hand, made her hips buck and her fingers start to move urgently, desperately, shamefully.
Karen cried out one more time, and came in a short spasm that arched her back and made her hips jerk twice against the hand under her while the hand behind her tried to rub her not-hot-enough bottom in a mockery of the possessive way Mr. Singleton did.
Then, lying there with her upper cheeks burning as if to taunt her for the need down below, in her lower ones, between her lower ones, she wept.
*
Two days later, when she returned from work, she found a note card had been slipped under her door. The sight of the luxurious, heavy cream-colored stationery made her heart leap and her blood go cold and then very hot, because it bore only the embossed letter S, in black.
The note itself, though, had no signature. In neat block capitals it read,
We both know what you need, Karen. Call me if you’d like to discuss it.
Then it gave a phone number.
Fingers trembling, Karen dialed the number on the cheap dump phone the convenience-store manager had given her with the news that ‘the owner’ wanted her to have it for her safety.
“Singleton,” said the voice at the other end of the line.
“It’s…” she said, and then not just her voice but her whole body seemed to freeze, standing there in the tiny kitchenette of the apartment he had gotten for her because… because…
Oh, my God. She saw it all, the illogic of it and what Mr. Singleton must have done. All the ambiguous looks flashed in front of her eyes, every touch seemed to tingle again on her skin, every soft word he couldn’t suppress to sound in her ears.
The silence seemed to stretch on so long that she almost pressed the button to hang up, but finally he said, his voice so confident and decisive that it made her knees go weak, “Karen, I’d like to send my car there to pick you up and bring you to me, so I can punish you for running away and for wasting your money again when you know so much better.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, her mind on fire. What had she thought he would say? Not… not that.
“If you consent to be punished, I’ll regard that as meaning you intend to honor your contract of indenture, which I now own outright. Your punishment will involve not just a long, hard spanking but also whatever else I choose to do with your body. However I decide I want to take my pleasure, and however I want to watch other men use you.”
Now Karen couldn’t even say Oh, God. She couldn’t even utter the single syllable of Please. She just gave a tiny sob. Down between her legs her pussy clenched and her sensible panties received a wanton gush of her private wetness.
“Do you consent, sweetheart?”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
*
The phone rang again an hour later. Mr. Singleton said, “My driver is downstairs. Take off all your clothes and put the bathrobe on, then go down and get into the car. You may wear flip-flops on your feet. Once you’re in the car, you’ll take off the robe. My driver has instructions not to leave until you’re naked.”
“What… what about when…”
“When you arrive at my apartment building, you’ll put the robe back on and get in the elevator. You’ll drop the robe, then. When you get to my floor, you’ll walk to my door naked. If you see anyone, you’ll tell them that you’re a party whore who needs to be punished.”
Not a whimper or a sob, but a positive cry of mingled shame and helpless arousal burst from her lips, but Mr. Singleton had hung up.
She had to stop thinking that same thing: I can’t I can’t I can’t.
She couldn’t stop thinking it, but while the words spooled out in her mind over and over, her trembling hands obeyed, taking off her jeans and her flannel shirt, her bra and her panties. Nude, she got the hotel bathrobe, laundered now, from the place she had shoved it into at the back of the closet. It made her think of Pete, of running away from Pete, of Pete and Joe fucking her and how wet it had made her to be used by Mr. Green’s henchmen.
Karen bit her lip as she took the robe from its hook. She tried to take some comfort in the softness of the fabric as she put it on, but the idea of having to remove it once she had gotten into Mr. Singleton’s car, and even more of having to drop it to the elevator floor once she had reached his building, made the light embrace of the terrycloth seem more like an expression of the control her owner had so emphatically reasserted over her.