Hostile Takeover (11 page)

“Mr. Adler,” Ben corrected her. “That’s what he is here.”

Even as he said it, he imagined her dream again. Her lips wrapped around Lucas’ dick as he ate his wife’s pussy. Marcie on her knees, servicing him at Ben’s command. Ben’s slave entirely, to do with as he wished.

Mentoring.
He was mentoring.

“Mr. Adler.” Marcie’s voice was a near whisper, but he didn’t have to correct her this time. She cleared her throat, repeated it, more loudly.

“What’s going on here?” Lucas’ gray eyes narrowed.

“Discipline,” Matt said mildly. He exchanged a look with Lucas that said whatever this was, they weren’t talking it out here. The Kensington CEO moved his shrewd dark gaze to Ben. “Are you ready? We’ve got about fifteen minutes to get there. And Marcie?”

She looked up then, her expression still wary.

“You’re right. You probably
can
drink Lucas under the table in tequila shots. He’s always been a lightweight.”

She dimpled, though she stole a glance at Ben. He’d picked up his laptop case, was acting as he always acted now, and he saw her register it, her shoulders ease, though there was still a cautious set to them. He’d taken her off balance with that one, but she’d responded to him on instinct, responded to him as her Master, over and above the other two Doms present. He didn’t know if that made things better or worse. Probably worse, because now he also had to deal with those two Doms. Particularly one of them, who looked as if he was deciding whether they needed to head for their meeting or make a brief stop in an alley to leave Ben’s bleeding and broken body there.

“I need a few minutes to give my assistant direction for the day,” he said casually, meeting Lucas’ level stare. “Why don’t I meet you in the car?”

Matt nodded. “Five minutes.”

Ben made a gesture of assent as Lucas gave him a
Get the hell downstairs so we can talk this out
look, then followed.

Once they were gone, Ben came out to her area, braced his knuckles on her desk. Marcie’s cheeks were still stained that attractive red. He wondered if her ass would be the same color after he went after it. Leaning down, he watched her press her lips together as he got close to her mouth, stopped short to meet her gaze close up. “That vibrator better stay in the nightstand unless I tell you that you can use it. I want you hot, wet and suffering.”

“Are you going to take me to a club?” He saw that little flash of defiance, the high set of her chin. He had just the thing for that. A five-inch-width collar that locked into place under the jaw, making her hold it at that defiant angle until her neck ached and she remembered better manners. Alternatively, Peter had shown him an intriguing rope bondage design—the “haughty pose”—where the slave could be tied in a way that forced her to hold her head up until she was begging to bow it down in a deferential manner. Choices, choices.

Jesus, he needed to stop thinking about this stuff, or he’d have a lot more to explain to Lucas as he hobbled to the car with his briefcase and massive erection.

“Taking you to a club is my decision. I’ll let you know when I make it.”

“Remember what I said,” she returned, giving him a glare. “If you’re not willing to be my Master, you don’t get to say what I put in my pus—”

“Whether I take you to a club has a lot to do with whether I think you can follow direction, obey a Master as you should, or if you’re just a spoiled brat who thinks you can keep running things. No Master wants a slave like that. I won’t be your Master, but I will be your mentor.
If
you show me you can behave. Those are my terms. No revisions, no loopholes, no games. If you can’t handle that, collect your stuff, take your fuck-me-now slut attitude, and get out of this office.”

She didn’t flush this time. The color drained out of her face, her cheeks paling. He’d startled her, hurt her. He’d intended it. His gut told him that was the way to go, except he wasn’t sure if his intent was to drive her away, crush her spirit or test her mettle. He wouldn’t question himself in front of her though. He held her gaze, waiting to see the outcome, even while that gut twisted, telling him he was a complete and total bastard.

No newsflash there.

She wasn’t at all sure of this Ben, this cruel side. But one thing she did know. He’d spoken to her like a Master in front of Lucas and Matt. No, she hadn’t had much experience, but every time he exercised this side of himself, it resonated somewhere in her, in shadowed corners that were waiting for the right touch, the right motivation, to rouse that natural response in her.

Earlier, she’d known to counter his will with defiance. However, this was a true chastisement. She’d pushed things too far, showing her ass in front of Lucas and Matt and now him.

“I’m sorry, Master.” She lowered her gaze to the desk, feeling the strange need to push back tears. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“Call me sir. I’m not your Master.” But there was a pause there, making her wonder if that was what he really wanted to say. “Go into my office, to my desk. Pull your skirt up over that bare ass, spread your legs. Bend over, your nose and hands an inch above the wood. Do it quick. I only have five minutes and I don’t want to be late to this meeting.”

He was brusque, glancing at his watch. She moved on jerky legs, but she hurried into the office, did as he said. It took some effort to get her skirt up to her waist, but it sort of underscored his point about its tightness, didn’t it? Bending down, nose to desk. Holding it that way required some precision, a little stress on the muscles. The air from the air conditioning vent in the ceiling put gooseflesh on the small of her back, her buttocks. She had
brought
panties. She just hadn’t worn them. They were tucked in the top desk drawer.

The door closed, the locks clicked into place. The tendons of her calves quivered, making her heels wobble. Because of the shoes’ height and her position, her ass was tilted up, exposing everything between her legs. As she imagined what he was seeing, the spiral of anxiety and arousal in her lower belly grew tighter.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

She did. What felt like a rubber ball was wedged past her teeth. He cupped her skull to hold her steady, allowing him to push it in that space, because it was so large it pressed down on her tongue, held it fast, held her mouth open. He hadn’t used a cloth behind it, so saliva immediately began to pool around the ball. She would be drooling on his desk, nothing to stop the embarrassment of that, unless she disobeyed him and tried to wipe it away.

When her fingers flexed, uncertain, his hands covered them, curled them into closed fists, hovering just above the desk surface. Her stomach muscles were tight, holding herself in the position, and it wouldn’t take long for them to start to ache. Ben would have made a hell of a teacher in an old-fashioned one-room school. She’d misbehave every day for his punishment.

“You don’t make any contact with my desk. Keep your nose and hands where they are. As I do each stroke, you count it off with your fingers. It’ll be ten.”

She was breathing hard against that ball. Her fists trembled in their suspended position. A trickle of response slid down her thigh.

“Little slut,” he muttered. She reveled in hearing that hoarseness in his voice. That impressive cock was baseball-bat hard, she was sure of it. If only he’d let her go down on her knees, suck him off. She could make him come in five minutes. It would make her impossibly hot, knowing he was at his meeting with Matt and Lucas, her lipstick marking his cock. She’d savor the taste of him in her mouth for hours, the abrasion at the corners she was sure his thick size would cause.

He’d removed something from the walk-in closet, and she caught it in the corner of her eyes. It was a short, slim cane, no more than ten inches long, perhaps made of carbon. Not so intimidating, but she revised that opinion as the first strike landed.
Fuck.
Like most canes, it hit fast and was gone, but the pain zinged through all her nerves.

She bit down on the ball in shock and pain. There was no titillation in this, no soft flogger that hit with a nice slap and teasing sting. She’d played with one of those in her dorm room, one she’d made out of nylon rope, imagining him using it on her.

“Count it, Marcie.”

She managed to get the first finger out. She was pretty sure she was losing her mind, because she chose her middle finger. Damn it, he wasn’t going to break her, or scare her off, or…

He chuckled, a dangerous threat. “You just doubled it, sweetie, and I don’t have time to slow it down. You better keep up with the count, or I’ll triple it. I plan to leave pretty welts on that rebellious ass of yours.”

She didn’t think. She tried to push up off the desk. His hand clamped down on the back of her neck, and he pushed her cheek down to the desk surface, locking her down, like a schoolmaster holding down a naughty, struggling student in truth. She snarled against the ball, but it was too big for her to spit it out. Then she had no room to think, because he lived up to his word.

Two, three, four…in rapid succession, striping over her ass in different places, setting her skin on fire. She started shuddering on number five, her fingers fluttering out on the one hand, palm pressed hard to the desk because she couldn’t balance herself with that powerful hand on her nape. He allowed it. She was crying out against the ball gag with each stroke, no way to bite it back. Her toes curled in her shoes.

“Lift up against my hand. Don’t you tuck down like a beaten dog.”

She arched her back, thrust her buttocks up defiantly, screamed as another blow landed. Six…seven, eight, nine… Teeth sunk into that rubber, saliva marking her chin, ass high in the air, legs spread. Every muscle clenched like iron against the pain, she nevertheless got her palms back up where he’d told her to put them, even as he held her face down. She’d show him she could do it. Oh God, there were ten more to go.

She howled at the eleventh stroke, a direct slap against her labia. Her legs gave out, the pain overcoming her, but he caught her by the waist, her abused buttocks abraded by the summer wool of his slacks. But it also pushed his erection between them, against her throbbing pussy, making her whimper. She tried to rub, she couldn’t help herself.

“Uh-uh, none of that. You’ll get your cream on my clothes. Be still or you’ll get the other nine now.”

She stilled, because hell, she didn’t think she could do nine more, now or later. He guided her palms down to the desk surface, did a quick stroke and tug over her mussed hair. “Stay in the position you’re in. Keep your eyes closed.”

She heard him move around his desk, unlock a drawer, come back. Then she swallowed against the gag as a smooth and thick plug was pushed into her pussy, worked in and out a few times, then removed to be inserted into her ass instead.

“Figured you’d have enough honey to lube that up.” She made a wordless plea as another plug was inserted back into her cunt, with a piece on the outside that closed over her clit. She felt straps dangling against the backs of her legs, then they were run up between them, and around her waist, cinched tight so all of a sudden she felt those plugs held deeper, more securely.

“A little chastity device to keep you from playing with what’s not yours, hmm?” Ben pulled her skirt down, a functional tug, gave her ass a firm smack. “Keep your eyes closed until you hear me leave. That to-do list better be finished before I get back today, or I’ll add another ten to the nine you owe me.”

His footsteps, moving away. The door opening, then closing, the sound of him voice dialing Johnson’s office, telling them they were on their way, his voice steady, authoritative. It was as if he weren’t the least affected, though she knew he was. He was just that damn much in control. Marcie waited until she couldn’t hear his voice any longer, then she cracked open her eyes. He’d left the handkerchief he carried in his coat neatly folded up near her hand to wipe her mouth…and the tears.

The considerate gesture against the ruthless nature of what he’d just done took her breath, almost made her knees buckle. She’d imagined so many things…but she hadn’t imagined this. He sent her spinning from one direction to another so effortlessly. She’d known she was in over her head, but this was like being at the bottom of the Laurentian Abyss.

As crazy wild as all this was, she was sure of one thing. She wanted more. He claimed to be acting as her mentor, but that wasn’t the way she was viewing it. This was a job audition, and she was going to prove exactly what she’d said she would. That she was the slave he needed, that she could handle everything he dished out.

Though that had certainly been more than she’d ever experienced before. When she moved, she winced at the light movement of fabric over her ass. Removing the gag, she moved to the full length mirror in his closet, where he kept spare changes of clothes. Holding her skirt at her waist, she twisted around to look at her abused flesh.

Holy God. It was not only red, but she could see the individual marks of the cane, short lines, welts. It should horrify her. Instead, it made her pussy clench against that thick plug he’d put there, her anus contract on the other one. That night at Surreal, he’d left marks like this on the three women. Ben was a sadist who enjoyed exploring the top limits of pain. He wanted the women who served him to earn the pleasure he gave them. It was all tied up together. She thought she would endure almost anything for that. Her body was vibrating with stress, shock…and raging desire.