“Enough to know you’re wearing the special panties I sent you. How long did it take you to convince yourself to put them on when you received the package today?”
“I am not wearing—”
“Shh,” he interrupted me. “Close your eyes. Slide your fingertips along the inside of your thigh. Pretend they’re mine.”
I bit my lower lip and did as he demanded.
“Push up your skirt and spread your legs. What do you feel?”
Why was he doing this to me, forcing me to do things I shouldn’t, feel things I didn’t want to feel?
“Exposed, vulnerable,” I admitted, my voice barely above a throaty whisper.
“Are you wet?”
Unable to hold back, a whimper escaped.
“That’s okay, baby, you don’t have to answer. I already know. Good, because I want that pussy drenched, bared and ready for what I want to do next.”
“I’m not doing this with you, again,” I choked out, determined not to give in to him.
Despite my denial, I found myself obeying every single one of his edicts. It was late, no one was around the nearly deserted radio station, but even had they been, I knew it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. I would have still given in to his every demand.
“How does it feel to have those beads scraping, rubbing against those plump, juicy pussy lips?” He didn’t even have the decency to wait for me to respond. “Spread your legs, rock back and forth, and ride those beads, baby. Pretend it’s my fingers, my tongue licking, stroking you, and tell me how good it feels.”
Oh God, it felt so good.
My body was humming; what he was doing to me—forcing me to do to myself—was the most incredibly erotic experience I’d ever had.
Yet I was ashamed of myself, even as I slid my creaming pussy over and against the beads attached to the panties, not caring that anyone could walk in the studio and catch me in the act of pleasuring myself.
“This is so wrong,” I sobbed, the words escaping of their own volition.
“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby. You’re doing fine, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just you and me, and this is good,” he murmured.
It made no sense to me, but his words soothed me. He soothed me.
The shame of what I was doing washed away.
“Put me on speaker and hang up the phone. You’re going to need your hands, now.” His voice had grown increasingly rough, and I wondered if he would come with me this time. With shaky hands, I did as he instructed and pressed the speaker button and cradled the receiver.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I answered, reluctantly.
“Good. You’re doing real good, baby. Unbutton your blouse and undo your bra for me, can you do that?”
“Yes,” I croaked, my trembling hands smoothing over my straining breasts. My fingers trailed along the silk-covered buttons and slipped them open. I then unsnapped the front closure of my lacy demi-bra and my breasts tumbled free.
“We can’t leave those pretty little tits of yours unattended, can we?”
“No,” I groaned.
I already knew the drill. He would draw this out, wring out every bit of emotion, every hot sinful sensation that he could from me, not relenting, until I came all over myself. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“Cup them.”
“What?” I asked, my mind spinning, body taut, ready.
“Cup those pretty tits while you ride the beads.”
I gingerly cupped my breast as I continued to undulate my body, grinding against the beads now deeply centered between my slit.
“No, that’s not good enough.”
“Wha—what do you mean?” I groaned. The sensation of the beads rocking against my clit was unbearable in its pleasure as I lightly toyed with my breasts.
“Harder. Pinch them, roll those long nipples and pinch them. It’ll feel good, baby. Trust me.” His lava-hot voice issued the demand.
I pinched my nipples, and the slight pain caused a direct zing to my clit that forced me to buck harder, my body now writhing mindlessly. The room was filled with my low moans and the creaking sound of my chair as I bounced my butt and clit against the hard beads and desperately reached for the pinnacle just out of reach.
“God, I can smell you,” he groaned and the hot words sent me that much closer to the edge. “Keep playing with those pretty nipples, pull them, tug on them.”
“Oh God, I need to come, I need to come so badly,” I cried harshly, no longer caring if anyone came by the booth and witnessed what I was doing to myself, what I was allowing someone else to do to me.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.” Again his voice calmed my spirit, soothed me. “Slip one of your fingers inside the edge of your panties, and rub your clit. Play with it, roll your fingers around it.”
Immediately I did as he said. I tugged on the blood-filled turgid tip of my clit, pinching it, and rolled it between my fingers until a sob tore from me. Dear God, it wasn’t enough. I needed something, something to quell this fire raging inside of me.
“You belong to me, your body is mine to pleasure. Say it.” His harsh demand pierced my brain, despite the fire raging inside. I refused to give him that and it hurt so badly not to, to force myself not to give over completely.
“No.” I denied him, refusing to give him that last bit of control over me even as I played with my clitoris and tugged on my nipples, all because he told me to, all because it felt so sinfully good.
“Say it! If you want relief, say it!”
“No!” I cried out, the truth of his words raining down on my head like a warm shower.
But my body belonged to him. I knew it and so did he.
It belonged to him this night. It belonged to him this week…and heaven help me, it had belonged to him for most of my life. I belonged to him.
I felt tears slip down my face, as I continued to thrust my hips and grind against my fingers.
Unable to hold back any longer, I felt the orgasm slam into me. My body bowed down, overwhelmed as sensation upon sensation flooded me. My head ached and I was no longer in control as I screamed my release.
When the trembles left my body and a semblance of normalcy returned, I glanced up, and weakly leaned back against the cool leather seat.
Naked and exposed, my skirt hiked
