The Protege

“Always good for me. Like when you tell jokes in the street like an unprofessional, bratty little protégé?”

My breath catches and I open my eyes. There’s a hard, unforgiving expression on his face and he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, not enough to hurt but just enough to make a very clear point. You’ve been a bad girl.

I squirm in his embrace but he’s got me pinned against the door.

When he speaks his voice is as cold as flint, and ice water floods my veins. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that, little girl. Don’t imagine that you can twist me round your finger with a few kisses and I’ll let you get away with behavior like that. Have you forgotten who I am?”

In the excitement of having him at my mercy in the street I did forget. That he’s Laszlo Valmary, a man no one dares to disobey. “I’m sorry, daddy,” I manage in a whisper.

Laszlo pulls his hand from my underwear and lets go of me. The shock leaves me cold and trembling. Is this how he will punish me, by bringing me here and then turning me away?

“Please,” I whisper brokenly.

“Please, what?” He folds his arms and his expression is black with reproach.

I take a shuddering breath. “Please let me make it up to you, daddy. I want to show you how sorry I am. I’m sorry, daddy.” I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry, daddy. The words are a shattered mantra in my head. I want so badly to show him how sorry I am that it’s an ache worse than the one between my legs. “Make me sorry, please. Just don’t turn me away.”

Laszlo traces the path of a tear that’s slipped down my cheek, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Don’t cry, baby.” But he’s smiling, a victorious curve to his lips. He goes to sit down on the sofa and gazes up at me with hard, implacable eyes. “Take your clothes off and get over my knee.”

It’s not going to be like before, a spanking to relieve my stress. This is going to be a punishment. This is going to hurt.

He watches me wiggle out of my jeans. I hesitate a moment, and then slip off my bra as well, wondering what he sees when he looks at me. Does he like my breasts? Does it turn him on seeing me like this? I feel my cheeks burn as I reach for my underwear because even though I’m not a virgin I’ve never really been properly naked and scrutinized by a man before.

Laszlo stops me. “Leave those on and come here.”

His voice and expression are still hard and menacing. I get over his knees wearing only my briefs and his large hands settle me down where he wants me, my stomach pressed against his thighs, my ass up in the air. All the other times he’s spanked me he’s been so careful about where he touches me, but now his fingers go straight to the slick, damp patch of underwear between my legs. He slips his fingers inside the fabric and rubs my pussy in circles with his fingers. His touch is confident, practiced, homing in right where it feels good, leaving me no opportunity to feel embarrassed because the blood is heating my skin for other reasons. I press my face into the sofa and moan as he rubs my clit in tight circles.

“There,” he breathes. “Aren’t you being such a good girl for daddy already?”

I moan into the cushion. I think I could come just from the caress of his voice. With his other hand he cups my breasts, squeezing and then gently twisting my nipples. A moment later his hands draw away and he fits the handkerchief between my teeth and ties it behind my head, and then reaches for a tie and binds my wrists together behind me. I feel that sensation I felt so powerfully in the street, that floaty headspace, steal over me again: of being at Laszlo’s tender mercy. Make me sorry, daddy. I deserve it.

In one movement like the sweep of his arm as he conducts, Laszlo strips my underwear down to my knees and leaves them there. He spreads me open with his fingers and I feel him looking at my most intimate parts, his chest rising and falling against my hip. He leans forward and spits on me, and the warm liquid runs down between my ass cheeks and over my sensitized pussy. I groan against the gag. That’s such a weird thing to do. His fingers slide through my slick folds and I wriggle in his lap, desperate for him to touch my clit again. He raises his hand and spanks me hard, a warning to keep still and I half-moan some muffled words. I don’t even know what they are. Yes, daddy or please more or touch me I’m dying. But I hold still, trying my best to be patient. He circles closer to my clit, and I jump in his lap when he finally reaches it, rubbing the hard little nub with not quite enough pressure. With his other hand he slips a finger into my pussy, but not deep enough to bring me satisfaction. He teases me slowly, the movements of his hands increasing in intensity and then easing off again. He plays me like a musical instrument, perfectly in control.