Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

A lice

I watched Martin’s finger touch the Make an offer button. In my little purse, hanging from the side of my chair, my own phone buzzed. I couldn’t look at the man who had just demonstrated his power over me in that tiny but embarrassingly significant way. I fumbled as I fetched it out of my purse and saw the notification on the lock screen. Selecta Arrangements: Sponsorship offer received!

My cheeks flared with heat. I tapped the alert and read quickly.

Congratulations! Martin is offering to sponsor you! Tap for details.

I clicked through to a long contractish-looking document. I’d already said I would let him fuck me, hadn’t I? I scrolled down, trying not to overthink it; I had a sponsor, and I wouldn’t get deported this month anyway.

Accept sponsorship. The button at the bottom of the offer called to me. I swallowed hard and touched it with a trembling forefinger.

“ Brava ,” Martin said. I looked up at him and saw a possessive smile on his face. “I’ll try to be gentle when I take that sweet little asshole, chérie . You’re a virgin there, I imagine?”

My whole body flashed hot, and then icy cold. For a moment I tried desperately to persuade myself I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“You blush so prettily, Alice,” Martin said, evidently well-satisfied with the effect his filthy, brutal words had had on me. I stared at him in shock, my mind still reeling from his crude words. The heat in my cheeks intensified as I struggled to form a response.

“I… I don’t…” I stammered, unable to meet his gaze.

Martin chuckled, clearly amused by my discomfort. “Come now, chérie . There’s no need for false modesty. We both know why we’re here.”

The waiter arrived with our food, providing a momentary reprieve from the awkward conversation. I picked at my coq au vin , my appetite gone. Martin, on the other hand, dug into his meal with gusto, occasionally glancing up at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

As we ate in tense silence, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a terrible mistake. The reality of what I had agreed to was sinking in, and it terrified me. But what choice did I have? My dreams of studying in Paris would be shattered if I backed out now.

“Finish your wine,” Martin instructed as he signaled for the check. “We’re leaving soon. I’m eager to sample my new acquisition.”

I drained my glass, grateful for the liquid courage. As we stood to leave, Martin placed his hand possessively on the small of my back, guiding me out of the restaurant. His touch sent shivers down my spine—whether from fear or excitement, I couldn’t tell.

The cool night air hit my flushed cheeks as we stepped outside the restaurant. Martin’s hand remained firmly on my lower back, steering me toward a sleek black car waiting at the curb. As we approached, a uniformed driver emerged and opened the rear door.

“After you, chérie ,” Martin purred, his breath hot against my ear.

I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding. This was my last chance to back out, to run away from this arrangement I had so hastily agreed to. But where would I go? What would become of my dreams?

With a deep breath, I slid into the plush leather backseat. Martin followed, settling in close beside me. As soon as the door closed, his hand found my thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare skin.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, amusement coloring his tone. “Are you cold… or just eager?”

I swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m… nervous,” I admitted softly.

Martin chuckled. “As you should be. But don’t worry, I’ll train you well.”

His hand slid higher up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress up. I squirmed, torn between the urge to push him away and the treacherous warmth blooming between my legs.

“Please,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I was pleading for him to stop or continue. Martin gave no indication that he had heard me. His fingers found the front of my panties.

“These are boring,” he murmured, in a tone of disapproval. “Perhaps I’ll invest in something nicer to dress your sweet little cunt, my darling whore. I can feel how wet you are for me, though.”

I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I pushed his hand away.

“Oh, no, Alice,” Martin said, taking hold of my chin lightly with the hand that had just touched my pussy through the thin cotton of my modest panties. “I’m afraid I’ll have to spank you for that.”

My blood ran cold. I stared at Martin in shock, my heart racing. “S-spank me?” I stammered. “You can’t be serious.”

Martin’s eyes hardened. “Oh, I assure you I am quite serious, chérie . You’ve agreed to my sponsorship offer. That means accepting my discipline when you misbehave. It was there in the agreement.”

His hand moved from my chin to grip the back of my neck firmly. “Now, be a good girl and lie across my lap.”

I hesitated, panic rising in my chest. This couldn’t be happening. But Martin’s grip tightened warningly.

“Don’t make me tell you again, Alice,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Trembling, I awkwardly maneuvered myself across his lap in the cramped backseat of the car. My face burned with humiliation as my dress rode up, exposing my panty-clad bottom.

Martin’s hand caressed my rear, sending shivers through me. “Such a lovely little ass,” he murmured. “It’s going to look so pretty with my handprints on it. Now let’s have this horrid underwear down.”

“Wait,” I cried, but I felt him put his hand in the waistband and pull them down. I realized suddenly that the car had stopped. We must have reached my apartment. I felt certain that the driver must be listening with rapt attention. My heart pounded in my chest, and my mind seemed to leave my body somehow; this all seemed to be happening to another young woman, in another limousine.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself. The first smack caught me by surprise, the sharp sting making me gasp. Martin didn’t pause, raining down swats in a steady rhythm. I struggled out of sheer reflex, but he gripped my hip with his left hand and kept spanking me with his right.

“Please, stop!” I cried out, my bottom burning from Martin’s relentless spanking. “I can’t take any more!”

“Oh, but you can and you will, ma chérie ,” Martin replied, his voice stern. “You need to learn obedience. This is for your own good.”

His hand continued to rain down stinging slaps on my tender flesh. Desperate, I reached back to try to shield myself from the onslaught. Martin grabbed my wrist in a viselike grip, twisting my arm behind my back.

“None of that now,” he chided. “Take your punishment like a good girl.”

Tears streamed down my face as the spanking resumed. The pain built to an unbearable crescendo, my bottom feeling as though it were on fire.

“Please,” I sobbed. “I’ll be good, I promise. Just stop!”

To my shock and relief, Martin’s hand stilled. For a moment, the only sound in the car was my ragged breathing. Then, without warning, I felt his fingers probe between my thighs.

“My, my,” he purred. “What do we have here? You’re absolutely dripping, you naughty little whore.”

I gasped as his fingers found my most sensitive spot, circling and stroking with practiced skill. To my horror and shame, I felt pleasure building rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

“No… please…” I moaned.

Martin’s obscenely skilled fingers probed into me, rousing my most sensitive flesh, sending jolts of electricity through my body. I squirmed on his lap, torn between shame and desperate need.

“That’s it, ma petite salope ,” he murmured. “Let go. Show me how much you loved your spanking.”

His words sent a fresh wave of humiliation through me, but my traitorous body responded eagerly to his touch. The burning in my bottom only seemed to heighten every sensation. I felt my aching sheath clench and pulse as Martin’s fingers worked unwelcome magic.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, my hips bucking against his hand. “I can’t… I’m going to…”

“Come for me,” Martin commanded, his voice low and hypnotic. “Come right now, you little whore.”

As if my body was waiting for his permission, the tension inside me suddenly reached a crescendo. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over me, radiating outward from my desperate pussy. I cried out, my back arching as I rode out the most powerful orgasm of my life.

“Very good, chérie ,” Martin pronounced, his condescension almost palpable. “Now it’s time for you to show your gratitude. On your knees.”

Martin’s strong hands grasped my shoulders, guiding me off his lap and onto the floor of the limousine. I found myself kneeling between his legs, my face level with his crotch. The leather seats creaked as he shifted, reaching for his zipper.

“Open that pretty mouth for me, whore,” he commanded, freeing his thick, hard cock.

I stared at it, mesmerized and terrified. The only other time I’d done this flashed through my mind—my ex-boyfriend, fumbling and awkward, barely lasting a minute before pushing me away. He’d acted like I’d performed a chore, making me feel ashamed for even trying.

Martin’s member was nothing like that pitiful experience. It jutted proudly from a nest of salt-and-pepper curls, the head already glistening with arousal. My mouth went dry at the sight of it.

“I said open,” Martin growled, impatience coloring his tone.

Trembling, I parted my lips. Why was I doing this? The question echoed in my mind, but I couldn’t seem to resist his authoritative presence.

His hand tangled in my hair, gripping tightly as he guided my mouth onto his rigid shaft. I gagged as he pushed past my lips, the musky taste and scent overwhelming my senses.

“Relax your throat,” he instructed, his voice strained with lust. “Let me use you the way I paid to do.”

Martin’s fingers tightened in my hair as he began to thrust into my mouth, his hips lifting from the car seat to drive deep between my motionless lips. I struggled to breathe through my nose, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. His cock hit the back of my throat with each forceful push, making me gag and choke.

“That’s it, take it all,” he growled, his hips pumping faster. “Such a good little cocksucker.”

The car’s leather seats creaked as Martin shifted his weight, driving himself deeper. I could feel the vibrations of the engine through the floor, a counterpoint to the obscene wet sounds filling the air. The taste of him coated my tongue—salty, musky, overwhelming.

My jaw ached from the stretch, lips raw from the friction. Martin’s breathing grew ragged, his grip on my hair almost painful.

“I’m close,” he panted. “You’re going to swallow every drop, understood?”

I whimpered in response, unable to form words with my mouth so full. Martin’s hips jerked erratically as he chased his release. With a guttural groan, he slammed in deep, holding me in place as his cock pulsed.

“Swallow,” he commanded hoarsely.

Hot, bitter fluid flooded my mouth. I gulped reflexively, fighting my gag reflex as Martin’s cum slid down my throat. To my shock and mortification, I felt a perverse sense of pride at having given this brutal man the pleasure he sought.

Martin’s grip on my hair loosened as the last pulses of his orgasm subsided. I sat back on my heels, gasping for air, the taste of him still heavy on my tongue. My mind reeled, struggling to process what had just happened.

Suddenly, Martin’s hands were on my shoulders, roughly shoving me away. I stumbled, nearly falling as I scrambled to right myself in the cramped space of the limousine.

“Get out,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive.

I blinked at him in confusion, my addled brain struggling to keep up with this abrupt shift. “What?”

Martin’s lip curled in disgust as he tucked himself back into his trousers. “I said get out. You’ve earned your allowance for the month, little whore. But I won’t be seeing you again.”

My cheeks burned with humiliation as his words sank in. I had degraded myself, let this man use me in the most intimate way, and now he was tossing me aside like garbage.

“But… the sponsorship…” I stammered, my voice hoarse.

Martin sneered. “Did you really think I’d want to keep a slut like you around? You spread your legs far too easily. No challenge at all.”

Tears pricked at my eyes as I fumbled for the door handle, desperate to escape the suffocating confines of the car. The cool night air hit me again, this time like a load of bricks.

As the sleek black limousine pulled away from the curb, its taillights blurring through my tears, I felt utterly lost and alone on the darkened Paris street. The cobblestones beneath my unsteady feet seemed to mock me, their centuries-old permanence a stark contrast to my own precarious situation. The gentle breeze from the Seine carried the faint scent of river water and distant bakeries, reminding me of the dreams that had brought me to this beautiful, cruel city.

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look. My carefully chosen dress was wrinkled, my hair mussed from Martin’s rough handling. The taste of him still lingered on my tongue, a bitter reminder of my humiliation. How could I have been so naive? So desperate?

Just then, my phone buzzed in my purse. I fished it out with trembling hands, half-expecting—and dreading—a message from Martin. Instead, I saw a different kind of notification from the Selecta Arrangements app: You got a message from Lucas!