Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

I ngrid

I contemplated his question, not sure how to get my head around the idea that Joseph Alden had actually taken an interest in my background. His asking such a mundane thing, about my upbringing, somehow seemed in the moment even more surprising than his having invited me to have dinner at the most expensive restaurant in the city.

The dimly lit restaurant hummed with the murmurs of well-dressed patrons, the clinking of cutlery against fine china, and the scent of exquisite cuisine that seemed to promise an evening of indulgence—to patrons who were allowed to wear underwear, who didn't have bruises on their backsides from their master's punishments, who hadn't knelt naked in the corner office to kiss the cocks of junior executives.

And I sat across from the man whose very presence seemed to command the room despite the seclusion of our shadowed table. I didn't think I was imagining that several other diners had already turned to look at us, as if his presence represented something special. A little flash of heat came into my cheeks at the idea that they would tell their friends that they'd seen Joseph Alden with his new girl at Saint L'O.

A waiter slid a beautiful plate in front of me, something colorful and foamy in its center. I could hardly hear, let alone understand, his complicated murmur about the tiny dish—something about seafood, I thought.

When I looked up, I saw Joseph's piercing blue eyes locked onto mine.

"Y-yes," I stammered, my cheeks only getting warmer at the hesitant sound of my own voice, suddenly wondering, crazily, whether Joseph would discipline me for not answering promptly enough. Where did the game begin? Where did it end?

Or has it never stopped, since the moment he told me to take off my clothes yesterday—and never will stop as long as I'm his…

I swallowed hard, looking down again.

His secretary. His fuck toy.

I looked up, sure I would see an expression of displeasure on Joseph's face. Instead, I saw sympathy. I felt my face soften from tension into surprised pleasure, gratitude even for his interest, since it seemed genuine.

"Yes, in the suburbs," I told him. I twisted my mouth to the side, saw his lips quirk, and I understood with a helpless little rush of happiness that he found the expression endearing. That, plus the thought of what I meant to say next, and how it contrasted with what I had on under my dress—or rather didn't have on—made the heat flash in my face yet again. Distressingly, though I knew I should have started to anticipate the mortifying sensation, I felt it down there, too. I looked down and said quietly, "Conservative parents."

"Of course," Joseph said. I looked up again sharply. Of course. The assurance in the words seemed to capture his intelligence, his arrogance, and his irresistible attractiveness. He knew all about me, and he wanted to make it clear.

His eyes widened a little, and his mouth curved upward a fraction of a millimeter more. He picked up his champagne class.

"Let's drink to possibilities," he said, raising it.

I reached out and picked up my own glass. Something in the way he had said possibilities thrilled me, warmed me, and frightened me in nearly equal measure. Joseph's smile got wider as he touched his beautiful glass, full of wine that literally sparkled in the restaurant's subtle light, to mine with a very soft clink.

He sipped, and I sipped. The bubbles, bursting on my tongue, seemed to bring the sparkling into my body itself. I knew nothing about wine, but somehow I could tell that this one had a very complicated flavor I didn't necessarily like, but which I could tell cost a lot of money.

"Go ahead and have your amuse bouche , sweetheart," Joseph said. "Then take another sip of champagne."

He reached down and to my surprise picked up his little foamy pastry thing with his fingers and popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes to enjoy the taste. For a brief moment I felt utterly entranced by the sight: his strong, skilled fingers delicately handling the delicate morsel, his chin lifting slightly as he savored the flavors. He opened his eyes and looked at me, the ever-present smile playing at the corner of his lips.

My hand shook slightly as I reached for the similar pastry on my plate, lifting it gingerly between my fingers, with much less grace than Joseph had displayed. The seafood mixture was a symphony of textures and tastes, salty and rich and a little crunchy, that single bite revealing new complexities of flavor from moment to moment.

As I chewed, to my mingled embarrassment and helpless pleasure, I felt it between my thighs, too, a warmth that seemed to radiate from my taste buds deep within me to my bare, naked pussy. It seemed as if Joseph had somehow imbued the food itself with his dominance.

When I took the sip he had commanded, the champagne, too, seemed infused with his presence, the bubbles dancing against the inside of my mouth like a gentle caress—and the flavor… the flavor . I hadn't understood what wine pairing actually meant until then, because of course I had never had the chance. I swallowed almost regretfully, because I wanted the music of that taste to go on forever.

From that moment on, I felt lost. I could feel myself getting tipsy, though the glasses of wine the waiter poured, one for each of the five courses, seemed so small. Joseph kept asking questions, gently, about my family, my experiences at my previous jobs. The wine seemed to help with that, at least; I spoke more and more freely.

By the beef course, a piece of steak that tasted like no meat I'd ever had before, like the cow had descended from heaven and offered itself to the chef with instructions from the angels on how to prepare it, I started to ask questions of my own. At first I felt very strange, turning the tables on the man who had the awful paddle and the terrible wand. Then—probably thanks as much to the alcohol as to the fascination I couldn't help feeling about Joseph—I forgot for a little while at least that part of our relationship.

He shared his own story readily between bites: his humble beginnings on the East Coast and the apparently relentless determination that had propelled him to the top of Selecta's communications division. I asked and listened, captivated by his unapologetic drive and the way his eyes seemed to darken when he spoke of the challenges he'd faced.

"And now," he said, setting his fork down with a decisive clink, "I find myself intrigued by a young woman who is both naive and ambitious. It's an intoxicating combination, Ingrid."

My lips parted, but I had nothing to say. All the parts of Joseph's ‘fun game' that had for a while receded so far into the back of my mind that I hadn't even thought about it came rushing back. His words had nothing the least bit lewd about them, but the way his eyes narrowed as he said intoxicating sent a shiver down my spine and a tingle to my clit. Joseph looked, suddenly, as though he planned to eat me for dessert.

The waiter cleared our plates. Joseph's eyes stayed locked on mine for a moment, as if he meant to assess me—to evaluate my progress, maybe. Then he looked up at the waiter and spoke.

"Hold off on the dessert, would you, until the lady gets back from the powder room?"

"Certainly, sir," the waiter replied smoothly. He used a little silver scoop on the table, clearing crumbs from the wonderful bread away, and moved off across the dining room.

I blinked at Joseph as his eyes returned to mine. I had just peed a few minutes ago. I didn't understand: had I done something to my makeup? I opened my mouth, about to protest, but Joseph cut me off, not with words, but with a gesture.

I felt my pulse quicken as he reached into his inside breast pocket. Of all the things he might have fetched out, the small velvet box that he placed carefully on the table between us seemed the most utterly surprising. My heart leaped at the sight of it, the insane, unwelcome, but undeniable hope of it holding a ring flashing through my mind.

What the… My modest mind balked, then continued as I considered the absurdity of keeping myself from thinking the terrible, naughty words Joseph used as if people said them all the time. What the fuck?

Joseph's eyes narrowed even more as he watched my reaction. His smile had faded slightly, as if he meant this moment to feel serious or even solemn.

"Open it," he commanded, his voice low and firm. The mere return of that authoritative voice made my tummy flip. To my horror, I actually fidgeted in my seat, and saw in Joseph's eyes that he knew precisely why: his voice had reminded me of all of it—the state of my private parts, of the whole region between my waist and my knees that he had so thoroughly claimed for himself over the past forty-eight hours.

With trembling hands, I lifted the lid, grateful to lower my eyes. I revealed something of a kind I had never seen before, a gleaming metal object adorned with a large, multifaceted gemstone. Next to it lay a little plastic tube that seemed to have a clear fluid in it. My eyes widened in confusion, the unfamiliar shape sending a jolt of uncertainty through me.

"Do you know what this is, Ingrid?" Joseph asked, his tone quiet but unyielding.

I shook my head, my mouth suddenly dry. "N-no, I don't."

"It's a butt plug," he explained, his gaze never leaving mine. "You're going to wear it for me until I take it out later tonight and fuck your bottom. It's very important to me that your anus be trained for my pleasure."

My jaw went slack. I thought my heart might pound through my chest and land on the crisp white tablecloth.

"You…" I said, though the word came out as more of a creak than an articulate syllable.

"Sir," Joseph said. "From now on, tonight."

"B-but…" I said. Joseph bent his head toward me a little, his left eyebrow rising. The way my body responded to that tiny movement, as if he had somehow, with the wand and the paddle, installed the fear of his discipline in my mind, nearly overwhelmed me. My breath went in and out of my mouth in little pants. I tried again. "But, sir… I…"

I had thought about it. Before yesterday I probably would never have admitted even that to myself. But after my shameful onboarding interview, the waxing, my naughty morning in bed… I could admit, it seemed, that I had wondered what it would feel like to… to have something there. Filling me in an unnatural, lewd, terribly mortifying way.

"Let me be clear, Ingrid," Joseph murmured, the softness of his voice's volume in sharp contrast to the severity of the tone. "A Selecta secretary doesn't go fully off duty in her off-work hours. If you decline to do as you're told, and you decide to remain as my secretary, I will punish you and use the wand if necessary to ensure your obedience."

I swallowed very hard, panic starting to fill my chest. So the game hadn't ever stopped. Even the beguiling, almost affectionate conversation, the exquisite dinner… all of it represented part of his mastery and training.

"I thought…" I started and then began again, lowering my voice to a desperate, urgent whisper. "Sir, I thought you said this wasn't compulsory."

I searched his eyes for any sign of yielding or hesitation. Of course I found none.

"Yes," he agreed. "You didn't have to come to dinner with me. I could have started your anal training tomorrow at the office."

I gaped at him, trying to process his words.

"To put it another way, my dear, lovely little slut, the dinner was an invitation. The butt plug is compulsory." He paused, as if to watch me comprehend. "Of course, if you choose to quit your new job right now, you can walk out of here with the assurance that Selecta will help you find a new one at a different kind of company. On the other hand, if you choose to stay at Selecta, you'll take the butt plug and the lube to the ladies' room right now and put it in your adorable bottom."