Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

I ngrid

Joseph's quiet but firm command echoed in my mind, reverberating through my very core. I stared at the thing, its tulip shape, the jewel that seemed somehow both absurd and moving. My heart raced at the thought of obeying, a wild drumbeat of fear and anticipation. His words were simple but heavy with implication: quit my job or continue playing his humiliating, arousing game of dominance.

The idea of walking away seemed like an oasis of sanity, but the thought of obeying him, surrendering to his control, sent shivers down my spine so ambiguous that I felt glued to my seat.

Another girl , I told myself. That's the person who's continuing to sit here at this table. A girl who has no choice at all .

It seemed somehow so much easier that way, to pretend it wasn't me submitting to this degrading demand but someone else entirely.

I reached out. My fingers fumbled as I closed the box with a soft snap. My hand shook as I reached for my purse, lifted it, slipped the elegant velvet-covered box inside. Each movement felt like a betrayal of my own dignity, yet the warmth between my thighs, the wetness I could feel seeping out of my bare, naked outer lips, betrayed another truth.

Get up . I commanded that other girl, the one who had just put the jeweled butt plug in her purse, almost as if I could assume my master's role toward that other version of me.

It seemed to coax some small bit of strength into my wobbly knees. I rose from the table, unable to look at Joseph, or even in his direction. I moved as swiftly as I thought I could without attracting attention. She made every step purposeful, that submissive girl who had decided to follow the impossibly degrading command, despite the quiver that seemed to run through her body—my body—with each footfall on the restaurant's gray carpet. The ladies' room door swung open under my hand, and I slipped inside, seeking refuge in a private stall.

I clicked the lock into place behind me, sealing myself into the temporary sanctuary. My breath came in shallow puffs through my nostrils, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant and, to my dismay, something more primal—my own arousal, beneath the light floral fragrance I had hastily applied before I had gone down to meet Joseph in front of my building.

I looked at my purse, suddenly fearful to reach into it, as if I knew a venomous insect lay inside. My right hand shaking, I retrieved the box. I hung the purse from the hook at the side of the stall. I held the box in both hands and looked at it for a moment.

Another girl , I told myself again. Indeed I felt it more strongly, here in the ladies' room, because Ingrid Vogel would never find herself in a bathroom stall holding a velvet box that contained such shame.

She opened it. I opened it. I saw again the gleaming silvery thing, and beside it the little tube that seemed like a humiliating reminder of what Joseph had instructed me to do with it, where he had commanded that I put it, outraging my modesty… preparing me for…

For him. For him, there, in my most private place.

She needed it, the other girl. She needed it so bad. She was a slut, just as her boss' team had declared; working for Joseph, they obviously knew a little slut like Ingrid Vogel when they saw her.

Oh, God.

The cool metal of the plug felt heavy in my palm, its jeweled end gleaming mockingly under the fluorescent lights. I willed my hands to steady as I returned the box to my purse.

The tube of lube clicked open with a soft pop, the sound, absurdly, seeming almost deafening in the near silence of the bathroom. I could hear another woman at the sink, and I suddenly felt certain she had heard me open the tube, that she knew exactly what the sound was.

My face hot, I squeezed a generous amount of the tube's contents onto my fingers, the slick substance cool against my skin. As I applied it to the plug, my fingers glided over its smooth surface, each touch sending a jolt of electricity through me.

Do it, you little slut , I urged the girl in the stall. Put it in your sweet little asshole. I felt my eyes widen as I heard that inner voice, my watching self's filthy words.

I looked up and found to my distress that I could see my reflection staring back at me from the small mirror inside the stall, wide-eyed and flushed. With one final deep breath, I prepared myself for the task ahead, the weight of Joseph's command pressing down on me, inescapably shameful and irresistibly thrilling.

I squatted a little, even that simple change in posture bringing a wave of warmth to my cheeks. I reached under my skirt. The discovery, with my hand, of my lack of underwear, the enforced smoothness of my pussy and bottom crack, seemed dismayingly new, as if I somehow had forgotten how deeply I had already submitted to Joseph down there.

The very act of putting my hand there because my master had commanded it felt degrading, a surrender of control so complete it left me breathless all on its own.

You love it, slut , the distant voice said. Within the degradation lay an arousal so potent it made me whimper.

The cool metal of the plug, now slick with lube, touched my most private place, the wrinkly little bud, the smallest, most shameful opening on my body. The sensation was electrifying, a sharp contrast between the chill of the metal and the heat of my sensitive skin.

Another whimper escaped my lips, a rising sound, curious, like a desperate question. The boundary between humiliation and arousal blurred, and the two melded into something that made my heart pound even harder.

I took a shuddering breath, my fingers trembling as I began to press the cold metal tip of the plug against the tense, tight entrance to my bottom. I felt my face shape itself into a woeful pout at the intensity of the sensation, the feeling of intrusion that made me gasp.

I pushed, biting my lip against the simultaneous blossoming of need and discomfort. Each millimeter felt like an eternity, my body tensing with every bit of inward movement.

"Ah—" A little whine escaped my lips, high-pitched and desperate, as the plug slowly inched its way inside me. My lubed fingertips slipped a little on the jeweled base. My muscles clenched around the cool metal, fighting the unnatural penetration even as a perverse surge of arousal coursed through me.

Keep going, you little whore , the distant voice whispered, the softness of the demand an intimate tease.

The fullness in my virgin anus felt overwhelming, a stretching sensation that bordered on painful but held an undeniable excitement, a secret pleasure. Every nerve in my body seemed to have gone on high alert as the plug filled me in a way that left no room for any thought not devoted to its invading presence.

I felt the last millimeter disappear into me. I felt the muscles of my tiny hole close around the post that connected the tulip shape to the bejeweled disc. My legs quivered with the effort of holding myself steady. The plug settled snugly in place, and I already knew it as a constant reminder, from this moment on, of my submission. My mind raced ahead, unable to stop imagining what it would feel like to have Joseph's cock there instead. The thought alone made my breath hitch, and I bit my lip to stifle another moan.

I gathered my wits as best as I could, standing up straight despite the awkwardness of the foreign object lodged within me. I almost forgot my purse, and my steps were hesitant. The presence of the plug altered my movements, forced me to walk with a new kind of awareness.

Think about what it means , the cruel voice said, once again trying to impersonate Joseph. Each step seemed like a monumental effort. I fought back a sob, determined not to let the sensations overwhelm me. The journey back to the table felt endless as I couldn't help but obey. Every stride reminded me of what Joseph had told me he wanted. What he planned to do to me, when he got me back to his apartment.

When I finally reached the table, I still couldn't look at Joseph. I tried to sit down as gracefully as possible, my eyes looking straight down at the still empty table, the purity of the snow-white tablecloth. The weight of the plug in my bottom made it humiliatingly difficult, my thighs trembling as I lowered myself onto the chair. The cushioned wood pressed against my bottom, amplifying the sensation of fullness, making it impossible to forget.

I was drowning in sensation, my body a live wire of conflicting sensations and emotions. Yet, beneath it all, there lay that hot, dark, hidden part of me that reveled in this surrender, that craved more of Joseph's dominance.

As soon as I had managed to lower myself onto the chair, the waiter appeared as if on cue, his eyes lingering on mine just a fraction too long. My cheeks flared as he placed the dessert in front of us, announcing it as a deconstructed chocolate mousse, its delicate different components layered and assembled in a way that made it look like a consummate work of art.

"Well done, Ingrid," Joseph murmured, his voice low and filled with dark promise. His hand captured mine across the table, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture that felt both possessive and unexpectedly tender.

"Thank you, sir," I whispered, my voice trembling as I raised my eyes to meet his at last. The words felt like an anchor in the storm of sensations threatening to overwhelm me, and the smile in Joseph's eyes filled my chest with a helpless rush of pride and, insane as it seemed, affection.

I perched on the edge of my chair, the metal plug inside me a constant, throbbing reminder of my submission. Each tiny movement sent ripples of sensation through my body, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the fullness, the intrusion that had become the center of my world.

In the dessert there was creaminess, crunchiness, and the most intense chocolate flavor I had ever experienced. The tastes, to my mingled delight and dismay, only heightened my arousal. I felt my cheeks flush a deep, mortifying red, and the heat spreading down my neck and pooling between my thighs. Each bite seemed a struggle to maintain composure, to keep from squirming under Joseph's unwavering gaze.

He must have paid for dinner while I had obeyed his terrible command in the bathroom. As soon as I had scooped the last bit of whipped cream from the plate and, quailing inside at the thought of what came next, licked it from the spoon, Joseph said, rising from the table and reaching his hand toward me to help me up, "Time to go."

I looked up at him, biting my lower lip. I could still quit my job. I would have gotten an incredibly nice dinner out of it. I would make out like a bandit, especially if Selecta really did help me find a new position.

I took Joseph's hand.

The limousine ride back to his high-rise felt interminable. The plush leather seats did little to alleviate the discomfort of the plug. I shifted restlessly, unable to find a position that offered relief. Joseph watched me with a mixture of amusement and something darker, more possessive.

"Fidgeting won't help, Ingrid," he said, his voice a smooth caress. "You'll have to get used to your anal training. It's important that you're ready for me."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, my body responding despite the humiliation.

No, little slut , said the watcher. Because of the humiliation. You need this. You need it. You need it in the ass.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

I tried to sit still, to obey, but every jolt of the car, every slight shift, reminded me of the plug buried deep inside me. It was impossible to forget, impossible to think of anything else.