Comfort Object (11 page)

Jeremy stood close to me. I could smell his bracing, masculine scent. Part musky cologne, part clean male skin. Perhaps a touch of shaving oil. I fought the sudden urge to turn and lick his face. If he took any note of what I was feeling or thinking, he didn't show it. He was still taking in my body, looking over the new toy he'd just bought. He reached and pinched one of my nipples, sending my clit into a deep, steady throb. I gasped and looked him in the eyes as he stared back at me. “
I want you to look at my face. Look right at me
.” I remembered Kyle saying it. Jeremy didn't say it, but I knew to do it just the same.

“You're beautiful,” he breathed. Then he crossed the room to watch from a distance as Martin approached me with a long, thin paddle in his hand. He positioned me so my back was to Jeremy.

“Bend over. Grab your ankles,” Martin said.

I lowered myself into position, spreading my legs for balance.

“Wider.” Martin tapped the inside of one thigh with the paddle. I spread my legs until he stopped prodding me. “Better. How many do you think, Jeremy, to get her back in the right headspace?”

“Hmm,” he said. “Perhaps start with twenty, and then if she needs it, I'll give her a few more.”

“Twenty it is, then,” Martin agreed. “Nell, you'll count so I can hear you.”

He was a decent disciplinarian. He started with some warm-ups, three or four lightish strokes. Are you watching, Kyle? I thought, remembering how he'd lit into me with all his strength from the very first stroke. But of course Kyle was watching, just as Jeremy was, and the idea of Jeremy watching really turned me on.

I was spread, bent, vulnerable, my ass and pussy on brazen display. It wasn't an accident that Martin turned my backside to Jeremy. Sucking up to the boss. In fact, I was well aware that although Martin wielded the implement, this entire scene was Jeremy's—giving me to Martin to paddle, letting Kyle watch. It was going to be a very interesting experience, subbing for Jeremy. That was already clear.

Shit, was that six or seven? I'd been daydreaming. “Six…?”

Jeremy chuckled, and Martin murmured, “If you say so.” Then he really started to lay them on to make me pay attention, and I did. Paddles stung. They weren't excruciating—they didn't make me dance around like crops or canes—but they had a solid bite. I squeezed my hands around my ankles to ground myself and concentrated on staying still. Each blow nudged me forward. I had to compensate with the muscles in my ass and thighs. As always when I was receiving corporal punishment, I wondered why I subjected myself to this. I hated the pain. Or did I love it?
Breathe. One blow at a time.

He took me up to twenty—or twenty-one, I suppose—swatting me hard enough at the end that my voice cracked as I counted each stroke. When he finished, I opened my eyes and let out a quiet sigh of relief. I'd been so focused on enduring the paddling and not falling out of position that I'd almost forgotten Jeremy was there. But not quite.

I watched between my spread thighs as he crossed to take the paddle from Martin's hand. I shivered at the assured way he handled the implement.
Be still. Deep breaths
. I was still bent over, clutching my ankles, as both men took time to fondle my tingling ass.

Was he looking at my slit displayed before him? Staring at it? My pussy must have shone with wetness. The idea of him seeing that made me burn with humiliation, which only turned me on more. He was probably thinking to himself,
This slut. One paddling and she's panting like a dog
. I tried to discipline my breath.

“She takes it well,” Martin said. “I wasn't soft on her.”

“Well, she's a professional.” Jeremy's sharp pinch made me tense. “You get what you pay for. But I bet I can get her to go up on her toes a bit.”

He slipped a couple of fingers into my slit, and I let out my breath in a gasp. I felt that quick impulse to react, to pull away, and then the slow subjugation of will. I let him take me. I let myself discover how rough and thick his fingers felt in my snatch. He slid them around, exploring me. Soon it took every ounce of my control not to arch my hips back into his hand.

“Are you sure you weren't too soft on her? Because I think she's actually enjoying this,” he said. “You should feel how wet she is. Actually, would you like to take her, since you made her so aroused?”

“Oh no,” said Martin. “This time I really must insist. That honor belongs to you.”

Jeremy snorted and withdrew, then placed his hand on the small of my back. I could feel the hot moisture of own my arousal on his fingers. “Such formalities. Anyway, again I'm afraid that Kyle beat us both to the chase. Ah, well. Later. We have dinner reservations at seven. I'm just going to paddle her for now.”

He stood back, and I braced. I knew he would test me. I knew he would try to break me down. He began, swung his arm back and then forward in a sharp motion, and
crack!
The first blow panicked me.
No, I can't take this. I really can't
. I made an urgent sound and squeezed my ankles until they ached. Martin had only been one long warm-up. I realized that now.

The next blow came, and I had the same feeling, the same certainty that I could not survive this pain. But then he stopped to let me collect myself. Jeremy knew what he was doing. No wild flailing like Kyle. Powerful arms, powerful snap, powerful sting. Each blow required me to make that difficult decision.
Stand. Present. Accept
. Each blow made me certain that I shouldn't be here, every bit as much as it made me want more. I wished for restraints, because my hands wanted to fly up to protect my ass, and it took so much effort to stay in place. My back wanted to straighten and my legs wished to run away, but I subdued those impulses. I imagined him wielding the crop, and it made me feel faint. I was glad we'd agreed, for now, that the cane was a definite no.

But what I really, truly wanted as I counted to ten, and then twenty again, and then five more—the last five actually making me rise up frantically on my toes as he'd said—what I truly wanted and craved was to feel his hands, his palms spanking me. I wanted contact. It scared me how much I wanted contact with him. I wanted his approval, his affection. Perhaps even his admiration, a little bit. And his cock. I desperately wanted him to put his cock in me, whatever way, whatever hole he desired.

But I didn't get his hands or his cock. When the paddling was done, he lifted me and looked into my eyes. I tried to focus. I was still reeling from pain and trying to process the fact that Jeremy's paddling made me hornier than I'd been in my life.

“Here.” He pointed at a spot on the floor. I dazedly looked down.
What does that mean, when he points at something?
He snapped his fingers. “Here!” he said and pointed again. I lurched to my senses and scurried over to drop to my knees.

“Martin.” I looked up at Jeremy to see him gesture down at me. “She's yours. Please take her mouth if you like.”

The words froze me. Martin looked down at me with a cordial, relaxed expression as he undid his pants. I looked over at Kyle, who smirked from the couch.

I felt deep shame, and with it, an overpowering wave of lust. I felt distaste, and I felt hot excitement. I felt disappointment that it was Martin I would receive, instead of my new boss. Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me. There was no hint of softness in his eyes.

“Go on. You serve me. When it pleases me, you serve my friends.”

Martin was already hard. With one last look at Jeremy, I took his lawyer's cock in my hands and sheathed it with the rubber Jeremy handed me. I took Martin into my mouth and started to pleasure him, but my mind was fixed on the man at my side. Jeremy stood and watched, fully clothed, detached—an immovable reminder of my status in the room. I was his comfort object, and what he asked for, I did. My molten ass cheeks were a throbbing reminder of that. Each time I shifted on my knees to take Martin's cock deeper in my throat, I felt the sore ache of my welted bottom and thought of icy blue eyes. I wished it were Jeremy's cock I was servicing, and I worshipped the phallus in my mouth as if it were. I licked, I fondled. I abased myself. When Martin came with a grunt, I wondered only if Jeremy was satisfied with me.

And then I realized it. I was already his submissive, and he was already my Dom.

I'd already forged that longing, that emotional connection that I hadn't forged with even one of my customers at the club. I'd never even really felt like this with Douglas, like I might die if I couldn't make him pleased with me.

It had taken Jeremy exactly one half hour to make me completely and indelibly his.

* * *

After Martin left, I was sent upstairs with orders to shower and dress for dinner.

“Your nicest dress,” he added. “We're celebrating tonight.”

I tore through my bags looking for something appropriate that wasn't too balled-up or wrinkled or dirty or destroyed. Unfortunately I just didn't have many nice dresses. I didn't need them when I worked for the club. I had enough corsets, stockings, lingerie, and fuck-me shoes to fill an entire armoire, but my dress selection was woefully poor. There was the dress I'd worn the night Kyle came over, but somehow I didn't feel I ever wanted to wear that dress again.

In the end, Bonita, one of the housekeepers, came to check on me. She became my new best friend when she produced a handheld steamer that helped me salvage a half-decent dress in the bottom of my bag. I supposed in the near future I'd receive the
clothing provided by or approved by Jeremy Gray
, but in the meantime I could only wear what I had.

I showered and plucked and perfumed and did my face and hair as best I could with Bonita's help, rooting through my boxes and suitcases and raiding the well-stocked guest bathroom. I wondered if this had been the old girlfriend's bedroom and bathroom. There was no evidence any other woman had been here before me, but I still felt haunted by her. Would he like me better or worse than he'd liked her? Why had she left him? What was I in for? How long would Jeremy Gray be my “boss”?

She would know, of all people, when she saw us together; she would know exactly what was going on. Or would she? Who's to say Jeremy Gray couldn't suddenly decide to fall in love and get a real girlfriend? I was supposed to make it look that way. I thought I could. I thought I already had a scary little thing going on for Jeremy. It was unfortunate, but it wasn't anything I could help. I could act the girlfriend, sure, but otherwise I would have to protect myself. No matter how sexy and kind and charming he could be, I couldn't fall in love.

I couldn't, I wouldn't. I absolutely wasn't going to…even though he gave me a look when I came downstairs for dinner that took my breath away. A look that said, clearly,
You are mine to control, and I like that. You are mine to use in whatever way I want.

Yes, I'm yours to use, Jeremy Gray, for the price of a salary.

Yes, you got your wish.