It’s moments like these that make being an incorrigible brat actually kind of awesome, even when things get humiliating.
Okay. Especially when things get humiliating. And the other party totally knows how to dole it out.
This is a fabulous example.
“I’m just worried that my oxygen supply might be cut off as your ego creates a vacuum in the room. That’s all.” She was smirking, and she was watching him. Hoping for a reaction.
He sat there for a moment, letting it settle in the air like a bad smell, before he held out his hand, as casual as anything. An eyebrow arched expectantly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion over confusion.
“What?” She folded her arms, still staring.
“Your underwear.” His voice was casual, utterly assured, and a touch too nonchalant. She felt herself twitch as they fell upon her, as if it was the words themselves forcing her to throb. She resisted biting her lip.
“Why do you want it?” He shook his head, and snapped his fingers. The sound made her jump.
“Put them in my hand. Say another word and I’ll make sure you’ll think of me every time you sit for a week.” The threat was clear, and the method was implied. It was enough for her to bite down her response, as acerbic as it had been.
Still, she hesitated, if only for another second or two. Then the moment passed, and her hands slid down her sides, catching underneath the waistband of her panties, before she pulled them down over her legs. They were heavier than she’d like to admit, the dampness giving them weight. Delicately, she placed them in his hand.
Suddenly he was up, moving around her before his free hand went to her face, finger and thumb digging into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She resisted for a moment, but the pressure was painful, and she didn’t want to see what he would do if she struggled. Her lips fell open, and the panties, balled and damp, went in. Stuffed, gagged, held. He forced them against the roof of her mouth with one thick finger. She squirmed.
And then he let go, moving back to his seat, and picking up his book. Her brow was furrowed, and she could feel the cotton and lace expanding to fill the space of its new home. She could taste herself. One hand started to quest upwards, to touch them, maybe remove…
“No. They stay there until I say so. Once I think you’ve earned your voice back.”
She moaned. He smiled, and picked up where he’d left his bookmark.