Page 7 of Curiosity

He had his hand pressed to my back, holding me in place as he worked through the rest of my “punishment.”

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“One” was on my pussy again, and instead of removing his hand after the smack, he sank two of those big fingers into me, making me gasp. With just those fingers, he stretched me wide, fucking me faster and faster with them until he’d built his slow cadence to a punishing rhythm.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded, so I did.

Tension immediately flooded my shoulders when I realized I was looking at myself, bent over the panel.

He finger-fucked the anxiety right out of me though, and made me watch from changing angles.

Close ups of his fingers disappearing in me, his thumb pressing to my clit.

My face, mouth hanging open in pleasure.

A side view of my body rocking in response to his hand, my hips reflexively moving backward to meet him.

My thighs shaking, back arching as he made me cum.

I yelled myself hoarse.

I was still bent over the panel, watching, as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning first me, then his handswith it. Instead of discarding it, he stuffed it into his pocket, then directed me to stand.

My knees were weak.

He helped me pull up my pants and underwear, put the chef’s coat back on me.

Wordlessly.

Led me back to the kitchen.

Wordlessly.

Irina was waiting.

“I’m sure I don’t have to explain the level of discretion Elias expects — correct?” she asked.

When I glanced behind me, he was already gone.

I nodded.

“Good,” she smiled, gesturing for me to follow her. “Let’s get you home.”

Still in a daze, I followed her out to where a car was waiting. Once I was buckled into the back seat, she reached in, handing me a black, sealed envelope.

“Thank you for your service tonight.”

She closed the door.

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