Page 16 of His to Enjoy
Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion. After yesterday’s intense, humiliating experiences, I’d expected… what? Something more degrading? More personal?
“However,” he continued, and my stomach clenched, “I also have a special project in mind for you. Something that utilizes your unique background and analytical abilities.”
He turned his computer monitor toward me. The NMB logo filled the screen, that familiar blue that had haunted two years of my marriage.
“You’re going to watch NMB content,” he said matter-of-factly. “Specifically, our newer series. I want you to analyze what works, what doesn’t, and most important, how to make it hotter.”
My face burned. “You want me to…”
“Watch erotic content, yes. Your erotic content, essentially, since you understand the genre intimately.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “You’ll write a detailed report on each video—what aroused you, what didn’t, specific suggestions for improvement. Once a week, we’ll review your findings together.”
The implication hit me like a physical blow. I would have to watch couples in the midst of the most intimate acts… eligible girls and young wives being disciplined, being used, being humiliated. And then I would have to sit in this office with Scott and discuss my arousal, my reactions, my shameful suggestions for making it more arousing for the wealthy men and women who watched the streams.
“We’ll watch some of the videos together during our weekly meetings,” he added, his tone still maddeningly professional. “So I can fully understand your recommendations.”
My thighs pressed together involuntarily. The thought of sitting beside him, watching those intimate scenes while he observed my every reaction… My body was already responding, that familiar warmth building despite my horror at the assignment.
“Is that clear?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” The words came out as a whisper.
“Good.” He slid a tablet across the desk. “This has your first assignment loaded. Three videos from our ‘Foster Daughter’ series. I want your reports by Thursday.”
I took the tablet with trembling hands, waiting for him to mention last night. To acknowledge what he’d made me do, the shameful way I’d obeyed his remote commands. But he simply returned to his computer, pulling up a spreadsheet.
I waited in the charged silence, unsure if I should say something else or if the meeting was over. Scott’s attention seemed entirely focused on his computer screen now, his fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced efficiency.
“You can go see Kara now,” he said without looking up. “She’s the office manager—third cubicle from the elevator on this floor. She’ll get you settled in your workspace.”
Relief washed over me as I stood, clutching the tablet against my chest. I turned toward the door, my legs still unsteady from the intensity of our conversation.
“Grace.”
His voice stopped me mid-step. I turned back to find him watching me with that same assessing gaze that brought a quiver to my belly.
“Come here. Put the tablet on the coffee table, then bend over the desk.”
The commands were delivered so casually that for a moment I thought I’d misheard. But his expectant expression left no room for doubt. My feet moved of their own accord, carrying me back to his massive mahogany desk. I bent forward slowly, my hands gripping the edge as I’d done in Sharon’s office yesterday, though this felt entirely different. More intimate. More dangerous.
I felt his presence behind me before his hands touched me. Then his fingers were at the hem of my dress, lifting it with deliberate slowness. The cool office air hit my exposed skin, and I bit my lip to suppress a whimper.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over the blue lace. “This color suits you perfectly. And your bottom…” His palm cupped one cheek, squeezing gently. “Just a little bruising from Sharon’s paddle yesterday. Very pretty.”
His hands continued their exploration, tracing the edge of the panties, following the line of the garter belt. Each touch was light, almost casual, but I felt them like brands on my skin. My breathing had become shallow, my body responding despite my mind’s protests.
“I need you to understand something, Grace,” he said, his fingers trailing along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh just above the stocking. “This will happen whenever I want it to. When you bring me coffee, when we’re reviewing reports, when you least expect it. I’ll have you bend over, and I’ll touch you however I please. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His hand moved higher, fingers brushing against the damp lace. I couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped me.
“Nice and wet,” he observed with satisfaction. “You know how to be a very good girl, don’t you?”
He continued fondling me for what felt like hours but was, I knew, only a minute or two, his touches never quite enough to push me close to the edge, but keeping me in a constant state of desperate arousal. Finally, his hands withdrew.
“You may stand up and fix your dress.”
I straightened on shaking legs, smoothing the floral fabric back down with trembling hands. My face burned with humiliation and unsatisfied need.
