Page 39 of His to Correct

“Stuart, I can’t,” I protested weakly. “We’re in a restaurant.”

His expression hardened, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and commanding. “It’s time to stop pretending, Melissa. Stop pretending you don’t need to be treated like the little whore you are. And from this moment on, until I say otherwise, you will call mesir.”

I gasped, shocked by his blunt words. But even as I felt a flash of indignation, I couldn’t deny the way my body responded—the sudden tightening in my core, the quickening of my breath.

Stuart leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I saw you with Mandy. I watched every moment of it.”

My eyes widened in horror and disbelief. “You… you watched?” I felt a wave of shame wash over me, mingled with a perverse thrill at the idea of Stuart witnessing my dominant moment.

“Of course I did,” Stuart replied matter-of-factly. “Did you think anything happens in those rooms without my knowledge? I saw how eagerly you took control, how naturally you slipped into the role of the dominant. And I saw how very wet it made you.”

I squirmed in my seat, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his piercing gaze. Part of me wanted to flee, to escape this confrontation. But a deeper, more primal part of me yearned to submit, to give in to the desires I’d been fighting for so long.

“I’m not… I didn’t mean…” I stammered, struggling to find words.

Stuart’s hand suddenly gripped my thigh under the table, his fingers digging into my flesh through the thin fabric of my dress. “Enough excuses, Melissa. Take off your panties now. You’ve already earned a whipping, when I get you home. Don’t make it worse.”

My heart pounded in my chest. With trembling hands, I reached under my dress, hooking my fingers into the waistband of the delicate lace panties Stuart had chosen for me. Slowly, I slid them down my legs, shivering at the whispering of the fabric against my skin and the feeling of nakedness under my dress.

My face burning like the sun, I pulled the tiny garment off completely, reaching down as gracefully as I could and stepping out of the panties with as little obvious movement as I could manage. I wadded them into a ball in my fist.

“Put them on the table,” Stuart told me flatly, his blue eyes hard.

I shook my head, the movement coming from sheer, mortified reflex. I didn’t think my face had ever felt this hot in my life.

“Please,” I whispered. “Stu—sir, under the table? I… I want…”

“You want to submit in the wayyouchoose, don’t you, little whore? It’s not going to go like that.”

My lips parted. My heart raced. I blinked at Stuart, trying to think of some way to disagree, but I found nothing. I sat there frozen, my panties balled up in my fist under the table, as Stuart’s words sank in. My mind reeled, trying to process everything he was saying. He had seen me with Mandy. He knew how I had dominated her, how I had taken control and used her for my own pleasure. And now… now he was telling me it was time for me to submit completely.

“I… I don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You approve of what I did with Mandy, but you’re going to punish me for it?”

Stuart’s eyes bored into mine, his gaze intense and unyielding. “I approve of your initiative, your willingness to take control when needed. But what happened with Mandy also revealed just how desperately you need to be put in your place. It’s time for you to learn real obedience. And I’m not going to whip you for what you did with Mandy. I’m going to discipline you because you didn’t take off your panties when I told you to.”

My cheeks burned with shame and arousal. I couldn’t deny the truth in his words, couldn’t ignore the way my body responded to his stern tone.

“You’re going to get a thorough thrashing when I take you home,” Stuart continued, his voice low and commanding. “Your ass will be striped and sore for days, a constant reminder of your place. But right now, you have a choice to make. Obey me immediately, or make your punishment even worse.”

I swallowed hard, feeling my pussy clench at his words. Part of me still thought—knew,even—thatI should be outraged, should stand up and walk out. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t bring myself to disobey.

With trembling hands, I slowly raised my fist and placed my wadded-up panties on the pristine white tablecloth. The delicate lace stood out starkly against the crisp linen, a lewd reminder of my submission.

Stuart smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmured, reaching out to take the panties. He brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply, and I thought I might die of embarrassment right there.

“You’re very, very wet,” he observed, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Such an eager little slut.”

I squirmed in my seat, acutely aware of the air against my bare pussy, the way my arousal was already starting to dampen my thighs. Stuart tucked my panties into his jacket pocket, as if taking a souvenir of my obedience.

“Now,” he said, picking up his fork as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, “I believe we were discussing Carlyle’s views on heroic leadership. Please, continue.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my mind struggling to shift gears. How could he expect me to carry on an intellectual conversation when I was sitting here, panty-less and aching with need? But the stern look in his eyes told me I had no choice.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and resume our discussion of Carlyle, though my mind reeled with irresistible thoughts and pictures. As I tried to speak about what I remembered fromOn Heroes,I couldn’t forget my state of arousal or my vulnerability.The fabric of my dress felt impossibly sensual against my bare skin, and every slight movement sent shivers through my body.

Just as I was trying to explain Carlyle’s views on the role of divine inspiration in leadership, the waiter appeared with dessert. The sight of the decadent chocolate mousse nearly made me swoon. The rich, velvety swirl looked utterly sublime, and I could smell the intoxicating aroma of dark chocolate and a hint of something more exotic—perhaps a touch of chili or cardamom.

“This looks amazing,” I managed to say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

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