Page 40 of His to Correct

Stuart smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Indeed it does. Please, enjoy.”

I picked up my spoon with a trembling hand, acutely aware of Stuart’s gaze on me as I took my first bite. The mousse was heavenly—silky smooth and intensely flavored. Under normal circumstances, I would have been in raptures over such an exquisite dessert. But now, all I could think about was the punishment that awaited me.

As I savored each decadent spoonful, my mind raced with vivid images of what was to come. I imagined myself bent over Stuart’s bed, my dress hiked up around my waist, exposing my bare bottom. In my mind’s eye, I could almost feel the sting of the whip… or the strap… or the belt… as it striped my flesh, leaving angry red welts in its wake. I squirmed in my seat at the fresh wave of unwelcome arousal that flooded through me.

I did my best to keep talking about Carlyle, discussing his ideas on the cyclical nature of history and the importance of strong leadership in times of crisis. But my words felt disconnected, asif someone else was speaking through me. My real focus was on the throbbing need between my legs and the anticipation of what Stuart would do to me later.

“Don’t you agree, Melissa?” Stuart’s voice cut through my reverie, snapping me back to the present.

I blinked, realizing I had no idea what he had just said. “I’m sorry… could you repeat that?” I asked.

Stuart tilted his head, and I felt my eyes go wide. “Sir,” I whispered. “Could you repeat that, sir?”

My cheeks burned as I realized just how easy, just how natural my boss’ dominance was to him.

Stuart’s eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew he was fully aware of where my thoughts had been. “I was saying that Carlyle’s ideas on the necessity of strong, even authoritarian leadership in times of social upheaval could be seen as somewhat problematic in our modern context. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded, grateful for the chance to refocus on the intellectual discussion. “Yes, absolutely. I mean, although he made some compelling arguments about heroes… the role of, you know, exceptional people—men, really—in shaping history, his views on heroism are pretty outdated.”

“Are they, though?” Stuart mused, and I realized with a lurch of my tummy that he was… what?

Playing. He’splayingwith me.

The bill arrived before I had the chance to respond—if I could have found anything at all to say. Instead of looking at the bill, Stuart leaned in close to me and murmured, “Go to thebathroom and edge yourself. Think about taking my cock in your adorable bottom. Don’t you dare come. I’ll know if you do.”

CHAPTER 20

Melissa

My eyes went wide and I felt my face flush hot. “I… what?” I stammered.

Stuart’s eyes narrowed. “Did I stutter, Miss Mitropoulos? Go. Now.”

I swallowed hard and stood on shaky legs. As I made my way to the ladies’ room, I felt Stuart’s eyes burning into my back. My mind seemed completely unable to process the sheer lewdness of his command.

The tiny bathroom was private, thankfully. I locked myself in, my heart pounding. With trembling hands, unable to keep myself from looking in the mirror, I hitched up my dress and bent my knees, blushing fiercely as I spread them, to give myself access to my already embarrassingly wet pussy. I looked so wanton without my panties, my smooth, bare lips framed by the garter belt, the suspenders, the tops of the white stockings.

As soon as I touched myself, just brushing my fingertips over the cleft of my sex, I couldn’t help but picture it. I saw it in my mind’s eye, even as I watched my hand’s obscene movement in the mirror, down between my thighs… exactly what Stuart had ordered me to imagine—his thick cock… in me… in methere… stretching me… opening my virgin asshole. I imagined him bending me over, spreading my cheeks, pressing the blunt head of his penis against the tight, wrinkly bud. The image made me whimper softly as I circled my clit.

Apparently helpless now to do anything but obey, I brought myself right to the edge, my thighs trembling like blown leaves and my hips thrusting lewdly as if I had a cock in me. Just as I was about to tumble over into orgasm, I forced myself to stop. I bit my lip hard, fighting against the urge to finish. After a few deep breaths, I started again.

By the third time I’d edged myself, I was a quivering mess. My pussy ached for release and I could feel my arousal dripping down my thighs and into my stocking tops. The mental image of Stuart taking my ass was seared into my brain. I wanted it—needed it—with an intensity that shocked me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard Stuart’s voice outside the bathroom door. “Time’s up, Melissa. Come on out.”

On wobbly legs, I exited the bathroom. Stuart was waiting just outside, his eyes dark with desire. He leaned in close, inhaling deeply.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “I can smell how wet you are. Now let’s get you home so I can give you the whipping you’ve earned.”

I shuddered, equal parts terrified and aroused. I searched his gorgeous eyes, not knowing at first whether I wanted to find ashred of mercy or the assurance that he would punish me with the utmost severity.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw both those things, wrapped up in something much greater: understanding. This man had seen all of me—from my love of Gibbon, Carlyle, and Darwin to my obscene, thrilling disciplining of Mandy. He had spanked me, paddled me, fucked me… made me kneel and lick my cunt’s desperate need off his enormous, jutting cock.

He had wined and dined me… charmed me… and then told me to take my panties off at the table. He had promised me a whipping for my reluctance and then made it crystal clear that after he had punished my backside he would fuck me there, too.

All of me.My lips parted, and I felt words building inside me—insane words, from the perspective of the Melissa Mitropoulos of a few weeks before.I love you. Thank you. Let me serve you, on my knees.

Stuart cut them off. He pressed me against the door of the bathroom, and kissed my slightly open mouth, one hand on the back of my neck and the other cupping my bottom as if to remind me of everything that had befallen me there, and would befall me there. To make sure I didn’t forget that I had no panties on, or why I was in that shameful state.

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