Page 13 of His to Enjoy
Ms. Whitcomb,
Effective immediately, Scott Yellen has assumed direct supervision of your probationary period. All personal requests should be directed to him, in particular when they concern your needy pussy.
Sharon Fagan
I stared at the message, my whole body going hot and cold at once. Scott was in charge of me now? In charge of… everything? The implication made my stomach clench with a mixture of dread and that shameful excitement I couldn’t suppress.
Did that mean I had to ask him? Ask Scott for permission to touch myself? The thought was so mortifying I wanted to sink through the floor. But the ache between my legs had become almost painful, a throbbing need that demanded attention.
Before I could decide what to do, my handheld chimed again. Scott’s name appeared on the screen, and my heart nearly stopped.
Grace, I see you’ve submitted a rather urgent request. Your arousal metrics are quite impressive—sustained elevation for the past forty minutes. You’re going to do exactly as I tell you. Go to your bedroom and take off your sweet little nightgown. Put on the black lace set in the second drawer—the bralette and the crotch-less panties. Then return to the living room.
My hands trembled as I read his message. Crotch-less panties? The humiliation of it made my face burn, but I was already standing, already moving toward the bedroom. My body obeyed even as my mind reeled.
The lingerie was exactly where he’d said it would be—a delicate black lace bralette that would barely cover anything, and matching panties with an obscene opening right where… I couldn’t even finish the thought. I changed quickly, trying not to think about Scott watching.
I’d barely settled back on the sofa when the wall screen flickered to life. My breath caught as I recognized the now-familiar setting ofAnnabelle’s Story. But this scene was different.
Annabelle stood in what looked like a punishment room, her hands bound above her head to a hook in the ceiling. She was naked except for those awful training panties, now down around her knees, and tears streaked her face. Behind her stood Kevin with a leather strap.
“This is what happens to girls who touch themselves without permission,” Kevin said on screen, his voice stern, but not unkind.
The strap came down across Annabelle’s little bottom with a sharp crack that made me flinch. She cried out, her body jerking against the restraints.
My handheld buzzed:Spread your legs.
CHAPTER 7
Scott
I smiled at the notification that popped up on my screen—Grace’s arousal metrics were rising beautifully. The combination of the punishment scene and my command had pushed her exactly where I wanted her. Through the surveillance feed on my secondary monitor, I watched her obey, those lovely legs spreading wide on the cream sofa, the obscene gap in the crotch-less panties revealing everything.
My cock hardened at the sight, but I maintained my composure. This was about her training, not my immediate gratification. I’d already sampled her mouth earlier—now it was time to see how well she could follow instructions, and in particular instructions delivered at a distance.
I typed my next message:
Watch Annabelle’s punishment. Count the strokes aloud. Do not touch yourself.
On my screen, I saw Grace’s hands clench at her sides as she focused on the wall monitor. Her voice came through the audio feed, soft and trembling: “One… two… three…”
The strap continued to fall across Annabelle’s sweet little bottom on screen, each impact making Grace flinch sympathetically. By stroke ten, she had begun to squirm against the sofa cushions, her hips making tiny, unconscious movements. By fifteen, soft whimpers escaped between her counting.
“Twenty,” my gorgeous new intern finally gasped as Kevin lowered the strap on screen.
I let her sit there for a moment, watching as Annabelle sobbed in her restraints while Kevin explained to the camera about the importance of self-control. Grace’s arousal metrics had somehow climbed even higher—9.4 now, approaching the maximum previously observed by her perineal sensor. Her body was primed perfectly.
Good girl.Now you may touch yourself, but only your clit. Two fingers, gentle circles. You have exactly three minutes to come. If you fail, you’ll receive the same punishment as Annabelle tomorrow morning.
I watched her hand fly between her legs with desperate urgency. The angle of the living room camera gave me a perfect view—those delicate fingers finding her swollen clit, working it with frantic need. Her other hand gripped the sofa cushion, knuckles white with tension.
“Please,” she whispered to no one, her head falling back. “Oh, God, please…”
I checked my watch. Two minutes. Her metrics showed she was close but struggling, probably overthinking it. Time for encouragement.
That’s it, Grace. Show me what a desperate little slut you’ve become. Show me how badly you need to come for your new boss.
I considered, then continued.
