Page 66 of Mafia Captor

A heavy ache zings through my chest, desire twisted up with nerves.

“Umm… Okay.” I step out of my sandals. Trying to channel my inner-sexpot-Ashe, I lift the hem of my dress. As I raise it, the cool air slips over my skin, chilling me. He gives a moan as the dress lifts high enough to show off my freshly waxed pussy. My nervousness settles. I start to enjoy this. I move slower, offering him a teasing grin as I bring the fabric up over my belly. I give a sexy little shimmy as I lift it up, freeing my breasts as I tug it up and over my head.

I toss the dress to the floor. I want to tap into that Zen place I was in when I was standing in the garden naked, but this time is different. There’s something a little ominous about this space, this empty room. And I still haven’t figured out what the meaning of this cake is.

I wait for him to come to me, to touch me. He doesn’t move, holding down his place behind the table. His eyes are greedy, though, taking me in.

The tone of this room is much darker than the garden, and it’s not due to the missing sunshine. It’s him. He’s got a darkness in his gaze, a hardness in his stance that makes me shiver. I feel small, cold, not quite scared or excited, but some strange feeling in between the two. It’s like butterflies in my tummy but with the notion that they might turn into bees.

What is he going to do to me?

He slides his hands around the edges of the cake stand, lifting it. He walks around the table, stopping about one foot from me. He smiles that filthy, dirty, sexy smile and sets the cake stand down.

On the floor.

Right in front of me.

Strange.

I stare down at the beautiful cake. I want to demand answers. Why am I naked? Why is the cake on the floor?

But it’s clear. I’m not the one calling the shots tonight.

He is. And he’s loving it.

I stand there, naked, trying not to tremble while I wait to see what this is all about, what he’s planning to do with me. He circles me, heavy bootsteps echoing against the wooden floorboards. The sound of each step makes my heart beat harder. He stops, standing behind me. I can feel his eyes on me, admiring my nakedness… or… reveling in my current lack of power. I’m not quite sure which. Maybe both.

I wait for him to reach out, to touch me. He doesn’t. The bootsteps restart as he circles back around. He leaves me standing there, totally unsure of what’s going on. He goes back to his spot behind the table. He places his hands on its smooth top, pressing his palms against the wood.

“Now. It’s time for you to be a good girl and do exactly as I say.”

I muster up the courage to push back. “And if I don’t?”

“That’d be a shame. You’d miss out on dessert.” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “It’s going to be mind-blowing.”

What else can I do? “Okay.” I hold back a shiver. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stand over the cake with one foot on either side of the cake plate.”

“Um… I’m naked.”

“Do it.” His dark eyes flash. “Now.”

I inch toward the cake. It feels strange and shameful to spread my legs wide enough to put one foot on either side of the cake stand. Cool air rushes up the insides of my thighs, chilling my heated skin as it caresses my exposed pussy. The cold air tickles my sex. It’s humiliating, standing here bare in this awkward position, a cake between my feet. What next?

“Good girl. Now bend your knees.”

I bend my knees. Just a touch.

“More.”

I bend my knees a bit more, my muscles tensing as I hold my weight over the cake. Something about the cold air, my nakedness, and his commanding presence stirs desire in my belly. The shame somehow turns sensual, my lack of power making my nipples grow hard, arousal wetting my pussy. Am I going to drip right on top of his cake?

He’d probably love that.

My knees are starting to turn to jelly. “Now what?”

“Now you squat down. And sit on my cake. I want double fudge icing all over your pussy so I can eat it off.”

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