His Belt (Part Seven) Read online

  “Well, of course I think your demands are unreasonable,” she says. “You -- oh!”

  She cries out just a little as my hand clamps on her knee, pushing up the dress she’s wearing, my nails digging into her bare skin.

  “Which means you don’t understand what you agreed to.” I am pulling up her dress, unable to stop myself from touching her. She’s like a wave pulling me in, taking me under with her.

  She thinks that she’s the one who’s being controlled.

  But she’s the one who’s taken control of me, of my mind, my body, my heart.

  My fingers find the crotch of her panties, and she reaches out and grabs my wrist.

  “Elijah.”

  “Say my name again.”

  She stays quiet, her face conflicted. I can see her weighing the options – saying my name again is only going to make me want her more. But not saying it will be willfully ignoring one of my demands, something that could come with devastating consequences.

  “Elijah,” she breathes finally.

  My hand moves up her thigh, the soft smooth skin impossible to resist. I slide my finger over the sheer fabric of her panties.

  She shifts on the chair, moving her popcorn into her lap, so that no one will see what I’m doing to her.

  I reach over and remove it, set it down on the chair a few seats over.

  “Please, Elijah. Please, I’ll be good.” I can see the panic in her blue eyes now, so innocent, so beautiful.

  “You keep saying that, baby. And yet you keep being bad.” I push the crotch of her panties over to the side with my index finger, then slide my finger slowly up and down her slit.

  Her thighs immediately clamp together.

  I sigh. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way.” I’m halfway hoping she’s going to pick the hard way.

  “Easy way,” she says immediately.

  “Good girl.” I tamp down my disappointment, because she doesn’t know the easy way is nothing but easy. I roll my thumb over her clit as the movie starts, the opening credits rolling, the grating pop song they’ve chosen to accompany them echoing through the speakers.

  Her cunt gets wet under my touch, her clit hardening into a nub. I play with it slowly, my finger expertly playing her, taking her to the edge and then pulling her back.

  The little sounds she’s making – the soft little moans, the tiny little cries of pleasure are becoming harder and harder for her to disguise. Soon she’ll be loud enough that someone will hear her.

  Already a middle-aged woman has glanced back at us a couple of times.

  “People are looking, Ms. Bennett,” I warn. “You’re going to have to stay quiet.”

  I pull her to the edge again, and her hand digs into my forearm.

  “Do you want to come?” I ask, my voice low, my eyes never leaving the screen.

  “Yes.” Her voice is breathless, strained.

  “You want to have an orgasm right here? Right in front of everyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a little slut, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she says, sounding more excited. She begins to try to move against my hand, but I pull my finger away.

  She makes a strangled sound that comes from deep in her throat.

  “I am going to make you come,” I say. “I am going to make you come right here, right in front of everyone. But if you move, I will stop. And if you make too much noise, then we’ll really be in trouble, won’t we?”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispers. She bites her bottom lip, the soft pink flesh rolling between her teeth.

  I begin to move my thumb over her clit. I will not breach her, not here. Instead, I will bring her to orgasm just by rubbing her.

  I push harder on her clit, feeling it swell under my fingers.

  I rub and rub, stroke and brush, over and over, until I feel her come undone underneath me, her nails still digging into my forearm.

  I allow this because I have more in store for her, and I like to feel the way she’s digging into me, how strong the orgasm I’ve given her is.

  When her body has stilled, I slowly pull my hand from her panties.

  “Did that feel good, baby?” I whisper into her ear.

  She nods, her cheeks still reddened, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

  “Good,” I say. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

  Chapter 6

  ABIGAIL

  I’m not done with you yet.

  He said it half an hour ago, a devilish look on his face, a warning edge in his voice.

  And then he went back to watching the movie.

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His profile is so strong – the slash of his brow, the broadness of his shoulders, the rigid line of his jaw.

  He catches me looking at him and I look away quickly, not wanting to antagonize him.

  What did he mean, he’s not done with me yet?

  Does he mean when we get home?

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m finally starting to relax a bit when I see Elijah reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

  A second later, my own phone buzzes.

  I take it out.

  One new text.

  From Elijah.

  Go to the men’s bathroom.

  I feel like the breath has been knocked out of me. The men’s bathroom? Is he fucking kidding me?

  My phone buzzes again.

  Now, Ms. Bennett. Or this will be much worse.

  My nipples harden, my body betraying me once again, overriding my mind even though I’ve just had an orgasm.

  I get up and walk quickly to the men’s bathroom, striding inside confidently like it’s totally normal. I glance behind me quickly to make sure no one’s watching. If there’s anyone inside, I’ll just pretend like I made a mistake, haha, didn’t read the door well enough.

  Thankfully, it’s empty.

  I walk immediately to a stall and barricade myself inside. My body is hot and flushed.

  Five minutes pass.

  Five minutes that seem like a year, five minutes that are designed to make me crazy with anticipation.

  Then, the next text.

  Strip. Everything but your heels.

  I close my eyes, thinking about telling him I’ve done it when I really haven’t. But I know that won’t lead anywhere good. So I do what I’ve been told, taking off all my clothes. I hang my dress on the hook on the back of the door, remove my panties and bra.

  Everything but the black high heels.

  Are you naked?

  Yes.

  Show me.

  The next text comes quickly, before I can figure out exactly what it is he’s asking me to do.

  Take a picture. In front of the mirror. I want to see your tits and pussy.

  My breath hitches. In front of the mirror? He’s crazy. In front of the mirror means I’m going to have to leave the stall.

  I think about safewording.

  I know if I do, he will stop everything, will let me get dressed and take me home.

  But then I remember last night, how I told him that I accepted this part of him. How I want to prove to him that I love him, and that that love includes every part of him. And then I think about the part of me that so desperately wants to submit, the part I didn’t even know lived inside of me, the part that is insanely turned on but what he’s asking me to do, even though it frightens me.

  So I walk out.

  Take a picture of myself quickly in the mirror and send it.

  The reply comes before I’m even safely back in the stall.

  More.

  More?

  Jesus.

  I take a deep breath. Put my high-heeled foot up on the counter, so that my pussy is spread just a little bit, the inside of my lips just barely visible. I jut my tits out, my nipples hard and swollen with arousal.

  I snap the pic, looking at it before I hit send.

  I look sexy and wanton, my nipples hard, my pussy on display.

/>   I send it.

  Good girl.

  I’m back in the stall when the door to the bathroom opens ten minutes later.

  My body is thrumming with anticipation, and my heart pounds. I recognize his shoes.

  Elijah.

  He stops in front of the stall I’m in, knocking on the door with the back of his knuckles.

  It’s a gesture of ridiculousness of course, because he knows I’m going to let him in.

  “Knock knock, Ms. Bennett,” he says. “Are you ready to find out what happens to bad little girls?”

  The End of Part Seven

  Look For Part Eight, Coming Soon!

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