Adam watched as she backed up unsteadily to the dark wood-paneled wall in the study. Clara was trembling after the invasion of his hand, her thighs still quivering, and her breath coming in shallow pulls. She forced herself to settle down, and stood erect as possible, her legs parted as she imagined he would want, her hands clasped behind her neck, elbows outward. It was a position she vaguely remembered from some website. It exposed her chest, and she could see her own slick juices drying where he had wiped his hands across her. This sight alone caused her cunt to twitch from the physical memory of his hand fucking her. Out of the corner of her eye, she was sure Monique was staring at this wet track of cunt-juice that so recently coated Adam’s hand. She lowered her eyes in a moment of embarrassment as her cheeks went red.

“Eyes up, Clara. This is no time for humility. IF you make it to my dungeon, then you will avert your eyes. But for now I want to see into your soul.” Adam walked across the room and grabbed Clara by the cheeks, his hand squeezing her jaw. She could feel the power he had as he held her there and tried to meet his gaze with something other than fear. It was a feeble attempt. His free hand sought out her nipple and rolled it between his fingers. It was hard from her continued arousal, and as he pinched it she pulled in a sharp breath but remained as still as possible. She rolled her hips involuntarily and her eye-lids fluttered and the pain shot straight to her clit. “Yesss, sssir” she moaned, a natural reaction, not a conscious one. “Adam, girl” he corrected her. The pain escalated. “nnngggghhhh…. Adam” She struggled to look into his face.

Monique was finding her own arousal coursing through her groin. She felt an empathic rush as Clara moaned and tried to restrain herself. She stared at Adam’s strong back, briefly wondering how it looked under his shirt, imagining the well defined muscles flowing as his hand brought a cane or a whip or god, just about anything down on her flesh. She squirmed in place, anxious to prove herself. She wasn’t happy about Clara being here, her own self-doubt surging inside, her mind critically ticking off her faults. The skinny bitch looked good, and it made her determined to outshine her with sheer sexual talent and passionate submission. Monique knew she radiated a sexuality that transcended her somewhat normal looks. When punished or whipped publicly, she always drew a crowd around her. She had always been a ‘pleaser’, seeking jobs that put her in service positions, thriving on the approval of others as she performed whatever duties they required. Many nights she replayed the simple praises of the day and turned them into fantasies. Fantasies of servitude and slavery so primal they often surprised her. Fantasies so enduring they would carry on into the next day’s work, haunting her and coloring her every thought and action. “Adam” she mouthed in unison with Clara, as if feeling his correction as well, wanting to please him so desperately.