Chapter 14: The Headmaster Bought Me

The car slows to a stop in front of those lights, which hang like little modern Japanese lanterns at the beginning of what looks like a long stone walk. To the side there’s a drive that descends into darkness. An underground garage? That is sort of supervillain-ish.

I’m still taking in my surroundings when I realize that not only has my escort, the phone fucker, gotten out of the car, but he appears to be waiting for me to do so, too. Overcome with impatience, he opens my passenger door, and stands there.

This is when I realize how nervous I actually am.

This is sort of the point of no return.

I haven’t moved, except to press my thighs together, and try to pull down my suddenly very short dress. The phone fucker leans down in a darting motion, an amused expression on his face. He can tell I’m scared.

One of his hands snakes forward, too fast for me to pull back, and he grips my chin.

“Hush.” He says, and one finger curls under my chin, pulling me forward. There’s something suddenly hypnotic about him, like he knows exactly what’s happening, exactly what will happen, and that’s why he’s so bored.

I get out of the car, and as soon as I do he closes the door behind me, and the car descends down that spooky drive.

“Where’s he going?” I ask, even though it’s a stupid question. I just want one answer.

My escort just laughs lightly, and walks towards the house that I now see for the first time. It is, of course, huge, and in the same modern Japanese style. I can only see the top of it, really, over all the foliage, but it’s magnificent. I have no choice but to follow.

He leads me over the smooth slate walk, giant slabs of cut stone fit seamlessly together like irregular puzzles pieces, to a giant, burnished bronze door that, no shit, opens to welcome us. There’s a quiet hiss, and the door just opens. Phone guy walks in like it’s no big deal.

He leads me down a darkened hallway, to a recessed door that opens on what I can only describe as dressing room, except that there are no mirrors. It’s more like a preparation room. It’s luxurious, ostentatiously so – seriously, there’s black crushed velvet all over the place – but also weirdly impersonal.

I’m about to demand some explanations from my escort when his phone rings. The sound startles me, and while he listens to whoever’s on the other end, he eyes me up and down appraisingly. I sit down on a black bench and pointedly cross my legs. Screw him.

“Yes, sir.” He says into the phone, shaking his head at me.

“What?” I say flatly.

“What a rebellious streak,” he murmurs, walking over to me. “That will only get you into trouble, trust me.”

And he puts out his hand.

When I take it, I expect him to gently help me up. Instead he yanks on my arm, and I stumble to my feet, crashing into him. He presses my body to his, and spins me about the room, sort of throwing me towards a half open closet.

There’s a single empty hanger in that closet.

I look back at him, and he’s smiling evily.

“Strip.” He says.

“Excuse me?”

A look of annoyance flashes across his perfect face. “I said strip.”

He strides across the room and grabs my wrist, twisting me around until my back is to him. “Are you this disobedient with your master?”

He almost sounds awed.

“Didn’t he give you orders?”

I swallow, and I nod.

And then he’s unzipping the back of my dress, in one quick motion, and he peels it off completely. I stumble forward in shock, catching myself on the open closet door. I’m not wearing a bra or panties. Griff’s orders.

I’m naked, except for my heels, the dress pooled around my feet.

Oh, God, and I’m wet.

“Step out of it and turn.”

I turn around, trembling a little. I can feel my naked breasts sway as I do. He’s got a superior sort of expression on his face as he steps back to get a good look at me. He looks me up and down, long, slow, deliberate looks that I can almost feel against my skin.

I swear he draws this out longer than necessary.

“You’ll do.”

Oh, good.

“Just one thing...” And he reaches out with both hands and pinches my nipples. “He likes them hard.”

I gasp a little, and he grins, for the first time, a human expression on his face, and then he’s dragged me up to a little side door I didn’t even know was there. He pushes me towards it, standing behind me, and, just like the front door, it slides open with a little hiss.

The lights beyond nearly blind me. I can see the bare outlines of...a stage? Some kind of platform? What the hell?

“Come on,” he says, patting my ass, just like Griff had. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

And he pushes the small of my back, sending me tottering through the door.

When I actually get out there it’s clear that the lights are angled, and now they’re directly in my eyes. I can’t see a goddamn thing. There could be an entire crowd out there. The air is smoky, like there is a crowd out there, smoking cigars, drinking whiskey.

Watching me.

I look beseechingly over my shoulder, but the door I came from is in shadows. I can’t make anything out.

“Look forward, Erica.”

The voice is deep and male, resonant, the sounds clinging to the smoke. I’m compelled to obey. My head snaps forward, and I squint into the lights, trying to search anything out.

“Blindfold.”

I hear someone move behind me, and I wonder if it’s my escort from earlier, but I know better than to turn around. A soft black blindfold falls down in front of my eyes, and someone ties it securely around my head. It’s heavy enough that it completely blocks out the bright lights.

I’m blind now, and naked, and standing in a spotlight in a strange house, for a strange man.

Suddenly I hear a murmured conversation, in front and below me, as if they are seated.

In front of strange men, then.

I take a long, deep breath, and try as I might, I shudder as I exhale. I can feel my breasts trembling, and my thighs are sticky where my pussy has begun to leak. Fuck, this is a turn on.

“Turn around for us, Erica. Slowly.”

At least I’ve had a little practice this time. My feet are starting to kill me in these heels, but I’ve got a feel for them by now. I think I manage to spin with a minimum of grace. When I’ve gone about 180 degrees, my back to the audience, the voice speaks again.

“Stop.”

I freeze, and involuntarily flex my butt, my entire body tensing up. I somehow know what’s coming.

“Bend over.”

I pause, perhaps too long, and then try to compensate by pertly bending to a forty-five degree angle or so, supporting myself with my hands on my upper thighs. Even though I know this won’t be enough. Even though I know it’s...disobedient. I can’t help but resist such vulnerable exposure, even a little bit.

“I said, bend over. Grab your ankles, Erica.”

The voice isn’t angry, or annoyed, it’s amused. Like the idea of resistance is just so pathetic, so...