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  He towered over me, more than a foot taller than me by my estimation. It was really unsettling to have him staring down at me like this. I chewed my lower lip as my eyes wandered over his massive form. Up close, I realized that his shirt was a dark burgundy color that hugged closely to his chest, highlighting the thick muscles of his shoulders and the trim physique of his waist. He was a man who took care of himself and it was more than clear that he spent quite a bit of time working out. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad for me yet. Probably not good if I had to guess by the tension in the firm line of his mouth. Deliberately, he reached for the glass of water that I’d placed on top of the stool in the center of the stage and carefully took a long swig before he placed it down on the floor well out his way.

  “Get off the stage,” I demanded. I drew my shoulders back and gathered every last shred of courage inside me as I stood before him. It didn’t seem to matter.

  He didn’t listen, simply chuckling quietly at my anger rather than answering me. His body moved even closer to mine and I caught a whiff of his cologne. It was spicy, woodsy even with oranges, cinnamon, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke. It was almost hypnotizing in a way and I breathed him in deep, not wanting to admit that I was growing warm at his bold maneuver.

  His gaze dragged up and down my body, taking in the elegantly draped purple shirt that exposed just enough cleavage to remain classy without being slutty and the short black skirt that showed off my toned legs. Anxiously, I brushed my hair behind my ears as he appraised me. He finally met my eyes with a look of obvious arousal and appreciation before he grasped me about the waist and swiftly bent me over the stool. I squeaked in surprise and grabbed at the rungs below me in an effort to stop my descent so that I didn’t get hurt in the process. I tried to push myself back up to a standing position, but his palm on my lower back stopped me.

  “What are you doing?” I exclaimed, unable to hide the high-pitched shock in my voice.

  I was facing away from the crowd. I was ninety-nine percent certain that I was still entirely covered and that my skirt was just long enough to prevent giving the audience more of a peepshow than I wanted. I tried to remain calm. Maybe this man could be reasoned with. I just had to figure out what he wanted so that he’d let me get back up and finish the show.

  “Let me up. Stop now and I won’t press charges,” I threatened.

  He didn’t answer me, but the quiet rumble of his chuckle made my legs quiver with anxiety.

  After a very long moment, he flipped my skirt up and bared my panty-clad bottom to the audience. I rushed to push myself off the stool, trying to use the rungs to stand back up and gather whatever modesty I had left. His hand flattened even more firmly against my lower back, preventing me from getting up at all. His palm was wide, and with his superior strength he held me there rather easily no matter how hard I tried to fight. I tried to rock the chair from side to side, but it banked precipitously toward the right before he pushed it back into place and secured it with his foot. After that, the chair didn’t move at all and neither did I.

  Fuck. This was bad.

  I’d made a mistake in taunting him.

  His fingers grazed against the flesh at the backs of my thighs and I jumped as a harsh jolt of electricity coursed through me. After that, he brushed my hair to the side. Carefully, his thumb caressed the birthmark at the side of my throat. Then his touch was gone. In its absence, I felt even more scared.

  “Please, you’ve made your point. I’ll sing for you,” I pleaded. I was so embarrassed, and I just wanted this to stop. The whole audience could see my bottom right now and it was far more humbling to be put on display like this than I could ever have imagined. I pressed my thighs together, suddenly very aware that the seat of my panties was wet with my own arousal. I hoped that they weren’t soaked through and that the strong stage lights weren’t highlighting my shame to the audience.

  “Silas, I’m sorry I threw the drink in your face. Let me buy one for you to make up for it,” I whimpered. He still didn’t answer and that was the most terrifying thing of all.

  His fingers traced along the edge of my lavender panties, lifting the lace and sliding just beneath in a way that was as tantalizing as it was scary. He did that for several more moments before he gripped them in his hands and yanked them down to the middle of my thighs so swiftly that I couldn’t even reach back to try to stop him.

  “I have something else in mind, Chloe,” he said boldly.

  He’d exposed me to all the men watching. Bent over like this beneath the stage lights, I was on complete and utter display. They’d be able to see everything.

  I gasped in shame and embarrassment. I tried to escape his grasp once again, but it was useless. It didn’t matter if I wiggled or kicked, I didn’t budge a single inch. In my struggles, my panties had fallen to my knees and then to my ankles. Still holding me in place, he reached down and guided my feet out of my underwear. I desperately hoped he hadn’t looked at them too closely because he would see the wet spot. If he did, he didn’t say anything, and I was left feeling decidedly unsteady. He put my panties in his pocket, and I trembled in fear.

  It was clear to me now that no one was coming to my defense. Not a single audience member spoke up for me and not even one of the security guards that watched over the place were willing come to my aid. It was as if everyone knew who this man was other than me. I’d made a very big mistake pushing him and I wished that I could take it back.

  His rough palm lay against my naked backside and I cried out at the shocking feel of it. Still, he stayed silent and I started to really beg in hopes that he would let me go and stop whatever this was.

  “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll restart the show right away. I’ll even give a special encore in your honor, Silas, just please. Let me up,” I implored him. My pleas fell on deaf ears though and his hand explored my vulnerably bare backside as if he owned it.

  I couldn’t decide if I hated it or if it felt good.

  A loud crack echoed throughout the room and it took me several seconds to realize it was because he’d used his hand to spank my bare bottom. I tried to convince myself that I was going crazy, that maybe this was just a terrible dream and that none of this was really happening, but my right cheek began to burn with a hellacious sting that could not be imagined, not by a long shot. He repeated the motion on the left side of my bottom, and I stilled with shock.

  What the hell?

  My mouth opened with a soft gasp, fully taking stock of the image that I was presenting to the audience, and I bit my lip in horror. Before I could really think about how awful it really was, he took that choice away from me too.

  The first two spanks had hurt, but they had been manageable enough that I hadn’t made a sound. I quickly realized that those initial smacks had been loud enough to get my attention and to make a point, but not hard enough to really hurt.

  The next set of smacks hurt. They hurt a lot.

  I tried to remain stoic at first, attempting to remain still and take whatever he wanted to give me before he decided I’d had enough. I clamped my lips shut, vowing that I wouldn’t make a single sound until it was all over. I gripped the rung beneath me even more firmly so that my knuckles turned white. I would get through this. I could get through anything.

  I was able to keep my vow for the initial round of spanks, but as more continued to pepper my naked flesh, I realized that I may not be able to. The expanse of his palm was so vast that it felt like it covered most of each cheek with every blow. His palm felt as hard as wood and I bit my lip to keep quiet, but that only worked for so long.

  He spanked me harder and faster than I thought possible and I quickly found myself losing control. I opened my lips as one cruel smack bit into my tender flesh, followed by another and another until at long last, I finally made a sound. I whimpered and I hated that I did.

  Then the spanking got harder and my pledge to remain quiet and just take it quickly fell to the wayside. I lost control and I
made another sound of distress.

  I cried out as his palm punished my naked backside. I forgot all about the shameful display I was putting on as I tried to twist side to side. I kicked my legs, vaguely aware that I was giving the audience far more of a show than I wanted. He painted my backside with his cruel palm, making sure that he punished from the tops of my cheeks down to the lower curve of my bottom. It stung far more fiercely when he focused on that small area and I quickly found myself pleading for his mercy.

  I found none.

  He continued punishing the entirety of my bottom. When he’d thoroughly spanked every inch of my vulnerable backside, he continued down my thighs. I attempted to keep my legs closed, but it was a useless endeavor to even try.

  I couldn’t keep quiet when he punished me there, and before long I was crying out loudly with every strike. Searing hot fire burned across the backs of my thighs and I keened, trying desperately to avoid the painful punishment, but his spanks met their mark every time. There were a few times that I spread my legs a little wider than I meant to, and his fingers spanked the inner curves of my thighs, which burned with a terrible agony more intense than all the rest.

  My breath hitched in the back of my throat. I tried to normalize my intake of air, but as the spanking wore on, the harder it became. I moaned with every spank, and at that point it became more overwhelming than I could handle and I started to cry. One single tear rolled down my cheek, followed by another and another until they were dripping off my chin onto the stage beneath me. I sobbed and still the spanking wore on.

  I could scream or cry or call for help, but no one was going to save me. The only person who could stop this was the man dealing out the punishment himself.

  Silas had complete control over me. No one else.

  It hurt so much and as it continued, I realized that wasn’t the worst of it. My body had betrayed me in the most shameful way, and I couldn’t make it stop.

  I was soaking wet. I didn’t know why. Maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe it was his rough manhandling or maybe it was because he was the first man who had stood against me and not backed down. I should hate this. I should cuss him out as soon as he let me up, but I knew I wasn’t going to. I bit my lip, trying not to focus on the terribly insistent pulsing between my legs. It was impossible though.

  “In my world, Miss Chloe Banks, when a little girl is sassy, she is reminded of her place immediately, no matter where she is or who is there to see,” Silas purred, and I was mortified at the way his words made my core clench with need.

  I moaned with embarrassment, wondering if he could see the wetness between my thighs. Even worse, the possibility that everyone else could see my arousal came over me and I bit my lip in shame.

  “You’re a monster,” I retorted.

  He punished my thighs exclusively after that. I cried out with one apology after another, quickly regretting my choice of words. My toes hammered into the floor of the stage and I couldn’t stop myself from sobbing even harder.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I wept.

  “You were a sassy little girl, weren’t you?” he said softly.

  “Yes, sir,” I cried out, somehow knowing that if I didn’t answer him, things would turn from bad to worse. His palm cracked hard against my bottom several more times, leaving me in a world of agony that threatened to tear me apart.

  I don’t know why I called him that. Before I could think about it, the words had fallen off my lips and I couldn’t take them back. Silas didn’t give me very long to worry about it however as he curved his hand and punished the curve at the tops of my thighs, his fingers landing dangerously close to my pussy and I cried out from the scalding hot bite of his cruel hand.

  “Please, I’m sorry, sir,” I begged.

  I thought it would never end. In a form of acceptance, my body slumped over the stool and I no longer fought each searing spank. He burned the message into my scalded backside with several more punishing smacks to the backs of my thighs as I muttered one apology after the next.

  “Spread your legs. Show the audience the glistening wetness between your thighs. Show them what I have seen since I bared your pretty little bottom before your spanking even began,” he demanded.

  My face heated with shame. I was sure that the brilliant scarlet that painted my cheeks matched the bright red of my punished backside. Nervous that the spanking would continue if I disobeyed him, I slowly spread my thighs, exposing what I now knew he’d seen all along.

  “Arch your back, sassy girl,” he instructed, and I did just that.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” I pleaded, trying once more to earn his mercy however unlikely it seemed. His strong hand still held me in place and even though I wanted to hate it, that constant connection between us felt comforting. I tried to ignore it.

  “I know you are, little girl, but this lesson is far from over,” he scolded, and a harsh shudder raced down my spine. I found it hard to breathe and I worried about what he had planned for me next.

  The fingers of his other hand traced along my scalded flesh, exploring the heat he’d painted there himself. He started at the cusp of my bottom, continuing down the backs of my legs and slowly venturing closer to the sensitive area between my thighs. His fingertips felt like sandpaper on my punished flash, his touch feeling as painful as it was pleasurable. I whimpered nervously when his fingertips finally glided along the wetness that had slickened my inner thighs and I went completely silent as he used two fingers to slide along the outer folds of my pussy, a teasingly soft touch that made me gasp at its brazen forwardness.

  I shivered with a jolt of arousal far stronger than anything I’d ever felt before in my life. I wasn’t a virgin. I’d been with a few men during the course of my life, but none of them had ever inspired a desire in me like this. This was different.

  This felt almost primal.

  I shouldn’t want him, not after he’d bared me and punished me in front of everyone here, but I did. My body was burning for him and the more he touched me, the more I feared that it was only going to get worse.

  I wanted to come. Right here. Over this stool.

  I couldn’t focus on anything other than the pulsing desire between my legs that was practically begging for his touch.

  Beneath my top and safely encased in my bra, I could feel how hard my nipples were. They were so sensitive that it was almost painful to have anything touching them at all. My clit was throbbing and as he dragged those two digits up and down my wet folds, I rolled my hips shamefully in tune with his movements. He pinched them just the slightest bit, using the sides of those fingers to tease and taunt me, and I had no idea how much longer it would take for me to plead for release at his touch. I feared at this rate it would take no time at all.

  When he touched my needy bud for the first time, I moaned so loudly that I had no doubt that everyone heard it. My blush deepened. I gripped the rung I was holding onto so hard that it hurt, and I put everything in me in trying to push away the rampaging desire that was surging through my veins. I thought of cold showers, of not having enough money to pay the electricity bill that month, but no matter what I put my mind to, it always turned back to him. His fingers between my thighs were polarizing and although I tried to fight what he was doing with every last fiber of my being, it was utterly useless.

  I was so wet. His fingers slid so easily through my arousal that I groaned with shame. I tried to press my thighs back together, but it didn’t stop him, not even a little bit.

  He circled my clit slowly, possessively, like it belonged to him, and I pressed against him despite everything in me that told me not to. He leaned down low enough to press his lips against my shoulder and I sucked in an anxious breath. I was so out of my element it was hard to guess what to expect from a man like him. My cheeks were still damp with my tears as I drew in a shaky breath and I did the only thing I could think of.

  “Please,” I managed to beg.

  “Such a wet little puss
y. It’s almost as if you’d like to come for me, isn’t that right, little girl?” he whispered, his voice low enough so that I was the only one who would be able to hear. His words were intoxicating, and I tried to focus on what I should want, rather than what my body needed. His fingers continued to tease me, and I lost all semblance of reason. I pressed my clit against his roughened finger pads and moaned at the thought of coming for him while on display like this for the audience to see.

  What was wrong with me? Why would I even think that? Why was I like this?

  “Stop thinking, sassy girl. You’re not in control right now. I am, and right now you’re going to come for me because you don’t have a choice. You’re going to come all over my fingers, and everyone is going to watch your shameful display, naughty girl,” he demanded softly, and a hot tremor raced down my spine.

  “I… Please don’t,” I whimpered, even though I knew he could feel how my pussy was clenching just at the thought.

  “There’s only one answer I expect to hear, little girl. You know what it is,” he scolded gently.

  I licked my lips and closed my eyes, feeling reluctance even as I opened my mouth to answer. I didn’t want to say it, but I needed to.

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered, feeling a heated flush caress my cheeks. He pressed against my clit a bit harder with those two fingers and my stomach flittered with anxiety at what he was about to do. For several long terrifying moments, he explored that wetness between my thighs before he gently tapped my clit in warning with the flat of his finger. It was almost painful, but I found it all the more arousing anyway.

  He gently teased my clit, gradually increasing the pressure until it dawned on me that he hadn’t said that in jest. I could feel myself hurtling closer to the edge of orgasm with every passing second, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I’d already passed the point of no return and his knowing touch danced across my flesh as if he knew exactly that.

  That was the first moment that I truly accepted that I was no longer in control and its effect was so intensely strong that I lost all sense of everything else. I forgot about the stage and the audience and focused on the only thing that mattered now.