Chapter 249: Stella’s Punishment
"Take me to your office," Liam said.
Stella looked at him.
Her jaw tightened, the muscles in it working briefly, and then she turned without a word and started moving through the club.
He followed her.
She moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew exactly where every person in the room was at any given moment, the crowd parting slightly ahead of her without her having to ask it to, people stepping aside the way people stepped aside for someone who owned the floor they were standing on. She led him through a door near the back of the main room that wasn’t marked, just a door that looked like part of the wall until she pushed it open, and then up a short flight of stairs.
The office was at the top.
She pushed the door open and the music from downstairs dropped to a low murmur, present but manageable, the room thick walled enough to give everything a different quality. The space was wide, the ceiling slightly lower than the club below, the walls dark, one side entirely glass looking down onto the main floor through a one way panel, the crowd visible below moving under the lights.
A desk sat near the center of the room, dark wood, wide and heavy, papers across one end and a lamp on the other throwing a warm circle of light. A long couch ran along the opposite wall, dark fabric, the kind of couch that had been chosen for function rather than appearance. A drinks cabinet in the corner, bottles arranged with the specific precision of someone who cared about where things sat.
And on the wall behind the desk, a painting.
Large. About a meter and a half wide, the frame dark and clean. Stella herself, rendered in oil, standing with her back three quarters to the viewer, looking over one shoulder, her dark hair loose and falling down her back. She was almost entirely bare, a single oversized leaf positioned across the front of her hips, covering almost nothing, the full length of her back and the curve of her ass visible, her expression in the painting carrying the same composed quality it carried in person.
Liam looked at it.
"I like the painting," he said.
"Stop delaying," she said. She was standing near the desk, her arms crossed, her expression doing what it did when she had decided on an outcome and was waiting for reality to catch up. "Do what you came here to do."
He looked at her. "You know, if you just asked nicely I’d probably let this go."
"I’m not asking you for anything."
"You’d be begging soon enough anyway," he said. "So you might as well get ahead of it."
She said nothing. Just looked at him.
"Strip," he said.
Her jaw tightened again.
Then she reached behind her and unzipped the black gown and let it fall. It pooled at her feet without drama and she stepped out of it and stood there looking at him with her arms loose at her sides, completely bare, her chin level, her expression giving nothing away.
He looked at her.
"Spread your legs," he said.
She did.
He walked to the desk and sat on the edge of it, his arms folded, and looked at her standing in the middle of the office.
"Oh," she said, reading the situation. "He wants to watch me stand there. Very creative."
"You’re going to do it yourself," he said.
She looked at him.
"Finger yourself," he said.
Something moved in her expression. Not embarrassment. Something closer to reluctant acknowledgment.
She moved one hand between her legs.
She started slowly, her eyes going to the wall beside him rather than at him, her expression working to maintain its composure through the specific effort of what her hand was doing.
"Is this all you can think of," she said.
"I’m not very creative," Liam said, smiling. "But you’ll be begging me either way."
She smiled back at him. Fully. Like she had decided that wasn’t going to happen and was comfortable saying so with her face.
Liam looked at the desk.
He reached across it and picked up a pen. One of the plain ones sitting in the cup near the lamp. He turned it over in his fingers once, looked at it, then looked at her.
He walked toward her.
She watched him come toward her with the pen and her expression shifted into something more curious than concerned, and then he pushed it in slowly and she went completely still.
Not in pain. Just in the specific stillness of someone who hadn’t predicted this turn and was processing it.
He worked it slowly.
She stood there and took it, her expression staying composed, her breathing controlled, her eyes looking at the wall above his shoulder.
Liam watched her face.
Nothing.
He kept going.
Still nothing. She was taking it with the calm of someone who had decided this was not going to affect them and had fully committed to that position.
He got bored.
"Hold the table," he said. "Doggy position."
She moved to the desk and put both hands on the surface and bent forward, her hair falling around her face, her ass facing him.
He moved behind her.
He put the pen back inside her and then activated Pulse Tease.
The current moved through it and into her all at once.
She came immediately.
Her legs buckled, her hands slipping on the desk surface, her whole body going sideways and down, and she ended up on her knees beside the desk with one hand still gripping the edge of it, her head forward, her breathing completely wrecked.
She stayed there for a moment.
"Stand up," Liam said.
She looked up at him from the floor.
Then she used the desk to push herself back up, her movements slow, one hand finding the surface and using it as leverage, pulling herself upright by degrees until she was standing again, slightly unsteady but standing.
He activated Pulse Tease again.
She lurched forward and grabbed the desk with both hands, her head dropping, a sound coming from her that she clearly hadn’t meant to let out.
He positioned himself behind her.
He pushed in slowly, the full length of him, and then he stopped.
He didn’t move.
She waited.
He stayed exactly where he was.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
"Move," she said. Her voice came out less even than she wanted it to.
He said nothing.
Thirty seconds.
"Just get it over with," she said.
"Beg," he said.
"I’m not—" She stopped. She shifted her weight slightly, trying to create movement herself, her hips pushing back.
"Don’t move," he said.
She went still immediately. The collar doing its work before she had finished deciding whether to listen.
She gripped the desk.
One minute passed.
The music from downstairs thumped through the floor in slow steady waves. The lamp on the desk threw its circle of warm light across the surface. Outside the glass panel the club moved on, completely unaware.
She could feel every second of it. Him inside her, completely still, doing absolutely nothing, which was somehow worse than anything he had done so far.
"Move," she said again. Quieter this time.
He waited.
Another thirty seconds.
"Please." The word came out small and fast, like she had decided to get it over with before she could stop herself. "Move."
Liam smiled.
He moved.
He grabbed her hips and drove forward hard and she made a sound that went straight into the surface of her own desk, her hands pressing flat against it, and he didn’t slow down.
Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta.
"Oh— mm— haa—"
Her boobs swung beneath her with the rhythm, heavy and continuous, her hair falling forward around her face, her tail appearing from nowhere and moving behind her in short involuntary arcs with every stroke.
He kept the pace building.
Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta.
"Haa— oh god— mm—"
Then he shifted.
He turned her around, her back against the desk now, and lifted one leg to his hip and pushed back in from this angle, deeper than before, and she grabbed the edge of the desk behind her with both hands and held on.
Plap. Plap. Plap.
"Oh— right there— haa—"
Her boobs bounced with every thrust, the painting of her on the wall directly above and behind him, her face in the oil looking calm and composed over his shoulder while the real version of her gripped the desk and lost every piece of composure she owned.
He drove forward.
Plap. Plap. Plap. Plap.
"Haa— oh— I’m—"
She came.
Her leg tightened around his hip, her hands gripping the desk edge hard enough that her knuckles went pale, a long raw sound leaving her that the office walls absorbed most of but not all of.
He let go of her.
She slid down against the desk and onto the floor, her back against it, her chest heaving, her hair everywhere.
Liam looked down at her.
Then he picked up the black gown from the floor and dropped it on top of her.
"Get dressed," he said. "Your club needs you."
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