Free Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph

take her, since you made her so aroused?”
     
    “Oh no,” said Martin. “This time I really must insist. That honor belongs to you.”
     
    Jeremy snorted and withdrew, then placed his hand on the small of my back. I could feel the hot moisture of own my arousal on his fingers. “Such formalities. Anyway, again I'm afraid that Kyle beat us both to the chase. Ah, well. Later. We have dinner reservations at seven. I'm just going to paddle her for now.”
     
    He stood back, and I braced. I knew he would test me. I knew he would try to break me down. He began, swung his arm back and then forward in a sharp motion, and crack! The first blow panicked me. No, I can't take this. I really can't . I made an urgent sound and squeezed my ankles until they ached. Martin had only been one long warm-up. I realized that now.
     
    The next blow came, and I had the same feeling, the same certainty that I could not survive this pain. But then he stopped to let me collect myself. Jeremy knew what he was doing. No wild flailing like Kyle. Powerful arms, powerful snap, powerful sting. Each blow required me to make that difficult decision. Stand. Present. Accept . Each blow made me certain that I shouldn't be here, every bit as much as it made me want more. I wished for restraints, because my hands wanted to fly up to protect my ass, and it took so much effort to stay in place. My back wanted to straighten and my legs wished to run away, but I subdued those impulses. I imagined him wielding the crop, and it made me feel faint. I was glad we'd agreed, for now, that the cane was a definite no.
     
    But what I really, truly wanted as I counted to ten, and then twenty again, and then five more—the last five actually making me rise up frantically on my toes as he'd said—what I truly wanted and craved was to feel his hands, his palms spanking me. I wanted contact. It scared me how much I wanted contact with him. I wanted his approval, his affection. Perhaps even his admiration, a little bit. And his cock. I desperately wanted him to put his cock in me, whatever way, whatever hole he desired.
     
    But I didn't get his hands or his cock. When the paddling was done, he lifted me and looked into my eyes. I tried to focus. I was still reeling from pain and trying to process the fact that Jeremy's paddling made me hornier than I'd been in my life.
     
    “Here.” He pointed at a spot on the floor. I dazedly looked down. What does that mean, when he points at something? He snapped his fingers. “Here!” he said and pointed again. I lurched to my senses and scurried over to drop to my knees.
     
    “Martin.” I looked up at Jeremy to see him gesture down at me. “She's yours. Please take her mouth if you like.”
     
    The words froze me. Martin looked down at me with a cordial, relaxed expression as he undid his pants. I looked over at Kyle, who smirked from the couch.
     
    I felt deep shame, and with it, an overpowering wave of lust. I felt distaste, and I felt hot excitement. I felt disappointment that it was Martin I would receive, instead of my new boss. Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me. There was no hint of softness in his eyes.
     
    “Go on. You serve me. When it pleases me, you serve my friends.”
     
    Martin was already hard. With one last look at Jeremy, I took his lawyer's cock in my hands and sheathed it with the rubber Jeremy handed me. I took Martin into my mouth and started to pleasure him, but my mind was fixed on the man at my side. Jeremy stood and watched, fully clothed, detached—an immovable reminder of my status in the room. I was his comfort object, and what he asked for, I did. My molten ass cheeks were a throbbing reminder of that. Each time I shifted on my knees to take Martin's cock deeper in my throat, I felt the sore ache of my welted bottom and thought of icy blue eyes. I wished it were Jeremy's cock I was servicing, and I worshipped the phallus in my mouth as if it were. I licked, I fondled.