Chapter Five

He closed the door firmly. Fuck. What was happening to me. My panties were absolutely soaked. Hell, my little booty shorts were soaked. Before I knew it, standing in the middle of the room, my hand started rubbing my clit over my shorts. God that felt good, finally releasing some of the tension. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I never got so horny I had to masturbate in the middle of the day. But today...this was different.

I lay back on the bed, and slipped my hand under my panties. I kept the shorts on, in case anyone walked in. It was hot and slippery in there, my thighs coated in wetness. My fingers rubbed in a circular motion. Bradford watching my tit hang out. Gagged. Bound. Fuck, fuck. I started moaning, unable to help myself. Bradford’s hand brushing my nipple. What if he had touched it? Grabbed it. Sucked on it. What if he bit it hard? Oh my fuck, I was cumming. I gasped for air as the waves of ecstasy rushed over my body, over and over. It kept going, pleasure shooting through my body, the hardest I’d ever cum.

And then I felt something very wet. Oh no. I sat up. I had squirted. A LOT. What the fuck, I had never squirted before. I didn’t even know I could. A puddle had formed on the bedspread, and my panties and shorts were completely ruined. No, no! Bradford better not see this. He wouldn’t. It would dry up, hopefully.

I had to get out of these clothes. I ran to the bathroom, hand between my legs, hoping nothing else would gush out, and cleaned myself off. Naked, I strutted over to my luggage. The luggage he forced me to pack in like two seconds. Fucker.

Unzipping it, I peered inside and a foreboding feeling settled over me. Had I packed… oh no, had I packed underwear? Even as I asked myself, I knew the answer: no. No bra and no underwear for a whole week. And if Bradford kept turning me on like this, my wetness was going to seep right through my clothes. Somehow that thought was getting my horny again.

My mind clouded by dirty thoughts, I decided I wanted to wear something sexy. Who says lunch can’t be slutty-chic? I’d already come, mid-day.

I pulled out a lacy blush pink mini dress. I don’t know why I packed it, but apparently I thought I’d need to look sexy for my week here. It was light enough to be a little see-through, and I smirked at the naughty thought. I slipped it on, paired it with the one set of heels I packed, and checked myself out in the gilded, floor length mirror.

My cleavage was totally exposed, headlights visible, and my booty was popping. The thought that I had no underwear on was so fucking hot.

I strutted downstairs, my heels clicking with every step, and secretly, my lips rubbing against my thighs. After peering into a bunch of rooms – fuck, this house was massive – I finally found the dining room. Bradford was sitting at the head of a long as hell dining room table, and he had changed for the occasion too. He was clad in a black suit and tie– was he joking? This was lunch. Still, from what I could see, it fit his hulking body snugly. Expensive tailoring. I liked that.

The other place setting was set all the way at the other end, and it might have been the ends of the earth for how far away it was from him. I needed him to see me.

“Audrina, thank you for being on time.”

Smiling, I said, “You ordered, sir.”

Then, bringing my voice into a concerned whine, I said, “But Bradford, this place setting is too far away. I want to sit closer to you. Please, sir?”

His eyebrow flicked up, like maybe he sensed danger. Yeah Bradford, your best-friend’s baby girl. You know you want her. I hoped to god he could read my mind. And the way he was staring at me, part of me thought maybe he could.

He cleared this throat, and said, “Since you asked nicely, I don’t see why not. Bring it over, Audrina.”

“Yes sir, thank you.”

After I had moved the place setting over, smiling coyly at him all the while, he clapped his hands. Suddenly, we were having dinner served to us by a freaking staff of people. Apparently Bradford liked to be waited on.

Halfway through the truffle lobster ravioli, I couldn’t help my curiosity about how he had all...this. I asked, “Bradford, what exactly is it you do again?”

“Audrina, I see you’re trying to politely ask me how I have the money I do.”

I flushed a deep, scarlet red. I hated being called out. “No I’m not. I’m just curious about your career.”

He snapped, “Don’t lie to me, Audrina. I mean it.”

I nodded. “Yes sir. You’re right. I was being nosy.”

He continued, “If it’s my career you want to know about, I’m a former Navy Seal, now retired. If it’s my money you want to know about, it’s from an old family oil fortune. If it’s my hobby you’re interested in, then I can tell you that I specialize in breaking troubled teens.”

A smirk appeared at the corner of his lips when he said this. Asshole. He was trying to tempt me to push him. I wouldn’t fall for it. I’m not that easy.

“That’s an unusual hobby for a fifty year old man,” I said, and took a sip of my water, as if uninterested in him.

“Audrina, you know I’m forty-two, your father’s age. The hobby is a pet project of mine. That kind of tough love saved me in my youth, and I want to pay it forward.”

I couldn’t hide the sarcasm in my voice, “Oh, how charitable of you.”

Fuck. I would get punished for that one for sure. His voice turned icy. He pointed at my dish. “You have to learn to watch your mouth. Keep your eyes down and finish the rest of your meal.”

My heart was beating so fast. “Yes, sir.”

He took a few more bites, then said, “After the week is up, not only are you going to return the bag, you’re going to want to return it.”

The fucking bag, again. Why did everyone want to take everything away from me? My eyes snapped up and I pounded the table. “What the fuck is everyone’s problem? It’s not that big of a deal.”

In one motion, he bolted from his chair, rattling the china on the dining table, and he was looming over me. His huge hand grabbed a thick handful of my hair, and he yanked me up. I screamed in shock, in pain.

“We’re done here. You need to be punished. Now.”

Without even asking my permission, he dragged me by the hair. I fought against him, yelling, pulling on his hands, but it was only making it worse.

“Fuck you, Bradford. You can’t do this to me. Help me!”

But even as I said it, I didn’t want to be helped. I could feel myself getting wet again as he yanked me, hair first, through his house. What was his punishment going to be? More ropes? Gags? And mostly, I wanted him to touch me, everywhere. But I was his best friend’s daughter. He’d never do that...right?