I could smell the musk of her pussy from where she was standing, the tray shaking in her hands.

She was pretty, but that wasn’t what attracted me to her. The long blonde hair, the blue eyes, her nipped-in waist and long legs didn’t hold my attention. I had a woman like her every night, probably with bigger tits too. Hers were small, barely a handful from the looks of her blouse. Not something I usually went for. But she was still beautiful. Stunning, really.

But it didn’t matter to me how pretty she was.

No, it was the part of her she kept hidden from everyone else. The submissive side of her that lay under layers of false bravado, snappy remarks and bratty attitude. All of that could be taken away from her, beaten and choked and pinched and fucked until she was nothing but what I wanted her to be.

My pet.

I decided I wanted her the moment I saw her. And I knew she wanted me.

I left her once I’d disposed of Evans and then spent a painfully boring hour with some investors I was trying to impress. I could feel her eyes on me, following me around the room, tracing my every step even though she’d pretended she wasn’t interested in me earlier. She was watching me, waiting for me to make a move. But I wasn’t going to, and as the minutes passed, the scent of her desperation hit my nostrils, the need she felt for me to notice her, because she was too fucking pretty to be ignored.

Self-righteous little slut.

I excused myself from the investors and went to admire a painting hung on the wall of the gallery. It was pretentious as fuck, some slashes of paint across a blank canvas. What they were meant to represent was unclear, and I didn’t give a shit, either.

I felt her presence behind me, and she lingered behind my back for several moments before approaching me with a tray of drinks.

“Another glass, sir?” she asked, but I didn’t reply. She shuffled next to me, her motions nervous and unsure. Under that facade of braveness, she was really just a confused little girl. “Excuse me, sir? Would you like another glass of wine?”

“Why not,” I finally replied, taking a glass from her tray. I brushed my fingers against her hand deliberately and the glasses rattled as I did so.

“That’s a beautiful painting,” she said, standing there unnecessarily.

I grunted in response, almost feeling the hotness of her lust. She wanted attention. Spoiled little bitch.

“I don’t really have any art to speak of,” she added softly. It was all a fucking ploy to get my attention, and she was switching personalities faster than I went through women in my bed. Hard to get, seductive, sweet and innocent. Make up your fucking mind.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” I asked her roughly, still without a single glance in her direction.

She shuffled her feet and muttered something under her breath, a curse word I couldn’t quite make out. She made a move to leave, but my fingers wrapped smoothly around her wrist. Our eyes connected, hers surprised and mine insistent.

“You have a filthy fucking mouth,” I told her.

“That’s none of your business,” she replied.

“It doesn’t suit you,” I said.

“Oh, and what would?” she snapped back.

I gave her a once-over. Her neck was long, lily-white and tender. I could imagine the bruises blooming over her skin, could picture my hands cutting off her breath as she thrashed under my hard body.

“A collar,” I told her simply, and walked away.

She made a move to go after me, but someone called her back into the kitchen, and she left. I went to discuss something with the gallery owner, nodding and signing a check for him. Then I waited.

I waited until the gallery cleared and I was one of the stragglers left in the room. The staff was diminishing too, but I knew she wouldn’t leave without talking to me again. I knew that all too well.

She approached me with a furious expression, her eyes blazing and her hot little body tight with tension.

“You didn’t just do that,” she spat at me, and I grinned.

“Do what?” I asked her.

“You think you can buy my time like that?” she argued. “You think you can buy me a painting I like and I’ll fall at your feet and beg you to fuck me?”

I grasped her tiny forearm between my fingers and pulled her into a corridor where we had more privacy. She gasped when my fingertips connected with her skin, and I felt the vibrations of it right down to my twitching cock.

“Who says,” I said, “that I want to fuck you?”

She blushed, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. She was getting angrier, and I knew I only had a few moments before she ripped herself from my grip and told me to go to hell.

“Who says I want you to fall at my fucking feet?” I asked her, coming closer to her pouty lips, my own mouth just an inch away from hers. She parted her lips needily, and the softest of moans escaped her. “Who says I don’t want you to fight it? I like girls that struggle.”

Her face blanched and I briefly wondered if I’d gone too far, but then the color returned to her cheeks and I knew I had her.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I asked her, and she looked away. Pretty blue eyes on the floor, long black lashes spidery with mascara resting against her cheeks. I reached up to her face and my finger slid across her forehead, pushing back a strand of hair that was out of place. “I’d like to see you cry.”

“I haven’t cried since I was a child,” she said, raising her head and jutting her chin out.

“Proud of that?” I smirked at her. She looked confused and it made me chuckle. “Anyway, I’m about to head out. Enjoy the painting. I’m sure it’ll be the centerpiece of your shitty apartment.”

I expected her to lash out at me, but instead, she stifled a giggle.

“That painting’s fucking hideous,” she admitted. “I was only trying to start a conversation.”

“I’m glad we agree on something,” I told her. I decided I would hang the painting in my apartment once she moved in. Because I knew she would. Then I could tease her about it relentlessly. “Money well spent, then.”

“How can I make it up to you?” she wanted to know, and her flirty attitude was back, all fluttering lashes and luscious, slightly parted lips.

“I’m sure you can think of a way,” I said, just as the corridor filled with people. They were getting their coats, the last few visitors leaving. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her eyes glued to mine. Her pupils were huge.

“Then go,” I said, and she shook her head no. “You’ll get in trouble,” I added.

She considered my words for a moment, and then finally looked away.

“You must think I’m some…” she started, and I cut her off.

“Come back to my place and cry some pretty black tears for me,” I said. Her eyes returned to the floor and she was fidgeting with her fingers. She was biting her bottom lip nervously.

“Got a boyfriend?” I asked, and she shook her head no.

“Parents waiting up?” Another shake of the head.

“Like girls better?” She smiled at that, and shook her head again.

There were still people milling around in the hallway, and someone bumped against her hard, so I pulled her against me. We moved behind a rack of coats and she intertwined her fingers with mine. I gave her a surprised glance, but she still wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she lifted the hem of her black pencil skirt and pushed my hand between her legs.

I sought out the wetness of her panties. I didn’t comment on what she’d done, just slid my fingers along her soaked pussy lips. She was shaved bare. Smooth. And wet as fuck.

She didn’t make a sound, her eyes focused on the floor as she pushed me deeper, past the fabric of her lingerie and inside her cunt. She didn’t gasp, or mewl, or beg. She was tight. Unbelievably, impossibly tight. She just pushed me deeper and deeper, until my fingers met with resistance. And then she did gasp.

She was a virgin.

I tried to pull away but she thrust her hips on my fingers, grinding down on them as deep as she could go without breaking her pussy open.

“Please,” she begged. “I want it. I really, really want it, sir.”

I traced my fingers along her hymen, leaning closer to whisper in the shell of her ear.

“You want me to have this?” I asked her softly, my voice indulgent. She nodded, gasping again when I stretched her unopened pussy around two fingers, her pussy lips open and exposing her sweet clit. “You want my fingers to break you in?”

“Please,” she said with a little moan, her body pressing close to mine. “I want that, yes. Please, please.”

“No,” I told her, pulling my hand away.

She sighed when I put her panties back over her pussy. They stuck to her, wet with her juices and exposing the shape of her pussy. I pulled her skirt back down and she glared at me as I raised my hand to her lips, smearing her own cunt juice all over her mouth.

“Clean them.”

Her blushing was adorable, and she turned her head to the side, denying my request. I could’ve been a gentleman, but then again, when had I ever been a gentleman when it came to fucking?

I pried her lips open with my other hand, holding her mouth stretched wide as I slipped my sodden fingers inside.

“Fucking lick them clean,” I hissed, and she did. Her tongue darted between those pretty lips and she licked at my fingers tentatively, tasting herself and letting out a small moan once the sweetness hit her tongue. “Good girl.”

She grabbed hold of my wrist then, and I didn’t need to hold her mouth open anymore. She sucked my fingers with vigor until they were wet with her spit. I took them out and she gave me a needy look.

“Aren’t you gonna ask what my name is?” she asked in a throaty voice, and I grinned at her.

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is.”

“What’s yours?” she asked, her eyes drinking me in.

I let go of her, buttoning up my blazer and bringing my fingers up to my mouth. They smelled of her.

I didn’t like virgins. Messy, in every way possible.

She was way too young, probably barely legal, whereas I’d just turned forty. I didn’t look it, but around girls her age I sure as hell felt it.

She’d probably be a needy little thing, dependent on me within days. Or maybe even hours.

She looked feisty, like she’d pick a fight for no reason than just to annoy me, or just because she fucking could.

All things I hated. So why the fuck was I considering this?

“King,” I told her simply.

“Is that what I should call you?” she batted her lashes at me.

“If you want,” I told her. “But eventually, Pet, you’re going to call me Master.”