My heart rages in my chest, pounding so loudly that it’s all that fills my ears. So much so that I’m positive the man standing in front of me, watching me like a hawk, can hear it.

Then again, he’s precisely the cause of it…as well as its incessant, far more angry echo between my thighs.

The air around me feels impossibly dense, almost compact, teeming with the two words he just uttered to me.



And in spite of the clear, concise, resounding command, I stay frozen on the dining table for several seconds, simply unable to move as every nerve in my body short-circuits, struggling desperately to process everything it’s being bombarded with.

But, ironically, the crippling intensity of his eyes soon puts an end to that and I feel myself shifting under the weight of his stripping gaze; unable to take any more of the ominous, icy pair.

I scoot off the table with far more difficulty than an action as simple as that should pose, my free hand wobbling as it pushes me off the edge, barely able to perform the trivial function as the other clutches the front of my robe closed, my fingers digging into the fabric as though it’s going to disappear if I don’t grip hard enough.

The bottom of the robe clings to my ass as I descend, the back of the fabric now damp with distinct, unmistakable moisture. I think I hear the slightest, most subtle squeak as I slide down, and my eyes briefly slam shut against the mortifying sound.

Oh, my God…

I’m not sure if I want to throw up or just cave into myself and die.

Perhaps both.

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