Advent Calendar For Reverse Harem Readers
“Is there a problem here?”
“No, Daddy North,” Vixen purrs, batting her eyelashes.
“Umm, yes there is actually.” My emotions speak for me before my brain can engage.
“Oh?” His smirk is all amusement and do tell.
“These aren’t my shoes.” I don’t know what else to say, but I’m aware that that sounds pathetic.
“I believe they are. I oversee the uniform department, personally. They were hand picked for you.”
“But these are the shoes you gave me yesterday,” I cry, shaking the strappy sandals at him. “You told me to learn to walk in them!”
“And did you?”
“Yes! But—”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is. If you can walk in one pair of heels, you can walk in any.” Did he hear Vixen say that or is she parroting his wisdom? “They’re your shoes for tonight. They match your outfit.”
I stare back and forth between the two pairs. “They’re both white.”
His gaze hardens and I sense a challenge coming on.
“Those are your shoes, Candy.”
“It’s Grace!” I snap.
“I suggest you put them on.”
“Or what?”
He shakes his head at me and turns to walk away. His easy dismissal of me, of my feelings, makes my anger rear up uncontrollably, and Candy from the Streets comes out.
“If you think it’s so damn easy,” I call. “Why don’t you try completing a shift in them?”
And then my arm is pulling back and I’m launching a stiletto through the air. Right at my boss.
It clips him on the forehead and there’s an audible gasp, in stereo, that reminds me we have an audience.
The shoe hits the floor with a noisy clatter and then the silence is deafening.
I stare at the scene before me, my eyes wide with absolute horror. I’m Grace once more and oh dear god what have I done?!
In three huge strides he’s crossed the room, his face contorted with anger.
“Everyone to your stations while I deal with this one,” he grinds out.
His hand clamps around my arm with bruising force and he drags me from the changing room and through the – thankfully – empty bar.
“Hey! Stop!” I protest, dragging my bare feet in an attempt to get him to at least slow down. “Let go.”
We pass through the door marked staff only and I stumble up the steps.
“I can walk,” I snap, managing to wrench myself free so I can stop and rub my aching shins. It doesn’t matter that I’m mortified and hurt, being manhandled like that was hot. And I fucking hate that I liked it. “That’s going to bruise,” I complain.
North stops climbing the stairs and turns back to stare at me. He’s virtually at the top and towering over me, all whilst looking down on me with a haughty stare. If I wasn’t so mad at him, it would make my skin tingle.
“Get up here. Now,” he grunts.
Once we reach his office, he slams the door behind me, making me jump. And then he’s in my space, crowding me and stealing my ability to think.
When he steps back, I spy a trickle of blood running down his forehead where the heel clipped him.
I bite back my horror but North immediately notices the change in my expression.
“On your knees,” he barks. I can see his hands shaking with anger and I blanch.
“What?” I must have misheard.
“You heard me. Now.”
“No.” I square my shoulders and raise my chin in defiance. “No way.”
“Do it,” his low growl is full of menace – a promise of pain – but it still makes my knees go weak.
“Or?” I snap, fully slipping back into Candy from the streets mode.
“Or you’ll lose the job that you’ve not even secured yet.”
“Why do you want me on my knees?” I ask, cocking my head and placing my hands on my hips.
“Because you acted out. In front of my staff. And now you need to be punished… On your knees, Candy.”
“It’s Grace,” I retort hotly as my skin inflames under his immovable scrutiny. I know, just know, that this man is not going to back down.
Well, neither am I.
“And you’re still not kneeling.”
“Bite me.”
“Don’t tempt me. Now kneel.” He snaps his fingers at me and I see red.
“You want me on my knees, fucking put me there yourself.”
“With pleasure.”
He grabs me once more and drags me over to the floor to ceiling windows by his desk. They overlook the bar area I was working in last night.
I’m so distracted by Frost setting up that I yelp when his hands find my shoulders and force me down onto the carpet of his office.
“Pay attention.” His voice is sharp but the way he caresses my shoulder makes my skin tingle and warm. His touch is soft, almost loving, and it confuses the hell out of me.
He moves behind me, pulling my arms behind my back so that my breasts are thrust forward and I wonder what he’ll do next. My curiosity is fast dissolving my indignation, and the heat licking through my body is another sensation entirely.
He sinks his teeth into my exposed shoulder.
“Mother fucker!” I cry, whirling round to stare at him, aghast. “What the hell was that?”
“You told me to.” he smirks.
“I was being sarcastic!”
“Sarcasm doesn’t work here. Consent is consent. I did nothing you didn’t ask for.” His eyes are blazing – daring me to challenge him.
“I didn’t ask to be forced to my knees!”
“And yet you’ve not got up,” he points out with a smug, knowing grin.
Fuck. Is it that simple? I attempt to stand and his hand clamps down on my shoulder. A sound that could be half chuckle, half derisive snort escapes him and he comes back round to stand before me.
His crotch is level with my face.
“Why are you doing this?” I demand.
“Because you threw a tantrum down there.”
He’s not wrong.
“What do you want?” I sigh, resisting the urge to reach up and rub my smarting shoulder, but resigning myself to the fact that it’s probably best to get this over and done with sooner rather than later. I don’t want to piss this guy off.
“To punish you. You threw a shoe at me and that wasn’t very nice.”
This time I don’t try to hide my smirk.
“You told me to master the heels, and then changed them for higher ones. That wasn’t very nice.”
“All you had to do was ask.”
“Really?” I gaze past his crotch to meet his dark unfathomable eyes. “Would you have swapped them back?”
“Maybe,” he lies. His black eyes are full of menace and amusement.
“Bullshit,” I mutter, looking away, then squeak as he fists my curls and yanks my head back to look at him once more. The pain in my scalp causes desire to pool in my belly.
“Watch it,” he warns. “Last I checked, I was the boss and you needed this job. Am I wrong?”
With difficulty, I shake my head no. My nipples are standing to attention, begging for his brutal touch. What is wrong with me?
“What was that?” he demands.
“You’re not wrong.”
“You’re not wrong…” he prompts, expectantly. I scowl. No way. I am not one of those girls.
“You’re not wrong, North.”
He makes an obnoxious buzzer noise that makes me jump. “Try again.”
“You’re not wrong, boss.” I clamp my lips closed. That’s as good as he’ll get from me, even if the throbbing between my thighs is on board with calling him anything he damn well likes. My pride won’t allow it.
It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Goosebumps cloak my skin, and I don’t need to look down to know my nipples are hard and prominent too.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Where were we?” North asks softly.
He stands beside me and points out of the window to the bar below. Don is crossing the room and stops to speak to Frost. I don’t know what’s said but Frost looks up.
“They could watch you know,” North says in a seductively low tone. “At the moment they can’t see us, but if I flick on the lights, it’ll be like being inside a shark tank.”
I shudder and North chuckles.
“I’ll spare you the audience this time.”
“This time?”
“As it’s your first punishment.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be earning another.”
“We’ll see.” His tone is an equal mix of disbelieving and amusement.
He steps before me, places a finger under my chin to lift my head, and uses his free hand to undo his belt, the button on his jeans, and then his fly.
“What are you doing?” I squeak, panicking.
“Punishing you for throwing your footwear at me. You’re going to suck me off.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are and you will.”
“No. I-I can’t. Look, I’m really sorry I lost my temper but—”
“No buts. You’re not leaving this office until I’ve emptied my balls down your pretty little throat, Candy.”
Fuck.
“I-I’ll quit,” I threaten weakly.
No I won’t.
“We both know you won’t. Besides, even if you do, the outcome will still be the same. Your belly is going to be so full of my cum by the time I’m done that you won’t need a meal for days. So open wide…unless you prefer to be forced?”
Instinct has me rebelling and clamping my mouth closed again, but I’m still on my damn knees and we both know I’m not going anywhere. My core is pulsing and my arousal coats my thighs. Do I like to be forced? Maybe like this, with him.
He smirks at me and takes out his dick, and oh my god, it’s a fucking beast. Long and thick, with angry looking veins, and pulsing menacingly.
I lick my lips.
“I can smell your arousal.”
Fuck me sideways, I didn’t expect him to say that.
I gape at him and he pounces, fisting my curls again and pulling my open mouth onto his cock. I splutter and try to pull away, my hands finding his thick thighs and pushing back, but he holds me too tight. His cock hits the back of my throat and I gag, which just makes him groan and push deeper. My eyes water but that just seems to spur him on even more as he pulls back and slams into me again and again. It’s not slow or gentle or shallow, and I have zero control.
He doesn’t let up and I start to panic that I can’t breathe. Clawing at his thighs, I try to signal to him to stop. To make him stop. My eyes are streaming, stinging from my mascara running, and I’m about five seconds away from snot bubbles coming out of my nose. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going. His pace is brutal and relentless and black spots start dancing before my eyes.
Fuck. I’m going to pass out, and I don’t even think that will stop him. Why am I so wet? My nipples are dying for him to grab and squeeze them…. What would it feel like if he slapped my face? It’s the lack of oxygen getting to my brain. It’s making me crazy. I’m not actually turned on by this. No way.
He pulls out and I choke, gasping and crying hard, desperately gulping down fresh air and rubbing my thighs together before he grabs my face in his hands, wrenches my jaw open and goes again.
I almost come on the spot.
I whimper and stare up at him through wide, watery, pleading eyes. He growls and pushes deeper. I gag again. He fucks me harder, punishing me to the point of pain, leaving me feeling bruised and broken and desperate to be filled.
It seems to go on forever. It’s like he’s refusing to come, just to spite me so he can keep going. I desperately try to snatch gulps of air wherever I can, blinded by tears and working on autopilot. My body instinctively submits to him, and I tingle with pleasure from my scalp to my toes.
Giving up control like this feels good. No. Being made to give up control like this is what feels so good. Being forced. I like it.
With a grunt he hits his release, pumping what feels like an endless amount of his seed down my throat, completely bypassing my tongue and my tastebuds. Small mercies I guess. I hate the taste of cum. Hate giving head. Especially like this; being used as a vessel for his pleasure. I couldn’t think of a worse – or better in his eyes – punishment. But I can’t deny that I’m wet between the thighs and squirming uncomfortably.
It was different with Don. This was…
Hot.
No. Not fucking hot. Horrible. It was horrible and embarrassing and degrading and—
And you fucking loved it.
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