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Shameful Surrender by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

“You’ll find out who we are soon enough, Maia,” Gordon said. “For now, I’d like you to bend over and put your elbows on the hood. You’ve earned a lesson in obedience.”

For a fraction of a second Maia wondered whether she would actually obey the insane command. Her body, as if watching Catherine’s spanking on NMB had tuned it to respond to a man’s instructions, seemed to move forward of its own accord, toward the car less than a foot way, toward the red expanse of metal to which Gordon now pointed with his left index finger: There—that’s where I’m going to spank you.

But she jerked backward instead, turned, began to organize her limbs into a panicked run. Neither physical response seemed actually to come from any decision she had made with a rational mental process: the attempt to run came in horrified, reflexive response to the initial instinctual movement toward the hood.

Maia’s brain, for its part, seemed to have detached itself completely, and somehow to have split into at least two parts: one part trying to figure out what the hell Gordon was doing, whether he had gone crazy, whether he knew about her encrypted laptop and her NMB viewing habits; another part observing her body’s attempt to get away and wondering almost dispassionately whether she had any hope of success.

It became immediately clear that she had in fact no chance, where escape was concerned, unless Gordon had lied about the camera hack.

We. Who were they?

The end of her flight began with one decisive stride of Gordon’s long left leg and a darting movement of his strong right arm to take hold of Maia around her waist. She began to cry out, her observer mind noting that since hers was the last car in the executive section she probably didn’t have the lung power to reach the ears of anyone but Gordon.

A third part of her mind seemed to break away, then, to ask the question of why she wanted to flee, or to resist at all, when she had just played with herself for an hour watching another girl get a spanking. That wasn’t… this, constituted the only answer her racing thoughts seemed capable of delivering.

But every shred of reason seemed to flee away, now, with Gordon Ernkat, tall, dark, and admittedly handsome if a little too old for Maia, holding her around her waist, turning her with one hand while he put the other over her mouth. She had thought of him as a middle-aged, middle-management money man, but now with his body nearly on top of hers, in control of hers, she realized that despite the silver at his temples he couldn’t be more than forty-five: his clean-shaven face, now featuring a stern, hard-jawed look, had only a hint of a line around the mouth—and, more important at the moment, his business suit hid a very muscular physique. Before she knew it, despite her instinctual struggles, he had bent her over the hood of her car.

“No, please,” Maia tried to say, through the big hand over her mouth that smelled, she thought in a wild moment, of sandalwood soap. Surely he would give her another chance.

He took the hand away from her face, and for a split second Maia thought Gordon had relented, or that it was all a joke, or he had come to his senses. She began to try to rise, already setting her features into the furious look she would give him, the immediate demand she would make that he step down from the board.

But the left hand that had covered her mouth moved to hold her by the right hip, and kept her down over the hood, her cheek pressed lightly to the cool metal of her expensive present to herself when the money from, yes, Gordon’s firm had come in. For another fraction of a second Maia thought at least he would hesitate, that she could plead with him, tell him that if he let her go, left her now-raised backside untouched, she wouldn’t call the police and he could leave the board quietly.

Then he started to spank her, and she started to cry out, because though he delivered the first rapid spanks through the seat of her jeans Gordon must be raising his arm very high in order to deliver a real punishment right from the start. His intent to teach an old-fashioned lesson, just the way Mr. Stonehill taught Catherine to behave on NMB, seemed to telegraph itself directly from Maia’s backside to her brain.

“Stop,” she shouted. “I’ll… I’ll…” She had no idea what she meant to promise, only that she had to get the loud smacks, the raised bottom, the shame and the pain of it, to end—so that she could think, so that she could ask him what the fuck he meant.

But Gordon just kept spanking her in silence for what seemed like minutes, as she began to sob over her sports car’s hood. She meant to scream, even if no one would come, but somehow the pain and the awful sense that the biggest shareholder on her board after Maia herself had taken it upon himself to discipline her made her merely struggle and squirm under his left arm, and cry out with each new, hard spank to her little bottom—so small that he could spank the whole of it with each smack from his big hand.

Then, abruptly, he started to talk, slowing the spanking so that he could emphasize his words with smacks that echoed off the concrete and made her let out a wail with each one.

“You’re going to… take down these jeans… for me now, Maia,” he said in a calm voice, in the pauses between the spanks.

He stopped. Maia, breathing hard, for a long moment couldn’t figure out whether she had heard correctly. One of her observer minds scoffed at that—hadn’t she paid attention to all those spankings on NMB? She knew exactly what Gordon meant to do—if she had thought the spanking had ended, she had another very serious think coming.

He spoke again. “You’re going to learn to obey me, Miss North, or your pretty bottom is going to pay a very heavy price, over and over, where you’re going.”

“What?” Maia hadn’t meant to reply at all, but the word burst from her chest. “Where am I…”

He spanked her again, very hard, and she cried out. “Take down your jeans, so I can spank your bare bottom. I’ll take care of the panties myself.”

Where you’re going. What could he possibly mean?

Maia felt completely frozen in place. How could she obey him? How could she pull her pants down in a garage, so that a man could punish her on her bare backside? So that he could pull down her panties and spank her trim bottom, already warm and red from the lesson he had begun to give.

The panties I came in, three times, while watching another girl’s naked spanking and anal fucking. The thought that if Gordon touched her silky lace-accented underwear he might find them damp or discolored by her private wetness, came to her and sent the hot blood rushing to her face.

Another spank landed on her ass, and Maia cried out. “Please!”

Gordon spanked her again. Her backside already felt like she had sat on a campfire. How could she do it? How could she obey him? Maia North didn’t obey anyone. Stupid NMB didn’t matter—what she did to relax, the shameful things she watched, they didn’t mean anything.

“Take down these jeans, Maia,” he said in a much softer tone—the words delivered so gently that it startled her. And then… not the spank she had expected, but his hand holding her there; holding both her bottom-cheeks in its grasp, squeezing gently, possessively.

“Don’t,” she sobbed, because she understood suddenly that NMB did matter, even though she would still never admit she watched it, would never have to because the laptop was encrypted and Gordon couldn’t know about what she used it for. “Don’t.”

But he did: he held, and he rubbed. He fondled her bottom in her expensive tight jeans, holding her down over the hood of her luxury car though she struggled against the caress as much as she had against the punishment.

“I can feel how warm you are here, Maia,” Gordon said quietly, bending over her a little. He had adjusted his stance, she could feel, almost as if he… as if he meant to bring his hips against hers, meant to touch her bottom with his lap, so that she could feel his penis there. His hard penis? Maia suddenly wondered with a new flush of heat to her cheeks.

“I’m not,” she choked out, but his hand moved down, in, and she knew, with a sinking feeling that made her suddenly, to her dismay, arch her back and push out her backside, that he spoke nothing more than the truth. He held her firmly, between her legs, over the denim, and her hips jerked; she couldn’t help it, goddammit, she rode his big hand.

“Take them down. We’re going to see how wet your panties are, and maybe if you’re a good girl you’re going to get to come when we get to your house. First, though, you need a good deal more spanking.”

He rubbed, right where the seam of the jeans’ crotch could press against her clit, and she whimpered, knowing that he must understand exactly how the physics of the fabric worked there: the ridge of stiff cotton over the sheer nylon, and the wanton moisture that gushed, down below, the clench of her sensitive inner lips and of the untried sheath they concealed.

The whimper became a moan but then the hand left her, and came down in another spank, and the moan became a sob.

“Take. Them. Down.” A hard spank with each word. Then the holding again, the softer voice. “The sooner I get to spank your sweet bare bottom, Miss North, the sooner we can go.”

With her cheek against the red metal, Maia suddenly pictured his face as she had seen it in the boardroom three hours before. She had thought, then, that his eyes held metaphorical dollar signs. The hunger in them, she had felt certain, must come from profit motive, from the rapacious need to make her sell her soul to Selecta in exchange for Confidelia’s metadata.

What if… What if the hunger were for something else?

Your sweet bare bottom.

Her hands moved of their own accord, while his hand still fondled her terribly warm bottom-cheeks, as if he held two apples and wanted to check them for firmness, for ripeness, for suitability as delicious morsels he would sample, lingeringly, when he had got them home.

Gordon let her rise a little, though he kept his left arm across her back. As she tried to avoid thinking about it, tried just to make her fingers thrust under her hips now, unfasten the front of the jeans, unzip the fly, tug at the waistband… that strong arm pressed itself into her consciousness, with the control it implied of her body, the way it could keep her there over her hood as long as Gordon wanted to teach her this awful unexpected lesson.

He could see her panties, now: the narrowness of the back of them, the way they arched with their lace border across the little cheeks that must be so very red. A whine burst from her throat as he seized her there again before she could even get her jeans down to mid-thigh, caressed so firmly that her pussy clenched again and more of her need flowed from her, right into the panties where he would undoubtedly feel it.

The fingers, now: able to touch, inside the gusset of the panties, able to probe gently, to rub a circle, Gordon made her cry out with what must surely be an expert kind of caress. None of her three brief boyfriends had known how to do that, to make her ride their hands helplessly the way she now did with Gordon’s.

“Did you play with yourself, in your office?” he asked quietly, bending right to her ear to deliver the words straight to her hot cheek, her heated brain. “Did you play with yourself at work, naughty girl?”

“No!” she gasped, wondering how he could know. “Please…”

Gordon spoke again, and his words seemed all the more unbearable to her because of the apparent mercy in them.

“I’m not going to spank you anymore, Maia. You’re going to come now, here, over the hood of your car. Show me what you need.”

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