Chapter 2: Confessions

Kunal sat back in the armchair. He spread his legs wider and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His glass dangled from one hand.

"I need to confess something," he said.

Aloma looked up from her phone. She'd been staring at the Uber app without really seeing it. Her thumb hovered over the screen but she didn't tap anything.

"What?" she said.

"I've been fantasizing about hate-fucking you for months."

The words came out casual. Like he was talking about the weather or what he had for lunch. She sat completely still.

He took a sip of whiskey and continued.

"I think about bending you over my desk. Choking you while I fuck you from behind. Making you worship my cock on your knees in my office while everyone else is at lunch." He paused. "Making you thank me for degrading you."

Her hands gripped the leather cushion. The material squeaked slightly under her fingers. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"I think about slapping that self-righteous look off your face," he said. "Watching you try to keep arguing while I've got my hand around your throat. Seeing how long you can maintain your feminist principles when you're gagging on my dick."

She should stand up. She should tell him to fuck himself and walk out. Her purse was right there next to her. The door was maybe twenty steps away.

Instead she sat frozen. Her mind raced between disgust and something else. Something that made her stomach clench and her thighs press together involuntarily.

"I've thought about making you crawl," Kunal continued. His voice stayed low and deliberate. "Making you beg for it even though you hate yourself for wanting it. Watching you try to reconcile your politics with the fact that you're dripping wet for a man who thinks feminism is a joke."

Her breathing got heavier. She couldn't control it anymore. Each breath came faster than the last.

"I think about using your mouth during office hours," he said. "Having you under my desk while I'm on conference calls. Making you swallow and then sending you back to your desk to finish your social media posts about empowerment or whatever bullshit you're selling that week."

She stared at the coffee table. There was a water ring on the wood where someone had set down a glass without a coaster. She focused on it because she didn't know where else to look.

"I've imagined making you admit what you are," he said. "Making you say out loud that you're just another hypocrite slut who gets off on being degraded by the kind of man she claims to hate."

Her face burned. The heat spread down her neck and across her chest. She could see her own reflection in the dark television screen across the room. Her hair was messy. Her makeup was smudged.

Kunal leaned back in his chair. He looked completely relaxed. Like he was enjoying this.

"Have you thought about it too?" he asked.

She shook her head quickly. Too quickly.

"Don't lie to me," he said.

"I haven't."

"Really?" He tilted his head. "You've never gotten off imagining me degrading you? Despite all your feminist principles? Never touched yourself thinking about me using you like the slut you dress like?"

She shook her head again. Her voice came out quiet.

"No."

"I can see it in your face," he said. "The way you're breathing right now. You're lying."

She looked at the floor. The marble tiles reflected the overhead lights. Someone had tracked dirt across them earlier. She could see the faint footprints leading from the balcony to the kitchen.

"Look at me," Kunal said.

She didn't move.

"I said look at me."

Slowly she raised her eyes. He was watching her with that same smirk. Like he already knew the answer and was just waiting for her to admit it.

The silence stretched out. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them harder against the cushion to try to stop it but that just made the trembling more obvious.

"Yes," she whispered.

"What was that? Speak up."

"Yes. I've thought about it."

"That's not good enough," he said. "I want details. Tell me exactly what you've fantasized about."

"I can't."

"You can and you will. Look at me while you speak."

She forced herself to meet his eyes. Her mouth was dry. The whiskey had left a bitter taste on her tongue.

"I've imagined you bending me over your desk," she said. The words came out halting and broken. "Calling me a slut. Pulling my hair while you fuck me from behind."

"Keep going."

"Making me thank you for it. Making me say please."

"What else?"

Her face was on fire. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to sink into the sofa and cease to exist.

"Making me worship your cock. On my knees. In your office."

"Have you touched yourself thinking about it?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Say it out loud."

"Yes."

"Have you come while imagining me degrading you?"

Another nod.

"Say it."

"Yes. I've come. Thinking about you degrading me."

Kunal sat back in his chair. He took another sip of whiskey. His eyes never left her face.

"Tell me more," he said. "Every detail. Don't leave anything out."

She stared at her hands. They were still gripping the cushion. Her knuckles had gone white.

"I've fantasized about you treating me like your personal whore," she said. Her voice got quieter with each word. "About you using my mouth during office hours. About being your secret feminist cockslut."

The last word felt like poison coming out of her mouth. She'd never said it out loud before. It had only ever existed in her head during those late nights when she touched herself and hated herself for it.

"I've thought about you making me strip in your office," she continued. "Making me get on my knees and beg. Slapping me if I don't do it right."

"Go on."

"I've imagined you fucking me on your desk while everyone else is in the other room. Making me stay quiet. Covering my mouth with your hand."

Her throat was tight. Speaking was getting harder but Kunal wasn't letting her stop.

"I've fantasized about you pulling me into the bathroom at work," she said. "Bending me over the sink. Calling me names. Making me watch in the mirror while you fuck me."

"What kind of names?"

She closed her eyes.

"Slut. Whore. Hypocrite. Feminist cunt."

The words tasted awful. They also made something clench low in her stomach.

"I've thought about you making me thank you after," she said. "Making me say I'm grateful. That I needed it. That I deserve to be used."

"Anything else?"

She paused. There was one more thing. The worst one. The one she'd never even let herself fully form in her thoughts because acknowledging it felt like crossing a line.

"I've imagined you making me admit that everything I believe is bullshit," she whispered. "That my feminism is just a cover. That deep down I'm just another slut who wants to be owned by a man who doesn't respect me."

Kunal set his glass down on the side table. The sound echoed in the quiet penthouse.

"Stand up," he said.

His tone had changed. It wasn't questioning anymore. It was commanding.

Aloma sat frozen for a moment. Her legs wouldn't move. This was the moment. The moment where she could still grab her purse and leave. The moment where she could salvage what was left of her dignity and pretend this conversation never happened.

She slowly rose from the sofa. Her legs shook. She had to put a hand on the armrest to steady herself.

Kunal looked her up and down. His eyes lingered on her thighs where her skirt had ridden up. On her chest where her shirt stretched tight across her small breasts. On her face where her makeup was smudged from touching it earlier.

"Strip," he said. "Give me a lap dance. Right here. Right now."

She didn't move.

"Show me what a hypocrite feminist slut looks like when she's desperate to be fucked," he said.

Her hands went to the hem of her shirt. She paused there. This was still a choice. She could still say no. She could still walk away.

But she didn't walk away.

She grabbed the fabric and slowly pulled it over her head. The material caught on her nose ring for a second before coming free. She dropped the shirt on the floor.

The cool air hit her skin. She was wearing the sheer white lacy bra. It barely covered anything. Her nipples were visible through the fabric. They were hard.

Kunal's eyes traveled down her body. He looked at her tattoos. At the small silver crucifix hanging from her choker. At her flat stomach and boyish hips.

"Keep going," he said.

Her hands went to her skirt. The zipper was on the side. She fumbled with it because her fingers were trembling. Finally she got it undone. The skirt fell to the floor around her ankles.

She stood there in just her bra, thong, socks, and sneakers. The thong was white lace that matched the bra. It was basically see-through. She'd shaved recently but there was still a small patch of trimmed pubic hair visible through the fabric.

Kunal spread his legs wider. He gestured to his lap.

"Come here," he said.

Aloma kicked off her sneakers. She stepped out of the pile of clothes on the floor. Her socks stayed on. She walked toward him slowly, her bare feet silent on the marble.

When she reached the armchair, she didn't know what to do. She'd never given a lap dance before. All her experience came from porn videos she'd watched and imagined herself in.

Kunal reached out and grabbed her hips. His hands were large and warm. He pulled her closer until she was standing between his legs.

"Turn around," he said.

She turned. Her back was to him now. She could see their reflection in the dark television screen. Her body looked small and pale next to his. Her red hair was a mess.

His hands slid up her sides. He traced the lines of her ribs. She was so skinny that each one was visible. He'd told her once in the office that she needed to eat more. She'd called him a misogynist for commenting on her body.

Now his hands were everywhere. Exploring. Claiming.

He pulled her down onto his lap. She could feel the bulge in his pants pressing against her ass. It was hard. Bigger than she'd imagined.

"Move," he said.

She started grinding slowly. Rolling her hips back and forth. The friction made her breathing get heavier. She could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of her thong.

One of his hands came up to cup her breast through the bra. He squeezed roughly. Not gentle at all. She gasped.

"You like that?" he asked. His voice was right next to her ear.

She nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes. I like it."

His other hand slid down her stomach. Down between her legs. He pressed against the fabric of her thong. She was wet. Soaked through.

"Fucking hypocrite," he said. "All that talk about respecting women and here you are dripping wet from being degraded."

She kept grinding. Her movements got faster. More desperate.

He pulled his hand away suddenly. She made a small sound of protest.

"Stand up," he said. "Take off the bra."

She stood on shaking legs. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp at her back. It took three tries before she got it undone. The bra fell away.

Her breasts were small. Barely there. She'd always been self-conscious about them. Boys in college had made comments. She'd pretended not to care but it had hurt.

Kunal looked at them without expression.

"Turn around," he said. "Bend over."

She turned and bent at the waist. Her ass was right in front of his face now. She could feel his breath on her skin.

His hand came down hard on her right cheek. The slap echoed through the penthouse. She yelped.

"Count them," he said.

Another slap. Harder this time.

"One," she gasped.

Slap.

"Two."

Slap.

"Three."

He kept going. Each strike made her skin burn. Made her eyes water. Made something coil tighter in her stomach.

"Four. Five. Six."

Her voice was breaking. The pain mixed with arousal until she couldn't tell them apart anymore.

"Seven. Eight."

His hand came down particularly hard on the ninth one. She cried out.

"I didn't hear you," he said.

"Nine," she choked out.

One more. The hardest yet. Her whole body jerked forward.

"Ten."

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto his lap. This time she was facing him. Straddling him. Her wet thong pressed directly against the bulge in his pants.

His hand wrapped around her throat. Not squeezing yet. Just holding. A promise.

"You're exactly what I thought you were," he said. "A pathetic little slut who talks big but crumbles the second someone treats her like the whore she is."

She should be angry. Should slap him. Should do something.

Instead she ground down harder against him. Chasing the friction. Chasing the release that was building inside her.

His hand tightened slightly on her throat. Just enough to make breathing harder. Just enough to make her head spin.

"Please," she whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

"No," he said. "Not yet. You don't deserve it yet."

His free hand slid between her legs again. This time he pushed the thong aside. His fingers found her clit. Started rubbing in slow circles.

She moaned. Her hips bucked involuntarily.

He kept the pressure steady. Building her up. Getting her close. She could feel the orgasm approaching. Could feel herself climbing toward it.

Then he stopped.

She whimpered.

"Not yet," he said again.

He resumed the circles. Slower this time. Lighter. Barely enough pressure to do anything. It was torture.

She tried to grind against his hand but he moved it away.

"Stay still," he commanded.

She forced herself to stop moving. Every muscle in her body was tense. Waiting. Desperate.

His fingers went back to work. Rubbing. Circling. Building her up again. Getting her right to the edge.

Then stopping again.

She actually whimpered this time. A pathetic sound she'd never made before in her life.

"Beg for it," he said.

"Please. Please let me come. Please."

"Why should I?"

"Because I need it. Because I'm desperate. Because I'll do anything."

"Anything?" His fingers resumed their movement. "Prove it."

He brought her right to the edge again. Her whole body was shaking. She was so close. So desperately close.

This time he didn't stop. This time his fingers kept moving. Kept rubbing. Kept pushing her over.

The orgasm hit her like a wave. She cried out. Her body convulsed. Her vision went white.

When she came back to herself she was slumped against his chest. Panting. Trembling.

Kunal's hand was still around her throat. He tightened it slightly to get her attention.

"Get on your knees," he said.

She slid off his lap. Her legs barely held her weight. She sank down onto the marble floor between his spread legs.

He unbuckled his belt. Unzipped his pants. Pulled out his cock.

It was bigger than any she'd seen before. Thick and uncut and hard. The head was flushed dark.

She stared at it. Her mouth went dry.

"Open," he said.

She opened her mouth. He guided himself between her lips. The taste of him flooded her senses. Salty and musky and overwhelming.

He pushed deeper. Hit the back of her throat. She gagged.

"Relax," he said. "Breathe through your nose."

She tried. Tried to relax her throat. Tried to take him deeper. Her eyes watered. Saliva dripped down her chin.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair. Used it to control the pace. Fucking her mouth with steady thrusts.

"That's it," he said. "Take it. Show me what those dick-sucking lips are good for."

She hollowed her cheeks. Tried to use her tongue. Tried to remember every tip she'd ever read about giving blowjobs.

He pushed deeper. She gagged again. Tears ran down her face. Her makeup was definitely ruined now.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She raised her eyes. Met his gaze while her mouth was full of his cock. While drool ran down her chin. While she struggled not to choke.

"Perfect," he said. "You look perfect like this. On your knees. Crying. Ruined."

He pulled out suddenly. She gasped for air. Coughed. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Before she could recover he grabbed her arms and pulled her up. Spun her around. Bent her over the arm of the sofa.

She heard him spit. Felt his wet fingers against her. Rubbing. Preparing.

Then he was pushing inside. Stretching her. Filling her completely.

She cried out. The sensation was overwhelming. Too much and not enough at the same time.

He didn't give her time to adjust. Didn't ease in slowly. He just started fucking her. Hard and fast and brutal.

His hand tangled in her hair. Pulled her head back. The angle made her arch her spine.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he growled. "This is what you've been fantasizing about."

She couldn't speak. Could only moan and gasp and try to hold onto the sofa arm as he pounded into her.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the penthouse. Mixed with her moans and his grunts and the wet sounds of him fucking her.

"Say it," he demanded. "Say this is what you wanted."

"Yes," she gasped. "This is what I wanted."

"Say you're a hypocrite."

"I'm a hypocrite."

"Say you're a slut."

"I'm a slut."

His hand came down hard on her ass. Right where he'd spanked her earlier. The sting made her cry out.

"Say you deserve this."

"I deserve this."

He pulled her hair harder. The pain shot through her scalp. Mixed with everything else. Made her vision blur.

She could feel another orgasm building. Faster this time. More intense.

"Please," she begged. "Please can I come?"

"No," he said. "Hold it."

She tried. Tried to push down the sensation. Tried to control her body. But it was too much. Too intense. She couldn't stop it.

The orgasm tore through her. She screamed. Her whole body convulsed. Her legs gave out completely but he held her up with his grip on her hair.

He kept fucking her through it. Kept pounding into her while she shook and moaned and fell apart.

Finally he pulled out. She collapsed forward onto the sofa arm. Boneless. Exhausted.

But he wasn't done.

He grabbed her and flipped her over onto her back. Pulled her to the edge of the sofa. Pushed her legs up and back until her knees were nearly touching her shoulders.

Then he was inside her again. Deeper this time in this position. Hitting spots that made her see stars.

He leaned his weight on her legs. Folded her completely in half. The position was degrading. Vulnerable. She was completely exposed and helpless beneath him.

"Look at you," he said. "Fucking pathetic. The big feminist activist reduced to this."

She couldn't respond. Could only take it. Take everything he was giving her.

His thrusts got harder. More erratic. He was close. She could tell from the way his breathing changed. The way his grip tightened on her thighs.

"I'm going to come inside you," he said. "Going to fill you up. Mark you as mine."

She should tell him no. Should tell him to pull out. Should care about protection and consequences and all the things that mattered before but seemed irrelevant now.

But she didn't say no.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as much as the position allowed. Pulled him deeper.

"Do it," she heard herself say. "Please. Fill me up."

That seemed to push him over the edge. His whole body went rigid. He buried himself as deep as possible. She could feel him pulsing inside her. Could feel the warmth spreading.

He stayed there for a long moment. Both of them trying to catch their breath. Both of them processing what had just happened.

Then slowly he pulled out. Straightened up. Looked down at her still spread out on the sofa.

"Don't move," he said.

She didn't. Just lay there trembling while his come leaked out of her onto the leather cushion. While her mind tried to make sense of what she'd just done. What she'd just become.

Kunal tucked himself back into his pants. Zipped up. Buckled his belt. Like nothing had happened. Like he'd just finished a business meeting instead of fucking his employee into oblivion.

"Ready for round two?" he asked.

She looked up at him. Her body was already responding. Already wanting more despite the exhaustion. Despite everything.

She nodded.

He smiled. That same infuriating smirk from before.

"Good," he said. "Because we're just getting started."