Page 72 of Devilish Debt
“I don’t think it’s that complicated.”
“That’s because you don’t know shit about contingency plans,” comments the male threatening to turn me into a puddle of human html.
“And you don’t know shit about beach attire.”Her wet, pointed finger makes an up, down motion at his wardrobe.“You’re overdressed for lunch at Shady Beach.”
“It’s a high-end golf resort and spa,” Garcia immediately argues.“I’m dressed accordingly.”
“You’re dressed like you’re going on an interview or are there to inspect them for a Michelin key rating.”
“Board shorts and floral button downs don’t exactly scream ‘I’m here to do business’.”
“And grandpa’s linen suit doesn’t exactly say ‘I’m blending in’.”
“Este no es un traje de abuelo.”
“Yes.”She rapidly nods.“Yes, it is.”
His focus shifts back to me.“Toy…”
Not whimpering is impossible.
“How doyouthink Master looks?”
“Objection!”calls out Salay from the tub.“Influencing the witness.”
“Overruled,” Garcia impishly murmurs prior to leaning his face closer to mine.“Tell me what Master’s favorite little fuck toy thinks of what he’s wearing…”
The words come out in choked fashion, “That I wanna see what’s underneath…”
He arrogantly grins and tips his chin down.“Unbuckle.”
My hands get to work before my brain even has a moment to truly process the request.
Which is a common coding issue when it comes to all things Victor Garcia.
Once I’ve finished the simple task, he instructs, “Unzip.”
I do.
I immediately lower the metal towards the floor and watch the gray fabric material lifelessly fall to his socks covered ankles, as a result leaving his black boxer briefs exposed for us to admire.
Keeping my fingers to myself instead of cupping the bulge begging for them should earn me a fucking medal.
Or a certificate.
Do they give out certificates for being well-behaved submissives?
“Such a good boy,” praises the man I can’t ever seem to get enough of.
“Reward him,” Salay sultrily demands.“Good little, fuck toys should always be rewarded.”
“And bad, little princesses should always be punished,” he refutes in a gravelly tone.
“What am I being punished for?”
“Getting my suit wet.”
“You shouldn’t even be wearing that suit.”
