“Caitlin,” I offered, simply.“Caitlin,” he echoed. “What a terribly nice name. Quite unusual. And I am-”“Skipper, I heard,” I said, trying to smile. So much nicer than Roger, which frankly seemed an old man’s name.“Just a nickname, and probably the only name they call me that’s fit for broadcast. Now that we’re no longer strangers, we should move on. I’d like you to remove your clothes. Start with your trousers please.”“No. I’m with someone, I have a boyfriend-”“He’s not here. I am, and I am telling you what to do.” The forceful extra emphasis on the last personal pronoun jolted me upright. There was a pause whilst comprehension flittered around my head before finally settling down.“Skipper,” I started, using the term sarcastically, “I don’t know what you think is going to happen here-”“Do as you’re told and take your clothes off!” His voice raised and his tone commanding, he reminded me of an English Army officer from an old war film. He had no need for fiery invective or coarse. It didn't work. Each strike found it's mark and I felt my will to fight ebbing way. “How about now?” I could hear the arrogance dripping from every word, so I did the only thing I could. I tried to kick him. He deflected the blow with ease, along with the next two. He started laughing at me, so I kicked out harder. I didn't connect, but I must have come close because he pinned my legs down to the bed. His firm grip sending electricity coursing through my body, I had to work even harder to fight my body's need to submit. He climbed on the bed behind me, pinning my legs under his. I tried to thrash him off. One of his now free hands yanked my head back by my hair, and the other rubbed lightly over my pussy lips. He chuckled, “You're soaking.” I tried to move away from him, but he held me firmly in place and all I managed to do was rub myself against his fingers. “Who's in charge?” I growled in response. He pinched my clit turning my growl into a gasp. Then he leaned over me, pressing.
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