The sound of the slap was like a gunshot, echoing through the cold, hollow chamber of the boardroom. Ethan's hand left a burning red mark on Helen's exposed skin, but she didn't flinch. She leaned into the pain, her eyes wide and desperate, believing this was the foreplay of her salvation.
Ethan stood up slowly, moving around the table until he was inches from her face. He reached down and unzipped his fly, pulling himself out. The sight made Helen's breath hitch; she reached out with trembling hands, her tongue already wetting her lips.
"Do you want this, you pathetic creature?" Ethan's voice was like ice.
"Yes, Master... please," she whimpered, her pride long dead. "I desire it more than anything. I'll do whatever you say. I'll be your filthiest secret. Just take me."
"You don't deserve it, you bitch," Ethan spat, the words dripping with a visceral, jagged hatred.
Helen froze, her hands stopping mid-air.
