Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ So Long As You Promise to Behave, Seto ❯ Underneath Your Clothes ( Chapter 3 )

So Long As You Promise To Behave, Seto

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Co-authored by Mausoleum Ivy

::-:: Underneath Your Clothes ::-::

Escapade #: 3

Day #: 1

Location: Kaiba Corp. International Conference Room Table

Tools of the Trade: riding crop

The weatherman said it was twenty degrees outside, but to me it felt more like fifty, especially with the sweater I was wearing. To make up for the fact that my torso wasn't getting any air, I had on a miniskirt, one of those short pleated ones the Catholic schoolgirls wear, except mine was cute and fashionable. I climbed out of the limo and trotted across the street in my three inch patent leather heels, ignoring the stares of the male gorillas whose paths I happened to cross. Like they've never seen a woman in heels before. I swear a woman walks by and men's brains just shut off. Hopefully it'd have the same effect on Seto.

It was around lunchtime, and I was horny as all fuck. All I could think about was sex, and regretting the fact that I didn't go to work with him this morning; I could've been telling Tiffany to hold Seto's calls for the rest of the day as we romped throughout the company building. I swear, he'll fuck me anywhere. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

The security guard was Ji (don't ask me what kind of name that is; I have no idea), the longest running security guard to work for Kaiba Corp. ever. This was his second year of work, and so far Seto couldn't find any reason at all to fire him. The man was a perfect soldier, which led me to believe that maybe he'd been brainwashed or something. Still, he was courteous, and more importantly cute as all fucking hells. I love his aftershave, and he stares at me like, if I weren't already Seto's, I'd be his. It's so flattering, to say the least. To say the most, if I weren't Seto's, I'd seriously consider it.

"Ohayo Ji," I greeted him, receiving a courteous bow in return.

"Would you like me to walk you up to the office?" he questioned softly.

I shook my head. If Seto saw me with the security guard, even if it was for an escort, he would fire him. I swear he gets some kind of sick thrill out of firing people. He goes through employees like he goes through coffee.

"If you page me during your lunch I'll buy," I offered, watching him go for the glass doors that lead into Kaiba Corp. I try to be nice to all of Seto's employees, because the man is just a tyrant. He walks down the hallway and people jump to the other side of the room. The first time I was in Kaiba Corp., he fired three people just for not coming to work on time. One was a pregnant lady. I wondered why no one sued him from wrongful termination of employment, but this was the same guy that pushed his stepfather out of a window, so I could understand the level of fear that went along with that.

"Domo," I thanked him, walking inside.

Kaiba Corp. is its own city, its own kingdom. The wind swirled around me as the door shut behind me, fluttering my skirt. Thank gods I decided to put on underwear this morning or else I'd really be getting some looks. The bellhop held the elevator for me-everyone knows me by now-and as I stepped inside he pushed `30', rocking on his heels as the door closed.

"You look so pretty today Miss Eden," the bellhop commented, grinning at me sheepishly.

"Did Seto say good morning to you?" I asked, trying to do anything so I wouldn't be forced to return his smile. It's not personal, I just don't smile. For anyone, not even Seto. My mouth wouldn't turn that way; it was nearly impossible.

"No ma'am," he answered, giving a little laugh. "He just glared. I think that's about as close to it as I'm going to get."

I sighed. "At least he stopped threatening you."

He nodded almost joyfully. "Yes ma'am."

Seto has a problem. He thinks people are supposed to serve him when he says it, how he says it. He's very unreasonable in this manner, often throwing a tantrum when he can't have his way. The only person who'd dare to challenge him without fear of termination of life, besides Mokuba, is me. You have no idea how much I had to slap him around to get him to stop screaming at his employees. His secretary would cry everyday coming in to work, the bellboy would nearly piss himself whenever Seto got on the elevator and the receptionist would bring a flask to work so she could take a swig every time she was confronted with Seto's unruly attitude. At present all of them have gray hair, and if I didn't intervene, he would've been paying for three funerals. He just doesn't understand that they're people too-he thinks everyone was put on this Earth to serve him. Once he told me Kaiba Corp. doesn't sell toys. It sells lives. That's why I call this place Hell, or Nazi HQ-he's a dictator and he's made it that way.

"30th floor ma'am," he grinned as the elevator stopped. The doors opened to plush dark blue carpet and a huge desk housing his receptionist, who put away her flask grinning just as I stepped off. "I'll buy you lunch," I told the promised the bellboy, causing him to grin. "Just phone up on your break." He nodded and the doors closed behind him.

"Eden, wow!" the receptionist cooed as I walked up to her. "You look so pretty!"

I get that a lot. "So where's Adolf this afternoon?" I wanted to know.

"Oh, he's in a conference," she grinned, pointing towards the double doors on the right. "Been in there for three hours," she whispered, her eyes becoming serious.

What the hell kind of toys made you stay in a conference for three hours? Gun manufacturers didn't have three hour conferences. I glanced at the clock on the desk. It was past noon, and those boys were probably hungry. Time for them to get a break, and for me to get my groove on.

Walking towards the great oak double doors, I opened one, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but alas, when I entered, all eyes were on me once again. Seto's Board of Directors are all young and all extremely stupid. I'm trying to figure out why the hell he hired them-they're all a bunch of yes-men. Oh. Wait…Never mind.

Eyes traveled down my thighs, admiring my dark olive skin, mouths trying to keep from drooling as I walked up to my husband's chair, whose back was towards the door. I dropped my bag onto the floor next to his chair and jumped up onto the table; positioning myself right in front of him, I pulled off my sweater to reveal a tight, spaghetti-strapped black blouse which stopped just above my navel. "Lunchtime," I chimed, causing those magnificent blue eyes to widen.

I know, I'm so, so naughty.

"Think you can stop playing with your tin soldiers long enough to put some cream in your coffee?" I offered, planting myself on the edge of the table in front of him.

He looked me over, eyes suddenly hungry and very, very greedy. "What're you wearing under there?" he wanted to know.

"Wanna see?" I lifted up my left leg and planted my foot right on his shoulder. What was under my skirt was for his eyes only and when he saw it, he immediately dismissed his legion of death and decay, promising to castrate them all if they breathed one word of this to anyone. Then he offered to put lunch for them on the company tab, and they scattered like roaches when the lights turned on.

Finally we were alone.

I watched his eyes as the drifted back between my legs-my underwear wasn't that fascinating; it was just a thong. A thong with his name on it in rhinestones, but still just a thong. Luxuriously long fingers lifted up my skirt a bit, as if trying to get a better view. And the minute he moved forward, the heel of my shoe met his crotch.

Pressing against him just enough to cause pain I heard him hiss, causing me to raise an eyebrow. "Now now," I tsked, tapping my other foot against his shoulder patiently. "What've I told you about opening your presents early?"

He stared at me, confused. "But you hate foreplay," he finally answered.

"So true," I agreed, nodding towards the bag I'd dropped on the floor next to his seat. "But this isn't foreplay."

His eyes were the size of planets as he saw all the toys I'd brought for us to tinker with. Handcuffs, riding crop, chains, scented oil, candles, razors, knives, vibrator…wait, what was that last one doing in there?

I leaned back against the table, resting on my hands. It took him a minute to get over the initial shock, but when he did, the look on his face was priceless. He grinned maliciously, his body already responding to what was to come-I felt his erection through my shoe. So sad.

"Might wanna close the door," I offered, nodding towards the half open double oak doors.

Seto got up, trailed over to the doors, and leaned out, proclaiming "Hold my calls Cynthia."

Cynthia, that was her name.

"Until when?" I heard her ask.

"Until I say so," he snapped almost venomously. "I'm in a meeting."

I stared up at the ceiling, listening for the locks on the doors. The table was smooth, polished; it would be easy to break my neck table dancing on this motherfucker. Thank god I didn't plan on doing anything that unholy-just a bit of blood play, a little torture, and last, but not least, a whole lot of screaming. And I didn't care who heard me.

Yes, my husband was Hitler reincarnated. But every cloud has a silver lining, and Seto's rough side comes in handy in bed. I'm masochistic and sadomasochistic-I get off on pain. I love to be hurt and hurt other people, and right now, I was in one of my darker moods, where the only way for me to even be able to spell satisfaction was for him to hurt me. I never worried about Seto taking it too far. For me, he can never take it far enough; whatever level is beyond hardcore, that's the level I'm at.

"So how do you want it?" he asked as he approached me, his voice low in his throat.

I let out a purr, returning that wicked gleam in his eyes with one of my own. He could work that voice, I'll give him that. "Spank me," I requested, watching his eyes shift down my frame once again. I'm amazed that he still finds me fascinating, even after seven years together. Lust burned in his eyes as he reseated himself in his chair for a moment to reach into the bag. He looked down only to pull out the riding crop before returning his gaze, which I met quite coolly. "Try not to be gentle," I taunted, meaning "Motherfucker hit me with everything you've got."

"And get the oil," I went on as an afterthought. "I want it to burn."

Hey, what can I say? I like it kinky.

He motioned for me to roll over and I did so, resting on my knees and elbows so that I could examine my nails. Anxious fingers rubbed vanilla oil all over my backside and thighs, squeezing every once in a while tenderly. I heard him lick his lips and smirked; my ass isn't as glorious as he pretends it is. I bet if I farted right now he wouldn't speak to me for a week.

…Ok, yeah, I know, that was so gross.

The first hit sets the precedent for the rest of the spanking. If it's all limp and half-assed you're going to have a limp and half-assed spanking, and probably a limp and half-assed erection. Now who wants one of those? It's my experience that the harder he hits, the harder he gets. That's why I told him to make it count; I was already nice and wet and I wanted him nice and hard.

Lucky me, this bastard hit me like he was punishing me. Leather slid off of well-oiled skin, trailing fire down my flesh; it burned like all the hells. He repeated his action, and even though I cried out loud enough to wake the dead, I couldn't help but wonder if out in the hallway Cynthia could hear me being whipped. Not that it would matter if she did, but it would make the situation a hell of a lot kinkier.

The third hit produced a mild orgasm, making me grunt instead of scream. These little fuckers were starting to hurt; I was having too many of them. But it's not like I could control them. Fourth hit went a little too deep, searing through my skin, causing blood to trail down my cheek. I felt it slide down my thigh, the lingering stinging from the open wound being taken over by harsh burning as the oil dripped into it. Most people would quite after first blood was drawn, but the pain felt too good for me to tell him to stop.

My nails no longer interested me. My ass was on fire-people normally say that when they've eaten something spicy but the burning from the whelps covered in oil and the repeated contact of the leather to my wet skin was giving me that illusion. I bet my ass was a bloody mess; I'd lost track of the smacks after 5, noticing only when blood broke free from the delicate surface of my skin. One thing I notice is he never hit me in the same place twice. Eventually he stopped, but not after one last crack to the back of my thighs which made my whole body buckle under me.

"Bastard!" I hissed, growling as I looked back at him. "I said spank me not abuse me!"

He smirked, toying with the riding crop sadistically between long, experienced fingers. "You were the one who said don't be gentle," he smirked, his eyes unforgiving. He reached out with the crop, running the tip under my skirt and all along the back of my thighs as he contemplated his next move. "I could always kiss it and make it all better," he offered.

See what I mean? This motherfucker will put his mouth anywhere.

I growled again, deeply this time, the vibrations racking my insides. "See how you like it," I threatened, lunging at him.

For a human, Seto has really quick reflexes. He pushed me back just before I reached him, pinning me against the table roughly. I glared at him, my body going rigid beneath his hold. "Misbehaving results in thirty strokes, less one," he warned, his eyes dancing with promise. He was trying to get me to submit to him, and I was trying not to be bothered with my ass being so tender from the whipping I just received. But the cloth from my skirt was scratching against my skin, agitating it even more. I tossed my head, stifling a hiss, but he'd already caught on. "Poor thing…" he tsked, running a hand up the underside of one of my injured thighs. "You look so sweet when you're helpless."

So I'm told.

Presently his grip tightened around my thigh as he pulled me forward. With my ass up off the table my skin got some relief, but that didn't matter because from the looks of it I was in for a long and rough time.

With his hand still gripping my thigh he dropped the riding crop from the other and used it to undo his pants. I wasn't going anywhere. He forced me to straddle him, hissing as he muttered about how slick and tight I was. I tossed my head, jerking as my body claimed him out of nowhere, listening to him grunt while he leaned over me. He rested on both hands, placing them on either side of my head, leaning down to lick my face roughly before he started out.

His rhythm was merciless, as was my screaming, and the more I moved the harder it went for me. When he couldn't go any faster he started finding other ways to punish me-a pinch, a bite or a scratch. My flesh was torn, my body's reactions completely out of my control. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to keep going, because it hurt so bad; my insides were sore from having too many orgasms, and becoming tender and sensitive. Every time he moved I came, and every time I came he felt it, only encouraging him even more. It was one of the worst pains I'd ever felt. But at the same time it was like an addiction-I didn't want him to stop. It was like a high-you know the consequences, but the pleasure thoroughly outweighs the pain.

But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

I raised my leg up, resting it on his shoulder, wanting to feel even more of him, feel him go deeper inside of me. The other hung almost limply at his waist, my heel digging into his back the only thing to stop me from just dropping it to the table. I had no time to marvel at my flexibility as I was getting dizzy from the exertion, and I was trying not to pass out before my climax.

Sometimes, though, you still have to pay the price for something as simple as beauty.

Seto came, swearing loudly in Japanese, his fingernails digging into the surface of the table mercilessly, peeling it off as he drew back. With him not moving inside of me, I thought I could relax, but no such luck. I swear my insides were bleeding with my last orgasm, which made him curse even louder since he was still half-way inside of me, before I dropped off into a dead faint.