Ryan nodded frantically, tears spilling over her knuckles. "Y-yes… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
She loosened her grip slightly but didn't let go, keeping his face tilted up. Her voice dropped back into that silky, dangerous tone.
"Tell me more. Have you ever touched yourself? How do you do it? Do you watch porn? What kind? And be specific... I want details, not your embarrassed little mumbles."
Ryan's breathing turned ragged. His lower lip trembled as he struggled to find words.
"I… I've touched myself a few times… when my dad was passed out. Just… just rubbing until it felt good and stuff came out. I don't really know how to do it properly. I've seen a couple of videos on my phone… the free ones. They always start with the girl on her knees… and the guy putting it in her mouth. Then they… they put it inside her from behind. I never understood exactly where it goes in. The videos blur that part out sometimes. I thought maybe it was… lower down, between the legs, but I didn't know there were… anything. I'm sorry, I sound so stupid…"
Lauren listened without interrupting, her thumb stroking his jaw almost absentmindedly while her eyes drank in every humiliated flush, every tear, every nervous twitch of his body.
She could feel the faint definition of his abs under the towel where her leg brushed against him smooth, warm muscle that trembled nonstop.
She asked more questions, each one sharper than the last.
"How long does it usually take you to finish when you touch yourself?"
"Have you ever seen a real naked woman before tonight?"
"What do you think feels best... mouth, hand, or inside?"
"Do you get hard when you're scared, Ryan? Because you're shaking like a leaf right now."
Ryan answered every single one in a broken, stuttering whisper, head still held in her iron grip, tears flowing freely. His voice kept cracking, shame thickening every word. He didn't know where a woman's entrance was.
He didn't know about foreplay. He didn't even know the difference between a clit and a vagina. Every answer made it painfully clear: this boy was untouched in every possible way.
Lauren's smile never reached her eyes, but something dark and possessive bloomed behind them.
When he finally fell silent, exhausted from confessing his complete ignorance, she released his chin only to trail her fingers down his throat, over his collarbone, and across the subtle ridges of his abs.
"Such a blank canvas," she murmured, almost to herself. "Completely untouched… and completely terrified. Perfect."
She leaned back against the headboard, watching him with that same unblinking, predatory stare.
"Go open the same door you did before," she ordered, voice flat and cold. "The big walk-in closet. Bring out a t-shirt and shorts for yourself. Nothing else. Move."
Ryan nodded quickly, still trembling. He slid off the bed, clutching the towel around his waist with both hands like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
His bare feet padded across the cool floor as he walked to the closet door, heart hammering so loud he could hear it in his ears.
The lights flickered on automatically, revealing rows upon rows of Lauren's designer clothes on one side and, on the opposite racks, neatly folded men's clothing that clearly belonged to no one yet all brand new, tags still attached.
Ryan stood there frozen, eyes wide and blurry without his glasses. There were dozens of t-shirts in every color, shelves of shorts and trousers. He didn't have the guts to ask which ones.
Asking meant speaking. Speaking meant risking her anger again.
His shaking hands reached out and pulled a simple beige t-shirt from the nearest stack. Then he grabbed a pair of black knee-length trousers soft, expensive cotton that felt nothing like the cheap stuff he owned.
He searched frantically for underwear, opening drawer after drawer, but there was nothing. No boxers, no briefs... nothing.
His gaze accidentally drifted to the other side of the closet.
There, in delicate lace drawers, lay Lauren's undergarments... black silk panties, sheer bras, garter belts, everything arranged with military precision.
For one terrifying second he thought about grabbing a pair of her panties just to cover himself, but the idea made his stomach twist with fear. Without permission? He would rather die.
Ryan swallowed the lump in his throat, clutched the beige shirt and black trousers to his chest, and hurried back into the bedroom, head bowed, shoulders hunched.
He stopped a few feet from the bed and held the clothes out with both hands, voice barely above a whisper, cracking with shame.
"I… I brought these… There wasn't any underwear. I looked everywhere. And I… I saw your things on the other side but I didn't touch them. I swear I didn't. Please… is this okay?"
Lauren sat up slowly, eyes narrowing as she looked at the items in his hands. She didn't speak for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until Ryan's arms started shaking from holding them out.
"Beige and black," she finally said, tone dripping with mocking amusement. "Safe choices. Boring choices. But at least you didn't come back empty-handed like a complete idiot."
She stood up and circled him once, slow and deliberate, like a shark. Ryan kept his head down. The towel was still wrapped low around his hips, water droplets still clinging to his skin, the faint scent of her expensive products clinging to every inch of him.
"Drop the towel," she commanded.
Ryan's breath hitched. His fingers fumbled with the knot, and the thick black towel pooled at his feet with a soft thud, leaving him completely naked in front of her.
He immediately tried to cover himself with one hand, the clothes still clutched tightly in the other, face burning crimson.
Lauren's gaze raked over him without shame taking in the subtle definition of his abs, the lean lines of his hips, the way his thighs trembled. She stepped closer, plucked the beige t-shirt from his grip, and tossed it onto the bed.
"Put the trousers on first," she said. "No underwear tonight. You'll learn to feel exposed whenever I want you to."
Ryan nodded jerkily, he bent to step into the black knee-length trousers. The fabric slid up his legs, soft and cool against his skin. He pulled them up to his waist, hands shaking so badly he almost lost balance.
The material hugged his hips and the curve of his ass a little too perfectly, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Lauren watched every second of it, arms crossed, a dark little smile playing on her lips.
"Now the shirt."
He pulled the beige t-shirt over his head, the fabric falling loosely over his chest and abs. It was slightly big on his frame, making him look even younger and more vulnerable.
When he was finally dressed, Ryan stood there awkwardly, arms hanging at his sides, head still lowered. The expensive clothes felt foreign on his body... too soft, too clean, too much like something that belonged to her world and not his.
Lauren stepped right up to him, tilted his chin up with two fingers, and studied his tear-streaked face.
"Look at you," she murmured, voice low and possessive. "Dressed in my clothes, smelling like my bath products, crying like a lost little boy. You have no idea how perfect you are for breaking."
Ryan's lips parted, another soft, broken "please…" forming, but he swallowed it back, too scared to speak without permission.
Lauren's thumb brushed a tear from his cheek almost gently but her eyes remained ice-cold.
"Get on the bed. Lie down on your back. We're not finished talking yet."
Ryan obeyed instantly, climbing onto the massive bed and lying down stiffly, hands clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling too fast.
The black trousers rode up slightly on his thighs. Tears kept falling, soaking into the silk pillow as he stared at the ceiling, waiting for whatever cruel question or command would come next.
Lauren climbed onto the bed again, this time lying on her side next to him, one hand resting possessively on his stomach, feeling the faint rise and fall of those hidden abs beneath the beige fabric.
She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.
"Tell me, Ryan… how does it feel knowing every single thing on your body right now belongs to me?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. He just cried harder, soft, helpless whimpers slipping out while Lauren's fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over his clothed stomach.