Chapter 142/His God-Like Dominance

Chapter 142: 142/His God-Like Dominance

Chapter 142

Stephanie’s point of view

She took a step backward in a sudden, chaotic panic, absolute bewilderment printing itself across her face, which turned as pale as a corpse. She stammered, moving her lips in complete helplessness: "How... how is that possible?! You are a liar! This cannot have happened, he never even looked at you!"

I leaned close to the edge of her ear, whispering words that cut as cleanly as knives slicing through veins: "He loved me and worshipped my every detail when I was still his adolescent student at school... and he fucked me when I was his student in high school!"

Her eyes widened in a shock that utterly terrified her entire being and completely chained her tongue. She shook her head in a definitive, desperate denial: "But that is impossible... you are a liar and mentally unhinged! This cannot be true, Alexander is a strict man and would never do such a thing!"

I continued, my eyes gleaming with the brilliance of victory and a deep relish of her scorching jealousy: "Do you genuinely believe a man with a personality like Alexander’s would have married me and tolerated all of this if he weren’t madly, insanely in love with me? Alexander is mine, and you cannot claim a single piece of him no matter what you do or plan, Valentina."

She desperately tried to gather her collapsed strength rapidly, stating in an black, overflowing malice and hatred: "And Cedric?! Is he not the actual, literal father of your twins? Were you not dying of eagerness for Cedric, wanting him and throwing yourself into his arms?!"

My features convulsed violently with a burning agony the exact millisecond the name left her lips, and a fire ignited within my chest. I gripped her arm with a heavy, intense violence she never expected from me, forcefully dragging her toward the door as I screamed at the top of my lungs: "Get out of my room this instant!"

I shoved her outside with force, rapidly locking the wooden door behind her, turning the key twice in a frantic, hysterical motion until a dead silence blanketed the space once more. I threw myself onto the bed with a battered, broken body and a completely scrambled mind, whispering in bitter oppression: The last thing I need is Valentina’s drama and games right now in this cursed house... damn everything.

I stared up at the ceiling of the room, and I didn’t know how or why exactly, but my exhausted mind suddenly and cruelly decided to throw my memory back years into the past... to the high school days with their dark colors and heavy details... to that exact day when Alexander was looking down at me with his strict, tyrannical features, demanding that I remove my bra right before his eyes because I had refused to provide him with the names of those bullying students who had harassed me.

We were in the dead center of his spacious office at the high school, the door locked securely and the surrounding silence amplifying the sound of my panting, terrified breaths. I was sitting right across his solid thigh in merely my black bra after he had stripped me of my school shirt, feeling the hardness of his muscular frame and his radiating heat piercing my skin in a manner that sent a terrifying, confusing shudder deep into my core.

My eyes locked with his strict, sharp gaze that showed absolutely no mercy to my virginal confusion, when his deep, rasped voice descended once more, commanding in that same firm tone that accepted no debate: "Stephanie Miller... unfasten your bra right now."

My fingers trembled with a frantic hysteria as they extended slowly toward my back from beneath the straps. I tried to locate the small metallic clasps, but my palms were fumbling in complete helplessness and disorientation, as if I had never opened a bra in my entire life due to the sheer tension and the suffocating proximity to his body.

In those seconds that stretched out like an eternity, my mind screamed with a single, burning, and terrifying question: Why am I doing this to myself?! Why am I obeying his humiliating commands and submitting to him in this insane, degrading manner?! I could have simply turned around, unlocked the door, and run toward the principal’s office; I could have screamed the word "no" right into his strict face and rejected his absolute authority over me... but, in the deepest depths of my battered, submissive soul, I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t do it, and that I would never escape his strange dominance.

The clasp finally gave way with a small, sharp click under my trembling fingers. The bra straps slid with a lethal slowness off my soft shoulders, draping over my arms to leave my completely bare chest exposed right before his burning, strict gaze. He fixed his heavy, prolonged stare on the details of my body.

At that age, I didn’t possess full breasts like adult women, but merely two small, soft breasts with fair, delicate skin a fact that doubled my virginal mortification and made my cheeks burn into a deep crimson flush like blood before his calculated, piercing gaze, where not a single eyelash of his blinked.

He didn’t touch me with his hands, deliberately increasing my psychological torment. Instead, his long fingers extended slowly toward the surface of the wooden desk, picking up a black ink pen in a calculated, automatic movement.

He turned it between his long fingers until its round, dry plastic back cap was the part facing my skin, then brought it forward with an agonizing slowness and a terrifying focus until he placed it directly against the perimeter of my small, pink nipple.

He began to drag the pen in a steady, calculated circular motion, pressing with an absolute, minute lightness against my sensitive skin, stating in a low, sharp voice that sliced through my ears: "Are you still refusing to confess the names, Stephanie?"

I tightly pressed my lips together and didn’t grant him a single syllable in response despite the sharp spasm that shot through my pelvis. My mind had entirely detached from the outside world and the school, and my gaze locked in a complete, blank bewilderment on the movement of the pen’s tip as it drew its regular circles around my nipple, in a strange manner that stripped me of the final shred of my sanity and resistance as a girl.

He possessed that terrifying, god-like ability to bring me to this state of scattered, submissive surrender without placing a single one of his actual fingers on my skin; so what on earth would happen to my soul and body if he actually did it and touched me with his palms?!

The pen ceased its circling for a single second, and his voice rose in a calm, steady promise of retribution: "You know very well that what comes next in this office will be far worse and significantly more painful if you do not speak and state the names."

Those words weren’t a terrifying threat to my chaotic emotions at the time; rather, to my deepest core, they felt like the finest, most beautiful promise I had ever received in my entire life. I was waiting with a muffled, submissive, and surrendered eagerness for what he would execute to my body next, my eyes locked onto his features in breathless anticipation.

The pen moved again with rapid speed, but this time in a vertical motion, gliding up and down over the tip of my nipple, which had already hardened from the cold air of the office and the intense tension.

The movement of the pen began to accelerate at a frantic, sudden speed, and with every rise and fall of the plastic piece, my breaths caught in a precise, frantic synchronization with his movement, as if I were merely a moving doll whose strings he held with that small pen.

Suddenly, he lifted it a few millimeters upward and began to slap the tip of the nipple with light, consecutive, and rapid strikes. A faint spark of pain and a burning sting erupted from that sensitive spot, but it rapidly morphed into an extraordinary, strange pleasure that seeped into my depths and attacked every single pulsing cell in my body, which had entirely submitted to his absolute authority.

The pen abruptly ceased its movement and strikes, and with it, that frantic, violent rhythm that had been toyed with my body was severed. In that exact second, a massive wave of lethal emptiness and coldness washed over me, as if a rug had been violently ripped from beneath my feet, leaving me suspended in midair, panting with a hunger and a raw desire I had never before witnessed in my life, my small chest heaving wildly up and down.

Alexander didn’t grant me a single moment to comprehend or retrieve my lost breaths. He brought his massive head and sharp features toward me with a terrifying, alluring slowness until I could feel his hot, heavy breaths forcefully rushing and fanning the skin of my face and neck.

My eyes were completely blurred, and my gaze was locked onto his masculine lips that were hovering so close to my mouth. In that suffocating moment, every single inch and every nerve inside me screamed with a wild, insane desire for him to violently consume my lips, to break this agonizing distance, and to do to me what was far worse and significantly more destructive to my mind instead of this slow torture with a pen.

He continued his approach with an overwhelming, tyrannical confidence, bypassing the boundaries of my mouth by mere millimeters, until his warm lips rested completely against the edge of my earlobe so much so that I could feel their burning movement and their tickle against my sensitive skin when his deep, rasped hiss emerged, commanding and completely shattering whatever remained of my walls of resistance:

"Take off the skirt."