Icy Discipline 8

I took a breath to deal with the aftermath of my explosion. Considering just how badly I was backed up, any release would have been spectacular. But, considering I had just been served by one of the greatest supermodels in the world, who was still sitting in the shower, her beautiful skin glistening… 

Using the word monumental was not an exaggeration. 

I didn’t bother to hide my smirk as I gazed down, as she was simply too dazed to pay attention to the particulars of my attention as she shuffled on the ceramic surface, trying to get a handle on her trembling. 

She closed her eyes for a moment to see whether it would help, but she didn’t bother hiding her body. Which was well, as we were certainly well past the point that would be helpful after my unrestrained treatment. 

I let her gather herself for a moment as I stepped out, and realized I didn’t bring a towel from my room — the bathroom lacked a locker to hold them — and went to my room to get a towel for myself. I walked naked, which was more of a habit than a deliberate choice. 

Important, because halfway in, Maria stepped out of her room, only to freeze as she met with a naked me. 

“Sorry about that, I’m not used to having guests,” I said, but considering the speed, her gaze dipped down to catch the sight of my shaft and stayed there, I wasn’t exactly filled with shame. 

It was currently at half-mast after the latest explosion, but it didn’t take long for it to stir back into action. And Maria was to blame for that. 

She was wearing one of the leftover pajamas of the old man — thoroughly washed and dried twice, of course — which was not at the top of the list of clothes I expected to look sexy. Yet, the view in front of me was more than enough to demolish that assumption. 

There were two facts responsible for that. The first was the fabric of the pajamas, which was soft and elastic, feeding well into the second part. While the old man was almost the same height as Maria, he was a thin man. And, it meant that, not only those pajamas were stretched enough to look like they were painted on her, but also she had to keep a few of the buttons open. 

Sexy, but not sexy as the implied alternative, her top bursting after one accidental breath. 

With the sexiness of her legendary curves on display, even the ugliness of the pajamas was not enough to distract from her beauty. And, encouraged by her caramel beauty and her flattering attention, my shaft was growing back at an alarming rate. 

Which, ironically, created one unwelcome detail. It put a smug expression back on her face, willing to take that reaction as compensation for the attention I was deliberately not giving her. 

It was amusing just how attention-starved she could get in less than a day to find that fulfilling, though my amusement wasn’t enough reason for me to intervene. I could see that their instinctual need for attention as celebrities was my only hope to keep them under control — with some very fun implications — and I would loathe relinquishing my most useful tool. 

“Is there anything I can help you with?” I said as I half-turned back to the bathroom. “Because I have the sexiest woman in the world waiting for me for the second half.” 

The speed with her amused expression was slid away, replaced by jealousy, and was simply magical. I wasn’t delusional enough to think that it was about me, more about what I was representing. Maria was a spectacular singer — even I knew that despite it not being my favorite style — but that didn’t change the fact that her global fame was more about her physical traits. 

And like any celebrity, she was clearly afraid that it would not work as she slowly breached into her thirties. 

A glance at the beauty radiating even through the ugly pajamas she was wearing showed that it was not a justified concern, but she clearly felt that. I might have even done my best to tell her that — if her thoughtless arrival didn’t ruin my greatest personal project, one that could actually give me a potential shot at a Nobel prize assuming the outcome was as optimistic as I hoped. 

“Oh,” she whispered a second later, the sound of her ego puncturing almost physically — once again, only possible as it was tapping on an existing fear. 

“So, if there’s nothing,” I said as I tried to slide next to her. 

“There’s one thing,” she murmured as she passed the walkie-talkie to me. “It’s … her agent, and she wants to talk with her star model,” she said. Yet, I didn’t miss the vindictive smirk on her face as she passed it to me, one that suggested the agent might not be easy to deal with. 

“Thanks,” I said as I grabbed them and walked around her, not asking her about the details about the agent, which promised to be unpleasant. 

It was better for her to think that I lacked the ability to read her expression accurately. I had a feeling that it would be useful.  

I left Maria behind to arrive at my room, picking a towel for myself, though my mind was already on this mysterious agent. 

The way Carly reacted to my haphazard displays of authority — just based on expression and tone rather than promises and threats — suggested an excessively harsh man. Though, combined with her utter lack of experience in anything sexual implied extreme protection rather than seeing benefits. 

Unlike me.

Still, as much as I appreciated that mysterious agent’s protective instincts as it allowed me to experience the most memorable sexual experience of my life, I had a feeling that the next part would be supremely unpleasant, especially if Carly would be as easy to read as I expected. 

But, there was no point delaying the inevitable, so I grabbed a towel and dried myself quickly before wrapping it around my waist, and going back to the shower. 

Carly was still on the ceramic floor, trying to catch her breath. I presented my hand to her, and she grabbed it, allowing me to pull her to her feet. As she hugged me for balance, I got wet once again, ruining my earlier drying. 

Not that I was complaining to receive a hug from a naked supermodel. 

“Your agent wants to talk to you,” I said as I passed the walkie-talkie to her. 

“R-right now?” she asked. “B-but, I need to dry myself first,” she added, though I could see it was just an excuse to delay talking with him rather than an actual excuse. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll handle that,” I said as I grabbed her towel. 

“N-no need,” she managed to stammer, but that was all she was able to say before I took a step forward and pinned her against the wall, her escape route blocked.

“I insist,” I said as I crouched down, and wrapped the towel around her ankles. “Please, go ahead, don’t keep your agent waiting,” I said even as I used the towel to dry her off. It was slow and measured, but it did little to limit her concerns about what I would use my access for. 

After one last concerned glance, she pressed the walkie-talkie. “Hi, I’m here,” she whispered, though I didn’t miss the dread in her tone, one that was shouting her distress. 

Maybe it was not a good idea to tease her, I thought. 

Then, the answer came. “Finally, where were you?” Though, there were two interesting things about that answer. The first was the horrible crackling noise, suggesting that the storm was doing wonders to interfere with the radio waves. Not enough to make the sound unintelligible, but just enough to make it almost impossible to pick up emotions accurately. 

The second part was more interesting. The voice on the other side was, unmistakably, female. And not only that, she didn’t sound particularly old. Late twenties, I would have guessed, but that guess wasn’t as unmistakable with all the cracks and buzzes in the background, interference of the storm working wonders to strip most of the nuances I could use to make a more accurate guess. 

“I w-was taking a shower,” she said, stammering helplessly as the towel passed her waist, but not before my fingers caressed her core for a fleeting moment. I was planning to tease her more, but she already seemed overwhelmed enough by her need to talk with her agent, and I didn’t want to push her too much. 

“Don’t take long showers there,” her agent answered. “We don’t know just how bad the water they have and it might damage your skin. Even more, be very careful about shampoo and shower gel. I have no idea what disgusting brand those people use, but I can’t imagine it’ll be good for your hair.” 

I was glad that, unlike a phone call, one needed to press a button before the other party could hear, because it meant I didn’t have to suppress my chuckle at her attitude. Her tone was dismissive enough to imply that she was talking about a bunch of bugs, and not some of the smartest people on top of their field, pushing the boundaries of human knowledge. 

Though, I had to admit, she did have a point about the general quality of the equipment. Not that they had the right to complain about that. 

As they were not exactly invited in the first place.  

While Carly took a breath to answer, I reached her breasts, my touch enough to make her gasp despite the towel limiting the sensation, delaying it a bit more. “I-it’s not too bad,” Carly, said. 

“Nonsense,” came the answer immediately. “It takes a lot of science to get those right. Do what you are told,” she added, earning another chuckle from me at the usage of the word, unable to ignore the accidental irony. 

“Yes,” Carly said, her head dipping down as acceptance radiated off her. “Now, let’s talk about your exercise routine. Is there any kind of half-decent equipment there you can use? They told me that they had some, but I don’t trust their selection.” 

I could see where her obedience was coming from.