It was the height of summer, and she couldn’t help but shiver a little. It didn’

It was the height of summer, and she couldn’t help but shiver a little. It didn’t matter how close she was to the sun, it didn’t really do much to combat a breeze creeping inquisitively underneath her coat, and finding not much at all between it and her. She couldn’t believe he’d told her to do this.  Perhaps it would feel less embarrassing if he’d talked her into it, if it had been her own choice, and she'd wanted to do it of her own volition. Even now, standing in a busy train station in just a trench, she knew that this is what she wanted. Part of her, at least. And clearly a part bigger than the part that was crying bloody murder and turning her cheeks into furnaces. In the height of summer.  “Talk back again and you will be wearing something under the coat.” She’d allowed herself a burst of hope, before his tone had dashed it against the rocks. She had looked up at him, then, and let out the tiniest sigh.  He’d slapped her in the face, lightly, a reprimand.  “You always were a deviant. It’s a pity you can’t keep it purely to the sexual side of things.” He was drawling, his voice adopting that lazy elocution that both infuriated and excited her. It was a show, just for her.  “Fine. I’ll do it.” She grumbled, as if she had any choice in the matter. He patted her head, chuckled.  “I know you will. I just told you so. Now go finish packing my suitcase."  She hugged herself against that fucking wind, feeling it run against the inside of her thighs like an unwanted lover, although, admittedly, one with a little bit of skill. She could feel its advances starting to stir her, and she stamped her heel against the pavement, legs squeezed tight shut.  His train was coming in, twenty minutes late. Her tongue found the hollow of her cheek, a nervous tick that he’d punish her for if he caught her doing it. But right now he was a few carriages away, and she was free. As free as she ever was, at least.  The heavy clatter of the train’s undercarriage coming to a stop deafened her. There was a whistle, somewhere, and then the doors opened with a hiss. People streamed out, people she didn’t care about, people that weren't him.  And then there was one that was. And as he approached her, she gave a nervous glance around, before pulling the trenchcoat open and embracing him with it.  He stroked her hair, a light, happy laugh on his lips. "I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.” He kissed her forehead, and then her mouth. “Good girl.” -- source link

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