Maxwell said sheepishly as he followed Milan into the backseat of the car. Milan shot Maxwell an admonishing look. “Did I give you permission to speak?” Contrite, he lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” “Save your apology. You can’t begin to imagine how sorry you’re going to be for your impudence. Your utter gall,” she added, shaking her head in disbelief. “I know I don’t deserve you, Mistress. I beg you to please accept my humble apology. Please! I promise to be your obedient and faithful servant for the rest of my life.” Hilton turned the key in the ignition. “Should I drive Mr. Torrance home?” Milan could tell by his voice that her chauffeur was uncomfortable. It embarrassed him to hear his former boss beg and grovel. Putting on a show for Hilton, she thrust her hand between Maxwell’s legs and squeezed his balls. Maxwell grunted in genuine pain. “That’s just the beginning,” she warned. “I understand, Mistress,” he whimpered, rubbing his aching balls.
