Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“You’re not hitting me, Faye. I don’t play that way.”
“Since when?” She raised her eyebrows. “You think you’re the only one who’s got resentment issues? Tit for fucking tat, Andy. Get your fucking shirt off.”
“You’d better make it good.” I gestured to the rack. “Crop next, one of the models they use at the Badminton horse trials. Quite a fucking bite on it.”
She watched as I took off my tie and unbuttoned my shirt, her lips curling into a smile. “Come on, pussycat, hands against the wall.”
I placed my palms flat, mind whirring. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d played. I raised the stakes, raised them sky fucking high. “New game, Faye. Winner takes all.”
“Winner?” she quizzed.
“Ten strikes each, working our way along the selection. We alternate, until one of us bails. You can take seven strokes to my ten if you like, make it fair.”
She landed the flogger hard around my ribs. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re out of practice, my tolerance is higher.”
“We’ll see about that.” I hissed as she landed another. “You win and we’ll dust your desk off, set you up in the office.”
“And if I don’t?” She cracked the flogger with perfect precision, right between my shoulder blades. My skin burned like hell.
“If I win you’re working the bar for as long as I want. No argument, no questions.”
“Deal.” She unleashed the torrent. The flogger was savage, but not savage enough to test my limits. She was breathing heavily by the time she was done, more heavily than I was. I checked out my back in the mirrored wall. Lobster pink. She’d got me good.
I unhooked the crop from the wall. Jabbed it through the air in her direction. “Skirt off. Now.” She didn’t protest, just unbuttoned and dropped it. “Panties, too.”
She raised an eyebrow but did as she was told. “You going to use that thing on my pussy? That’s a bold precedent.”
“I’ll use it wherever the fuck I want.”
“I like this game.” She took up position, and I tapped the crop against her thighs to indicate wider. She shifted her feet apart like a good girl. “Make it good, ten strokes.”
The glorious thwack of crop against tender thighs. She started, sucking in breath. I didn’t give her long to recover before landing another, just a fraction below. The pain would bloom as one. She rocked on her toes.
My ten went by in a heartbeat, cock pulsing in my suit trousers. Her thighs were a fucking delight as I handed her the crop.
“Strip,” she hissed. “Everything.” She smirked as my cock sprang free. “Seems you haven’t lost your appetite after all.”
“I never lost my appetite,” I growled. “I just grew tired of the same old menu. This doesn’t mean we’re ok, Faye. We’re far from fucking ok.”
“Call this fucking therapy, then.” She was a demon with her ten. Hard and fast without pause for recovery. My thighs burned hot, but I didn’t even flinch, sucking up the pain as fuel.
I took down the paddle. English Oak. This time we were up close and personal. I took hold of her hair, holding her in position as I punished the smooth globes of her ass. The sound of wood against skin was fucking divine.
She hissed and flailed, but showed no sign of breaking. I kept going, harder. The rhythmic thwack of her punishment as soothing as a fucking lullaby. “That’s more than fucking ten, Andy...”
“I’ll take exactly the same, don’t you fucking worry.”
Her ass jiggled under the assault, patches darkening from pink through crimson. Her breath was coming in short sharp gasps, and the musky scent of her pussy made me heady. Her thighs were slick when I stopped.
“Fifty. Your turn.”
“Bend fucking over. Touch your fucking toes,” she snapped. “This is going to hurt.”
She wasn’t lying. She hit the same spot over and over, just to be a bitch. I groaned and cursed, but I didn’t move from position. The last ten hurt like a motherfucker. I gritted my teeth as I took down the cane, and for a second there was a flash of nerves across her face.
“Ten?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Thirty.”
“Are you fucking mad?”
“I’ll take it first, if you’re wavering.”
She bent over. “Make them fucking good.” She cried out at the first, and louder at the second. “Fucking hell, why are the first ten always such a fucking bitch?”
She squealed through the first twenty, and then she calmed, cresting high. She wrapped an arm around my thigh, and the skin on skin was electric. My cock pulsed so hard it hurt, thick and sore with the need to fuck her.
She stood slowly after her thirty, checking out her welts in the mirror. Streaks of ridged white pain, flecked with blood, and I wanted it, too.
I braced myself against the wall, taking a deep breath. “Make them quick.”