Dirty Bad Secrets(11)

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.”

She took them slow. Really fucking slow. I was shaking by the thirtieth, the tender patch of skin where my thighs met my ass ridged so hard I walked with a limp.

Her eyes were wild, feral. She licked her lips, stared at my cock. “What next?” she hissed.

“Free choice...” I dropped the cane and yanked her by the elbow, forcing her back onto the flogging bench until her pretty bruised tits were presented up for me. She read my mind and groaned. “Oh God, yes...”

Ten slaps on bruised skin. Nipples so fucking sweet against my palms. My cock was pressed into her belly, and she squirmed so tight I could’ve shot my fucking load all over her. I pinched the gorgeous little buds between my fingers, rolled them hard. She bucked and moaned and begged for more.

“It’s your fucking go,” I said. “Your turn.”

But she was too far gone. The victory should have been sweeter than it felt, lost among the mist. “I don’t want a turn...” she said.

I squeezed her tits so hard she bit her lip. “You give in?”

“Not to the pain...” she rasped. “To you... please, Andy, for God’s sake, for my sake, for our sake, just fucking fuck me.”

I pulled on the rings between her legs, a short sharp tug that made her squeal before I found her clit. “You planned this, didn’t you, all the way back from fucking Italy, you sneaky little bitch?”

“Will you stop if I say yes?” Dark eyes bore into mine, pupils so dilated I could see my own reflection.

“No...”

“Then yes... yes, I planned this... I fucking wanted this...”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I lifted her clean off her feet as my cock slammed into her. She wrapped her arms around my neck. “I’m so fucking pissed off, Faye.”

Her fingers tugged at my hair, grating at my scalp. “So am I.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” I growled. “Not a fucking thing.”

“And what about this...?” Her sweet mouth pressed into mine, her tongue slipping past my lips with the stealth of a fucking panther. I was kissing her before I knew it, hard and brutal and fucking angry. But it was hot, so fucking hot. I thumbed her clit in time with my thrusts, and she arched back on the bench, mumbling for more, more, fucking more. She was inhuman, some kind of she-demon succubus from the deep, sucking the fucking life out of me. She screwed her eyes shut as she came, and I wasn’t far behind. I pulled out in time to splatter her sweet tits with my cum, and she gobbled me into her mouth, slurping on everything I had to give.

She rubbed my seed around her puckered nipples, smiling as she licked up the rest from her fingers.

I stumbled backwards until my back hit the wall. Hot and sweaty, and filled with dread.

I smoothed my hair back, dazed. Gathering strewn clothes from the floor.

Faye slid her skirt up over sore thighs. Fastened her bra and buttoned up her blouse. My breath was still ragged as she fixed her hair in the mirror.

“I’d better get to the bar,” she smiled, eyes on fire. “I’ll see you later, Sir.”



***





Chapter Four




Faye



I paced through the club with a lot more swagger than I felt, shooting Topaz a wide smile as I approached, and ignoring the tremble in my legs.

I slid the rota across the bar top and she picked it up, eyes wary as they flitted from me to the schedule. Women. They always fucking know.

“Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together.” I kept my smile bright as I perched tentatively on a stool. I’m sure my cheeks were still flushed, my ass too. “Andy and I think it’s a good idea that I learn the place from the ground up... just until I find my feet again.”

“If Mr Morgan thinks so.” She pinned the sheet on the noticeboard with the others. “It’s not rocket science.”

“I’m sure you’re being modest.”

“Cocktails are the only things that get complicated.” She dug through drawers until she presented me with an ingredients list. “Self-explanatory, really.”

I watched her clatter about, stacking glasses and wiping down already clean sides. Topaz was a pretty thing. She had her hair in pigtails, tied tight with navy ribbon. Egyptian eyes, thickly lined with kohl, a stud in her bottom lip, much more subtle than the ring in her nose. Her black cami was tight and low, the curve of her left breast decorated with the colourful tail of some beast or another. She had a winged scarab for a necklace, its silver wings highlighting the definition of her collar bones. She was shorter than me by quite some way, a bright little pixie from ancient Egypt.