And then I showed her the playrooms.
Her posture changed as we made our way around the equipment, shoulders high as I skipped her through the latest furniture. Handmade by a carpenter in Brighton, entirely bespoke. The words caught in my throat as she knelt into position on one of the premier flogging benches, the split of her pencil skirt riding up just high enough to gift me sight of the bruises on her thighs. The teeth marks on her tits. How I’d fucking love to see those sore fucking nipples.
“I like the quality,” she said, moving her weight from knee to knee against the leather. “It’s comfortable.”
“So I hear.”
She flashed me a smile over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried this stuff out?”
“I don’t need to, I’ve a club full of members to offer feedback.”
“Shame on you, Andrew Morgan. That’s no substitute for first-hand experience, and you know it.”
I fastened her into the cuffs, taking care to pull the chains tight. “Premium leather, no chaffing.”
She tried her wrists. “Nice, but it’s all academic unless you’ve tried them.”
I took position at her side, placed a hand against the small of her back. She yielded to the pressure, curving her spine until her tight little arse was in the air. “A good height, no strain on the back.”
“You can do my ankles if you like?” she offered, shifting her legs apart.
“I think you get the picture.” My face was in hers as I loosened the cuffs, her breath playing against my lips.
She rose from the bench like a stretching cat and sashayed to the back wall, surveying the display of implements. Her long fingers teased at the tails of a cat o’nine. “I guess you haven’t tested these out, either?”
“I don’t play in the club, Faye, it’s not professional.”
“Neither’s endorsing equipment you haven’t trialled.” She took the flogger from its hook, swished it through the air until it landed in her palm. “Nice sting.”
“So they say.”
“I want to test it.” She threw it at me without warning, and I caught it on instinct. She unbuttoned her blouse, draping it over the stocks in the corner. The dark promise of bruising showed its pretty face through her bra lace. I had to wrench my eyes away.
She placed her hands flat to the wall, breathing steady. “Come on, Andy, don’t be a chicken shit. This is business, not sex. We’re just sampling the goods.”
The swell of my cock wasn’t business. It was anything but business. “Don’t start this, Faye. It won’t end well.”
“Stop talking and hit me.” Her eyes smouldered over her shoulder. “And then I’m going to hit you.”
My laugh sounded empty. “We’re not doing this.”
“Take that stick out of your arse. We’ve a roomful of equipment you’ve neglected to test, and a whole pile of resentment simmering in a pressure pot. Something’s got to give. This is the sensible choice.”
“The sensible choice is we resolve our differences like adults... slowly... over time...”
“Or we knock it out in the open, right here, right now. This is our way, Andy. This is our scene, at least start acting like it.”
“I know who I am, Faye.”
“I’m not so sure...” she goaded. “I think you’ve lost your touch... Are you scared, Andy? Scared you’re out of practice? That I’ll break you like a scared little girl? You’re excited, aren’t you? Do you want to see the mess he made of my tits?”
She wasn’t expecting the crack on her shoulder blades. A perfect strike, the tails licked her skin with perfect pressure. Her skin prickled, bloomed pink. “Your smart mouth is going to get you into a world of fucking trouble, Faye.”
“I hope so,” she breathed, then braced herself for another. This one was harder, faster, jolting her out of position for just a moment. Her hands reached around to her bra clasp. I swallowed as she tossed it to the side. “A bare canvas,” she whispered. “Hit me. Andy, it’s what we both want.”
We shouldn’t play angry. Shouldn’t play at all. The heat was building behind my eyes, years of resentment gripping my fingers tight to that flogger. “You fucking asked for this,” I growled.
I criss-crossed her back with swipes, darkening her skin to my favourite hue. Her breathing slowed, head dipped in concentration. Occasionally she’d moan, just the faintest little moan. Her back was a wall of pink by the time I’d done with her. She held out a hand for the flogger, and my eyes soaked in the dark of her swollen nipples. Her tits were splotched with colour, each tooth mark etched in purple. Her tits rose and fell with her breath. I fought the urge to reach for them, tease them, put my hungry fucking mouth around her nipples and bite until she learnt some manners.