Dirty Bad Secrets (9 page)

“What else?”

She hesitated for too long. So long I had to punish her with five heavy lashes in a row. She squirmed and whimpered, shifting from foot to foot, and her ass glowed red, but still she stayed in position.

“I’m sorry for being rude... fuck! Ow! Yes!”

“And?”

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful...”

“More.”

“I’m sorry for being bossy. Andy, I’m sorry!”

“What else?”

“I’m sorry… for leaving.”

Her words were sweet music to my cock. I hit her hard and fast, until she whimpered and writhed and squirmed against the desk, and then I slipped my fingers between her thighs.

“You’re a dirty little bitch, Faye. So fucking dirty.”

“Please... more...” she gasped.

And with that her whole body shifted. She was rolling with the endorphins, drifting into subspace. Her shoulders relaxed, her grip on the desk easing up, and her thighs opened for me, showing me that tight, wet little slit. I hit her. Harder.

This time she was begging for more before she’d even stopped wriggling from the last. Her ass was beautiful and ripe and pink, her thighs streaked with colour.

“Take me...” she whimpered. “Please, Andy... fuck me... I want you...”

I yanked her hair back until I could whisper in her ear. “No. You don’t deserve it. My week. My rules.”

“Shit, Andy, please!” she groaned, reaching for her clit. I slapped her hand away.

“My fucking rules, Faye. You get fucked when I say you get fucked.”

I slapped her pussy, making sure it caught her by surprise enough to yelp, then I pulled her panties up.

“I mean it, Faye. My fucking rules.”

I straightened my tie and made my way back to my chair as she caught her breath. My cock was rock solid, pulsing like a bastard, but I played it down, pretending to busy myself with emails like nothing had happened. Slowly Faye pulled herself together. Her breathing calmed and she raised herself from my desk, brushing her clothes down and attempting to play it cool.

“What now?” she asked, pupils still dilated.

“Get back to fucking work,” I snapped.

She shot me a smirk, making her way back to the doorway on legs that looked a little unsteady. She turned to face me before she left and her eyes were sparkling with lust and devilment.

“What?” I asked, resisting the urge to jump up and tear her fucking clothes off.

“I can’t wait until it’s my week, Andy. You have no idea what I’m going to do to you.”

***

Andy

I was impressed with myself. Very impressed.

It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to slam my cock balls-deep in that sweet little snatch. Not to jab my fingers in that tight asshole until it opened up wide and showed me all her dirty secrets. Not to fuck her smart little mouth so hard she would retch around my dick. Not to take her, fuck her, use her, own her, until her apology fucking meant something.

My
week.
My
fucking rules.

I watched her on the CCTV, laughing and chatting with Topaz. Thick as thieves, those two little bitches. How much fun I could have with the pair of them trussed up in one of our playrooms. The things I’d make them do. I palmed my cock at the thought.

Topaz, my green-haired little pixie. Too young for me, and far too sweet. Still, her cute little mouth fixed over Faye’s pussy would be a hard temptation to resist.

I was officially losing my mind, and my grip on the cold, hard rules of professionalism along with it.

My cock was in my hand when the phone rang. I cursed under my breath, shoving it away before picking up the handset.

“Club Explicit, good afternoon.”

The voice at the end of the line killed my hard-on in a heartbeat. The smooth Italian drawl.

“Faye Devere. I must speak with her.”

Not even a please, the fucking prick.

“No. Faye is not available,” I said.

“When will she become available?” he asked. His tone was agitated, mirroring mine.

“How about never. Faye doesn’t wish to take your call.”

“I think that is Faye’s decision.”

“And she’s made it,” I said. “While we’re on topic,
Vince
, we need to talk. About your choice of cover image.”

The prick laughed. “I have nothing to say to you. My magpie looks beautiful, like an angel.”

“I suggest you rethink your marketing strategy. I’ve been in touch with our lawyers. They’re itching to take on the case.”

“
Our
lawyers? There is nothing illegal about the image,” he said. “My magpie doesn’t belong with you, she belongs here. With me. She will fly home, you will see.” That fucking laughter again, smug piece of shit. “This is not over.”

“
Faye
will not be flying fucking anywhere. Not to fucking Italy, and definitely not to you.”

“We shall see about that, won’t we?”

“Yes, we fucking shall,” I said. “Don’t call this number again. Faye will
never
be available.”

I hung up before the twat could say another word, and then I barred his number. Prick.

Your fucking move, Vincent cunting Blackthorne. Bring it on.

***

Faye

Andy didn’t fuck me. Not that day, nor the next, nor the one after. He utilised his regular modus operandi of lording it around the place, and I played my part, abiding by the rules of the all-powerful coin toss.
His
week.
His
way. His reign wouldn’t last forever, and when the tables turned they’d be toppling flat on their backs.

I’d always been sexually submissive, even before I knew what it meant. My fantasies revolved almost entirely around the beautiful place beyond pain, where I sacrifice control to someone who knows how to wield it. I’d been playing in the BDSM scene since the day I discovered it, and played both dominant and submissive happily enough under the right circumstances, yet the domme in me had always been a minor facet; an intellectual bystander to my more natural submissive traits. Even in Venice, I rarely
felt
it. Rarely felt the power-lust that dominants yearn for.

But Andy was different. I veered between the desire to kneel at his feet and beg for punishment, and the desire to slap the holy living shit out of him. I replayed our playroom power struggle on loop through my bar duties, the urge to mark his perfect skin becoming my all-consuming aphrodisiac. I wanted to hurt the man. Wanted to control the man. Wanted to hear him beg me to stop, beg me for more, beg me for anything just so long as
that
fucking man was on his fucking knees before me.

I craved the sight of his body battered raw at my sadistic hands, the beauty of his skin as it hardened into welts, and ridges, darkening into glorious rich bruises. I wanted to bind him, humiliate him, force him to do things that would make even the mighty Masque call for a time out.

Above all things, I wanted to break him, but someone like Andy Morgan wouldn’t break easily. I doubted a man like Andy even knew how to submit himself entirely to the will of another. Still, I could dream.

Friday night was a killer. A crazy long night on bar in new heels and an overenthusiastic corset. A night where Andy didn’t show his face at all, and I managed to miss out on a Masque spectacular, changing over cruddy barrels whilst he flogged his pretty green-eyed fiancée until she cried. My grumpy night grew grumpier still when I got the news that our wet room had become a little
clogged
. I was to be the one to rectify the situation, apparently. Of course I would be; Andy’s orders.

Fucking coin toss.

I tackled the job when the club was wrapping up for the night, teetering on my heels as I attempted to flush fuck knows what down the main drain. Water wouldn’t cut it, so I held my breath against the stench and yanked up the drain cover. The problem was easy to identify, a used rubber wedged in the pipe, along with a grimy matted slimy collection of hair. Even through gloves my skin crawled. The rubber plopped out like a squishy pink slug, and there was shit on it. Actual fucking shit. Jesus Christ.

The thought came unbidden; a crystal clear image of me choking Andy on the skanky, shit-covered rubber until he was sick. It would serve him right for sending me on the grotty fucking errand in the first place.

It was the perfect moment for him to make an appearance, and I couldn’t help but smile. He propped himself against the doorway like Little Lord Fauntleroy, careful not to dirty his brogues on the piss-wet floor tiles.

“I knew you were a dirty cow, Faye, but even I didn’t imagine I’d find you smiling over a wet room blockage.” He pulled a face. “Jesus wept, what the fuck
is
that?”

I waggled it in the air like a trophy, fighting the urge to retch. “A shit-covered condom matted with pubic hair. If I didn’t know better I’d think you put it down there, just to be a sadistic asshole.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even I have my limits, Faye. That is seriously disgusting.” He toed the drain cover back into position with a scowl. “Fuck knows how it even got down there. It’s usually just hair and soap scum. Despite its reputation, people do generally use the place for regular showers. I’d have handled it myself if I’d have known, I’m not that much of a cunt.”

“You, on all fours, in rubber gloves, fishing about in someone else’s shit? Now that I would
love
to see.” I dropped the offending item in the bin and the gloves along with them. “Way to go for installing a wet room.” I rinsed my hands under the nearest faucet, flicking the drips in his direction.

“Actually, if I recall, the wet room was
your
idea, I merely implemented it. A regular shower block would have been my choice.”

“I clearly didn’t think through the practicalities.”

“
No holds barred,
” he mimicked. “
The ultimate playroom experience… we go bigger, better, dirtier, Andy, not just a couple of flogging benches and some cages. We have the works, everything, even a wet room…
”

I smiled. “I remember that conversation.”

He slapped the wall with some kind of perverse pride. “And here you have it. The princess gets her piss play. She also gets shit-smeared condoms along with it, call it a value-added extra.”

“I’ll survive.” I leaned back against a cleanish looking piece of tiling. “Never fancied it? In here, I mean.”

“I’m hardly Masque, Faye. I do have
some
limits.”

“Limits are there to be pushed,” I said. “That’s where the fun is.”

“If you say so.”

“I
know
so.” The thought of kneeling at his feet in the filth gave me tingles. The thought of him kneeling at mine gave me more. “You used to be pretty dirty, Andy. Some of your scenes are emblazoned on my memory for all time. It’s one of the things I liked best about you.”

“
Liked
best? Don’t write me off quite yet, Miss Kink. I’m dormant, not fucking extinct.”

Heat. You could feel it between us. A flame smouldering without oxygen, waiting to explode. A clack of heels broke the tension, Topaz with keys in her hand.

“We’re all done,” she said. “See you in the morning, Faye…” she looked from Andy’s feet to his face and back again, “Goodnight, Mr Morgan.”

“Goodnight, Topaz,” he said.

I waved her goodbye, then readied myself for leaving. Bed was calling, loud. Blissful bed for aching feet. Fucking heels. “Time for a cab,
Mr Morgan
,” I said. “I’m absolutely pooped.”

I could’ve smacked him across the mouth for the cheek in his smirk. “Not quite,” he said. “Playroom three’s flogging bench needs washing down before tomorrow. Someone forgot club etiquette; it’s rather
sticky
, apparently. You’d better grab another pair of gloves.”

My eyes widened. “You are shitting me?”

“Afraid not,” he said. “This is club life, Faye, you wanted in, you can pull your weight.”

“This isn’t about pulling my weight,” I snapped. “It’s about you proving a stupid point.”

“Think what you want, but that bench isn’t going to clean itself. Gloves. Bench.
Then
taxi. And don’t be late in the morning.” He walked away without so much as a backwards glance, leaving me to simmer in the wet room with a temper fit to burst.

I stomped through the club to the supply room, gathering up antibacterial spray, and steriliser, and gloves, and wipes and bleach and a commiseration glass of vodka Coke before tracking back through to playroom three.

I flicked the lights back on, slamming the door behind me and downing my drink in one. The room was immaculate, the fresh smell of pine steriliser still ripe in the air. I approached the flogging bench with confusion; it was perfectly fucking clean. I cursed under my breath that the asshole had sent me on a fool’s errand, when the door creaked behind me.

I didn’t bother turning around. “No need to check up on me. It’s already been done,” I said. “It doesn’t even need cleaning.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he said, and his voice was low, gravelly… threatening. The hairs on my neck prickled, pulse accelerating, mouth clammy.

I held my breath as his footsteps came closer, and even though I knew what was coming, it still made me jump.

The leather of the crop tickled my shoulder blade. It crept up slowly, then grazed a path right the way down my arm.

“I want your back against the wall, Miss Devere. Right fucking now.”

***

Andy

I tapped the crop against her wrist, hard enough that she let the cleaning supplies clatter to the floor. She took a breath, then moved as instructed, long graceful steps like a gazelle until her back was pressed flat to the wall. I tapped the crop against my thigh as I looked her over. She was still made up from her stint behind the bar, eyes heavy with black glitter and ridiculous false lashes. Her mouth was a vicious scarlet; lips slightly parted and sheened heavy with gloss. I loosened my tie and pulled it free, running the burgundy silk across my palm as I approached. Her heels made us a perfect height match as I squared up to her, eye to eye, close enough that I could feel her breath on my face. I hooked the crop on a rail to the side, well within easy reach.

“Give me your wrists.”

She offered them up without argument, keeping quiet while I bound them together with my tie. I pinned them against the wall above her head.

“Keep them there. Don’t move.”

I tugged at the front lacing of her corset, and she struggled to stay still as I wrenched it away from her skin. Her tits spilled loose, and her nipples were pert little buds just begging to be punished. The sight made my mouth water. I yanked her corset free and threw it aside, then bunched her tight little skirt around her waist. Sheer black lace covered the sweet mound of her cunt. I hooked my fingers inside the gusset and pulled until the lace cut tight between her pussy lips.

“Such a pretty wet slit you’ve got for me, Faye. You didn’t think I was going to let you walk out of here, did you? Not on my fucking weekend. You should know me better than that.”

She squirmed, grinding her clit against the fabric. “Fuck, Andy, that feels so good.”

I pressed my mouth to her ear. “I’m going to teach you a lesson in manners. It’s going to really fucking hurt, and you’re going to be really fucking grateful.” I tugged on the fabric between her legs until she squeaked. “Tell me you’re going to be grateful, Faye.”

The softest moan before she replied. “Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Andy. Yes, I’m going to be grateful!”

I slipped her panties down her legs until they dropped to the floor. She stepped out of them instinctively, and I kicked her ankles further apart. “I’ve been doing some bedtime reading,” I sneered. “It’s been quite informative.”

“It’s just a book…” she began, yelping as I landed a slap between her legs.

“Don’t lie to me, Faye. I’m not an idiot, so don’t you dare fucking take me for one.” I ran my thumb across her mouth, smearing her pretty lipstick. “That fucking pervert Vincent is very forthcoming on how dirty his sweet little Magpie was for him. You loved the way the filthy cunt hurt you, didn’t you? I’m reading it all, Faye, every sordid little detail, committing it all to memory.” The moan from her lips was a perfect blend of both lust and horror. “He made very sure to mention how his pretty bird likes her pussy punished. I know he slapped your tight little slit until you begged him to kiss it all better. Maybe I’ll kiss it all better, too, if you’re a fucking good girl.”

“Please,” she hissed, and her eyes were glazed. “Hurt me, Andy. Hurt me like he did.”

“I’ll hurt you better than that fucking prick ever did, I fucking promise.” I hooked my thumbs inside her pussy rings, pulling enough to stretch her lips wide. “You’re going to spread your legs for me, and you’re going to stay still, you understand?”

“Yes…”

I stepped away and watched her shift into position, offering me her pussy without reservation, hands still held high above her head. I took the crop down from the rail and tapped the soft flesh on the inside of her thighs. “So much I could do to you, Faye. So much I
want
to fucking do. I’m spoiled for choice.”

“Please…” she said. “Anything…”

I rubbed the crop over her clit, and she squirmed against the contact. “I’ll make it feel good, if you’re a good girl for me.”

“I’ll be good,” she said. “Fuck, Andy, that feels really nice.”

“And how about this?” I said, thwacking it hard against her thigh. “How does that fucking feel?”

“Ow, fuck… yes!”

“Did he hurt you like this, Faye?” I brought the crop up to her tits, flicking the end against her pert little nipples. She gasped and groaned, closing her eyes as she struggled to keep position. “I don’t give a fuck who wins the next coin toss, you’ll be wearing my bruises right the way through next week, I fucking promise.”

My words stoked the fire, and her eyes flashed open, blazing with defiance. “Then you’d better fucking hit me, hadn’t you? Come on, Andy, fucking give it to me!”

I thrashed her thighs for her audacity, and I thrashed them good. Her legs trembled with adrenaline, stripes darkening to crimson as blood pooled beneath the skin.