by N. J Ross
Burning Desire: BWWM Erotic Romance
A Novel
Billionaire Charles Earnshaw is not like other men. He's always in control. He's drop-dead gorgeous. He's unbelievably stern. He's got a dark secret...
When beautiful Desiree Brown enters the high-paced world of journalism, she knows that life's about to get interesting. But when Charles Earnshaw, the CEO of her company takes a personal interest in her development, the worlds of pleasure and pain are mixed into one.
Soon, Desiree is going to find it hard not to give in to him. Soon, she's going to be bound by her white boss, and burning with desire.
This novel contains explicit scenes and BDSM elements.
BURNING DESIRE: A BWWM NOVEL
I don’t know how long he was gone for. I couldn’t see or hear a thing. I was just hanging there, swaying ever so slightly from side to side as the weight of my body hung from the ring above me.
When the footsteps returned they were slow, meaningful, like a lion closing in on its prey. It sounded like they were a few meters away from me when they stopped. Then I heard something new. A click. The click of a camera button being pressed. And again.
Click. Click.
Then more footsteps.
I’d forgotten about the photographs. It felt horrifying, suddenly, thinking about that extra ‘eye’ looking at me. It was one thing having my boss see me with my legs splayed apart like this. The terrifying thought popped into my head that he might show these photographs to someone else. Attach them to a round robin email sent to all staff at work? Cc’d to my old boss, Christina, for added humiliation. Oh god. I felt so vulnerable.
‘Mr. Earnshaw,’ I said warily. ‘You’re not going to show these photos to anyone, are you?’
The sound of the camera stopped, and for a few moments, there was nothing but silence.
‘I didn’t say you could ask questions,’ he said angrily. He stepped right up close to me and grabbed my hair, swinging me about on the ring a little. ‘It sounds as if you don’t trust me, little whore.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said, aware how often I’d been apologizing to him today.
‘Tell me “this little whore is sorry”,’ he commanded.
I shrieked as he gripped me by the butt, his fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of my buttocks.
‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed, unable to say it.
‘This little whore…’ he began.
‘Yellow!’ I cried, as his fingers pushed into me harder.
As soon as I uttered the word, his fingers retracted, and held me beneath my stomach, firmly but gently supporting me, giving me his strength for a moment. ‘I’m going to punish you now,’ he said. ‘Firstly, for asking questions without my permission. Secondly, for not doing as I told you. Do you understand that.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
I heard him pick something up off the floor, and then felt his hands on my ass again. ‘Are you going to take the punishment like a good girl?’ he asked, his voice a little more tender than it had been before.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, growing in bravery, relieved to know that I had the power to make him stop anything I didn’t want. That ‘yellow’ had made him stop hurting me at once. That, despite our game, whatever it was were were doing with one another, he still respected me. That in one way, at least, I was still in control. ‘This little whore needs to be punished,’ I said timidly, enjoying the terrible, forbidden sound of the words as they came out of my mouth. I felt like I’d never said anything so naughty in all my life. It felt amazing to say something so bad, and be considered a ‘good girl’ for doing so.
He placed one hand firmly beneath my stomach, his fingers splayed out over me. His hands were so large that he covered the space from beneath my breasts, right down to my pubis, all the way across my abdomen.
Then, there was silence.
The first thing I was aware of was the almighty crack. The pain came afterwards. A delayed reaction. And then a terrible sting across my buttocks. A pain like that, so close to my exposed buttocks – it felt so scary. This man had the power to really injure me, if he wanted to. Before I had the chance to properly process it, the same thing happened again.
Another crack.
This time, the pain seared. I cried out. I’d never felt pain like it. I’d had my wisdom teeth taken out, and experienced the ache of my gums as the painkillers wore off. I’d scraped my knee when I fell off my bike as a a girl. I’d had an ear infection and cried myself to sleep three nights in a row when I was a teenager. But nothing like this. It was like the stick had split me open.
I hung there, while my boss remained silent, and I had no idea what was coming next. My skin was throbbing. And, something I hadn’t expected at all, and almost felt embarrassed to admit to myself, is that my pussy was throbbing too. It was as if the pain had travelled down through my stomach, and transferred into a tingling sensation between my legs.
Crack. He hit me again.
I shrieked.
My pussy throbbed even more.
I didn’t know whether I was in agony, or turned on, or both.
‘Ch–’ I started to shout out, unsure whether I wanted to use the safeword, but it had just started to pop out, like some kind of automatic reaction. ‘Charles!’ I screamed, changing my mind at the last minute and screaming out my boss’ name.
The hand holding me by the stomach grew rigid, less gentle, less supporting, and my boss whipped me again. And again. And again. ‘Never call me that,’ he said, in the most serious tone I had ever heard him use. ‘It’s sir.’ And he cracked the rod against me one more time to make sure I’d understood.
Each time the rod touched me, I screwed up my eyes beneath the blindfold, and cried out involuntarily, but each time the throbbing between my legs grew harder. I was in a lot of pain, but I was amazed to discover that I was actually growing wet down there. I wondered if it was obvious, if my boss could sense it.
‘Desiree,’ he said, his voice appearing suddenly up close to my ear, like he was the voice inside my head. ‘I was going to take you down now. But I’m going to leave you hanging here for an extra five minutes as punishment.’
His face moved away from mine, and his hands let go of me, and he left me there, swinging on the rope, which was creaking ever so slightly as my body pulled at it.
I wasn’t sure where Mr. Earnshaw was standing, or if perhaps he’d walked away. The blood was pumping so hard in me now that I could hear my own heartbeat. My pulse was racing, and my ass was stinging. I felt my chest fishing and falling fast, but it was too contained by the ropes to breathe as hard as my lungs wanted to.
Eventually, though, my pulse slowed down, the stinging became sharper, more focused, so that I could feel the lines of exactly where the rod had hit me. I concentrated on the pain, weirdly enjoying the feeling of it. I had never felt this alive. So aware of my own mortality.
The more that my body relaxed, the safer I began to feel, until eventually, after a couple of minutes, it was as though I was enveloped in a cocoon, warm and cosy, listening to nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat and breathing, like I was floating through space, peaceful and dreamy.
And then, somewhere behind me, I heard the sound of his breath. Fast, and heavy. Growing faster. Heavier. Faster.
And then silence.
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