by West, Jade
“So, I’m senior management now it suits you, am I? I thought I was a nobody, that I’d best fuck off back to fucking Italy.”
“Flight’s still booked.” He scowled at me. “If you stay here, Faye, you won’t be staying to make a fucking twat out of me. You want to fuck the clientele, you do it out of hours. I don’t want to see a shitty display like that again in this club, are we fucking clear?”
I caught the flash in his eyes, a fraction of a heartbeat and it was gone. Jealousy. It twisted around my stomach, hit me hard between my bruised thighs. “You don’t want me to fuck them? Fine. I won’t fuck them. Just as long as I can stay.”
He tried to hide the relief, but I saw it anyway. “Go home, wherever that even is, get cleaned up. I’ll see you in the morning, unless by some miracle of God you’ve thought better of it and flown back to Italy.”
“And what then? We work out our roles like adults?”
“Don’t fucking push your luck, Faye. I’ve still a mind to send you packing, regardless of what any lawyers have to say about it.”
I didn’t have energy left to argue with him.
I let him call me a taxi, watched him write the hotel address down on his notepad and lock it away in his drawer. His eyes were shifty once he caught me staring. Guilty. He locked the drawer up tight and slipped the key in his pocket. Top right. A drawer full of secrets, no doubt.
He could keep them there. I had enough of my own.
***
Andy
The clock struck eleven and there was no sign of her. Nerves twitched around my gut. Maybe she’d taken the bait and flown back to Italy. I should have felt relief, but all I felt was dread.
She’d always been intoxicating. Like alcohol fumes, in your bloodstream before you even knew about it.
When she finally burst into my office at quarter past, it was in a cloud of elaborate hand gestures and expensive perfume. Overslept, it was a long day yesterday, Andy, a really long day.
I made sure she didn’t sense my relief, burying it under a veil of hostility.
“Not exactly the best start, Faye. If you insist on being here you could at least show up on time.”
I expected more excuse and bluster, but she dropped into the chair opposite without argument. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Cleaners get in at nine sharp on the weekends. Someone has to be here to open up.”
“We can take it in turns,” she said. “Work out a rota.”
I slid a timetable across the desk. “I’ve already worked out a rota.”
I watched her lips purse as she scanned the chart. “What’s this?”
“The bar shifts. You can shadow Topaz until you learn the ropes.”
“You want me on bar? Seriously?” Her eyes were challenging but not hostile. I liked this contrite, amiable Faye.
I kept my tone clipped. “You want in, you work the bar.”
“If that’s how you insist on playing it.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Neither am I.”
The air crackled with tension. Her dark eyes were fiery under sculpted brows, the dark cascade of her hair pulled tight into a bun. It suited her, showed off the classic angles of her cheekbones. She should have been born in the 40s, in the era of black and white Hollywood movies. She’d have made a fucking fortune.
Her eyes returned to the rota. “So, I’m on bar tonight. What can I do in the meantime?”
I leant back in my chair, tapped my pen against the desk. “Insurance forms. Cleaning. Restocking the bar.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not planning on making this easy, are you? How much longer are you going to keep this up?”
“As long as it takes for you to prove your value to this club. Maybe a little while longer. Depends on my mood, Faye, I could keep this up forever.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She smiled, and for that one moment it was genuine, without the barbs. “Can’t you at least show me around the place in daylight? I haven’t had a decent tour yet.”
“Go exploring, knock yourself out.”
“I’d rather you showed me,” she said. “Please. If you can spare me the time.”
I made a mountain out of her request, tapping away at my laptop like I hadn’t already done everything on my to do list. “Five fucking minutes. Whistle stop tour. Like you don’t know the place already, it hasn’t changed that much, Faye. The rooms are still the rooms, same as they always were.”
“That’s not what I heard.” The glint in her eye gave me shivers up my spine. “I heard you installed a wet room.”
***
I showed Faye the boring shit first, expecting her to lose patience and call it quits, but she did an impeccable job of feigning interest. I showed her the pumps, and the casks, and the chiller settings. I showed her the stash of drinks signs, and cleaning supplies.
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.
“Shirt off,” she said. “Against the wall. Same drill.”
“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.”
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.
