Page 61 of Preferential Treatment

The fourth strike hit him on the ass again, right across the stinging flesh that the first strike had raised. The layered pain brought a whole new level of shock to his senses, tearing an agonized cry from his throat.

“I’m sorry, knyazhna!”

Again and again, she whipped his belt against his ass and thighs, striping him with pain—pain made ecstatic because it was delivered by her hand. His legs trembled, knees wanting to buckle, as each subsequent blow seemed to intensify, robbing him of strength and balance. But he never forgot to apologize to her. And when the eighth blow landed, he remembered to gasp a ragged, raw-throated apology even as his whole body shook with adrenaline and overstimulation, muscles exhausted from tensing.

“All done,” Kate said. Her voice was soft, but there was no gentleness in it.

Mikhail let himself sink to his knees, and when that wasn’t enough, he slid off the desk entirely, sprawling on his back on the floor. Kate stood over him, belt still in hand, looking down with cold disdain. She’d kicked her shoes off at some point—probably for better balance while she belted him—and stood in just sheer, black nylon stockings. She shifted her weight, lifting one stockinged foot to press it to his cheek, grinding his face against the floor. He was achingly hard and leaking pre-come like a faucet.

“Are you ready to be obedient?”

“Yes,” he panted, his voice slurred by the pressure of her foot on his face.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, knyazhna.”

She laughed, a soft, dark sound. “Good boy.” She pulled her foot off, and stepped back, freeing him. He remained sprawled, pulling in rapid breaths, trying to think around the aching pressure of his dripping cock.

“Arrange the donation, and then I’ll let you make up for your bad behavior.”

“Yes, knyazhna.” He pushed himself up slowly on weak arms. His head spun as he looked around the room. “My phone… I can’t…” Gripping the edge of the desk, he dragged himself up to standing. “My phone’s in my room. I have to get it.”

“Get it, then. I’ll follow.”

“Yes, knyazhna.” Feeling a bit like a wounded bison being trailed by a hungry lioness, Mikhail walked naked and hurting through the halls to his bedroom on the other side of the house.

Kate followed Mikhail into his bedroom. For a moment, she paused, taken aback by the unexpected intimacy of seeing his bed, and standing in the room where he slept. They’d only ever fucked in his office. This felt different. Intimate. Kate had half a mind to leave, but Mikhail had found his phone on the bedside table and brought it to his ear.

“Sarah,” he greeted his assistant. “I need you to arrange a donation to, uh—” He glanced at Kate. She handed over the slip of paper she’d pocketed earlier with the non-profit’s details written down. Mikhail accepted it, and read it out to Sarah.

While he spoke to his assistant, his hungry gaze pinned on Kate the whole time, she took a moment to look around his room. Large French windows spanned a curved alcove above a cushioned window seat. They were leaded in a diamond pattern and overlooked the backyard with the fountain and the elaborate, but dormant, garden. His bed was a large, wooden four-poster, with dark green bedding. The same Old World architectural details that filled the rest of the house could be found here—high ceilings, wide crown molding, a beautifully parqueted floor.

There wasn’t much in the way of personal effects—no photographs, no mementos, no knick-knacks. There was art on the walls, but just like the parlor, it was mostly stuff that seemed to have been curated for the Rich Person Lives Here aesthetic, rather than for any kind of personal touch that seemed unique to Mikhail.

“Yes. Thank you, Sarah.” He ended the call and tossed the phone aside. It landed with a noisy clatter on top of a nightstand. “Satisfied?” he demanded.

Kate drew up close to him, pressing herself against him as she ran her hand down his chest, down his stomach. His sullen gaze softened, heated, as her touch drifted lower. She traced her fingers lightly from his hip bone to the crease where his thigh met his groin. With a deft movement, she took hold of his balls.

He stiffened, but didn’t dare pull away. “Knyazhna,” he breathed. Despite the threat of her grasp, he was hardening again, his cock jutting against her abdomen.

“You never thanked me,” Kate told him in a dangerously soft voice.

“Thanked you for what?”

She tightened her grip on his sac, tugging a little. He groaned, leaning into the pull.

“You never thanked me for the privilege of being used for my wishes.”

“Ah.” He let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you, knyazhna.”

She tugged a little harder, making him grunt. His cocked pulsed eagerly. “That didn’t sound very sincere.”

“Thank you, knyazhna,” he growled, eyes squeezed shut as he drew in bracing breaths. “Thank you for using me.”

She gave his sac one more tug before releasing him. “That’s better. Get on the bed. On your back.”

He obeyed, sprawling across the mattress, turning his head to watch her approach. She clambered over him, hiking her skirt up to slide astride his thighs. His cock lay hard and hot and thick against his belly, twitching with each beat of his pulse. She ran a single fingertip along the shaft, a featherlight touch that made him groan with frustration, hips rocking to seek more sensation.

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