Page 24 of Toy Shop

“Alistair Cromwell.”

“Good girl.” I press my lips to hers, an encouraging kiss rather than a sexual one. “I’ll repeat what I said—we’ll be playing with the rabbit vibrator and a paddle. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she says vehemently. “I’ll wait here. I’ll be a good girl.”

“That’s right, baby.” I stroke her hair one final time before turning away. “You will.”

I leave her, heading to the TV room where I set the paddle of my choice earlier. The black broad pole has two sides, one leather, the other fur.

Although exerting my power and causing pain to flare in my partner gets me off and helps me regain control of my life, I’m not a complete monster. Nola hasn’t touched a vibrator in her life. I’m not about to traumatize her by choosing the most extreme paddle I own.

She waits for me like she said she would, fingers splayed out on my window again. Condensation frames her palms, her body heat contrasting the temperature outside.

Her head is bowed, and when I enter through the doorway, despite walking softly across the wall-to-wall carpet, she turns it to me. Like she knows I’m there.

It’s a connection I can’t ignore and am adamant on abhorring.

There’s no room for it here.

“Is it…is it going to hurt?” Her eyes flicker to the paddle.

“Nothing that wouldn’t be accompanied by pleasure.” I grab the rabbit from her bag. A dull pang of jealousy flares in me toward the inanimate object.

“Okay.” She sighs, relaxing for the barest moment.

Because in the next, the curved head of the shaft is positioned at her slit. A short whimper she tries to suffocate by sealing her lips tight carries to my ears.

Fucking music, that’s what it is.

Foreplay is redundant. After the orgasm I gave her, Nola’s pussy is more than prepared to be fucked by just about anything. I force the vibrator into her clenched pussy, demanding her muscles give in, then ram it all the way to the hilt.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

Her head bobs. I pull it out, shoving it straight back in. The rough, yet intentional and calculated movements draw out another whimper from Nola’s lips. Her torture and elation blend into one, and fuck, is it fucking perfect.

The power over her is immediate, natural. It flows, but she still needs guidance, that invisible leash.

“You love it when I fuck your tight, sopping hole like that?” When she cries a weak yes, I go on, “Like how fucking deep I’m in?”

I hold for a second, leave the tip of the vibrator nudging at her opening.

“I do.”

I smile to myself.

And I show her we’ve only just begun.

“This,”—I pound it inside her, out, then in again—“is,”—I go faster for five thrusts, counting—“how,”—then two slow—“it’s done.”

The ruthless delivery of pleasure continues, her pretty pink pussy taking whatever I administer. She’s dripping, arousal running down her thigh, showing how badly she wants it. I stuff the paddle between my arm and torso, tracing the sweet juices with the pad of my finger, licking the tip.

“Mouth open wide.” I bend over her, dipping my finger into her mouth forcefully. She sucks on it, swirling her tongue, gazing at me through fountains of need.

“That’s my girl.” Nola earned the praise, and by the end of the night, I have no doubt this good girl will receive a lot more of them. I can see it in her.

Though there are still lessons to be taught. When she tries to swallow my finger in, I take it away. Protest rises in her throat, providing me the best cue to whip her if I ever knew one.

In one fluid movement, I free the paddle, grab the handle, and smack the side of her right breast with the furry side. My spanks—twice, then three fast times on the left one—are subtle. Irreparable damage isn’t my kink.

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