Page 32 of Hooked

“I’ll explain while you strip.”

He noted the muscles in her throat contract as she swallowed, and her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she worked the buttons on her blouse.

“The brush, sweet Livia, is a modern-day tool inspired by the Victorian era birch rod. In 1870, had you made such an egregious error, I would have collected a bundle of switches and whacked away at your naughty bottom.” He shook his head, making a tsking sound. “Imagine how messy that was with the bark and broken bits flying all about as the master flailed the inattentiveness out of his charge.”

Her eyes practically bugged out, clearly thinking of her thrashed behind, not a mess on the floor. In her very expressive face, he could easily read every nuance of her dismay, along with a healthy dose of curiosity and excitement. Although he planned to use it on her forthwith, he upped the psychological ante with the drawn-out explanation. A hard lesson to be sure, but the imp deserved it for her little prank, by god. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his amusement under control.

“This beauty”—he continued, watching with undisguised interest as she slipped off her bra—“is made of rattan, scaled down and painstakingly polished into these smooth reeds. That was another drawback of the old birch rods, rough edges, and knots in the wood. This is flawless. Don’t get me wrong. It is a severe implement and in the wrong hands can raise welts and break the skin, but in the control of a skilled master, it can range from pleasurable wispy strokes to stinging fire, as is its reputation. If punishment is the goal, added strokes and a bit more effort can make this highly effective in correcting recalcitrant subordinates.”

She had removed her skirt. No panties, he noticed, pleased she had followed his new rule. This left her in a lacy champagne-colored garter and sheer stockings. His already stiff cock jerked at the lovely sight. She’d been planning a welcome home for him, apparently.

“Leave the rest and bend over my desk.”

As she took her position, he saw the slight tremble in her shoulders and the rapid thrum of her pulse in her throat. If he touched her now, he knew she’d be dripping wet.

With a touch intending to soothe, he softly glided his hand down her spine. A little anxiety was good, but he didn’t want her frightened. It was play, not torture, although she didn’t know that yet. Having easily taken control of the game, he wondered if it was turning out as she’d hoped.

His fingers skimmed along her lower back and into the waistband of the garter. “Palms flat on the surface, feet wide apart.” As she shifted, his hand moved between her legs and commanded, “Wider.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers found her sultry heat. She was soaked, her abundant nectar like a balm to his soul. His Livia thrived on this as much as he did, thank god. In that, they were a perfect match.

Returning his hand to her back for support, he whisked the birch broom lightly across both cheeks of her nicely rounded ass.

“I’m told there is a cumulative effect with the birch. Each swat builds upon the next.” He paused, delivering one well-controlledthwackafter another. She shifted a bit. “I’m assured builds to a significant sting.” He paused and rubbed his palm on her pinkening skin, assessing the heat. Deciding she could take more, he administered three consecutive swipes, each equal to if not eclipsing its predecessor.

On the last stroke, she hissed in a quickly indrawn breath.

He stopped, his hand gliding over her quivering ass as he leaned over her back. “If you want to play naughty secretary and me your hard-ass, disciplinarian boss, pet, you only need to say so.”

She huffed a sharp breath at both his words and the two fingers that simultaneously slid into her wet pussy. Finding her clit with his thumb, he rubbed it briskly as he pumped in and out of her slickness.

“I’ll make the time. If you want to role-play, I’m up for that, too, but none of this sham incompetence. I know you better.”

“I’m sorry,” she said between moans. “I didn’t mean—”

She didn’t speak further, or perhaps, she couldn’t, as he withdrew one finger and slipped it into her wonderfully tight and puckered rear hole.

“Go on,” he encouraged as his fingers moved in and out of both holes in tandem, his thumb strumming constantly over the bundle of nerves up front.

“I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

“Try,” he insisted.

“The f-folder...” she stammered as he quickened the pace. “I didn’t intend to give it to you,” she blurted out in a rush. “I mean, I did, at first. Then I changed my mind. The original contracts are on my desk.”

“You were going to give me a little test, eh? Were you hoping I’d bend you over my desk for a sound thrashing?”

Her answer, “yes, master,” was almost lost in the bliss-filled moan that escaped from her throat as she rocked back against his persistent hand.

“It seems a spanking in this case is a reward rather than a punishment when that was your end game all along.”

He withdrew his hand, smiling as she whimpered at its loss. He didn’t plan to leave her wanting for long, however. From his trouser pocket, he withdrew the plug and lube he’d placed there in anticipation of this moment. One-handed, he thumbed open the flip-top bottle and applied several drops to the end of the medium-sized plug. He gently spread her cheeks and pressed the tip against the small opening his finger had primed.

“You’ve taken a plug before, haven’t you, pet?”

“Yes, sir. A small one, but it has been years.”

It could have been decades. That some other dom had plugged her ass infuriated him. He knew his anger was irrational. Any thirty-five-year-old woman, submissive or vanilla, would have a sexual past. He just preferred not to think of it, but as her dom, he had to know when introducing new things.

---