Page 130 of The Secrets That Kill

“You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl, Pollyanna.” I put down my bag and show her around.

It’s a weird fucking feeling, being proud of her. She’s playing her role perfectly. I went over the dos and don’ts for this performance in the car. Do everything I say and don’t say anything out of character.

I gave her one word. A safe word. Snow, as in pure as fucking snow.

“There’s really not much in here; the cross and a bathroom and showers and a big leather sofa for aftercare.”

She eyes the sofa. “Master, I…can we do that at home?”

My mouth twitches.

She’ll get on her hands and knees under a table to try and blow me, happily give me head in a sex club, but aftercare on a sofa makes her squeamish.

Fuck, if I were someone else, she’d make me fall a little more for her right then.

“If you need the bathroom, go now.”

Pollyanna shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing.

“Strip.”

She does.

Fuck, she really is gorgeous. That pretty face and perfect breasts. Her sea-colored eyes and full lips I already know are made for a cock. The long legs, softly rounded hips, and sweet pussy that’s glistening.

My dick is hard before the last of her clothes hits the floor.

That’s her magic fucking power. She can make me hard just by looking at her.

“Remember your safe word?”

“Snow.”

“Good girl.” I take her hand and put her up on the cross. It has restraints built in and loops for rope. I take my time, using both to attach her.

Soon, that fine ass is facing me, the bruises shining under the soft glow of light.

My original plan was to have her facing me. But…cameras. The perverts who are watching can fuck themselves. The less they get of Ivy, the better. Even this position is a hard pill to swallow.

I’ve lost my goddamned mind. I used to love showing off my slave, loved sharing when I approved. Loved voyeurism.

But not with Ivy. She’s for my eyes, hands, mouth, and cock only.

I pick out one of my favorite whips, a mean little thing, designed for pain and precision.

Cracking it in the air makes her whimper, the sound making my dick ache. I circle her, checking that the cross is in locked position so it doesn’t rotate unexpectedly.

“I’m going to fuck you up, Pollyanna.” I bite her ear, sucking the lobe almost lovingly and she whines.

Then I step back, eye her like a predator sizing up his prey, and I bring the whip down, hard, across the middle of her ass.

She screams. I do it again. Each fall bites into her, each leaving a welt. I start to stroke myself using one hand in my pocket to do it. I take my time, changing implements. Some are soft as they hit the skin like a balm, others so thin and painful if I do it wrong, I could draw blood. But I don’t. I would never hurt her.

Watching her on that cross is mesmerizing. Her body movements, juices flowing down her inner thighs, her soft whimpers and sobs music I could listen to for a small forever.

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