by West, Jade
***
Andy
I tapped the crop against her wrist, hard enough that she let the cleaning supplies clatter to the floor. She took a breath, then moved as instructed, long graceful steps like a gazelle until her back was pressed flat to the wall. I tapped the crop against my thigh as I looked her over. She was still made up from her stint behind the bar, eyes heavy with black glitter and ridiculous false lashes. Her mouth was a vicious scarlet; lips slightly parted and sheened heavy with gloss. I loosened my tie and pulled it free, running the burgundy silk across my palm as I approached. Her heels made us a perfect height match as I squared up to her, eye to eye, close enough that I could feel her breath on my face. I hooked the crop on a rail to the side, well within easy reach.
“Give me your wrists.”
She offered them up without argument, keeping quiet while I bound them together with my tie. I pinned them against the wall above her head.
“Keep them there. Don’t move.”
I tugged at the front lacing of her corset, and she struggled to stay still as I wrenched it away from her skin. Her tits spilled loose, and her nipples were pert little buds just begging to be punished. The sight made my mouth water. I yanked her corset free and threw it aside, then bunched her tight little skirt around her waist. Sheer black lace covered the sweet mound of her cunt. I hooked my fingers inside the gusset and pulled until the lace cut tight between her pussy lips.
“Such a pretty wet slit you’ve got for me, Faye. You didn’t think I was going to let you walk out of here, did you? Not on my fucking weekend. You should know me better than that.”
She squirmed, grinding her clit against the fabric. “Fuck, Andy, that feels so good.”
I pressed my mouth to her ear. “I’m going to teach you a lesson in manners. It’s going to really fucking hurt, and you’re going to be really fucking grateful.” I tugged on the fabric between her legs until she squeaked. “Tell me you’re going to be grateful, Faye.”
The softest moan before she replied. “Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Andy. Yes, I’m going to be grateful!”
I slipped her panties down her legs until they dropped to the floor. She stepped out of them instinctively, and I kicked her ankles further apart. “I’ve been doing some bedtime reading,” I sneered. “It’s been quite informative.”
“It’s just a book…” she began, yelping as I landed a slap between her legs.
“Don’t lie to me, Faye. I’m not an idiot, so don’t you dare fucking take me for one.” I ran my thumb across her mouth, smearing her pretty lipstick. “That fucking pervert Vincent is very forthcoming on how dirty his sweet little Magpie was for him. You loved the way the filthy cunt hurt you, didn’t you? I’m reading it all, Faye, every sordid little detail, committing it all to memory.” The moan from her lips was a perfect blend of both lust and horror. “He made very sure to mention how his pretty bird likes her pussy punished. I know he slapped your tight little slit until you begged him to kiss it all better. Maybe I’ll kiss it all better, too, if you’re a fucking good girl.”
“Please,” she hissed, and her eyes were glazed. “Hurt me, Andy. Hurt me like he did.”
“I’ll hurt you better than that fucking prick ever did, I fucking promise.” I hooked my thumbs inside her pussy rings, pulling enough to stretch her lips wide. “You’re going to spread your legs for me, and you’re going to stay still, you understand?”
“Yes…”
I stepped away and watched her shift into position, offering me her pussy without reservation, hands still held high above her head. I took the crop down from the rail and tapped the soft flesh on the inside of her thighs. “So much I could do to you, Faye. So much I want to fucking do. I’m spoiled for choice.”
“Please…” she said. “Anything…”
I rubbed the crop over her clit, and she squirmed against the contact. “I’ll make it feel good, if you’re a good girl for me.”
“I’ll be good,” she said. “Fuck, Andy, that feels really nice.”
“And how about this?” I said, thwacking it hard against her thigh. “How does that fucking feel?”
“Ow, fuck… yes!”
“Did he hurt you like this, Faye?” I brought the crop up to her tits, flicking the end against her pert little nipples. She gasped and groaned, closing her eyes as she struggled to keep position. “I don’t give a fuck who wins the next coin toss, you’ll be wearing my bruises right the way through next week, I fucking promise.”
My words stoked the fire, and her eyes flashed open, blazing with defiance. “Then you’d better fucking hit me, hadn’t you? Come on, Andy, fucking give it to me!”
I thrashed her thighs for her audacity, and I thrashed them good. Her legs trembled with adrenaline, stripes darkening to crimson as blood pooled beneath the skin.
“Better?” I sneered.
She nodded, eyes watery.
“There’s so much more to come, Faye. So much more…”
I dropped the crop and used my palm to deliver heavy, thudding slaps across her tits. I twisted her nipples until she yelped, then took them into my mouth, biting and sucking and slurping until she begged for more. Fuck, how I loved hurting those sweet tits, marking them up so fucking pretty. I ground my fingers into her hungry snatch and she bucked at the contact, desperate to grind that tender little nub to orgasm.
“Please, Andy,” she wheezed. “Make me come.”
I slapped her cunt so hard she gritted her teeth. “You’ll come when I say so.”
“Bastard,” she said.
Two fingers slid inside her easily, so I opened her up with a third and she grunted. I snaked my free hand around her thigh to seek out her dirty little asshole, then worked a finger in dry. She let out low groan of pain. “I’ll fucking remember that,” she hissed.
“You’ll remember this more,” I said, and her body stiffened as I forced in another two. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it this way,” I snarled. “Your pussy well and truly fucking betrays you.”
“Fuck…” she wheezed. “Fuck, Andy, that fucking hurts…”
My fingers were brutal, stretching both holes nice and wide as she groaned and bucked and hissed at me. “Good girl,” I said. “Fucking take it.”
She brought her arms down from the wall, hooking them around my neck to rest on my shoulders, and with that leverage she pulled me closer, until her mouth was pressed to mine and her tongue was at my lips. I kissed her hard, muffling her squeal as I jammed a fourth finger into her pussy.
“Fuck me,” she groaned into my mouth. “Please, Andy, just fuck me.”
Her body made such delicious noises as I pulled my fingers out. I spun her around and pinned her hard, making her groan as her sweet bruised tits slapped the wall. I loosened my trousers enough to free my cock, and slammed into her sopping cunt with a growl of relief. I reached around to strum at her swollen clit, and my other hand found her mouth, forcing dirty fingers down her throat until she gagged.
“Come for me,” I snarled. “Come for me with my filthy fingers down your throat. Show me how dirty you are, Faye, show me the girl from those disgusting fucking books.”
She exploded under my fingers, legs shaking like jelly as she spluttered against the intrusion in her mouth. I held her firm, unloading myself into her hot little snatch as she tensed all around me.
I kept her pinned as we caught our breath, only letting go when I was sure she was steady enough.
Her hair was a mess, and her lipstick was even worse, but she looked hot as fucking sin.
I left her to dress herself while I finished up in the office, and she’d only just laced up her corset by the time I’d got back.
I tossed my keys from one hand to another, casually, as though I hadn’t just fucked her brains out five minutes earlier.
“Fancy a lift?” I asked. “Car’s round the back.”
***
Faye
Andy had a Mercedes, a new
acquisition. It smelled of leather, and polish, and him. It also smelled of sex once we’d been sitting in it a few minutes. I relaxed into the passenger seat and watched dawn breaking over London, the rumble of the engine all but sending me to sleep.
“Up here, right? West Street?” Andy took the corner before I could stop him, and swinging onto the road I’d abandoned three days previous.
“Not anymore, sorry,” I said. “I should’ve let you know sooner. I’m in Kings Court, you can cut back around at the top, it’s only a couple of streets over. Kings Lodge Guesthouse, there’s a sign out front.”
He shot me a look before swinging the car around. “Why the move?”
“The bed was too soft,” I lied. “Couldn’t get on with it.”
“Couldn’t they have moved you to another room?”
“Fully booked.”
“I see. I trust this one’s better?”
“Much.” I shot him a false smile and he seemed to buy it.
He pulled up outside the guesthouse, and I unclipped my seat belt.
“If you’re about to sink into the whole that was a mistake bullshit, you should give it a rest before you start,” I said.
He twisted in his seat to face me. “Sorry?”
“I’m saying, don’t you dare think of pussying out on me before it’s my week.”
“I don’t pussy out of anything, Faye,” he snapped. “And I wasn’t about to sink into any that was a mistake bullshit.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you say so.”
“I fucking say so.” He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel and my stomach lurched at the memory of them inside my asshole. “Look, Faye, I don’t see the point in maintaining some bullshit pretence that it’s not going to happen again. It will happen again. It’ll probably all end in tears and a business relationship that’s more fucked up than the fucked up one we have already, but it’s going to happen again regardless. Why pretend it’s not?”
“I’m not pretending, I thought you were.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.”
“Fine,” I said, making my move out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’m absolutely totally fucked, in more ways than tiredness, thank you very much.”
“Don’t be fucking late,” he said.
I gave him the finger before I turned away.
I flicked on the kettle and ran my poor feet a very, very hot bath before calling it a night, and only pulled out my phone at the very last minute to check my alarm was set for the morning.
I shouldn’t have looked for the message icon, should have just pretended it didn’t exist.
But there was a message icon, and it was blinking right at me.
1 new: Vincent
Shit.
I opened it with a sigh, confident it would just be another like all the others, with the same load of fly back to me, my love crap he’d been spouting of late.
But that wasn’t what the message said at all. Not even close.
I stared at it for long seconds before I pressed delete, turning it over in my head like it could have some alternative meaning.
It couldn’t. It was quite simple.
If my Pretty Bird won’t fly home to roost, the roost will fly to her. I’m London-bound, sweet Magpie. I’ll be seeing you very soon.
Oh fuck.
***
Chapter Nine
Faye
“It pains my heart when my beautiful magpie looks so sad.”
Vincent’s voice brings me back to the room, even though my eyes stay fixed on the mountains in the distance. Afternoon sunlight pours through the studio window, warm against my naked back. It’s the very definition of perfect, this place, nestled into the side of the Prealps, with this beautiful, creative, tempestuous man.
But he’s right. I am sad.
He rises from his chair, and I breathe a sigh at the inevitable. I turn away as the bed dips under his weight, holding off the moment when I have to meet his eyes. His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs.
“Speak with me, pretty bird, tell me of your sadness.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie.
Strong hands pull at my waist until I roll to face him. “Are you not happy here, Magpie?”
“Of course I am,” I protest. And I mean it; even though it’s been less than twelve months with a man like Vincent and I’m already breaking. His quest to explore the seedy depths of human experience knows no boundaries, and I’m simply a moth fluttering in the flame of his perverse indulgences, fragile and erratic.
“Then, what is it, pretty bird?” He grips my chin. “A good girl never keeps secrets from her master.”
I pull his hand from my face. “I’m just tired. Must we entertain again tonight?”
His scowl confirms his disappointment and my heart races.
“Our guests travel a long way, Magpie. They travel so far for the pleasure of our company, and you wish to send them away without courtesy?”
“No,” I say. “It just feels as though it’s never just us anymore.”
“It’s always just us,” he smiles. “Even when there are others, Magpie, it is always just us in my heart.”
A flash of anger in my stomach, and it rises too quickly for me to subdue it. “It’s not always just us in your bed, though, is it? You never love just me anymore, Vincent. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to share.”
“We have spoken of this many times,” he says. “Must we speak of it again?” Strong hands squeeze my breasts, and his touch has me moaning before I can control myself. “Jealousy is natural and beautiful, pretty bird. I love the way you hurt for me. I love the way your soul longs to possess mine. I too feel the burn inside as I watch you with another. It is a good burn, sweet girl, it makes us alive. You must learn to embrace it.”
“Yes,” I say, and I don’t even know why I’m agreeing.
“Our love is special, Magpie. It is pure and free. It is wild, like the wind on the mountains. We cannot put it in a cage. Our love would grow stale and indulgent. We would grow tired.”
“I just want you to love me above the others in the crowd, Vincent. Master. Is that too much to ask? Does that make me a bad person? A weak person?”
“No,” he sighs. “It makes you even more beautiful.”
I shudder as his fingers slide down my belly, spreading my legs in invitation. “I want you,” I breathe. “Only you.”
He’s turning me insane and I know it, I can feel it. This streak of crazy is burrowing deep, twisting me up inside.
“And I want you,” he says. “I want all of you, Magpie. I want your beautiful soul.”
“Yes…” His fingers spread me.
“I want you to break for me, pretty bird, in every way possible. I love you enough to push you beyond your limits, and it is there that you will come to know your own soul. You will find salvation in the darkness with me, my beautiful girl. You will find all you need with me. You must trust me. You must trust me enough to let me take you to that place.”
His thumb finds my clit. “Yes, Master. Yes…”
“Tonight I shall love you, Magpie, above the others in the crowd.”
My eyes widen. “Really? You will?”
He smiles. “I will show Cynthia and Richard how much I love my sweet bird, but first you must prove to them how much you love me. You do want to prove that to them, don’t you, Magpie? You will do this for me?”
“How?” I ask. “How can I prove that?”
He pulls his fingers from between my legs and presses them to my lips. “Enough questions,” he says. “You will see.”
His gaze has already left mine. He’s staring down at the driveway as Cynthia’s car pulls up.
I can’t stand Cynthia or Richard, although I try not to admit that to myself and certainly not to him.
“Showtime,” he says.
I only wish I wanted it as much as he does.
***
Andy
“You don’t seem all that exc
ited, nor that optimistic. The odds are in your favour, Faye, third time lucky.” I flipped the coin between my fingers, admiring the figures who’d decide our fate for the next seven days.
Faye remained perched on the edge of her desk with her eyes on her feet. More crazy heels, more blisters no doubt. Why she insisted on wearing such ridiculous footwear for a shift behind bar was beyond me. Yet they all did it. The pull of fashion clearly knows no boundaries.
She’d been quiet these past few days, doing all the shit I set out for her without even a hint of backchat. She was efficient but distant, and I had to admit I wasn’t entirely a fan of this new Faye demeanour. Maybe common sense was giving her the battering it should have been giving me, and she was out to shove this thing we were dallying with back under the carpet, where it should have stayed. Maybe she wanted back to Italy. Maybe she wanted back to him.
And maybe I should stop wondering what the fuck Faye fucking Devere wanted.
I offered her the coin. “You can toss.”
“I tossed last time.”
“And I’m saying you can toss again. Throw, before I change my mind.”
She pulled her eyes up to mine, but there was none of the usual Faye exuberance there to greet me. “Toss, Andy. It’s fine.”
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
She was staring back at her shoes before I’d even thrown it. It landed in my palm, man on top. My week. My third week.
The disappointment took me aback. A definite pang of regret, even though the idea was both curious and absurd.
“Am I back on bar, then?” she asked, seemingly resigned to another week of general labour.
“It would appear not.” In a heartbeat I’d flipped the coin in my palm, shocking myself as I held it up for her to see. “Third time lucky.”
The victory seemed to rouse her. A sly smile swept across her lips, and her back straightened, shoulders high. “I win?”
I handed her the evidence, woman on top. “Yes, you win.”