AllFreeNovel
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I do what he says. The motion, of course, leaves my butt in the air. He yanks down my unbuttoned pants. His grip closes on my panties. He tugs hard, but the fabric is too sturdy to rip. I yelp at the contact with my over-sensitive clit which—predictably—makes him tug again.
I hold my breath and tighten my belly. I close my eyes to concentrate more on the pressure I need. I shift my feet, widening my stance and finding a better angle for his next pull.
Only then do I realize he’s stepped away. I hear him riffling through things on my desk—my phone, my stapler—and I start to stand up straight.
“If your arms leave that chair one more time, I’m tying you to the fucking desk and going home for the night.”
I glue my arms to the chair.
He must find what he’s looking for because he returns to my side. I barely have time to brace myself before a searing flame kisses my left hip.
No. Not flame.
Ice.
My ears are filled with the rasp of sawing, and I realize Trap is cutting through my panties, levering a pair of steel scissors against my over-heated flesh. One slice on the left, another on the right, and he pulls my mangled underwear free.
My ass is bare for the camera. I wonder how he’s set the focus, if he’s zoomed in the lens to capture every detail. Is he filming my aching lower lips? Is he focused on the tight stone of my clit? Is the camera showing the honeyed sheen I smell as I drop my head onto my bound wrists?
“Count,” Trap says, giving me only a second to brace for what I should have expected all along.
The flat of his belt falls high on my ass like the opening note of a symphony. “One,” I call, loud and clear because I want the camera to catch the sound.
Another blow, a full octave below, laying a stripe across the top of my thighs. “Two,” I announce, proud and strong.
A third, perfecting a balanced chord. “Three,” I manage after I catch my breath.
Four.
My ass burns.
Five.
My knees shake.
Six.
My toes dig in to keep me balanced.
Seven.
Trap’s crescendo builds.
Eight.
I’m whining. Begging. Adding a chorus without words to the symphony soaring through my flesh.
Nine.
Every note melts into a perfect harmonic convergence, echoing, complementing, expanding into something greater than each individual strand. I’m held by the music, sustained by the waves. I’m deep inside my body and soaring far overhead. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting—
Ten.
I try to remember how to move my tongue, how to shape my lips, how to form the word that Trap requires.
But he speaks before I can: “Come.”
And I rise. I fall. I shatter into a million separate notes.
