I leant back in my chair, tapped my pen against the desk. “Insurance forms. Cleaning. Restocking the bar.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not planning on making this easy, are you? How much longer are you going to keep this up?”
“As long as it takes for you to prove your value to this club. Maybe a little while longer. Depends on my mood, Faye, I could keep this up forever.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She smiled, and for that one moment it was genuine, without the barbs. “Can’t you at least show me around the place in daylight? I haven’t had a decent tour yet.”
“Go exploring, knock yourself out.”
“I’d rather you showed me,” she said. “Please. If you can spare me the time.”
I made a mountain out of her request, tapping away at my laptop like I hadn’t already done everything on my to do list. “Five fucking minutes. Whistle stop tour. Like you don’t know the place already, it hasn’t changed that much, Faye. The rooms are still the rooms, same as they always were.”
“That’s not what I heard.” The glint in her eye gave me shivers up my spine. “I heard you installed a wet room.”
***
I showed Faye the boring shit first, expecting her to lose patience and call it quits, but she did an impeccable job of feigning interest. I showed her the pumps, and the casks, and the chiller settings. I showed her the stash of drinks signs, and cleaning supplies.
And then I showed her the playrooms.
Her posture changed as we made our way around the equipment, shoulders high as I skipped her through the latest furniture.Handmade by a carpenter in Brighton, entirely bespoke. The words caught in my throat as she knelt into position on one of the premier flogging benches, the split of her pencil skirt riding up just high enough to gift me sight of the bruises on her thighs.The teeth marks on her tits. How I’d fucking love to see those sore fucking nipples.
“I like the quality,” she said, moving her weight from knee to knee against the leather. “It’s comfortable.”
“So I hear.”
She flashed me a smile over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried this stuff out?”
“I don’t need to, I’ve a club full of members to offer feedback.”
“Shame on you, Andrew Morgan. That’s no substitute for first-hand experience, and you know it.”
I fastened her into the cuffs, taking care to pull the chains tight. “Premium leather, no chaffing.”
She tried her wrists. “Nice, but it’s all academic unless you’ve tried them.”
I took position at her side, placed a hand against the small of her back. She yielded to the pressure, curving her spine until her tight little arse was in the air. “A good height, no strain on the back.”
“You can do my ankles if you like?” she offered, shifting her legs apart.
“I think you get the picture.” My face was in hers as I loosened the cuffs, her breath playing against my lips.
She rose from the bench like a stretching cat and sashayed to the back wall, surveying the display of implements. Her long fingers teased at the tails of a cat o’nine. “I guess you haven’t tested these out, either?”
“I don’t play in the club, Faye, it’s not professional.”
“Neither’s endorsing equipment you haven’t trialled.” She took the flogger from its hook, swished it through the air until it landed in her palm. “Nice sting.”
“So they say.”
“I want to test it.” She threw it at me without warning, and I caught it on instinct. She unbuttoned her blouse, draping it over the stocks in the corner. The dark promise of bruising showed its pretty face through her bra lace. I had to wrench my eyes away.
She placed her hands flat to the wall, breathing steady. “Come on, Andy, don’t be a chicken shit. This is business, not sex. We’re just sampling the goods.”
The swell of my cock wasn’t business. It was anything but business. “Don’t start this, Faye. It won’t end well.”
“Stop talking and hit me.” Her eyes smouldered over her shoulder. “And then I’m going to hit you.”