We wrapped up a load of website changes, and it became obvious he was aware of it too. The room was pounding with the beat of the bass on the main floor, punctuated by the occasional howl of pain. It seemed the whole fucking building was horny as fuck.
“What next?” he said, as I wheeled my chair back to my own desk. “Do you want to toss the coin early? If you’re a good loser, I’ll tongue your sweet little cunt before I tan your backside.”
His words were unexpected enough to make me shiver. He smirked as he noticed.
“Like that, is it?” I said. “What makes you so sure you’re going to win? And what makes you so sure I’d even want you to?”
“You want me to. I can practically smell your sopping wet snatch, Faye. Besides, you’d have no say in the matter.”
“My week’s not over yet, pretty boy. I’m still in charge, remember.”
My tone seemed to jolt him somehow. His back straightened in his seat, and his shoulders tipped back. He turned to face me, and his pupils were wide and glazed. And then it hit me. He was horny as sin. As horny as I was. Maybe even more than I was.
My leg brushed against the box of tricks under my desk. No, definitely not more horny than I was.
“What are you planning on doing with the rest of your week then, Faye?” he growled. “Do you want to call a truce? We could lock the office, maybe even bring one of the benches in from playroom four.”
“How’s your ass?” I said. “Still sore, pretty boy? What makes you think I want a truce?”
The corner of his delicious mouth turned up. “You’ll come to regret that little episode when I take charge.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“You’re in a whole shit-storm of trouble, Faye. I’ve still got your fucking teeth marks on me. You’d better hope they fade soon, or you’ll be getting a set to match.”
I fucking hope so.
I reached into my collection of toys, grinning as I fished out two pairs of handcuffs. I tossed them over to him.
“Good girl,” he said. “I think I’ll have you on your back, cuff your legs nice and wide until you’re doing the fucking splits.”
“They’re not for me, prick.” I stalked over to him. “I want your wrists cuffed to your chair.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do, do you?”
“Yes, Andy. I do.”
He smiled as if to humour me and cuffed one of his wrists to the arm of his chair. He tested them, and they held firm. “Happy now?”
“Not yet,” I said, and cuffed his other. “You think I’m fucking playing, don’t you? I’m not playing, Andy. You’ve been asking for this all fucking week. I’m sick of your backchat and constant griping over the smallest fucking thing. It’s going to stop.”
I pulled out a length of bondage rope and bound his ankles to the chair legs. My head was virtually in his crotch in that position, and his erection was unmissable. He had the fucking horn, alright.
He cursed as I pulled his tie loose, and cursed louder as I tore his shirt open and buttons flew.
“There’s no need for that,” he spat. “No need to be so fucking destructive.”
I ran my palms across his chest. “You’re a delicious piece of meat, you know? I’m going to enjoy showing you all the beautiful things I learned when I was gone.”
“I must have missed those pages in Vincent’s shitty novel.”
“You must have. It’s all in there. If you give yourself up to me, I’ll make you feel good, pretty boy, so fucking good.”
He met my eyes. “Watch it with that fucking bloodlust shit, Faye. Don’t do anything fucking crazy.”
“Relax,” I smiled. “We’re going to have so much fun. All of us.”
I turned my back to him, and heard him struggle in the cuffs. “All of us?! What the fuck do you mean all of us?! This isn’t funny, Faye, there isn’t going to be anallof us.”