Page 103 of Start With A Slap

He began to slurp and chew at her. Noisily. She took hold of his hair. She thrashed helplessly as he ripped a hole in the center of the pantyhose and stuck his fingers through, curving them up to hit her g-spot while he sucked her clitoris through the fabric.

“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t stop, gonna come?—”

He stopped, stood up, tore a bigger hole and stuck his drenched fingers in her mouth, then speared his cock into her, making her shout and bite down.

“I’m not sure I’m convinced, Miss Tyler,” he said, rattling the desk and her body with every hard thrust, “you’ll just have to give me a little... bit... more.”

“I —unh!— I wanna work for you, Mr. Mark,” she cried with unintentional vibrato, arms spreading out and causing an avalanche, “I wanna work for you so! hard!”

“Points for enthusiasm,” he said with an infectious schoolboy giggle, hair all cute and tousled.

“Oh! Yeah! Mr. Mark! Hire me! Hire me deeper! And,unh!Faster!”

Laughing with her, he rammed into her deeper and faster. “When can you start?”

“Now?”

“You’re hired.” Throwing one of her legs over his shoulder, he bit and licked her stockinged thigh, then the bare skin after tearing a hole.

“Yeah! Rip it off me. Rip me open.”

Growling, he violently ripped the hose off her body as he fucked her, eyes glazed over with unmitigated lust.

She came up to meet him and grabbed his head to say, “Touch my spot.”

He rubbed her sweat-slick lower back and nibbled her ear, murmuring, “You all mine now, baby?”

“Yeah, just like that...” She clenched her thighs around his hips as a climax built up inside her.

Over their belabored grunts, so close, so close, she heard the strangest noise — hydraulics, like an elevator or something... Hazily, she turned her head toward it.

The wall of devil posters was moving, revealing a dark hidden room beyond.

Her orgasm crested and she convulsed in release, toes cramping in her narrow shoes. Keeping his face buried in her neck, she blinked her eyes wide and tried to make sense of whatshe was seeing: A huge black cross, with shackles and chains, anoosehanging over it, and behind that, an wall of studded phalluses, sinister masks, sharp knives and oh, god, he was begging her to stay and be all his...

“...Sever?”

He turned his head and saw it. “How...?” He hurried to find the button on the desk to close it back up again. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“That’swhat you do to them?”

“It’s not—” He exhaled sharply. “Fuck. Whatever you’re thinking, Ivy, it’s not that bad, all right? It just looks?—”

“Get off me.”

“Ivy, you’ve got to believe me?—”

“I need my ring!” She pushed him off, wriggled off the opposite end of the desk, and dropped to her knees to search the fallout on the Persian rug. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Where is it?”

“Calm down, love, we’ll find it.”

“Don’t. Call me ‘love’.” She shuffled through papers and felt him close in. “Get away from me!”

He stepped back, chastened. “I’ll um, I’ll have Vik get your things.”

Trembling and flooded with adrenaline, Ivy crawled under his desk, frantically patting the floor. She found it nestled in a dark corner, beside a worn business card with “Citrine” scribbled on it. Masterson Models. It had to be his stupid escort service. What else would he need models for?

As if it would make him stop whatever he was doing to those poor women, she crumpled it in her hand as she shoved her ring back into place.

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