Page 20 of Dr. Bad Boy

The yellow pages don’t tend to list anything in the way of kink-friendly inter-provincial movers, so all the pieces of my playroom furniture—moved by regular movers, with labels like 'bookshelf' and 'coat rack'—are sitting in a corner awaiting reassembly.

Rather than put all the furniture together in one spot, then move them, I decide it’s better to assemble them in their final resting places.

I already know how the room will be laid out, so it’s just a matter of shifting shit. I start with the Saint Andrew’s cross because there’s not much to it and it’ll be a quick easy job.

Mistake. My mind is filled with visions of Violet strapped to it while I work her body over, turning her pale skin all the shades of pink and red.

My cock swells and I’m struggling with overwhelming need. Need to fuck. Need to dominate. Need to lash out and be rewarded with a cry, a scream, or best yet, a muffled whimper.

Need for Violet.

I spot my cane bag propped up against a bunch of moving boxes innocently labelled Rec Room. I haven’t opened it since before that night with Violet. I’m woefully out of practice and my fingers suddenly itch to play with the contents.

Need for Violet, whimpering from my marks.

Abandoning the cross assembly, I stalk across the room to snag the case. I unzip the top and spill my collection of canes over the glass coffee table.

My favourite is the old-school rattan cane with a curved handle. I pick it up and slice the air with it a few times. Now I’m imagining Violet in a short tartan skirt and a white blouse with only the bottom half of the buttons fastened. White knee-highs and black high-heel Mary-Janes complete the outfit. I place a folded blanket over the arm of the leather chesterfield and order fantasy Violet to bend over it.

The hem of her skirt barely covers the upper half of her naked buttocks, revealing smooth creamy skin, perfect for decorating with pretty red welts.

Months of pent-up energy and frustration have me wanting to put everything I have behind each cane stroke—hold nothing back. But I know I’m better than that, even in my fantasies. Especially in my fantasies, because they’re more rehearsals for scenes I want to play out in real life.

With a steady rhythm, I bounce the cane all over her ass. Gently at first, then slowly working up the intensity until finally, I lay a nice firm stroke in that sensitive spot where her thighs and buttocks meet.

She yelps more from surprise than pain. I go back to the gentle bounce and when the mood strikes me, I snap my wrist. Violet lets out another yelp, and a beautiful red stripe appears across the fullest part of her ass.

My cock strains against my trousers as I continue leaving my marks all over Violet’s ass. Her control falls apart and she starts to shake, even though she's trying so hard to hold still for me. It isn’t until I reach the end of the caning that my fantasy completely crumbles.

I can't toss the cane aside and slide into her wet, clutching pussy. I can't fuck her cunt until she's crying for an entirely different reason, because I won't let her stop coming.

This is why I need her.

I've had the real thing.

Violet's special, and it has nothing to do with fucking. It’s easy enough to imagine the arm of the sofa as Violet’s ass, but now I want to hold her in my arms, and for that, only the real Violet will do.

7

Violet

IeatMax’s chocolates all week.

I didn’t want to, at first. I thought about sending them back to him, but that would be a waste of incredibly good chocolate.

Plus they confused me, and I don’t like to leave a puzzle unsolved.

Max isn’t a chocolates kind of guy, I’m sure of it to my core. He’s more of a, “hey, that was a great fuck, here’s a thousand dollar tip,” kind of guy.

I think.

Who knows, maybe he’s both.

The last truffle disappears early Friday morning after a particularly stressful deposition that ended abruptly. I track the billable hour-and-three-quarters with one hand as I lick the salted dark chocolate off the fingers of the other.

Multi-tasking.

I glance at the clock. I have fifteen minutes before the staff meeting. I grab another file from my desk, one that I know has a phone call waiting to happen, and squeeze that in.

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