Page 21 of Together We Burn
Two bullrings were fixed to each armrest like an anchor. I dragged my nails along the red leather as Martinez popped the bottle of champagne and poured two glasses, the fizz foaming over the edges and down the stem.
Passing one to me, he asked, “Impressed, little kitten?”
Accepting the glass, I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. Martinez’s eyes lowered to watch, then he reached up and pulled it out with this thumb, rubbing along where my teeth had been.
My stomach roiled at his touch, but my eyes became hooded as I mimicked arousal, playing into his little game as I counted the minutes until he would be dead.
“I am a man who knows what he likes, and I’m brave enough to admit I’m a masochist,” he said, running his knuckles down my cheek, my throat, and across the tops of my breasts.
“A little pleasure from pain,” I whispered seductively, running the hand not holding the champagne down his chest and stopping over the bulge between his legs.
I raised my glass, sipping the bubbly liquid then glided my tongue in languid strokes along my bottom lip. Transfixed, a low growl rumbled from his chest, and his cock twitched beneath my hand.
I winked, turning to place my glass on a side table near the armchair, pushing my ass into his rock-hard erection. I dipped my fingers into the waistband of his white linen trousers, playing with the button teasingly before sliding them across the top of the band, loosening them from his hips. His stomach jumped as my knuckles lightly tickled his abdomen before pushing the trousers to the floor.
“Exactly, kitten,” Martinez groaned, his voice low and husky as he stepped back, out of his discarded pants, the glass and the champagne bottle still in his hands, until the backs of his legs hit the chair. He dropped onto it, legs splayed and arms wide on either side of the armrests. “Show me what you’ve got.”
With a smile, I made my way around the room, my fingers hovering over everything I passed as I acted like a kid in a perverted sweet shop unable to choose which depraved thing I wanted to use on him.
A wooden box, no bigger than a cigar box, with its lid open, sat on the table not adorned with sex toys. Delicate silk ties were folded neatly in different shades of red. The cliché that was this room was laughable.
I hummed to myself, taking three ties and a riding crop that snagged my attention. I swayed back to the chair, leaning in front of my target and emptying his hands, adding his drink and the bottle to the table that already had my glass.
“Hands on the rests,” I said, putting the crop on the armrest before dropping to my haunches in front of the soon-to-be-dead man.
I slowly ran my hands down my thighs, glancing up through my lashes as I dragged the silk up my stomach and between my breasts. Then, taking one of his wrists, I began to tie the silk to one of the bullrings.
“I don’t usually let dancers tie me up, little kitten.”
I smirked, pulling the knot and moving to his other wrist. “Don’t worry, honey, you can get out any time you like.”
Taking the last silk tie, I walked behind Martinez and leaned over the back of the chair so my lips were beside his ear.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Mr. Martinez,” I murmured, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear. He shifted in his seat, his arousal evident by his tiny dick straining against his pants. “And bad boys need to be punished.”
“Yes,” he groaned.
“Open.”
He dropped his jaw, ready and willing for the silk tie I slid between his lips, then tied it behind his head. Walking back to face him, I moved closer, stepping in between his legs to pop his buttons–snaps, not even real buttons were on his ugly ass shirt–exposing his muscular hairy chest.
I picked up the riding crop and ran it down his chest before firmly tapping the tip once on each of his nipples as he hissed through the gag. Continuing to drag the crop down his stomach, I made my way down to his dick, wondering how much pain he’d really enjoy before it got too much, and toppled him over the edge.
I’d never worked with a masochist before, so lightly at first, I tapped the leather loop at the end of the crop on his balls, over his white boxers already wet from his excitement.
Martinez's nostrils flared, his pupils blown with desire, and I wanted to throw up. I wasn’t used to this shit, but I was nothing but professional, so this time, I tapped him harder.
He groaned, his breathing loud through his nose, and tipped his head back against the headrest. His hips bucked in the seat, begging for more pain that I could deliver in spades. I reached behind to unhook the body chain hanging loosely around my hips. Pulling four of the beads to either side of the wire, I grinned.
Martinez looked at me through a hooded gaze, excitement burning through his drug induced haze as I loosened and tightened the wire, making my pretty garrotte snap as I paced slowly in front of him.
“You shouldn’t have opened your club here,” I stated, tilting my head to the side and taking in the vermin before me. “William Jones doesn’t appreciate traffickers working out of his city, especially child sex work trafficking.”
Martinez inhaled sharply, the realisation he was well and truly fucked, hitting him like a sledgehammer.
This. This was my favourite part of my job.
That second where they understood it was game over. My grin intensified. I circled the chair again as Martinez began flailing around, trying to escape. But my binds could give a master knot tyre a run for his money.
