Secretary:Part Twenty
by Bit

"You're absolutely not to come," he tells her for, like the gazillionth time, as he cuffs her ankles to the bedposts. "I don't need to tell you, Faith, that my fury will really be quite something to behold if you do," he adds as he leans over her prone body so he can bind her wrists to the headboard. "And I promise you that will lead to nothing good… lift up your head, that's my girl," He presses a gentle kiss against her softly clinging lips as he secures the blindfold, and then runs a finger along her neck, brushing the edge of the collar so she gives a little gasp and a wriggle.

"I got it, Wes," she says with just a slight bite of frustration. "I'm not to come. Not until you tell me I can and I hope that's gonna be sometime before next year…"

He doesn't say anything, just gives a slight snort of laughter which she makes a mental note to pinch him for or spit in his black truffle mustard when she's not splayed out and strapped to a bed in black leather cuffs. It makes it far too easy for him to deliver a stinging slap to her right flank as she tries in vain to buck her hips.

"Any more impertinence from you, my naughty little Olympia, and I'll plug up your ears too," he whispers right into the orifice he's talking about. "It's your choice, Faith. Now are you going to behave?"

"Only if you give me a kiss," she pouts and she's really in no position to be bargaining, or maybe she's in the perfect position, she can't decide, but his hands cup the slightly bruised flesh of her breast and he's just brushing his mouth against hers, slowly, fleetingly until she tilts her head up and deepens the kiss. Gets the slide of his tongue against hers, hand running down her quivering belly…

The phone on the side starts to ring and she gives a startled jump as he pats her mound regretfully and slides off the bed.

"Pryce here. Oh, that's good. Thank you."

He sounds terse, tense, but then he leaves the room and she's left with nothing but a static hum coating her skin and a mounting anticipation fizzing in her veins that makes her mouth go dry.

There's a knock, a door opening and a murmured conversation, which gets louder. And even though she can’t hear the words, she can tell from the sound of Wes' voice, clipped and curt and pretty fucking commanding, that he's not talking about the weather.

Time seems to drag on and it's not fair when it's meant to be all about her that she's left alone with nothing but cool gusts from the air conditioner, blowing across her skin, puckering her nipples into tight, stinging buds and making an army of goosebumps march across her…

"She's beautiful, don't you think?" Wes says from the open doorway and there's silence, even though he's not talking to himself. "Good," he adds, with a satisfied chuckle. "Now, take off your clothes, Tiffany."

She has to bite back something that might be a giggle, might be a sob, but merely contents herself with echoing the name. "Tiffany? You've got to be fucking kidding me?"

"I assure you I'm not, my sweet," he assures her, and she feels the mattress depress as he sits down and places the comforting weight of his hand around her ankle. "And Tiffany's forbidden to speak, as are you. Because I could gag you, Faith. And there is rather a delicious little scenario I could follow if you were gagged, I'm sure you don't need reminding what that is."

"No way in hell is she sucking you off," she hisses, wriggling the ankle he's holding as a furious exclamation point.

"Then be a good girl," he murmurs implacably. "You're not to say anything, other than your word. Though you can moan. She does make some rather lovely sounds when she's aroused, Tiffany. But I'm sure you'll discover that for yourself."

All this time on the faintest periphery of her senses, she's been aware of the other girl. Can just make out the whisper-soft sounds of her undressing, the faint cadence of her breathing, the light tread of her footsteps as she walks towards the bed.

Wes presses a kiss against her knee and then gets up and he's leaving her so she feels this rush of panic because he's not touching her.

"I'm here, Faith," he says softly, then there's a rustle as he sits down. "Now… why don't you start by just stroking her, Tiffany? Just along her arms very lightly."

The first feathery touch makes her go rigid in the cuffs, until she takes deep breaths and relaxes into the smooth glide of fingers trailing up and down her arms. It's less sure than when Wes does it, different enough that she's focussed more on that, than what's being done.

"I think her breasts need some attention," Wes purrs. "I want you to pinch her nipples hard. No, harder than that. Trust me, she likes it."

And she does. Arching up towards the knowing fingers that are tweaking and tugging at her until all she can do is make this stupid needy sound and turn her head imploringly in Wes' direction.

"She needs you to use your mouth, Tiffany," he sighs as if he can't quite believe how dense she is. Like, he can't do what he wants to her because whatever, he's had all his limbs cut off, so Tiffany's got to do it for him and she's not doing a good job.

But then there's a slither and slide of soft, scented skin pressing down on her and warm breath ghosting over her nipples. "Just use your tongue first, please," he says and there's the delicate tickle across her puckered flesh, not enough and she misses the weight of him pinning her down, holding her still, making her beg.

Can't speak though so she settles for a hiss of frustration, hands clenched into fists, toes curled, which should be a language he's fluent in. "Now the other one," he directs and his voice is lower now, nearer like he's leaning forward in the chair, not wanting to miss a thing. "Don't be so impatient, Faith," he adds as she whinnies in annoyance at the light touch which is just fucking irritating.

"Suck it," he orders harshly and she's sighing in relief as his command is instantly obeyed "Make it wet and use your teeth and yes… See, how she loves it when you do that? And pinch the other nipple."

He makes the girl spend what seems like hours on her breasts. Telling her to switch between voracious sucking bites and feather-light kisses until Faith's head begins to swim, not just from the uber stimulation of her tits, which is now just short of painful but the two mouths causing havoc. The hot moist cavern constantly sucking and then soothing and Wes' voice which is biting out instructions now.

Then there's her poor aching cunt, woefully neglected, no matter how much she tries to grind her hips against nothing but air. And her mouth desperate for kisses that she's not going to get from the girl lying across her, because Wes was pretty specific about that too. So all there is is the constant chafing of the cuffs on her wrists and ankles as she struggles like a fish caught on a hook, and her tender breasts.

She's not going to speak, that's, like, a point of principle but he's told her she can moan and she does, tears leaking out from the edge of the blindfold as she whimpers pitifully again and again, head turned towards him.

"Oh, very well," he finally agrees and his hand is warm on her forearm, keeping her anchored. "Run your hand down her stomach, Tiffany. Just lightly scratch her with your nails. No, no, you're not to leave any marks." His voice drops to a fierce whisper. "No marks, I was perfectly clear about that."

The hand on her belly stills and she can hear the tiniest brush of air as words aren't said but mouthed and she's straining her ears. But all she hears is Wes's faint tut. "Very well, now get on with it."

"It's all right, my darling girl," he tells her and now he's talking to her, he's sweetness and light and dark and all things in between. "You're so very wet, aren't you? Would you like her to tease you? Gently run her fingers and her mouth over your thighs, your plump, little mound?"

And almost as if they pre-arranged it – actually, yeah, probably did – her hands are everywhere Wes says they could be before Faith can even sound out the thin, high-pitched cry that means yes. Can feel the weight of the bed bear down as the girl kneels between her legs and she's so overwrought, sweat dripping off her that she's dreading and longing for a touch where she needs it; on her clit, anywhere along her soaked folds.

"Keep away from her clit, but you can use your mouth now," Wes says calmly, a potentate of lust. "She particularly enjoys being tongue-fucked, don't you?"

The low growl means no because she gets anything in her cunt, whether it belongs to him or not, and it's going to be game over and he pats her arm.

"What's the matter, Faith?" he asks, and he's in his fucking element, the jerk. Concern oozing like honey from every syllable. "Are you not enjoying this?"

She yanks against the cuffs furiously, and there's enough give that she almost knees the other girl in the face, as she waits patiently for the green light. Her squeak of surprise sounds like a cannon booming and then her hand starts rubbing soothing circles along Faith's inner thighs.

"Oh yes, you two girls play nicely, that's it," he coos and she swears to God she's going to eat his fucking balls for a midnight snack. "Tiffany has very small hands, Faith," he adds conversationally. "I might see if she can fuck you with one of them, just as a controlled experiment."

Her head whips to the side and her eyes should have turned to laser beams of death that can pierce right through the blindfold but her cunt doesn't seem to have got the message because it's clenching round nothing but a promise. The one time they'd tried that, he'd had to stop after four fingers because there was no way in hell she was taking the whole of his elegant hand into her pussy, Kegel exercises be damned.

The girl's fingers are ghosting around her clit now in a questioning movement - exactly the same way Wes's fingers are caressing the crease of her elbow until he barks: "Stop playing around and fuck her with your tongue."

There's another shift between her legs, hair brushing against her thighs and then soft lips parting, scooping, investigating and finally delving into her wetness, tracing a path along her pussy to the source of it and then holding her open and exposed so she can plunge her tongue in again and again. Her clit is trapped between the girl's thumbs so the pressure is always relentless and all she can do now is moan softly and try not to come.

It's not working though. And flailing about doesn't seem to be doing much good either. Faith feels a sharp pain as she tries to kick out a leg and her skin splits under the constricting leather of one of the ankle cuffs. It's good. Gives her something to focus on that isn't the warm, wet tongue wriggling inside her cunt, which distracts her for, like, five seconds before she feels the orgasm welling up inside her, creeping over every inch of her and she screams out. "Wes! Please…"

Then where there was everything, there's nothing. The warmth of his hand has gone and the girl's suddenly wrenched away from her.

"You can get dressed in the other room, then get out," he says not unkindly. "And please close the door behind you."

She's sobbing and panting, her face and cunt a sticky mess as he bends down and kisses her cheek. Then he's carefully loosening the blindfold and she shakes her head to dislodge the tear-soaked scrap of silk.

He's standing over her, a definitely malevolent smile playing over his lips before he bends down and starts to unbuckle the cuffs, pausing to press his mouth against the rubbed raw skin. "So willful, impetuous and yes, you can speak, Faith."

"Was she pretty?" she spits out even though she was sure her first words were going to be a detailed and precise litany of just how much she's going to kill him.

She's not expecting the cloud of bemusement that hovers over his face. "Why do you still have these absurd displays of jealousy, Faith? You have no reason to be, you know that."

And yeah, she knows that but still she asked a question. "Tell me, Wes, right the fucking hell now, was she pretty?" she repeats, shifting restlessly against the sheet now she's untied because she still feels like she's got a timebomb ticking away between her legs that's going to detonate any time soon.

"She's a $500 an hour hooker, my darling, it's only to be expected that she's easy on the eye…"

Considering that she's got juices pooling out of her, her breasts full and flushed, she still manages to give him a venomous look before she hauls herself up into a sitting position and pushes the hair back from her face. "Wes…" she hisses.

"She was attractive," he concedes, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running a slow, deliberate hand up her leg. "Pretty, even but I can hardly recall a single detail about her."

"Why?" she huffs, inching her leg away from him, until he clamps his fingers around it hard enough to leave bruises.

"Because I was too busy watching you, my sulky little Olympia," he purrs. "Fascinating to watch you from a distance, see how you trembled and your nipples got harder and harder the more time she spent on them and how the muscles in your legs quivered and you'd arch up, pleading even though you knew that I'd never let you come. Really, it was quite a salutary experience."

"Glad you liked it," she says sourly but there's a smirk trying to break free as she rolls over and curls her fingers over the rigid length of his cock, twitching beneath the wool of his trousers. "Gonna fuck me now, Wes?"

"Oh, yes," he breathes as she clambers onto her knees so she can press herself along his back, smooshing her aching breasts against him and tilting her head for a kiss, which she gets. Of course, she gets one - his hand cupping the side of her face, tangling in her hair as he sucks hard on her bottom lip.

She's trying to scramble onto his lap, tug him down, pull off his shirt - anything that means she gets fucked soon.

"Whatever are you doing, Faith?" He stills her busy fingers. "I said I'd fuck you and I will but you'll wait and you'll do it without a pout on your face."

"I'm not pouting!" she protests, even though her lower lip is jutting out into the far corners of the room. "Jeez, Wes, don't see what the problem is."

"Well, I wonder if this will refresh your memory," he says silkily and his hands are around her waist, yanking her across his knees as her hands grab hold of the quilt in a movement that's become as instinctual as breathing. "Such a pity I'm not better prepared. No whip, no paddle, I'm afraid I'll just have to kick it old skool, as you'd say, my sweet girl." His hand cracks down on her buttock in one of those white-hot bursts of sound and fury that she'll never quite get used to. Wouldn't ever want to and it's not like she's complaining, even as he hits her so hard that his palm practically bounces off her ass cheek but she'd kinda like some clarification.

"Why… fuck! Not there again… why are you spanking me?" she squeaks, wriggling frantically and knowing that her breasts are brushing against his cock with every movement.

"Because… you… spent… your… housekeeping," he's punctuating every word with a sharp slap to the backs of her thighs. "Spread your legs, sweetness, I want to hit your… yes, that's perfect. You spent the housekeeping… on… a… whore. And forgive me if I'm wrong but I do believe that's in direct contravention… of… the… latest… version… of… the… contract." He finishes up with an extravagant series of blows between her legs, pulling her hair away from her face so he can see her lips pared back on gritted teeth as she chokes out sobs.

His hand lands heavily against the soaked folds of her pussy and stays there, thumb lazily gliding over the tender nub of her clit. "You're the most delightful shade of pink, Faith," he tells her dreamily, fingers smoothing over the marks he's made. "I doubt you'll even bruise. Such a shame but it does seem unreasonable to carry on smacking you when you've been adequately reprimanded for your latest demeanor."

"That a fact is it, Wes?" she asks him, letting her hands guide her so she's sitting astride him and he can see every little grimace on her face as the charcoal wool grates against her abraded ass.

"It is," he replies, voice tinged with regret and leaning back so she can unbuckle his belt and start sliding down his zip. He nuzzles his mouth against the collar as she slowly uncovers his cock and swipes a finger through the pre-cum slathered over the head.

"Can't hit me without a reason though, can you, Wes?" she reminds him, sucking the tip of her finger into her mouth and looking at his pretty, flushed face, lips pursed, eyes dark with arousal from under her lashes.

"You're just so well-behaved these days, Faith," he says with a sorrowful smile. "So obedient. For instance, I want you to lift yourself up and put my cock inside you."

She places a knee on the bed, shifting off him for a second, her hand wrapping around the sticky length of him so she can nudge him deep into her cunt and sit back down, with a satisfied little sigh.

"You see, you obey my every order. You're always so compliant," he drawls, voice catching slightly on the last syllables as she tightens around him.

"I am getting kinda boring," she agrees and then lowers her head so she can sink her teeth into his shoulder hard enough that she think she might just have broken the skin. His cock jumps inside her as she wraps her legs round his back and looks at him with wide eyes. "Got the devil in me, Wes, guess you'll just have beat it right out of me."

"I really do love you, you impossible, little bitch," he says fondly as he raises his hand.

She's clinging onto him, one hand clutched around a handful of his shirt front, one hand wound tight round his neck as he wallops her ass. No other word for it. No waiting, no pauses, no counting – just the flat of his hand, tensed up for maximum impact striking every inch of her cheeks that he can reach. She's clenching round his cock, every time his hand connects, face buried into the crook of his neck and moaning hoarsely into his damp skin.

"Fuck me, just fuck me, want you to fuck me, fuck me now," she chants, when his hand stops and he's panting and stroking her hair back from her hot face.

"Do you want me to pin you to the bed, hold you down and fuck you hard?" he asks in his most prissy voice so she has to giggle even when he brushes his fingers over the stinging surface of her ass.

"Thought you'd never fucking ask," she husks, biting down on his earlobe and watching the little muscle start banging away in his cheek. Tries to bite that too but has to give up as he rolls them over and shoves her up the bed, cock barely inside her.

"I really am going to have to cure you of your deplorable biting fetish," he smiles, just before he snatches her nipple between his teeth, tonguing it roughly as she tries to grind her pelvis against his, get more of his cock. "Hold on to the headboard, please, Faith." His hands are already round her wrists, holding her arms above her head, and wrapping her fingers around the wrought iron of the intricately carved headboard.

"Please, Wes…" she pleads, tilting her hips and maybe getting an inch more of cock so the tip's barely nudging inside her cunt.

He keeps imperfectly still and she can tell that the effort of making that serene smile is killing him and she tries to imagine what it feels like for him; having her quivering beneath him, the head of his cock nestling in the wet heat of her cunt.

"Does it feel good, Wes? Do I feel good?" she asks in her most throaty murmur and he gives a stiff nod in reply. "Imagine how good it's gonna be when you slam your cock all the way inside me…"

"Faith… don't…" Oh, yeah, he's the one begging now, and he's pressing into her in these, like, infinitesimal degrees like he doesn't even realise that he's doing it.

"Be so tight and wet, baby, and when I start coming… clutching at your cock and you're fucking me hard and… oh, fuck, yeah!"

It's almost this smooth, seamless motion as he hooks his arms under her knees, holding her open, and thrusts the rest of the way inside her. 'Bout the only way she can ever get him to lose control is to talk dirty to him, and she's way better at it than she used to be.

"Want to fu…"

He sucks the words right out of her mouth, chases them away with his tongue and starts with these devastatingly thorough plunges, the base of his cock dragging against her clit as he stills inside her, brushing that sensitive mass of nerve endings which has her wrenching away from his demanding lips.

"Please, Wes, fuck me harder… want you to…" she gasps, throwing her head back.

"Well, I suppose I could, as you've asked so nicely," he grins, eyes wild, until he snaps them shut when she clenches her muscles against the slowly pistoning length of him. "So demanding always, aren't you?"

"Please…" Can't seem to get any other words out now, just "please" in this increasingly high-pitched chant as he hauls her legs over his shoulders and drives into her, pushing her further and further up the bed, her arms braced against the weight of the headboard, his hipbones digging into her with each thrust, mouth worrying at the collar, biting the skin underneath it.

"My Faith," he whispers like he's in church and not pounding into her. "My darling girl, darling Olympia, would you like to come now?"

She's nodding and trying to reach his mouth for another kiss and drumming her heels against his shoulder blades and it all means yes.

"I thought so. So beautiful when you come and all I have to do is this." His hand is worming its way between them, stuttering over her belly and they're so close, so tight against each other that his fingertips barely glance over her clit but it's enough.

Everything shuts down. Nothing but the roaring in her ears, white starbursts in front of her eyes and her body going so rigid that she thinks her bones just might shatter so Wes will have to scoop them up and take her home in a jar.

But he just keeps on fucking her, pushing deep inside her while she writhes helplessly beneath him, legs splayed out on either side now as he suddenly gives a couple of giddy jerks, smooth rhythm abandoned, and collapses heavily on top of her.

"I love you," she mumbles, wanting to stroke his face, rumple her hands in his hair, a million little touches that mean a million little things. "Can I let go of the headboard now?"

He looks up from where he's slumped against her breasts and gives her a thoroughly malcontent smile. "Oh, I'm not done with you yet, don't you dare move," he promises darkly. "And glaring at me counts as moving."

She tries to school her features into something a little less homicidal and settles for a modified version of her most mournful pout. "You good to go again? Like, already?" she asks and it's equal parts hopeful and incredulous.

He pulls out of her, bumping her clit with his half-hard cock and smirking when she bites her lip and tries to swallow down a pained gasp. "No, but I think you are," he says and shoves two fingers inside her cum-soaked cunt, making it all come alive again, tingles upgrading to this maddening throbbing as his thumb rubs hard circles around her clit.

"You're going to come for me again, Faith," he tells her implacably and he's already coaxing another orgasm out of her and it's too soon after the last one, so it's torn out of her with an anguished scream.

She manages to uncurl her aching fingers from the headboard and grabs at his wrist. "No more, Wes. Neruda, fucking Neruda, OK?"

"OK," he concedes, pushing his sticky fingers into her mouth and wrapping his other arm round her waist to draw her closer.

When she's finished licking him clean with tiny little laps of her tongue, she pulls his hand free and winds her fingers through his so their platinum wedding bands are touching. She's never going to get tired of doing that.

"I'm cold and you've still got all your clothes on," she whines quietly and lies there with her eyes closed as he lets her go so he can shrug out of his shirt, kick off his trousers and drag up the covers from the bottom of the bed, tucking them into an Egyptian cotton cocoon.

"Is that better, my darling girl? Can't have you catching a chill." He dots kisses over her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

"Wes?" She burrows against his side, snuggling up to him and waiting for the familiar weight of his arm wrapping round her waist.

"Yes, sweetness?"

"Happy birthday, you fucking bastard," she declares demurely in his ear, smiling as he gives a little huff of pure effrontery.

"I take you to New Orleans to celebrate the New Year against my better judgment as it appears to be the murder capital of the States once again," he begins crossly. "Then the news that you've bought me a prostitute for a birthday present…"

"Was gonna be hard to top the nipple clamps," she interrupts sleepily.

"Thank you, Faith, as I was saying. I then had to acclimatize to the alarming news that a prostitute would be arriving in our suite in two hours to fuck you while I watched, which was rather unsettling to say the least."

"Whatever, Wes. You totally got off on it and you drove her mad with, like, that whole list of shit she wasn't allowed to do and then you were kinda rude to her when she left."

"I'm sorry, Faith. Next time you hire a whore, I'll be sure to consult the appropriate etiquette guide," he drawls and she digs him in the ribs.

"I got you an engraved fountain pen too," she reminds him. "And some hydroponic skunk and…"

"You did and I loved all my presents, no matter how disconcerting they were, I'm just trying to say that as far as husbands go I'm unrivalled in my paragon-like qualities and in no way do I deserve the soubriquet, 'fucking bastard.'

"OK, like I understood about half of that sentence." She shifts closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder so he can do a much better job of stroking her hair. "Wish we could stay like this for ever."

He kisses the top of her head. "You're falling asleep, aren’t you?"


"It has been a rather fraught evening. And I do have several plans for you tomorrow, well your arse needs at least one more severe spanking for the many wrongs you've done me and it does seem a pity to bring Son Of Mr Bunny all this way and not…"

"Wes," she sighs his name and ends up yawning so hard she thinks she might just have dislocated her jaw. "I love you so fucking much but please stop talking so I can go to sleep. Please."

He carries on smoothing down the tangled strands of her hair, thumb tracing along the back of her neck so her eyelids are drooping. "Go to sleep, my darling girl," he murmurs. "And I'll stay wide awake contemplating what little regard you have for me after only a few scant months of marriage."

"Oh, whatever…" She plants a half-hearted kiss against his collarbone and cuddles up to him. "Don't believe a goddamn word of it."

They lie there in silence for a while, the creak of the ceiling fan stirring the drowsy air, and then a thought surfaces and she rouses up enough to ask, "Wes? What was her real name? 'Cause it sure as hell wasn't Tiffany."

But he's fast asleep, so she guesses it didn't take him that long to do his contemplating and she lies there in the dark listening to the deep, even sound of his breathing and waits for the arm he's got round her to slacken before she liberates a tiny corner of the quilt that he's totally hogging.

He makes this tiny grunting sound, which shouldn't be as cute as it is, and they engage in a tug-of-war over the five inches that she's managed to reclaim before he gives another grunt and rolls over, snuggling against her with a contented sigh. Faith pulls the covers over both of them and smoothes her hand down the sleek length of his back. Everything is all right in her world. No, scratch that. Everything in her world is perfect. Well, except Wes bogarting the covers every night, which is the one bad habit left that she hasn't been able to train out of him. Yet…

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