His Pretty Toy by Shanna Handel

Chapter 16

Ashe

Shame fills me as I say the words. There’s a dark, dangerous excitement rising in my belly as his eyes widen. He’s going to say yes.

“Fine. But I’m warning you.” He leans in so close he could kiss me. “It’s going to hurt.”

The excitement washes away, replaced by an icy tendril of fear twisting around my spine. My eyes flicker to the black leather of his thick belt. I steel my nerves, hardening my features. “Fine.”

He stares me down, his knuckles white where he grips the door. He looks like he doesn’t know if he wants to fight me or fuck me.

“May I come in?” I let the natural sass seep into my tone. I can’t help it and he’s always liked it. I push past him, entering the mansion.

For a moment I forget why I’m here, forget my dark mission. I’m taken by the architecture of this place, the history thick in its walls. God, I’d love to get a hold of it and do some design work—

“What are you doing here?” He closes the heavy door, locking the bolt.

“I told you. I need money.” I run my fingertips over the marble top of the ornate hall table.

He grabs my shoulder, turning me to face him. “Why do you need the money?”

“It’s none of your business. Is it?” I try to make my gaze as stony as his. But it’s hard. I’ve missed him every damn day and now I’m here, seeing him for the first time since Paris and the only emotion he holds for me is hate.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll make you.”

I give a cool shrug. “Sounds like a fun game.”

“It is. For me.” His tongue runs over his lips, a predator hungry for his prey. “I’ll pay you well. And you’ll be my pretty toy.”

His pretty toy.Something to play with, then discard. Something breakable. My knees turn to jelly. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket to hide their trembling. I try to sound brave. “Sounds like a deal.”

His hand wraps around the back of my neck. “Come.”

He guides me to the front room, the parlor, the same place I first met with Gretchen and signed the contract. In many ways, my life changed that day. Now I’m nothing but fear and regret. He pushes me against the edge of the couch. It’s a rolled-armed tufted Chesterfield, dark leather, a lovely piece. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, forcing me over the thick arm of the sofa.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come here…

I hear the clank of his belt before I can decide whether to run. He’s got me pinned down with one hand. With the other, he’s pulling the belt from the loops of his trousers, the leather moving with a whooshing sound that makes my tummy flip-flop.

“We’ll start with my belt.” His voice is ice.

He grabs the hem of my dress, pulling it up and over my hips. A white-hot wave of humiliation washes over me as he tucks the fabric into the elastic of my panties.

I hear his breath catch.

I’ve worn the black lace ones. The ones from Paris.

“My memory failed me. You’re more beautiful than I remember.” He smooths his big hand over my ass.

I tremble as he lifts it in the air; I wait for the punishing spank. When his hand comes crashing down, the pain is blinding. He’s never spanked me this hard before. I cry out, shooting up on tiptoe. I definitely shouldn’t have come…

But we need this money.

He hooks his fingers through the material covering the bottom curve of my ass. He tugs it, high and hard, my panties digging into my sex as he wedges the fabric up in my crack, essentially creating a punishing thong. My ass cheeks are exposed to the cool air, my pussy burning where he’s pulled the panties so tightly.

My sex clenches, releasing pools of arousal, even through the pain.

He drags the cold leather of the belt across my now bared curves. I bite my bottom lip, my eyes shutting tight. Anticipation and fear and desire form a twisted tornado, pummeling through my core.

How much will this hurt?

I find out soon enough. The belt goes whistling through the air, coming crashing down, a bolt of lightning across my ass. I howl in pain.

The leather drags across the punishing stripe of heat. “Care to tell me what you’re doing here?”

My teeth clench. “No. I won’t.”

“Fine. Have it your way.” The belt lifts, coming down again, a second stripe of fire just below the first.

“Oh, my god.” A whimper rises from my chest. “That hurts.”

“Tell me, my pretty little toy. How much does it hurt?” The belt comes down again, and again. My breath shudders in my throat, tears springing in the backs of my eyes.

“It really hurts!” I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

He yanks the panties higher, making them rub against my clit. My ass is on fire, my sex throbbing. He pulls them so hard, I rise up on tiptoe. “You have anything to tell me, yet?”

I want to tell him. But I can’t. “No!”

He pulls the panties higher. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” I clench my teeth again, my sex desperate for friction.

He lets go of the panties. My hips drop against the leather arm of the couch. He steps back, leaving me bent over the couch, my panties up my ass and caught in the lips of my sex, my dress way above my waist.

“Take off your jacket.” He stands, arms crossed, staring at me.

I stand on shaky knees, shrugging out of my jacket. My ass stings.

He gives another harsh command. “Now lose the dress.”

I grab the hem, pulling the dress up. I have to give it a hard tug to get it out of the waistband of my panties. My face heats as I pull it up and over my head. I toss it to the floor with a confidence I do not feel.

“Turn around. I want to see my pretty marks on that beautiful ass.”

With a shaky breath, I turn.

I feel his gaze, heavy on my punished ass. What will he ask me to do next? What will he do to me? I stand there, in the quiet room while he admires me, my stomach clenching with nerves.

His gaze narrows. “Bend over.”

I look at the couch in front of me. Does he mean for me to bend back over the arm of the couch? “Wh-where?”

“Right where you are standing. Bend over as far as you can without falling over.”

Oh, my god. This is so humiliating. Grabbing the sides of my thighs for support, I bend at the waist, the panties riding up higher as I do. My head hangs down, my hair gathering around my face.

His voice lowers, thick with desire, laced with anger. “Now pull your panties down. Leave them around the middle of your thighs.”

Still bent over, I reach for the waist of my panties. I have to do a little shimmy to get them unwedged from my ass and my sex. My fingers brush the gusset as I lower them. The fabric is soaked.

I bring them to my mid-thigh. I don’t know what to do with my arms and hands. Do I just let them hang? Grab onto my knees?

He solves the problem for me. “Now stay just like that and rub your ass with your hands. Feel how hot your skin is from my belt.”

I run my hands over my punished curves. My skin is hot to the touch.

“Now give yourself a little spank, pretty girl.”

Shame fills me. Is he serious? “No. I-I can’t.”

The belt comes from nowhere, striking my bare ass like a viper.

“Oh, oh, my god!” I shoot up from the pain.

“I didn’t say you could get up.” He snaps the belt, a loud cracking sound echoing in the room. “Bend back over and give yourself a spank.”

Oh, god. I can’t believe he’s making me do this. Is this payback for leaving him in Paris? Does he know about Holly and he’s punishing me for hiding it? Or is he really this intent on knowing what I need the money for?

I bend over slowly. Bracing one hand on my knee, I reach around, giving my ass a punishing spank. It stings, my ass already raw and throbbing from his belt. I moan in shame.

“Now spread your legs.”

I move my feet apart, the cool air rushing over my hot, wet sex.

His voice is venom. “And touch yourself. Tell me how wet you are.”

I moan in disbelief. I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone. My hair hangs around my face like a curtain, hiding my shame. I reach between my legs, rubbing my throbbing sex. I let out a deep sigh as I run my fingers over my clit.

I’m trembling. Humiliated. Still, I move my fingers through my slickness, pleasuring myself for his enjoyment.

I don’t even know if it’s about the money anymore. It’s like I want to be here, to be made to do these things. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe there’s something wrong with him. But I don’t really care.

I move my fingers, my breaths coming faster.

He calls out, “Stop.”

“What?” Despite my best efforts, my fingers keep moving. I can’t stop.

“Tsk tsk.” I feel him move toward me. “Naughty girl. I’ll have to take you over my knee for that.”

He comes behind me, grabbing my hips. He sits on the sofa, dragging my naked body over his lap. I hang over his thighs like a rag doll, desperate for more stimulation. It’s so strange, to be so close to him after all this time, to feel the warmth of his body through his clothes, to feel his intake of breath from where his belly is pressed against me.

And yet, I feel a million miles away from him.

“You need a lesson in obedience. I saw those naughty fingers still touching your pussy after I told you to stop. Greedy little girl. You need a spanking for that.”

He spanks my bottom but it’s not hard punishing spanks. He’s peppering my curves with soft little slapping pats. Spanking the part of my ass that meets the tops of my thighs with his gentle smacks.

It drives me mad with desire. It’s almost worse than the harsh, stinging spanks. I wriggle my hips over his lap. “Please, please, touch me.”

“You want me to touch you?” he growls.

“Yes, please, oh god, please!” My empty sex throbs, his spanks making my muscles clench together.

His voice goes low and husky. “Are you sure you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” I beg.

“Alright.” His fingers dive between my thighs, two of them forcing their way into me at once.

“Oh, my god.” He pushes them into me and my pussy locks down around them, desperate.

He moves them, making me ache even more. “Tell me why you need money. Are you in trouble?”

“No—I mean—I can’t.” My hips grind against him as he fingers me.

“No, you can’t tell me, or no, you’re not in trouble?” He slips out from inside of me, finding my clit. He circles it with the pads of his fingers. “Those are two very different things.”

I’m gone. I’m bucking shamelessly against his legs, my body begging. “I-I don’t know. Just please, let me come.”

His fingers freeze. I moan in despair. I’m going to die.

His voice is low, dangerous, and quiet. “Tell me or I’m going to do this, all night long, never letting you come.”

“No.” I lay limp over his lap, exhausted and frustrated and in pain.

“Why not?” He slips his hand from me.

“Because you’ll never forgive me, okay?” My hands go to my face. “That’s why not.”

I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.

I burst into sobs.