“I think she gets off on watching us suffer.”

“What boss doesn’t?” Jenna muttered, though she didn’t look away from her computer screen—not once in the last hour, in fact, had Andy noticed her turn away. He knew why, though he wished he didn’t. Jenna had a date tonight, but their hellion of a boss, Lydia Warlow, had kept both of her executive assistants late so they could correct all the fuck-ups the graphic designers had left in the copy—which was somehow their fault. Scowling, Andy huffed at his computer screen, then leaned back in his incredibly non-ergonomic chair, the hinges groaning under his weight.

Why did they have to suffer for the mistakes of the designers and the writers? Wasn’t a writer’s job supposed to be catching all these mistakes before they were transferred by the artists onto the final piece? When he had finished his degree in advertising two years ago, this wasn’t how he had thought he would spend his Friday nights.

But then again, he’d be an idiot if he expected the marketing world to be like any regular nine-to-five. Still, their contract guaranteed them at least one weekend off a month and stated that they would leave the building at their regularly scheduled hour. So far, he’d worked the last three weekends in a row, but this was the first Friday he’d had to stay this late.

Not that Lydia cared. The dictatorial blonde with the perky ass and great pair of tits had been a slave driver from day one. To her, no one had a life outside of the office, even if she and the other corporate stooges had promised they would during the interview process.

Andy cracked his knuckles noisily, which earned him an irritated huff from his cubicle mate. He’d thought being an executive assistant would mean at least getting his own office, even if he had to share it with someone else. But nope. Just another cubicle alongside the copywriters and designers.

Man, this job so wasn’t worth it.

Sighing, he spared a quick peek in the direction of Lydia’s office, then straightened up at the sight of her bending over to get something out of the bottom filing drawer. Whoever had made her four office walls entirely of glass was a fucking saint. Because even on his worst days, when Andy felt like he’d wasted all that money on a prestigious degree, mostly to get his father off his back, there was always the chance he’d catch his bitchy fox of a boss bending over.

You could write whole epics about that ass.

She stood upright a moment later, giving him a perfect view of her hourglass curves from behind, that snug pencil skirt and fitted button-up tucked into it doing wonders for her figure. The best view was the profile shot, which he got to enjoy for a few seconds as she walked back over to her desk.

Once she was facing him again, settling into her stately chair and clacking away at her wireless keyboard, two computer monitors making a ninety-degree angle at the corner of her desk, Andy got a look at that face. Her face, while gorgeous, with full lips that she always painted up and thick lashes that the girls swore she added fakes to, usually dispelled whatever fantasy her body created in his mind. Because it was the face that yelled at him, that expressed his boss’s distaste for his work. Even now her forehead creased, and her pinched lips looked about two seconds away from losing it—probably at her assistants, the only two people left in the sprawling top-floor office.

Andy’s gaze followed Lydia’s lithe arm as she reached out and pressed the intercom button on her desk, and suddenly her voice was crackling through the connected speaker on his desk.

“Where are we at, people?”

Jenna beat him to the response. “Almost done. Another twenty minutes and we should be finished making all the changes, Miss Warlow.”

“Good.” Even at a distance, Andy noted the way her eyes narrowed, and suddenly she was looking up at him. “Maybe if Andy stopped staring at me, you could be out of here in ten.”

Colour flooded his cheeks as he whirled around and pressed a finger to the intercom button. “So sorry, Miss Warlow. I’ll… I’ll get right on it.”

He didn’t look back, but he could feel her glare burning a hole through the side of his face as he scrambled for his computer. Sure enough, there wasn’t much left to do, but it would be over with faster if he put some effort into it.

Still. She didn’t need to take that tone with him. He was here two hours after his workday should have ended. She could at least be grateful instead of reveling in his misery.

Fucking bitch.

* * *

Lydia was going to throttle them. Absolutely throttle them. After a hellish week of juggling fickle writer egos, temperamental client requests, and micromanaging galore from the only two people higher than her on the business hierarchy, she desperately needed her weekly Friday night appointment with Reid. And Reid hated when his clients were late. Hated it. He’d expressed just how much he hated it very clearly during their first session, and thus far Lydia had been a model student when it came to adhering to his rules.

But as of that moment, she was officially a half hour late, and it was giving her a wicked case of anxiety. Every few seconds her eyes flitted to her wall clock, then back to her computer screen. Her work was done. Her underlings, however, were woefully behind this week—partially their fault, partially the fault of a client who couldn’t make up their mind—and she had to sit and babysit as her assistants played catch-up for the last two hours.

Nothing like this had ever happened when she was in their position. Her boss would have reamed her out and fired her if a shit-show like this had happened under her watch. But Lydia was less of a hard-ass than he had been, though not by much, and she considered it a small mercy to let her two highly educated assistants pick up the slack rather than outright firing them.

But if she caught Andy blatantly staring at her ass one more time, things were going to come to a grinding halt for that trust fund baby—Lydia would see to that.

“Miss Warlow?” Jenna’s voice trickled out of the speaker built into her custom desk. Lydia looked away from her computer screen, eyebrows up. “We’re finished out here, if there’s anything else you need—”

“No,” she said curtly, waving them off. “Get out of here and enjoy your weekend.”

That was the fastest she’d seen them move all day. For how hard she rode them during the week, Lydia wholeheartedly believed in giving her employees weekends off whenever the workload permitted, and she usually wanted them out of the office by the end of the workday. She’d found in her three years of running this particular branch of the marketing firm that well-rested and happy employees produced better work than miserable exhausted ones. It may have been unorthodox, given the highly competitive field they were in, but she had enough big-name clients that she could afford to treat her staff well. She pushed them hard because she knew they all had potential. Lydia only hired the absolute best, and nothing less would do. They were all capable of the best, even if occasionally they needed a boot up their asses to get there.

But good grief was there going to be a pissed-off memo waiting in everyone’s inboxes by Monday. This week had been totally unacceptable across the board.

Angry email tirades could wait, however, until tomorrow. Once her assistants hightailed it out of there, Lydia raced through her usual closing duties and flew into the elevators just as the janitorial crew arrived for the night.

Forty-five minutes late.

Arms crossed, Lydia kept her bright blue gaze fixed to the floor-display box over the elevator doors. Somehow things always felt slower when you were in a hurry, and tonight was no exception. Not only did the elevator seem to take forever, but it was constantly stopping at various floors and picking up staffers whose bosses didn’t share Lydia’s philosophy of reasonable hours and weekends off.

By the time she reached her sleek Mercedes in the underground parking lot, she was fifty-two minutes late.

“Fuck,” she hissed, jabbing at the start button and tossing her things in the tiny backseat. Her mother had told her the car was impractical—“Where will the baby’s car seat go? You know they shouldn’t be in the front!”—but Lydia had bought it outright because she’d earned it. Plus, she was single as sin. There were no babies coming near her for another ten years, at least, and by then she’d probably just adopt a kid who was tall enough to sit in the front seat. Lydia Warlow didn’t do babies.

Friday-night traffic was a nightmare, especially downtown, and when Lydia finally rolled into the parking lot outside of Reid’s upscale apartment complex on the edge of the city, she was well over an hour late. Panic made her chest tight as she stumbled out, knowing she was in for it tonight. Just as Lydia didn’t do babies, Reid didn’t do rule-breaking.

One final painfully slow elevator ride stood between her and her destination, and when she reached his door, she leaned against the frame and let out a ragged breath. Perspiration trickled down her forehead, and she wiped it away before flipping the Open sign around to read Session in Progress.

The rest of his building thought he was a massage therapist who treated upscale clientele out of his home. Little did they know that Reid Jameson was anything but.

Well, that wasn’t fair. He could give a mean massage—but only if she’d earned it.

Only if she was a good sub.

Lydia shivered at the thought.

Inhaling a cleansing breath, she closed her eyes tightly for a moment, bracing herself, before turning the knob and slipping inside. Reid’s entryway was lit with various lamps, creating a soft atmosphere that belied exactly what went on inside the four walls. During her first session, Lydia had thought it odd that a man who wore perfectly tailored suits and Audemars Piguet wristwatches wouldn’t have some semblance of interior décor. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Reid was a Dom who catered to many clients. Everyone’s sexual fantasies differed—muted tones and limited knickknacks helped keep the fantasy alive.

She found him seated in the armchair next to the sprawling bay window of the living room, the electric fire in the hearth flickering its greeting.

“I’m sorr—”

“You’re late,” Reid remarked, closing the book on his lap with a whip-sharp snap and setting it on the window ledge. “Very late.”

Lydia swallowed hard at the tone he took with her: light, airy—casual. Like she wasn’t treading in shark-infested waters.

“I should have called.” Lydia bowed her head and looked to him through lowered lashes. “Work ran late—”

He raised a hand to silence her, a gesture she obeyed immediately, a flood of desire washing over her.

“You are lucky I had a gap in my schedule.” He stood, hands clasped behind his back. “Otherwise you would have found the door locked.”

“I understand,” she told him, eagerness encouraging a tremor in her words. “I am sorry, sir.”

“I know you are.” His mouth, capable of inflicting excruciating pain and exquisite pleasure, shifted into a smirk, “but you and I both know words are not enough.”

“No, they aren’t,” Lydia agreed softly, her sex clenching in anticipation. She was wet already. After a year of seeing him weekly, a minute of conversation was all it took.

He studied her with a lazy flick of those gorgeous eyes, black like charcoal, and her knees threatened to buckle. Reid oozed sex god in regular light, but in the shade of night, he was a demon waiting to strike—and Lydia was always willing to offer her body as a sacrifice. Statuesque yet lean, Lydia suspected he’d been one of those skinny beanpole types until college—and he’d been beautiful ever since. Beautiful—and skilled at making her weep in agony and bliss in equal measures. A two-day scruff along his jawline and up to his cheeks caught her attention fleetingly; Lydia imagined the painful scrape of it over her thighs and suppressed a shudder.

“Get changed,” he ordered softly, then turned his back to her to look out the window, its sheer white curtains drawn back to reveal the glittering metropolis in the distance.

“Yes, sir.” Thrilled that the night wasn’t cancelled or postponed due to her bumbling underlings, Lydia scurried from the living room, her heels clacking down the hall and into the bathroom. She knew every inch of his apartment, having been fucked on or tied to just about every surface in every room. That in and of itself brought her comfort. Her work was high stress—draining. Stepping into Reid’s home every week helped her breathe again. It was her mental and emotional reset, one that enabled her to keep functioning in her incredibly demanding world without turning to booze or drugs or whatever other vices people like her used to numb themselves.

Lydia found her outfit, or lack thereof, hanging on the back of the bathroom door: red crotchless panties, thigh-high black tights, and garter belts. That was it. A blush warmed her cheeks as her frantic fingers shed her work attire. Reid catered to sexual fantasies. In one conversation, he’d told her he tried not to express any personal fantasies of his own, as it might take a client out of the moment. Still, with the outfits he chose for her, Lydia had two working theories: he was an ass guy, because he usually dressed her in garters and barely-there lingerie; or he was a boob guy, because she seldom wore anything to cover them.

After folding her clothes neatly and setting them on the counter in a pile, her hands trembling in her haste, she slipped into the provided clothing, yanking the store tag off the panties when she was through. Each outfit she wore here was used only once—it was part of the contract. Lydia thought Reid was worth every penny, but she appreciated that a portion of the hefty fee she paid went to a clothing budget.

A sharp knock at the door made her fumble over the garters.

“Today, Lydia.”

“Yes, sir,” she called back, hastily snapping everything into place. One final look in the mirror and a quick fluff of her lustrous mane and she was done, scrambling out the door and shutting it behind her.

A hand closed around her throat before she took so much as a step down the hall, Reid shoving her back into the door with practiced force. She let out a little squeak on impact, then pressed her lips together, head bowed and heart racing as he closed in on her.

God, he smelled good. Cologne spicy and rich, so exquisite that she just wanted to bury her face in the nape of his neck and breathe him into her soul.

The punishment for such presumptuousness would probably leave her unable to sit for weeks.

But totally worth it.

“Tip your head back,” Reid instructed huskily. Her eyes flickered to his as she obeyed, finding them dark—totally in control. Goosebumps rose across her flesh and her nipples hardened to tight peaks. With the only light emanating from the living room down the hall, Lydia drew in a shaky breath as he moved closer, his jacket brushing against her skin. Heels gone, she stood roughly a head below him, and she felt every inch of the difference as he towered over her, head cocked to one side.

“I had other plans for you today,” he murmured, and her eyes threatened to drift shut as he trailed a finger across her cheek. It was gentle until it reached her chin. From there, it forced her head up higher, her body pressed back against the bathroom door as he invaded every inch of her personal space, so close that she felt the soft, controlled breath from his nostrils dance along her lips. “But I’m afraid I cannot permit such reckless tardiness. You will have to be punished.”

“Of course, sir,” was her response, the only response permissible, and she swallowed a whimper at the sharp bite of his nail under her chin. Their eyes met again, his skilled at hiding his emotions, hers completely open to him. When Reid’s hand left her throat, she contemplated easing forward, drawn to the gravitational pull of his body, but she held herself perfectly still when Reid wrapped her old leather collar around her throat in place of his hand. A throb of need shot straight through to her sex as the clasp clicked shut, and she resisted the urge to fidget as he adjusted its tightness. Never too tight. Her collar was like a second skin.

He had used it on her often when they’d first started—she’d had a lot to learn. Now, almost a year into this arrangement, she prided herself on following his rules to the last detail. She hadn’t needed to wear the collar in a long, long time. Yet it brought out a delicious excitement within her once it was fastened, anticipation unfurling across her body like a slowly opening fist, caressing her with each finger.

Abruptly, Reid stepped back, and she almost sagged at the loss of contact. Her first thought was to reach up and touch the collar, but she knew better. Lydia waited, arms at her sides, willing her breathing to even out. He’d be so disappointed if he knew how out of control she felt tonight already.

“Tell me, Lydia,” he started, voice a gruff half-whisper, “were you late enough to warrant nipple clamps?”

She cursed—silently, of course—and tried to hold back a wince. Maybe Reid wasn’t a boob guy, given how cruelly he liked to punish hers. Or maybe he just knew how much she hated the clamps.

“I leave it to your discretion to decide which punishment fits the crime, sir,” she answered with some difficulty. If it was possible, her nipples had hardened further at the thought, and she felt a tingle from them when Reid’s gaze dropped down.

“I think…” He reached out and pinched one, hard enough to elicit a strangled whimper from Lydia. Then, as one might examine a ripened piece of fruit at the grocery store, he cupped and grasped each breast in equal measure, then tweaked the other nipple just as hard as the first. She was ready this time, holding back her whimpers as he appraised her.

When he was through, Reid gave the underside of each aching breast a light pat, smirking. “I think I will save that for another time.”

“Thank you, sir.” The words tumbled out as relief flooded her system, but Lydia bit her lip when he tugged at a nipple again.

“Don’t push your luck tonight,” was his final word on the matter. Reid then hooked a finger through the metal loop hanging from the front of her collar and led her down the hall at a brisk pace, half dragging her behind. A flash of disappointment crossed her mind at the thought that he might need to rush through their session, especially if he had another client scheduled, but she put an end to the thought fast. Whatever he saw fit to give her was enough.

He led her back into the living room, then settled himself on the edge of the armchair. Lydia stood beside him, hands threaded and head bowed, waiting for the next command. When his eyes snapped to her, she startled, her heart hammering.

“Over my knee,” he ordered, and when she started to crawl over him, he added a brisk, “now.”

Scrambling, she did her best to move quickly and efficiently, with minimal jostling for them both, draping herself over his lap. The position was a familiar one, and Lydia planted her palms on the floor, the tips of her toes barely reaching on the other side. Reid sighed impatiently, the sound causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise, and she swallowed a whimper when he tugged her panties up, the fabric stretched between her exposed cheeks and tight across her slick sex.

The first slap landed so hard, so firm, that she gasped. Blinking back the fresh sting of tears, she bit her lips as the sweet burn bloomed across her skin. The second hit was even harder, the third more so, harder and harder, in rapid succession, so that by the end of an eight-count she cried out.

“Lydia,” he warned, his hot hand smoothing over the stinging flesh. “You know the rules.”

She nodded, blood rushing to her face, fighting the urge to shy away from his wrath. At this point, she knew better. In the beginning, every flinch had only made the punishment worse.

Which, of course, made it better, but she hadn’t learned that until many sessions in. Reid gave her the best climaxes of her life, and this was all part of it.

She pressed her lips together, face crinkled in concentration, and fought the urge to vocalize the delicious sort of agony she had come to crave. He was relentless, eight counts for each round, drifting down to her thighs on occasion, the blows making her twitch and squirm about on his lap. Movement was fine; retreating was forbidden—that was the whole point of a safe word, after all.

At the end of her third eight-count, her poor cheeks were positively on fire, and Lydia was up on the tips of her fingers, arms shaking and legs threatening to fold up to shield herself. As if sensing the urge, Reid placed one hand on the undersides of her knees, caressing her undoubtedly cherry-red ass with the other. They sat in a heavy silence, Lydia tossed over his lap, her breath coming in uneven, strangled gasps, eyes wet with tears. Every so often, she would feel his soft exhale on her back. But as always, his breath was even and constant, as though the act required no physical exertion on his part.

Swallowing hard, Lydia closed her eyes and forced herself to slow her breathing. She let herself fall into the gentle sweep of his hand over her punished backside, using the familiar rhythm to calm herself. When it stopped, so had her tears, though her heartbeat continued to thunder between her ears.

“Up,” he snapped at last, grasping the base of her neck as she pushed herself into a standing position. Her raw, red cheeks screamed for attention, and it certainly didn’t help to have her panties wedged between them. She shifted about in front of him, both of them waiting for the blood to drain from her face and for the room to stop spinning. Reid’s hand hovered over her hip to stabilize her, and she bit back a knowing smile; it was something she had always appreciated about him—the way he looked after her. For all the dangerous games they’d played since this began, she had never once been hurt. Sore enough to feel a twinge for a few days after, sure, but that was the point.

“You know, I had plans this evening,” Reid remarked coolly. He then tapped the toe of his leather shoe—oxfords, as usual—twice to get her attention. “These were supposed to be polished for an event tomorrow, but I’m sure the shop is closed now.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not yet you aren’t.” He snapped and pointed to the ground, and Lydia immediately knelt in front of him, her hands behind her back and her chest thrust out, assuming the usual position. Reid glowered down at her, the look in his eye enough to make her shiver, and then settled back in his chair. “I suppose you know what you need to do to make it up to me.”

She gulped and glanced down at the shoes, unsure, and then took what she considered a risk. “Shall I fetch the toothbrush?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d had her detail-clean something as a punishment, always in barely-there lingerie.

“No,” he said curtly, one hand tightening to a fist. “You will not.”

She returned her gaze to his shoes, which, to be perfectly frank, looked clean and polished enough already. When she hesitated, she heard him sigh impatiently again.

“Perhaps I’ll have you do it wearing nipple clamps too, then, if you’re going to be disobedient.”

Anxiety flashed through her, and she hastily bent over, coming face-to-shoe with a grimace. When she didn’t immediately start doing what she knew he wanted her to do, he began tapping his other foot. She bit her lip. This was pushing her luck. Her nipples grazed the floor as she shuffled lower, skin covered in goosebumps at the feel of the cool hardwood against her painfully stiff peaks. Her knees ached already, but she had learned to ignore that kind of pain a long time ago.

Taking a soft breath, she stuck out her tongue and ran it along the length of the shoe.

“Make sure you get all of it,” he growled, his other foot ceasing its tapping as she worked. “I can’t have a speck of dirt on them for tomorrow. Corporate types are so judgmental. They really just need someone to put them in their place, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” she managed when he leaned forward and stared down at her. She flicked her gaze up, the tip of her tongue at the tip of his shoe, and he nodded before settling back. Reid had mentioned dirt, but the shoes smelled new, the leather still crisp and unyielding. The bitter taste lingered on her tongue, but it was what she deserved; she had been late.

Lydia made sure to get every inch of the shoe save for the soles. Every nook and cranny, she licked, and when she was finished with the right, she moved on to the left. These had to be new shoes. He couldn’t have worn them outside, at the very least; Lydia may have had to use her caution safe word if they were actually dirty. She enjoyed humiliation, punishment, most forms of pain—the works. She had no interest, however, in being forced to eat dirt. Soft, verging on hard limit.

But this was good. Better than good, even. With each slight movement, she could feel, sometimes hear, her soaked sex. With her hands behind her back, hand clasped to wrist, she shuffled around at Reid’s feet, not stopping until the job was done, no matter how awful the taste, how her knees hurt, or how her sensitive nipples dragged across the wood panels. She saw her punishment through from start to finish, only sitting back in the appropriate stance when she was sure she had done her job right.

Jaw clenched, the scrumptious angle of it making her squirm, Reid inspected each shoe. She held her breath when he rubbed at one spot, worried she had actually missed something, then let it go when he stood and brushed by her. He walked confidently, the strut perfected over years—the sign of a man in total control. She bit her lip, trying not to blatantly stare, then sat up at attention when he stopped in the corner of the room.

“Come here.”

Nodding, Lydia crawled across the hardwood, then resumed the same position at his feet. Her heart fluttered when she spotted a clasp attached by a thin leather strap no more than half a foot long to a metal loop drilled into the floor.

“Do you know what this is for?”

She nodded. More than likely, that clasp would clip onto the ring on her collar, effectively chaining her to the floor with very little wiggle room.

“I had another client scheduled after you,” Reid told her, arms crossed and expression severe, “and now you’re about to cut into her time. Do you think that’s fair?”

“No, sir.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He crouched in front of her and hooked a finger through the metal loop on her collar, then firmly guided her down to the clasp. She winced, adjusting her body along the way, her full breasts and painfully hard nipples thrust to the floor again. Her sex clenched, however, at the sound of the clasp locking around the hook, a pleasurable throb humming through her body. When Reid straightened, she realized she’d been right; with no more than a foot of give, she was effectively shackled to the floor in the corner of the room. She bit her lip. This was new. He’d tied her up in all sorts of configurations before, and she liked just about every one, no matter how torturous. This felt the most like a punishment—a sexy time-out, as it were.

“Forehead on the floor,” he ordered softly, “and hands behind her back.”

Lydia hurried to comply, swallowing her discomfort. When she clasped her hands behind her back, she stilled at the feel of him looping satin material around them. He started at her wrists, then expertly tied all the way up her forearms, taking a little extra time near the elbows—tying a bow, most likely. Reid prided himself on his handiwork.

“You will stay in this position until I’ve finished with my other client,” he informed her. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

She shifted about, easing the weight between her knees, the floor unrelenting, and then cleared her throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. As you should be.” Lydia closed her eyes, breath catching, when he gently gathered her hair and arranged it so it fell like a thick curtain on either side her of face. When he was through, Reid clasped the nape of her neck, squeezing just enough for her to feel the bite of each fingertip. “I will be walking this client by you. Her session is only ten minutes, and will take place in another room. With your hair as such, she will not see your face. Do you need to invoke a limit?”

Lydia blinked, briefly allowing herself a moment outside of their unusually intense scene. The way she was positioned, this client would see her ass, and her soaked, swollen lips protruding through the crotchless part of her silk panties. But no face. Lydia had no tattoos, no oddly shaped birthmarks on display. As much as she needed these little sessions with Reid, no one could ever know. She had worked too hard on her professional reputation for the world to know she loved to be dominated. Lydia would be ruined. However, there was no possibility that this woman could identify her without seeing her face. So, she shook her head.

“No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

His praise always delighted her, more than any she’d ever received from her executive superiors. Her body responded readily now, warmth washing over her as a blush took hold. No one else could make her feel like this: hopelessly exposed, embarrassed, yet utterly safe too. At work, Lydia’s mind raced from sunup to sundown. Here, with Reid, she could just be—even if that meant being tied and contorted, soon to be on display for a stranger. She had complete trust in him, especially when he left her side for a moment and returned to place a small bell in front of her face.

“I’d rather you didn’t use it,” he insisted, the words part of their game, “but ring it if you need me to relieve you.”

The scene would be over then. Lydia had no intention of touching the damn thing, so she just nodded, her blush darkening as he chuckled and smoothed a hand over her still-raw cheeks.

“There’s one more thing…” She heard the cracking open of a lubricant bottle, and her toes curled when he probed a lubed finger into her tightest hole. Her hands fisted, and Lydia forced herself to relax as best she could, ignoring the slight sharpness of the intrusion.

When they had begun their relationship, anal was a hard limit, and at no point had Reid ever brought it up with her after that was established. However, about two months ago, Lydia had decided that if she were ever to try this thing that was all the sexual rage in women’s magazines these days, she ought to try it with him. They’d discussed it after a session one evening, when they were equals again, and Reid had agreed to introduce her to it very slowly.

So far it wasn’t as mind-blowing as the articles made it out to be, but she was only up to a few plugs of varying sizes—which she deduced, as Reid pumped his finger in and out of her, was what she was in for now. She bit her lip and concentrated on her breathing. With her hair curtained around her, she had no visual to go off of—just the sounds of his movements behind her, paired with the electricity of his touch.

As much as she tried to keep it even, her breath still hitched when she felt the head of the plug against her hole.

“Relax,” Reid gently reminded her, a hand on her lower back—an unspoken reminder to arch it. She complied, then clenched her eyes shut when the plug slid into place courtesy of more lubrication. Her entire body tightened at the latest intrusion; it felt bigger than any he’d used on her before, and the urge to look back, or squirm about, hit her so hard she whimpered. When he said her name, the question clear, she calmed herself again; this wasn’t supposed to be comfortable.

Besides, being filled there made her desperate to be filled in other places. The torture was exquisite.

“Green, sir.”

“Good.” He gave each cheek a moderately hard spank, driving her into the floor, ass gripping the plug so tight that she shuddered as a tremor of pleasure seeped from her core. At the sound of his retreating footsteps, she realized she was trembling ever so slightly, desperate to touch herself, to slide a finger into her slick entrance, or play with her swollen clit.

But all she could do was sit and wait. She had made her bed—now she had to lie in it.

Although it couldn’t have been more than a minute that she was left waiting, the silence bore down on her, adding to the discomfort. Reid seldom left her alone during these sessions, and she found she missed him almost immediately. Not only that, but the sound of the door opening and hushed conversation, a woman’s voice carrying over Reid’s rumbly baritone, made Lydia almost—jealous? She bit the insides of her cheeks, her body tightening around the plug again and sending another jolt of pleasure through her.

No. She couldn’t be jealous. Reid had a lot of clients. She’d known that from the beginning.

She’d just never heard one before.

Two sets of footsteps sounded, growing louder and louder, until the woman gasped in the expansive doorway to the warmly lit living room.

“Ignore her,” Reid said briskly. “She was late this evening.”

“Oh.” The woman sounded young, possibly younger than Lydia—more like one of her assistants, actually. Girlish, her tone already submissive. “What poor form.”

“Indeed.” They crossed the living room behind her, Lydia’s entire body on fire, acutely aware of just how on display she was, plug and all. Suddenly, they stopped, and what Reid said next made her eyes widen in her surprise and her jaw clench. “Tell me, do you think the plug should vibrate in my absence?”

There was a tense moment of silence, until suddenly she heard one of them tiptoeing toward her—the woman, of course. Reid would never tiptoe. The new arrival stopped directly behind her, presence looming overhead, and Lydia tucked her chin against her chest, shielding her face as best she could beneath all that lustrous dirty blonde hair.

She exhaled sharply when she felt the woman fiddling with the plug. Seconds later—it rumbled to life.

And it was agony. Lydia closed her eyes tight as the pair left her, disappearing into the hall, possibly into Reid’s guest bedroom. In their absence, she let herself whimper, the sensation of something vibrating in her ass totally new and utterly jarring. She didn’t dare reposition herself—Reid missed nothing—but she desperately wanted to. The way the plug was shaped, it nudged perfectly against something in there, the stimulation akin to her g-spot, and she found herself quickly panting, coated in a sheen of sweat, fighting the urge to buck her hips.

Surprise flashed through her at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by a woman’s sharp cry. Throwing caution to the wind, Lydia lifted her head a little, flinching at the next hit—palm to cheek. A cry. He was spanking her. A ten-minute spank session. She didn’t even know he offered those.

Maybe she needed to book a hump day spank every so often too. It would certainly make getting through the workweek easier.

Swallowing hard, she placed her forehead back down on the floor, torn between eavesdropping on the woman’s session—they were making it hard not to hear—and wholly giving in to the vibrations of the plug. With it humming away, she found it easier to ignore the ache in her shoulders, knees, and forehead. Unfortunately, five spanks later—she couldn’t help but count—Lydia felt the familiar contracting throughout her body of an orgasm.

“No, no, no,” she whimpered, knowing she needed to ask permission. If she climaxed now, and Reid found out—he was definitely getting the nipple clamps before her evening was through. Fighting the urge to come had taken a lot of practice, and while usually she was adept at it, the added sensation of the vibrations paired with the woman’s cry, the slap of Reid’s hand on her bare backside—it was getting difficult to ignore. She moaned, her hips starting to wiggle ever so slightly, riding the waves of surging pleasure, knowing she was on the brink and not caring.

Well, almost not caring. Earth-shattering orgasm? Nipple clamps. Phenomenal climax that she’d still feel tomorrow? Nipple clamps.

She shifted about as best she could, trying to distract herself—but the movement only made the sensation more intense. She wished Reid had given her something to bite down on, and she soon found herself clamping down on the leather strap connecting her to the floor, her arousal coating her thighs and her clit begging to be touched.

A grueling ten minutes later, two sets of footsteps crossed the living room again.

“You haven’t climaxed yet, have you?” Reid demanded when the footsteps paused, and she shook her head, choking down a sob. He marched toward her, and she almost came undone when he ran a finger between the seam of her swollen, soaking lips. “Good girl.”

His absence earned a strangled cry from Lydia, and she bit down harder on the strap as he walked his other client out. Their murmured conversation by the door was just white noise now, blood pounding in her ears as she fought the urge to climax with everything she had.

An eternity later, she vaguely heard the door close and lock, followed by footsteps back to her. By then, sweat dripped down her forehead, and she gasped for a breath of cool, fresh air when Reid gathered her hair away from her face. Then, much to her surprise, he undid the satin ties around her arms. Unsure of what she should do with them, Lydia merely gripped her wrists and returned to fighting her orgasm.

“Palms on the floor,” Reid instructed, followed by the sound of a condom wrapper crinkling. Lydia did as she was told, ignoring the stiffness in her wrists and forearms, slowly releasing the bit in her mouth and trying not to make a sound. The thought that he’d fuck her when she was this close, and possibly deny her an orgasm—well, it was too much to comprehend in that moment. She would deserve it, of course. The ultimate punishment for her tardiness: to work her up, her entire body dripping with need, so desperate for release that she could scream, and then deny her an end to this blissful torment.

After hearing a slight flurry of movement, Lydia stilled when his hands grasped her hips. Gently, Reid guided her back, pulling her leash taut, and had her lift her hips as much as she could. Her knees screamed, but she had better balance with the use of her hands. She kept them palms-down in front of her, then brought her forehead down to rest on them. Reid, however, preferred her head up; he gathered her hair in one hand and jerked it back.

Biting her lip, if only to keep from shrieking, Lydia repositioned herself accordingly, every slight movement rustling the plug and sending a lightning bolt of pleasure from her clit.

“I hadn’t planned to fuck you today,” he admitted, then grasped her hips firmly and sank into her.

A soundless scream crawled up her throat, and she felt herself slipping away, losing herself to the physical world at last. The fullness of his impressively hard cock paired with the ever-vibrating plug—it was paradise and sweet hell all bundled into one. Her fingers started to curl, but a sharp clearing of his throat forced her to spread them back out, keeping her palms on the ground.

She could almost imagine the wicked smirk on his lips as he bucked against her, ever so slightly, even the faintest movement sending her into a fit. Lydia had learned to control her body, to keep it still, but tonight pushed every bit of restraint she had to the limit.

“What do you say?” he asked, a hard smack to her left cheek startling her.

“Thank you, sir.”

“For what?”

“For fucking me,” she whimpered. His chuckle sent a shiver skittering down her back, heat pooling between her thighs. And then, just to add insult to injury, Reid remained so still, her sex pulsing around him, that she thought he might rescind that offer. However, when he pushed the little button on the plug again, the vibrations increased. Unable to stop herself, Lydia keened, head down and body shaking, her surroundings fading in and out of focus.

Only then did he finally move, thrusting hard against her before pulling out. Over and over again, pounding into her with everything he had. His fingers slipped under her collar and forced her upright again as he used it to anchor himself to her. Lydia drew in a ragged breath, eyes wide and lips parted, breasts bouncing to the point of pain under his fierce pace.

“Do you deserve to come tonight, Lydia?” he growled, his voice a raspy, delicious rumble that nearly pushed her over the edge. When she didn’t answer immediately, her words incoherent and gargled, he slapped her in the same spot he had only moments earlier, the sharp sting cutting through the pleasurable haze that had engulfed her body.

Lydia knew what he wanted to hear. She knew the correct response, but it would kill her.

“Lydia.” The terseness of his tone, paired with another smack, forced her into action.

“N-no,” she sobbed, eyes clenched shut. “I d-don’t deserve to.”

“Dear girl,” Reid murmured, chuckling, “always so hard on yourself. I think you do.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she needed a moment to figure out if what she had heard was what he had actually said, or if it was just her brain playing tricks on her. Unsure, Lydia glanced over her shoulder as much as she could manage, shuddering at the sight of him towering over her, his broad frame dominating her field of vision. A stern expression stared back, Reid’s hips continuing to pummel her poor, aching, terribly aroused body. When he arched a brow, she faced forward.

“Come, Lydia,” he ordered, voice no more than a dark whisper. “I want you to come.”

Lydia was more than willing to comply, especially when he upped the vibrations another level, then pinched his fingers down over her clit. Her entire body clenched one last time before finally releasing, a burning rush of pleasure coursing through every system. She collapsed onto her elbows, little specks of white dotting her vision, as she shook, riding out the earth-shattering orgasm.

As she shuddered and quaked, Lydia felt as though all this ecstasy, all this bliss, would just pour out of her, seeping from every pore, and her body finally sagged. Empty. Depleted. Content.

So caught up in the moment, the rippling tingles of aftermath taking hold and refusing to let go, she hadn’t even noticed him pull out of her. Suddenly, Reid’s hand was on the back of her neck, gently easing her down to disconnect her from the clasp. Grasping her by the shoulders, he then helped sit her up, taking the brunt of her weight as she continued to revel in the sweet burn she would crave for seven long days until her next session.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, no doubt catching her wince as she sat back on what was a very sore, thoroughly used backside. At some point, he’d also turned off the vibrator and removed that. She blinked hurriedly, her breath slowly starting to even out. Had she blacked out, or had she just been so into her own pleasure that her scenic awareness had disappeared?

“Great,” she managed, finding her throat a little sore, her voice cracking—like she’d been screaming at a concert for the last several hours. Reid cupped her chin as he appraised her, that stern contempt he wore so well during the scene giving way to the other side of the coin—the second mask all Doms needed the wear: the caregiver. It was Reid who had taught her the importance of after-care, of needing someone supportive and tender to ease her out of the headspace she’d succumbed to during the scene.

When her outer appearance matched up to what Reid wanted to see, he stood and crossed the living room, quickly returning with one of her favourite blankets. He wrapped it around her shoulders, the silky-soft fabric enveloping her sore, weary figure. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, basking in the comfort, then squeaked a little when he hoisted her up and carried her over to the small two-seater couch. After positioning her for maximum comfort, he gently rolled down her thigh-high black stockings, a faint smile touching his lips when she wiggled her red-tipped toes.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, and she nodded, her weariness hitting her like a freight train. If only she could fall asleep here—but that would require a level of personal connection that she and Reid lacked. It was such an odd thing to consider, given all that he’d just done to her, but this was a professional relationship still.

Even if Lydia found herself missing him while he was gone—and smiling just a little too bright when he returned, a mug of steaming green tea in hand.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she accepted the drink, flashing him a quick grin. He settled in on the couch beside her, then lifted her feet onto his lap and started to massage the arch of her right foot. Eyes rolling back in her head, she moaned softly and snuggled deeper into the couch.

“Is there anything we need to discuss from the session?” he asked, sounding more like everyday Reid and less like her Dom by the second. When she shook her head, he cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure? The plug was larger than I’ve used before.”

“It was good,” she assured him. “Really. I mean…” Her cheeks flushed as he studied her, and she cleared her throat. “Just really good. Nothing I’d change.”

And she meant it. Lydia continued to happily pay Reid’s insane fee because of how she felt in that exact moment: at peace. Her mind wasn’t running with a thousand thoughts, frantically cataloguing everything she needed to do at work, or organizing her social calendar, mentally going through all the events she’d have to decline because she was just too busy. Right there, wrapped in an almost too-soft blanket, her ass still stinging and her sex pleasantly sore, Lydia could just be. No thinking. She could exist in the moment, feeling the physicality of it, enjoying her tea, and savoring the way Reid’s thumbs worked her tired feet, sore from being punished all week in high heels.

It truly was bliss.

Everyone ought to try it.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Reid told her, sounding endearingly sincere as he lifted her foot just enough to really start working on her heel. “There’s no one else tonight, so you can stay as long as you need to.”

She nodded contentedly, then took a quick sip of her tea. It was their after-care ritual: green tea, a foot massage, and light, pleasant conversation.

“Shall I schedule you for the same time next week?” he asked. “Provided you’re on time.”

Her cheeks warmed faster this time, the heat sharp and prickling, but her smile faltered when her work brain started up again. “Oh, no, I’m at a conference for the weekend. We leave Friday morning.”

His grin turned a little wicked, the kind of smile that made her heart pound and her sex clench. “Will you need a session before you go, then?”

“Book me for two back-to-back sessions next Thursday,” she said decidedly, the idea of cooling down a little before a weekend of stress sounding more than appealing. “Just in case I’m late again.”

Reid’s eyes seemed to glitter dangerously at the taunt. “I’m afraid the punishment would be even more severe for a second offense.”

Lydia squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “Bring it on…sir.”