Page 45 of Irish Vice

Pushing her onto the bed, I reach for her computer. Its cord isn’t long enough to do what I want, but it will give me a chance to find what I need. I loop the white line around her wrists, tight enough to keep her hands from moving, and then I lash her to the headboard.

“Sayred,” I tell her. “Red, and I’ll stop.”

She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she thrashes like a marlin as I stomp into the bathroom. The towels are too heavy. The flannels too small. I find one of the flat sheets she uses for the bed—a waste of good linen when all she needs is a duvet. It takes her nail scissors to get the job started, but then I tear it into strips.

“Braiden,” she says as I carry my bonds out to the main room. She’s past her panic now, back to a grown woman instead of a lost little girl. Her voice is measured, like she’s talking to a judge in a courtroom. “We can talk about this.”

“The time for talking’s past.”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“You meant exactly what you did.”

“Please,” she begs, and she’s pitiful enough that I stop while I’m tying her ankle to the footboard. “The door,” she says,jutting her chin toward the shade I mangled when I broke in. “Anyone can see what you’re doing. Anyone can see us. See me.”

“You should have thought about that,piscín, before you started this game.”

I swap out the rubberized computer cord for my torn sheets. That lets me spread her arms to the edges of the headboard.

She’s splayed on the mattress, arms and legs wide. Her skirt’s rucked up around her hips, giving me a clear view of her cunt. That barely-there excuse for a shirt has twisted around her chest until it frames her right tit.

Her collar gleams, the emerald gathering all the light in the dim room and throwing it back in a thousand shades of green.

“Let me go, you motherfucker,” she says.

I laugh.

Now that she’s secured, I take my time getting undressed. I toe off my shoes and socks, covering them with my suit jacket. I strip the knot of my tie and run it through my hands, wondering how I’ll make her wear it.

I undo the top three buttons on my shirt. That’s enough to pull it over my head and drop it on the floor, where it’s quickly covered by my pants and boxers.

She got me hot and bothered this morning, when I nearly had her screaming my name in the conference room. My cock took quick notice of her riding me just now, when she broke into my office with her slutty makeup and her urgent need.

I’m hard enough to fuck her now, to plow hard, to stroke deep.

But she has a lesson to learn. Too many times, she’s tried to top from the bottom. She tells me what she wants, tells me what to do, how to do it, when, and no Dom in the world will put up with that, even from his sweetest little sub.

So my cock will have to wait.

And so will Samantha.

I start with her electric toothbrush. It stands on thebathroom counter like a brave little soldier, charged and ready to go into battle. I toss the brush attachment into the sink and go after her with the handle.

My littlepiscínmay protest the open door. She may fight to break free of her bonds. She may call me names no smart sub would dare.

But she’s ready to come in less than a minute.

I bring her to the edge three times before I drop the handle on the floor.

She’s got ice in the mini-fridge.

Her cunt’s so hot the first cube melts to nothing while I’m pushing it in. I rub her clit with the second one, and then she takes four in her snatch.

I put a cube in my mouth and go after her tits. Her nipples are hard when I start, and they double in size as I play. I suck hard enough to leave marks and then I bite, layering the heat of my tongue with the chill of the ice until the cube melts to a single useless sliver.

“Please,” she begs. “Sir. Master. You’re right. You always are. I never should have come to your office. I had no right.”

“Oh,piscín,you still don’t understand.” I work her clit with my fingers, alternately stroking and tapping, tugging just enough to hurt. “You’re allowed in my office.” Stroke, tap, tug. “You’re allowed anywhere in my home.” Stroke, tap, tug. “You’re my wife.” Stroke, tap, tug. “Everything.” Stroke. “I.” Tap. “Have.” Tug. “Is.”