Chapter 1: Yes, Mr Larson
Layla sat in her boss’s office for the second time that week. She had been late again. Mr Larson was young—in his early twenties—but he was as fierce and unforgiving as a military drill sergeant and had the bearing of an old headmaster.
“Miss Farrow, I thought when we spoke on Monday we had reached an agreement.” He bristled. “I thought I had gotten through to you that I will not tolerate your tardiness. You clearly have no respect for me, my company, or the position I have given you. It’s only Wednesday, and you are late again.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Layla replied. “I promise I’ll try harder. I’m holding down two jobs—I work in a bar in the evenings—and sometimes I’m exhausted.”
“Why is that my problem? I pay you to do a job, and I expect you here on time to do it. If you cannot then, you must go. You’re fired, Miss Farrow.”
“Please, sir. No,” Layla pleaded. “I really need this job. I promise I will be better. Please give me another chance.”
“You lack discipline, Miss Farrow. You do not belong in my company. I expect my employees to be disciplined.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, her eyes cast down in embarrassment. “I’ll do anything. Please.”
Mr Larson sat back in his chair and studied Layla. She felt his eyes on her, but she did not look up. “Perhaps I can give you another chance if you allow me to discipline you,” he said.
Layla looked up sharply. “What do you mean, sir? A warning?”
“Not a piece of paper, no,” he said sternly. “I mean the type of discipline that you will feel every time you sit down for a week. The type you will remember.”
Layla felt confused.
Did he mean a spanking? No. He can’t mean that.
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean I will give your bottom a thorough beating. I’ll make it red and sore, and I will make you think twice about being late.”
Layla felt horrified. Her mouth gaped open.
He can’t be serious.
“Consent to this punishment, and I will allow you to remain in my employ. Refuse and you are fired.”
Layla felt sick. She didn’t want to be spanked, but she didn’t want to be dismissed either. She loved this job, and it paid well. If she didn’t have a mountain of debts, she could easily live comfortably on what Mr Larson paid her without her bar job. Without this job, she would be destitute. How could she get another job that paid so well? No one would take her on once they learned she had been fired and had no reference.
Perhaps I do deserve to be punished.
She had been late many times before he brought her to his office.
“Will it hurt a lot?” she asked nervously.
“It will hurt,” he said. “Though I will ensure it is not excessive. You will not have broken skin or scars.”
How bad can it be? When it’s over, I can keep my job.
“I consent, sir,” she replied, looking down at the desk.
“Very good,” he said. “Return to your desk and then report to me at the end of the day when everyone has left, and I will administer your punishment.”
“Yes, sir.” Meekly Layla left his office and returned to her desk.
She sat on her chair. She could already feel her bottom burning at the thought of what was to come. She felt anxious, but she forced herself to concentrate on her work. She did not want to make her punishment worse by angering Mr Larson.
The day went faster than usual, and Layla became increasingly filled with dread. She barely touched her lunch. She had managed to complete a lot of work and had secured a new client for the company, over her lunch break no less, who would bring in a few thousand extra each month. She hoped Mr Larson would be pleased, and he would ease off her a little.
All too soon the work day ended, and everyone else left. She was alone in the office. She took a deep breath and stood up. She turned and walked slowly towards Mr Larson’s office and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came the reply. Layla entered and stood in the doorway. “Miss Farrow, you’re on time for once. Take a seat, and I will talk you through your punishment.”
Layla obeyed and sat in the chair opposite him.
“Have you ever received a spanking before? Either for punishment or pleasure?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Well, usually I would deliver a set number of strokes with a cane, which you would count out. The cane is quite severe and would leave you with welts. As you are new to this practice, I will not cane you. Instead, I will spank you with my hand over your clothes at first and then on your bare bottom. This will give you the chance to adjust before I move on to hitting you with other implements.” He pointed to an array of paddles, whips, and straps he had laid out on the floor beside his desk. Layla swallowed. “You may stop the punishment at any time by saying the word red, but be warned, if I do not feel you have received adequate punishment, you will be fired. Is that clear?”
“Good,” he said. He stood, removing his jacket and hanging it on his chair. He walked to a cupboard and removed a fold-up chair which he placed next to his desk. He sat down and patted his thigh. “Over my knee, Miss Farrow.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. She stood anxiously for a moment before she awkwardly bent and lowered herself over his knees. She hung across his legs in a most undignified way and presented him with her bottom. She felt her face flush with embarrassment.
What am I doing? I should just leave.
She gasped as Mr Larson began to rain down smacks on her bottom. They were hard, and he covered her whole bottom and alternated between her cheeks. She grasped his calf and held him to stop herself from falling as she twitched under his blows.
“You deserve this, Miss Farrow,” he said. “You have had this coming for a long time.”
“Yes, sir,” she breathed heavily. “Thank you, sir.”
He seemed to like that she thanked him and paused to rub his hand across her hot cheeks. “Stand up,” he said. “Remove your trousers and your underwear.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She stood and felt her face burning with shame as she removed the lower half of her clothing. Mr Larson indicated for her to lie over his knees, and she complied.
Layla moaned as the spanks stung her bare skin.
Ouch. I don’t like this. I want him to stop.
“That hurts,” she whimpered.
“It’s supposed to hurt, Miss Farrow. What would be the point of punishment that didn’t hurt?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, grasping his leg as his hand stung her cheeks harder. His blows got heavier, and she gritted her teeth.
“Your bottom is getting nice and red,” he said, rubbing her cheeks.
Oh. I like that.
His hand felt incredible as he rubbed her stinging skin. She raised her bottom into his hand to encourage him to do it more.
“You’re here to be punished, Miss Farrow.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Stand up and bend over the edge of the desk.”
“Yes, sir.” She obeyed his command and positioned herself over his desk. She lowered herself slightly onto her elbows with her palms flat on the desk.
“You’re a good, obedient girl,” he said. “It is a shame you’re so tardy.”
“I will learn my lesson, sir.”
“Mmm, I hope you do. If not, then I will cane you.”
Layla looked behind her and saw Mr Larson pick up a leather riding crop from the floor. She turned her head sharply forward and braced herself.
Mr Larson did not whip her hard as she expected. Instead, he gave her lots of short, sharp bites with the crop. It stung differently than his hand, and the bites covered her bottom before he started to hit the backs of her thighs. She moaned.
That is actually pleasant.
And then in between her thighs and very close to her sex.
Layla burned with shame as she felt the moistness between her legs. She was laid over a desk receiving a beating from her boss, but she found the experience intensely erotic. She cursed her body its betrayal.
How can this be erotic? It bloody hurts.
Mr Larson rubbed her bottom and thighs, and Layla felt herself getting wetter, her juices trickling down her thighs.
He is going to know.
She raged at herself.
Mr Larson rubbed his hand along the inside of her thighs and touched the wetness. “It looks like I am not striking you hard enough, Miss Farrow. I perhaps should have caned you after all. I will take care of this.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered nervously. It already hurt. What was he going to do to her now? She looked backwards and saw that he had raised the thick, leather paddle. She cried out as it struck her hard over and over again. “Ouch, sir. That hurts. Please not so hard.”
The blows continued, and Layla felt tears spring to her eyes as he beat her ass. “Please,” she whimpered.
“Still aroused, Miss Farrow?” Mr Larson asked as he delivered heavy blows to her thighs.
“No, sir,” she cried. “Please. It hurts.”
“Say red then.” He lessened the weight of the strikes but continued to hit her.
“I don’t want to be fired.”
“Then accept it,” he said. “You are getting what you deserve.”
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed. “Thank you, sir.”
He stopped and rubbed her bottom. She stifled her moan this time. She did not feel aroused, but she did feel something. Something about submitting to this man. Something about allowing him to discipline her. She couldn’t put her finger on it and did not have time to process it as he began to beat her once more. This time with a short, leather strap. She shrieked as it hit her skin. It stung terribly, and she cried.
“Please, sir. I’ve learned my lesson. I will be good from now on. I will be early every day.”
The blows stopped, and Mr Larson rubbed her bottom as she sobbed from the pain. He moved to sit at his desk. She remained bent over, as he had not commanded her to move.
“You may leave, Miss Farrow.” He lifted up a pen and completed a document without looking at her.
“Yes, sir.” Layla stood quickly and picked up her clothes and shoes. “Thank you, sir.” She darted from his office and, collecting her bag from her desk, dashed to the ladies’ toilets.
Layla stood in the toilets with her lower half still naked. She washed her face to rid it of the tears and looked in the mirror. Her make-up was a mess. She turned her bottom to face the mirror and angled her head so she peered to see it. She was shocked at how red it was. Her thighs were red, but her bottom glowed scarlet. She retrieved her phone from her bag and double clicked the home button to load the camera. She switched it to selfie and took an image of her bottom. Wow, she thought as she stared at the screen. She began to moisten again.
She ignored her thoughts, cleaned and dried herself, reapplied her make-up, changed into her uniform for her bar job, and left the toilets. She was relieved not to encounter Mr Larson before she left the office and pleased to get outside in the fresh air. Well, the city air, but at least the cool breeze on her face was refreshing.
Layla made her way straight to the bar. Usually, she would call somewhere for dinner before work, but she was out of time. She didn’t think Aaron would spank her, but she didn’t want to be late.
Layla was exhausted when she returned to her flat after her bar shift. She was starving, having barely eaten that day, and she was so preoccupied with the earlier events that she had made lots of errors and had her pay docked to cover them. Her bottom was very sore, and every time she walked or bent down her skirt would rub against her tender skin. She was sure people standing close to her could feel the heat that emanated from her behind.
It was after midnight, and Layla desperately wanted to sleep. She would habitually spend time watching TV when she got home, but she did not want to risk getting up late.
After she wolfed down a couple of slices of toast, she went to her bedroom and began to undress. She couldn’t help glancing at her bottom in the mirror again. It was still red with flashes of purple where Mr Larson had bruised her. She took several photographs and felt her pussy burn as she looked through them. She was shocked at how turned on she felt at the sight of her bruised posterior. She rubbed her hands over it. It was hot and sore, but it was strangely pleasant.
She let her hands roam between her thighs. Her clitoris was already swollen, and her pussy was wet. She had not felt so turned on in so long. Excitedly she searched through her underwear drawer for her vibrator, and after taking the batteries from the TV remote, she began to pleasure herself. She let the toy buzz against her clit as she imagined Mr Larson having his way with her. She imagined him finding the wetness on her thighs and dipping his fingers into her soaking sex. She imagined him finishing her spanking and unfastening his trousers and plunging his cock into her pussy and giving her a hard fuck—his skin slapping against her sore ass. She imagined him telling her to kneel before him and suck him when he had taken a seat at his desk.
Layla moaned loudly as she made herself come. She had not orgasmed so well in a long time and still felt incredibly turned on. She ignored the temptation to play more and cleaned up to ready herself for sleep.
She did sleep, and her dreams were full of Mr Larson. She dreamed she was late for work, and Mr Larson caned her in front of everyone in the office. She dreamed that he made her walk topless around the office and that the office members stared at her bare breasts as they worked, with some asking to feel them and suck on her nipples as she spoke on the phone.
She shook herself awake.
What on earth? Why am I dreaming all that?
She looked at the time. It was six in the morning. She did not have to be up for another hour.
At least, I won’t be caned.
She did not dare go back to sleep. She got up to shower and looked at her blemished rear in the mirror. She lay back on her bed and began to play with herself again. She ignored her dreams about everyone in the office. She didn’t want them. She wanted Mr Larson. She wanted his hands on her ass. Perhaps she should be late. Maybe she could earn herself another beating. No, she was still too sore for that, but the thought brought her to a thundering climax. She still wanted more. She knelt on her bed and lowered herself onto her vibrator as she imagined riding Mr Larson. She rubbed frantically at her clit as her vibrator—Mr Larson’s cock—fucked her. She trembled as she came.
She showered and dressed. She wore a skirt. Nothing too short, but a little pencil skirt that accentuated the curve of her behind. She did her hair and her make-up. She applied a little more make-up than usual and added a few more curls. She did not want it to be obvious, but she wanted to look nice for Mr Larson.
Layla arrived at work early, only the cleaners were there. She made herself a coffee and sat at her desk enjoying the burning sensation she felt from her beaten skin pressing against her chair as Mr Larson arrived in the open plan office.
“Good morning, Miss Farrow. It is nice to see you have taken note of our conversation yesterday.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I have, sir.”
“Good.” Sounding curious, he then added, “That Foster contract, where did you find them?”
“During my lunch hour. I overheard Mr Foster talking to the sandwich shop owner about how he had lost his supplier, and I approached him.”
“Ah.” He seemed impressed. “Well, good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Layla watched Mr Larson as he walked to his office. His buttocks looked toned in his trousers, and his jacket sat over his muscled shoulders. He was so handsome and so strong. He did not seem shy or embarrassed like Layla was. He was confident.
Perhaps he always does it. Perhaps all the girls in the company have had a spanking from him. He does keep spanking implements in his office.
The thought aroused Layla. She would love to watch him spank one of the other girls.
She wondered if he had thought about her. Whether he had masturbated to the thought of her. Whether he wanted to take her.
He must know I will obey him if he commands it. He knows he could have had me last night if he’d wanted to.
He didn’t, though. He had only wanted to punish her. He wanted to teach her a lesson so she would be in work on time.
Layla worked hard and did not speak to Mr Larson for the rest of the day. At the end of the day, she changed into her bar uniform and saw that he was still in his office. Everyone else had left, and she considered going to his office.
To say what?
It was a stupid idea. Instead, she left and went to her usual coffee shop for a coffee and a panini before her bar shift.
Apart from a simple good morning, Mr Larson did not speak to her the next day either. He behaved no differently towards her than he always did, but she felt they had shared an intimate moment and…
And what? He beat your ass; it wasn’t a date.
The work day ended and the work week, well, for everyone else at least. Layla had a full weekend of bar work to look forward to. Her only consolation was she didn’t start until the afternoon on Saturdays and Sundays and could enjoy some sleep after tonight’s shift was over.
Layla changed reluctantly into her bar uniform, refreshed her make-up, and made her way out of the office. Mr Larson was leaving the kitchen armed with a microwaved meal as she walked towards the exit. “Goodnight, Mr Larson,” she said.
“Working at the bar again, Miss Farrow?” he said.
“Do I not pay you enough?”
She blushed. “It is not that, sir. I have a few…debts that I have to pay off.”
“That’s irresponsible of you?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
She glared slightly and looked away from him.
Who does he think he is?
“Have a good weekend, sir,” she said and left the building.
Layla had finished serving a group of office workers when she noticed another customer waiting on his own. She caught her breath.
“Mr Larson,” she greeted him. “What can I get you?”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“I hadn’t finished speaking to you when you left earlier. That was rather rude,” Mr Larson said.
His eyes were intense, but oh so handsome.
“I am sorry, sir. I will accept your…corrections to my conduct in the workplace, but not in my personal life.”
“Your personal life affects the workplace.”
“I know,” she said. “I manage as best as I can. Can I get you a drink because it is getting busy?”
“You can buy me a drink.”
“To apologise for your rudeness.”
“I’m not buying you a drink. I have said I am sorry.”
“Layla, there are customers piling up. I don’t pay you to gossip,” shouted Aaron.
“Coming,” Layla called to him before she turned back to Mr Larson. “You’re going to get me in trouble, do you want a drink or not?”
“No,” he said. “See you Monday.” And then he left.
Layla was too busy to think about the odd meeting with Mr Larson until she arrived home after two in the morning. She was exhausted again, but she could not sleep. She wasn’t aroused this time. She was annoyed. Mr Larson had tried to bully her. He tried to make her buy him a drink because she was rude! He was the judgemental one. He was just a bully. He had taken advantage of her. She felt stupid that she had let him spank her. She was so shy and gullible, he must have known he could get her to agree. Get her to submit to him.
Despite her exhausting weekend, Layla made sure she was early for work on Monday. She was sat at her desk flicking through some files when Mr Larson entered the office. She swallowed nervously.
“Good morning, Mr Larson,” she said.
“Miss Farrow.” He nodded tersely as he passed her.
“Mr Larson,” she called. He stopped and turned. She lowered her head. “I did not mean to seem rude on Friday.”
“You are walking a thin line, Miss Farrow,” he said. “Your willingness to get yourself in so much debt that you have to work two full-time jobs to pay it back does not instil me with much confidence in you. It makes me concerned. I want reliable, responsible employees.”
Will he sack me for having debts? Is that even legal?
“I didn’t mean to get into debt.” She started to explain.
“No one does.” He sneered. “What was it? Holidays? Shoes?”
“No,” she snapped. “I tried to set up my own business when I left university, but it failed. I’m probably stupid and naïve and not as great at business as you are, but I tried. I don’t appreciate being judged.”
He regarded her coolly. “My office. At the end of the day,” he said sternly.
Layla fumed. “Why?” she asked.
Mr Larson didn’t answer, and he strode to his office.
Does he really want to spank me for what I said? He is an ass. I’m not going. When the end of the day arrives, I am going home.
Layla remained annoyed for much of the day. She spent her lunch break searching online for another job and felt tearful that nothing she found would pay as well.
I have a blasted degree, and I can’t do anything with it. Perhaps I can retrain. What about teaching? No, how will I pay my debts?
She felt so trapped and frightened by Mr Larson. Against her better judgement, she knocked on his door once everyone had left.
“Take a seat, Miss Farrow,” he said.
She obeyed, though she said nothing.
“How much are your debts?” he asked.
He is obsessed!
She sighed and answered him. “I have my student loan. For my business I took out a loan of ten thousand pounds initially, but then I took a further loan of five thousand when my business failed, in order to help pay wages and suppliers.”
“You settled up before you ended your business? You got yourself into further debt?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want anyone to be out of pocket for my mistakes,”
He gave a slight smile. “How much do you still owe?”
She shrugged. “I have taken them out over five years, and I’ve paid two years on one and eighteen months on the other—I have paid more than the rate, but I don’t have a settlement figure.”
He folded his arms and sat back. “The payments can’t be that high. Surely you don’t need two jobs. I pay you well.”
She shuffled nervously.
Why is he interrogating me?
“I try to pay as much as possible. I don’t want to spend five years paying them off. I want to be able to enjoy holidays and buy a house.”
He nodded. His eyes remained cold, but they were beautiful and smouldered beneath his dark lashes. He was very handsome—even if he was stern and incredibly nosey. “I have a proposition for you,” he said. “I suspected that I might get you to agree to the spanking, though I did not expect you to take it as well as you did.”
“I cried throughout.”
“Yes, but I was impressed with your obedience. I like that you’re naturally submissive.”
What is he saying?
“You enjoyed it, did you not?”
“Parts,” she admitted, blushing.
“I wonder if you would allow me to do it on a regular basis.”
“You want to spank me regularly? Even when I don’t deserve it?”
“It can be for pleasure as well as punishment. That would depend on our needs. If you agree, then I will pay you what you would lose from your bar job.”
“This sounds like prostitution.”
“It’s a pay rise,” he said.
She cursed her body for its excited response to his offer. Her pussy was soaking. “How often?” she asked. “I could not tolerate such a beating every night.”
“Once per week at my home. I may also administer the occasional punishment in my office.”
“I’m afraid of being caned.”
“We can work up to it or leave it out,” he said.
“That’s all you want to do? Just spank me?”
He smiled. “It’s all I need to do. All that I cannot fulfil elsewhere. It is hard to find a woman who will tolerate this. But, it arouses me, and if you wish, there can be a sexual element.”
“So you’ll pay me what I earn from the bar for spending one night a week with you?”
“I will increase your salary by the equivalent of your bar earnings if you agree to quit that job so you are in work on time every day and also spend a few hours with me at my pleasure.”
She had thought he meant one night’s earnings, but he meant all of it! She stayed calm.
Why am I even considering this? Why am I excited by it?
“Your pleasure?” she asked calmly.
“Yes. I hope that you enjoy the experience, but I won’t go out of my way to make sure that you do. This arrangement is to fulfil my needs. You won’t always like it, sometimes you will receive pain, but I hope you will accept it. You feel the need to be dominated?”
“Then you agree?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “What if I don’t like it?”
“Then it stops.”
“I won’t be fired?”
“No, and provided you have met me at least twice, I will pay for a month afterwards to give you time to find alternative secondary employment.”
She bit her lip. “You’re taking advantage of me. Of my shyness and my situation.”
“Yes. It turns me on, but I’m not forcing you to accept. That’s up to you.”
Her head told her to run, but her groin screamed at her to accept.
It might be fun.
“I will give it a try,” she murmured.
“Excellent,” he said. “There are conditions, of course. I must have your discretion—no one else must know. Outside of this arrangement we are employer and employee—do not expect that we are to become more acquainted.”
“We may as well start now. Bend over the desk.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling a touch excited.
What am I doing? I must be crazy.
She obeyed him and bent over his desk.
She did not try to disguise her arousal this time, and when he noticed her soaking thighs he asked her if she wanted to play before he had her turn onto her back and spread her legs wide.
“You’re a dirty girl, Miss Farrow. Only a filthy whore gets wet while her boss punishes her.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” She lifted her head to look at him.
“You will be,” he smiled wickedly and picked up the leather crop. “Let’s see how wet you are when I’ve finished.”
Layla gasped loudly as the crop hit her clit. She clamped her legs together.
“Spread your legs, Miss Farrow,” Mr Larson snapped. “I will tie you up if you close them again.”
“Yes, sir.” She opened her legs and allowed him to beat her clit.
She moaned. It wasn’t painful; in fact, it felt delicious. She was still very wet.
“You like that, you little slut. Unfasten your blouse. Let me see those tits.”
She gasped as the crop hit her breasts, each bite making her nipples more erect. She moaned with pleasure. How thrilling it was to lie with her legs open on Mr Larson’s desk. She wanted him to fuck her. She hoped he would fuck her.
“Stand up and strip.”
She felt no shame as she stood naked in front of him. She was thoroughly excited. Her bottom was red, her clit was swollen, her nipples hard, and she wanted more. She could not wait to find out what he would do to her next. She dropped her head to the floor to submit to him.
“Good girl,” he said. “You’re a good obedient girl.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“But girls always deserve to be punished.”
“What have you done, slut? What have you done to deserve punishment?”
“I pleasured myself after you punished me last week.”
“That was very naughty.”
“And what do you think I should do to you?”
She thought for a moment. She did not want him to hurt her, but she wanted to feel punished. She wanted to please him. “Ten strokes with the paddle, sir.”
“Very good,” he said. “Now ask me nicely, and I might reward you.”
“Please, Mr Larson. I have been very naughty. Please, will you punish me by hitting me ten times with your paddle? I thoroughly deserve it, and I will be very grateful.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “Bend over.”
He made her stand and grasp the desk chair arms as he beat her. She had to tense her body to stop the chair from moving. She gasped and moaned from every stroke, but it felt so satisfying.
Yes! Ouch, but yes!
Her bottom throbbed when he allowed her to stand.
“Thank you, Mr Larson. I deserved that.”
“You did, and you are welcome. Now how will you express your gratitude?”
“I will allow you to use my body for your pleasure.” She looked towards the floor.
“Kneel.” She obeyed and heard him unfastening his trousers. “Suck me.”
“Yes, sir.” She took his length into her mouth.
He was so big. Layla could not take all of him, and she gagged as he pushed his shaft into her mouth. He placed his hands on either side of her head and fucked her mouth. She tried to push him away so she didn’t gag, but he was too strong. She sucked in between his strokes and felt her eyes water as his cock hit the back of her throat. He pulled out of her mouth and sprayed his come on her face.
She had never had anyone come on her face. It was hot and sticky, and in her mouth. It excited her. She felt thrilled from kneeling in front of this man while he used her. He degraded her, and it turned her on.
She licked his come from his cock while he stood in front of her holding onto a fistful of her hair. When she had cleaned him, he let go of her hair.
“You’re dismissed, Miss Farrow,” he said, fastening his trousers and taking a seat at his desk. “I will email you the details of our arrangement for you to peruse this evening.”
He didn’t look up as he continued with his work.
“Yes, sir.” She collected her clothes. “Goodnight, sir.”
She left his office and strode to the toilets. She was naked, and her face was covered with Mr Larson’s come. The thought made her wetter. She had hoped he would fuck her, but he said he would not prioritise her pleasure. Still, the idea of him using her for his pleasure was arousing. She brought herself to climax before she cleaned up and got dressed.
Layla was not due to work in the bar that night, though she called in to speak to Aaron and hand in her resignation. Aaron grumbled about the lack of notice. Although it was not the complete truth, Layla told him she was leaving because she did not find her pay satisfactory after he had docked it. She said she did not think the pay was worth her giving up so much of her time. Aaron offered to reimburse her and write the mistakes off, but she declined.
Layla was thrilled to have left the bar job. She had hated it. She had hated how she never got a day off, she hated that she was always exhausted, and she hated that the penny-pinching Aaron took every error in her till—even when she confirmed she had added items by mistake and the money was right—from her wages. She felt no guilt in leaving Aaron down a member of staff, though she hoped it would not make life too difficult for her colleagues.
She strolled home with her tip jar and her last pay packet and very much looked forward to her evenings and weekends off. Though, perhaps her new duties for Mr Larson as a sex worker would be worse!
It is only one night a week. I enjoyed tonight. This arrangement could be a lot of fun.
Layla sat on her bed and waited for her laptop to load. Her bottom still felt hot and sore.
I will have to grow accustomed to this.
She checked her personal emails and found an email from Mr Larson’s personal account waiting for her.
I am pleased to find that you will accept my proposal. I have detailed the finer points of our arrangement:
Discretion is a must. You will tell no one of what we do.
You will attend my home once per week, usually on a Wednesday evening unless a change of day is agreed.
While you are in my home, you will obey my commands. However, if you wish the proceedings to stop then use the safe word ‘red,’ if you would like things to continue, but less intensely then the word ‘amber’ can be used. All pleas such as ‘stop’, ‘no’, ‘don’t’ etc. will be ignored, and I will assume you wish to continue if you do not use the safe words. That said, I will closely look for signs that you are distressed or receiving an excess of pain. Do not hesitate to use the safe words—there will be no repercussions for using them.
I will administer spanking for punishment or pleasure as I see fit, and I will use a range of implements to do this. I will never cause you injury or damage to your skin other than bruising and redness.
I will use leather, ropes, chains, or tape to restrain you—if you are not happy with this, then please say so in advance.
Once you are more accustomed to the arrangement, I may gag or blindfold you—you are under no obligation to accept this.
I assume from our play earlier that you agree to a sexual element. I will not always assume this is the case, and I will seek permission to use you sexually. Though you are clearly in control of the situation, I do wish to feel as though I have complete control. Therefore I will assume your consent is implied if you obey commands to ‘open your legs’, ‘bend over’, or ‘kneel’ etc. If you are not happy, then please use the safe words as I will discipline disobedience and will not treat it as lack of consent unless safe words are used. I will always use a condom to penetrate you.
You are to behave submissively at all times while you are in my home. Sit and stand only when given leave to do so. Keep your eyes lowered to the floor and address me only as ‘sir’, ‘master’ or ‘Mr Larson’. If you are rude, or you answer me back, then you will be punished.
We are not a couple. I have no expectations from you other than your commitment to visit me each Wednesday. You may see whom you wish, and you are not to impede upon my personal life in any way. I may ask you to stay behind after work on occasions to punish you for your conduct in work, you are free to refuse this or renegotiate if it is not a Wednesday.
I will pay you what you would typically earn from your bar work each week. Please inform me of your average earnings by the return of email. As I stated, I will pay for a further month if you wish to end the arrangement, provided you have met me on at least two occasions.
Our meetings will commence on Wednesday. You are to be at my address at 7 p.m. I will arrange a car service to collect you and return you home afterwards. I will go easy on you this Wednesday as I have spanked you today.
Finally, I hope you enjoy our arrangement, and please remember that you can end it at any time and use the safe words.
Layla responded to Mr Larson’s email to confirm that she was happy with his conditions. She felt more reassured than she had by meeting him in person. She gave him her average earnings for her bar work, though she exaggerated her tips.
He is using me so I may as well use him. The sooner I can pay off my loans, the sooner I don’t have to depend on him.
Layla sat nervously in the car on Wednesday as it conveyed her to Mr Larson’s home. He lived in a large three-storey townhouse. She couldn’t imagine how much it was worth.
A townhouse in London? His business is more successful than I thought. I should have exaggerated my tips even more.
“Miss Farrow, welcome,” he greeted her at the door.
“Thank you, sir.” She glanced around the hallway. The house was beautiful, though it did not seem to be decorated the way she would expect a young man’s home to be. “Your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you. My mother left it to me—she passed away last year. I have not had the chance to redecorate yet.”
He didn’t respond, and instead, he led her up the stairs to the attic. Layla was relieved to find he wasn’t leading her to a dungeon. The attic held a metal-framed bed that had wrist and ankle restraints fitted. There was also a desk, a bench, and various odd-shaped chairs that had restraints attached, and a metal frame that looked to be used for restraining a person who stood.
Layla swallowed nervously.
“It is soundproofed,” he said. “You can scream and cry, and no one will hear you.” He smiled at her alarm. “I mean that in the least creepy way possible.”
She nodded and lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Raise your skirt,” he said. “I want to see your bottom.”
Layla obeyed, she raised her skirt, lowered her knickers, and turned around to bend over a little to show him her bare behind. He ran his hand over her skin.
“You are still quite bruised. Are you sore?”
“A little, sir.”
“I won’t beat you hard today,” he said. “I will flog you instead.”
Mr Larson ordered her to strip before restraining her in the metal frame. She stood with her hands restrained above her and her legs spread apart. Mr Larson walked towards a wooden chest that sat at the foot of the bed. He opened a drawer and removed a whip with a leather handle and lots of long, leather tassels.
Layla moaned as he hit her with the flogger. Its bite covered every inch of her body.
It whipped along her back and shoulders. She gasped as he hit her breasts and stomach and pulled against the restraints. The flogger bit her thighs and slapped against her pussy, drenching her.
“Thank you, sir,” she moaned.
“So polite.” He chuckled, whipping the flogger against her breasts.
Mr Larson approached her and stood close in front of her. She kept her eyes low as he ran his hand slowly along her stomach towards her breasts. He ran his fingers along her breasts and pulled at her nipples. She moaned as he leaned forward to take one into his mouth. He licked and sucked on them alternately before he removed some clamps from his trouser pocket.
Layla groaned as he attached the clamps to her swollen nipples. They were pleasantly painful. He moved his hands between her legs, his fingers felt delicious rubbing against her soaking clit.
“Do you like that, Miss Farrow?” he said.
“Yes, sir.” He plunged his fingers inside her and began to pound her hard. She was so turned on she felt she could climax from a few strokes. “Yes, master.” She gasped. “Thank you, master.”
“You’re such a good girl,” he said, nibbling at her ear while his fingers fucked her. “My obedient little slut.”
Layla’s legs grew weak, and she hung in the wrist restraints as he made her come. He removed his fingers from her sex and put them into her mouth. He smiled as he made her suck her come from them. Mr Larson released her from the restraints and ordered her to kneel. Layla obeyed, and he restrained her wrists behind her back. He then unfastened his trousers and began to fuck her mouth.
Layla’s eyes watered more than last time as she was unable to push him away. He grasped her hair in his hands and pounded his massive length into her mouth. She sucked him hard, and she soon felt his hot come running down her throat. She swallowed as he pulled his cock from her lips. He released her restraints.
“Get dressed,” he said. “I will order your car.”
Oh. “Yes, sir,” she replied, disappointed.
Mr Larson left the attic, and Layla stood and started to get dressed. She removed the nipple clamps.
These are nice. I will play with them at home.
Once dressed she left the attic, taking the clamps with her, and descended down the stairs to the first floor and then the ground floor. Mr Larson was waiting in the hallway.
“The car should be here shortly, you can wait outside.”
Seriously? “You want me to wait outside?” She frowned.
“It’s a safe neighbourhood,” he said, opening the door. “Goodnight, Miss Farrow.”
She frowned again. “Goodnight, Mr Larson.” She was barely through the door when he closed it.
Is this how it is going to be?
She pulled her jacket around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill.
Mr Larson did not speak to Layla the next day. He was already working in his office when she arrived for work. He passed by her desk when he left for lunch and did not acknowledge her, and on Friday he was out of the office all day.
Layla was happy to get out of the office for the weekend and was overjoyed, despite the awkwardness of her arrangement with Mr Larson, to have a weekend without work. She had considered going out, but the thought of spending a whole Saturday day and night at home was too tempting. She dragged her quilt to the sofa and spent the day watching a marathon of chick flicks. In the evening she opened a bottle of wine and ordered a pizza. She spent Sunday sleeping in before crawling back to the sofa to enjoy another movie marathon and leftover pizza.
The next Wednesday, Mr Larson gave Layla a hard beating, since her bruising and soreness had faded. She moaned loudly as she became aroused, but Mr Larson made no attempt to pleasure her this time. He paddled her hard and used a strap like he had used on her first spanking. The first time he had used it, she had cried, but now she moaned. It still bit her skin, but she found the sensation thrilling. When he had finished, Mr Larson made her perform oral sex on him before shooing her out of his house.
Layla was annoyed to be frustrated, unsatisfied and freezing on his doorstep again.
He said it would be like this.
That didn’t make her like it anymore. She loved to feel used while he played with her, but as soon as it was done she wanted…what? Affection? Some acknowledgement that she meant something to him? She sighed.
I know I mean nothing to him. He is only interested because I can take a spanking.
Layla was home by nine—earlier than last week, though she was pleased because it meant she had a few hours to relax before she had to go to sleep.
After two months of meeting Mr Larson, Layla still left his house frustrated. She had given up expecting him to have sex with her. He only ever seemed to want oral, and she was finding her mind drifting during the spanking. It did not hurt so much anymore, nor did she find it as pleasurable. If anything, she was bored.
It was predictable and the same every week. Occasionally Mr Larson would finger her, but he usually just spanked her and accepted a blow job. He was so detached from her that the spanking alone was no longer enough to excite her. Still, the money came in handy, and coupled with the savings made from not eating out every evening and her exaggerated tips, she was managing to pay more off her loans.
It was a Friday afternoon in the office, and Layla was finishing up work on a few accounts before the weekend. Her telephone buzzed to notify her of an internal call, and she was surprised to see it was Mr Larson calling her.
“Yes, sir,” she said, answering his call.
“Come to my office, Miss Farrow.”
“Yes, sir.” She hung up, wondering why he sounded so stern, and made her way nervously to his office.
“Take a seat, Miss Farrow,” he said.
She sat across from him in the same seat she had taken when he told her she would have to be spanked if she wanted to save her job.
“Mr Foster has arranged a business dinner tomorrow night and has asked for you to come along,” he said.
“Me?” she asked. “Why would he want me to go, sir?”
“Apparently, he is impressed with you.”
“Are you free?”
“Yes, I can be.”
“I will pay you of course. We are going to a fine dining restaurant. Do you have something appropriate to wear?”
Shit, do I?
“I have some nice dresses.”
“Good,” he said, turning back to his work as if to prove how uninterested he was in her. “I will pick you up at six.”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Mr Larson frowned at her as she climbed into his blue Audi.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. She had just bought the dress earlier that day.
I thought it was nice.
“Nothing,” he grumbled. “It will have to do.”
What is his problem?
He was dressed in a designer suit, which no doubt cost a month’s salary. He looked very handsome, but did he really expect her to spend that kind of money on an outfit for one dinner?
Mr Larson pulled into a carpark near the restaurant. He killed the engine and turned to her.
“This evening is important, Miss Farrow,” he said. “There is a lot of money riding on this deal so I need you to be on your best behaviour. Try not to speak unless you have to, don’t have more than one glass of wine, and let me order for you.”
She frowned. “Why do you need to order for me?”
“Because much of the menu is in French.”
“I’ve studied French.”
He sneered. “I’m sure GCSE French has equipped you for ordering a burger and chips, but it is a little different here. Just do as you’re told.”
She sat back in a huff. “If I am not refined enough to meet your clients, why did you bring me?” she snapped.
“I didn’t want to,” he said. “Be on your best behaviour, and I’ll pay you. You’ve proven you can be good for money.”
Her eyes widened, and she felt a lump in her throat.
So that’s what he thinks of me?
“You’re the fool who pays.” Her temper flashed.
He raised an eyebrow and got out of the car. She followed him to the restaurant.
Mr and Mrs Foster were already seated at the table. Layla smiled. She had never been so thrilled to see someone wearing the same dress as her.
“Oh, look, dear.” Mrs Foster smiled. “I do loathe it when someone wears the same dress—especially when that someone is young, pretty, and wears it beautifully.”
Layla beamed and resisted the urge to gloat at Mr Larson. “You are too kind,” she said. “But you wear the dress beautifully yourself.”
“Why thank you.” She smiled. “I just picked it up this afternoon in the sales.”
“I love a bargain.”
Layla beamed happily. She had been feeling self-conscious about her dress, but now, realising Mr Larson was simply a snob, she relaxed.
Mr Larson ordered their wine—Layla let him as she did not have a clue, but she was not going to let him order her food. Before he could speak, Layla addressed the waiter and ordered her meal in perfect French. Mr Larson bristled at her side but said nothing.
“You speak French beautifully, my dear,” said Mrs Foster. “Where did you study?”
“My mother is French,” replied Layla. “But, I studied European languages at university, and I spent a year living in France, Germany, and Italy before I attended uni.”
“You speak German and Italian as well?” asked Mr Foster.
“I speak fluent Italian, my German is passable.”
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises.” He grinned. “Larson is lucky to have you. If you ever get tired of working for him, then you have a place within my company.”
“Thank you, sir,” she beamed.
I might take him up on that.
“You don’t have to call me sir,” he laughed. “Call me Mike. And may I call you Layla? I am glad I met you. I have implemented those tips you suggested throughout my company, and it has saved us a fortune. Most of our stock will be sourced in the UK soon, and we have created more jobs. You’re truly a marvel.”
Mr Larson’s eyes widened in surprise briefly. Layla beamed and thanked Mike for his praise.
Layla had an enjoyable evening. Mr Larson didn’t relax much, but she loved Mike and his wife, Sarah. Most importantly they seemed happy to broker a larger deal with Mr Larson’s company despite his common and unrefined staff. Mike and Sarah also invited Layla and Mr Larson to a golfing picnic the following weekend, and Mr Larson had agreed they would go.
It is as well I have no social life.
Mr Larson drove her back to her flat. He said nothing during the journey, and Layla said nothing to him. She was still annoyed about the things he had said to her. Her irritation flared as more time passed, and he still had offered no apology.
He stopped outside her building. “Goodnight, Miss Farrow.”
Should I say something? Argh, what’s the point? I’m seeing him for the money—I don’t care what he thinks.
“Goodnight, Mr Larson.” She got out of the car, and he sped away. He did not even wait to check that she had got inside her building.
He probably thinks his car will end up on bricks if he hangs around this common, working-class neighbourhood too long.
Mr Larson was true to his word and paid money into her bank account. He had also emailed her personal account.
Thank you for attending the dinner last night and for making a good impression on Mr and Mrs Foster. I have paid the money into your bank as promised.
Enjoy the rest of your weekend.
Mr Larson barely spoke to Layla until Wednesday when he invited her to his office.
“Miss Farrow, I’d like to cancel our meeting tonight,” he said.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“I’m not in the mood. I’ll still pay you of course,” he answered disinterestedly.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No. Do you have something to wear for the picnic on Saturday?”
“Not yet,” she replied. “I have booked Friday afternoon off, and I am going to go shopping then.”
He nodded. “I will send you some money.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I will pick you up at nine on Saturday morning.”
He turned to his work. “Thank you, Miss Farrow.”
Mr Larson did not comment on Layla’s outfit. He did not mention that she looked too ‘high street’ or that she ‘would have to do’, in fact, he did not comment on anything, and he drove them to the country estate in Surrey in silence.
Mr Larson led them from his car to the picnic area and carried a hamper with him. He met several people he knew.
“Larson,” a man named Chad Holmes called. “My good man, it has been too long. And who do we have here?”
“This is Miss Layla Farrow,” said Mr Larson. “She works in my office and has been helping me with Foster’s contracts.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Farrow.” Chad smiled. “And exceedingly well done. I am envious of the Foster contracts—who’d imagine a deal would go from several thousand a month to several thousand a day. I wish I’d got that chance.”
Mr Larson smiled and steered Layla away from Chad.
“Several thousand a day?” said Layla, awestruck.
Mr Larson glared at her. “You want a cut now, gold digger?”
“What?” she exclaimed. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, we both know you’re obsessed with money.” He sneered.
“I am not. I haven’t asked for anything, but I wouldn’t be unreasonable if I did. You got those contracts because of me.”
He glared at her.
“What is your problem?” She growled. “Why are you so mean to me?”
“I don’t have a problem with you.”
“Yes, you do.”
“It’s just your obsession with money.” His eyes flamed towards her. “I know you didn’t make what you said you did in tips, and you never refuse my offers to give you money. What sort of woman does what you do to pay off a pittance of debt?”
“Are you serious?” she whispered. “It’s not a pittance to me, and you offered. Why offer if you don’t mean it? You bullied me into our arrangement.”
“But you agreed. If you don’t respect yourself then why should I respect you?” he replied, fiercely.
Before she could reply, the Fosters called to them. Mr Larson brightened, and Layla smothered her anger. She managed to avoid speaking to him for the rest of the day. Mr Larson appeared happy that he managed to sign a few more contracts with the Fosters to increase supplies to more of his branches. Mike had Layla speak in German with one of his associates. Mr Weber was very impressed and said Layla’s passable German was impeccable. Mike invited Layla to attend a meeting to translate for some of his clients.
“You don’t mind, do you, Larson?” asked Mike.
“Of course not,” said Mr Larson diplomatically, though Layla suspected he was annoyed.
The journey home started as silently as the journey there, though this time, Layla bubbled with rage. She was still angry with Mr Larson for what he had said. He had done nothing but put her down recently, and now he using his own arrangement against her.
I’m going to end it. I wonder if Aaron will take me back. Damn, I wish I hadn’t ended my job the way I had.
Aaron wasn’t so bad—he just thought his staff were fiddling the tills and many of them were.
Layla was busy rehearsing what she would say to Aaron and hadn’t heard Mr Larson begin to speak.
“I was miles away, what did you say?”
He huffed. “I said, on Wednesday I want you to come on a night out with a few of my friends, but I want you to accompany my friend Richard. He is upset about a break-up with his wife, and I want you to…you know…show him a good time.”
“Excuse me!” she exclaimed. “You want me to spend the night with one of your friends?”
“Instead of me, yes. You’re being paid.”
“I’m not doing that,” she cried.
“Why not? You’re getting paid. What difference does it make whose dick you’re sucking?”
“Does your friend know you pay me?”
“No.” He sneered. “If he knew you were a whore he wouldn’t go anywhere near you.”
“I’m not a whore.”
“You take money for sex—that’s a whore. Whatever. I don’t know why you’re bothered as long as you get paid.”
“And you’re just happy to send me off to your friends?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“I pay for a car and let others drive it. What’s the difference?”
“Red,” cried Layla. “Red. Red. Red.”
“Replay this conversation back. Replay every conversation we’ve had for the last week back. If you have a shred of decency, you will know why.”
“You’re being dramatic. How will you pay your debt?”
“How I pay my pittance of a debt is my problem.” She gritted her teeth to prevent tears.
“Suit yourself,” he said plainly. “I’m bored anyway.”
“As am I. Perhaps I should go with your friend. Maybe he could satisfy me and not leave me frustrated, disappointed, and frozen on his doorstep.”
He glared at her before turning his eyes back to the road.
“You’re ashamed,” she said. “That’s what is wrong with you. You’re ashamed that you’re giving me money, and you’re attacking me and being nasty to me to make it my fault and to absolve you of any blame. I’m ashamed too, but I don’t deserve this. We’re both adults, and we both agreed to something that should have been fun, but instead it has become bitter and twisted.”
He didn’t answer.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“You do owe me an explanation.”
“Here’s one.” He laughed icily. “You’re right, I am ashamed. Do you want to know why I never fuck you? It’s because I don’t want to pay to fuck a dirty little tramp. I want the minimum from you, and when I am done, I want you out of my sight.”
Tears streamed down Layla’s cheeks. “Stop the car and let me out.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I want to get out.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled, pulling the car onto a layby. Layla got out of the car and, leaving the door open, began to walk down the road. Mr Larson slammed the door and sped away.
Layla sobbed as she walked.
She was grateful for her decision to buy flat sandals. She rubbed the tears from her eyes and checked her phone. No reception. Great! She had no idea how far away she was from the nearest anything and wasn’t sure if she would make it anywhere before it went dark in the next hour. She was considering flagging a lorry and trying to hitch a ride when the blue Audi sped past her. Mr Larson turned around and pulled alongside her with his hazard lights flashing.
“Get in the car, Miss Farrow,” he said.
“Don’t be stubborn,” he said. “You’ll get run over or picked up by some weirdo.”
“There’s someone worse than you?” She sneered.
His expression softened. “Layla, just get in the car. Let me take you home and then you can hate me.”
“I’m holding all the traffic up.”
She huffed and then opened the door and climbed in the car.
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his foot on the accelerator and apologising to the impatient drivers behind him. “I have been a colossal jerk.”
“Yes, you have,” she agreed, wiping her tears.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought I could handle it, and it would be no big deal. I thought I could be cold and just do what I wanted and not let my feelings get in the way. I feel embarrassed that I have put you in this position, and I have resented you for agreeing. When you told me I was ‘the fool who paid’ last week it has played on my mind. It made me despise you. I despise myself, but I wanted it to be all your fault. I feel sleazy and perverted, and it makes me sick.”
“Your needs aren’t sleazy and perverted.”
“Perhaps not, but bullying a girl into fulfilling my needs is. I feel ashamed that I have done that to you. That’s why I send you away so I can pretend that it never happened. Pretend that I’m not just some deviant.”
She sighed. “Look, I was intrigued and excited by what you offered—the money was a bonus. I think I would have gone along with it anyway if you hadn’t treated me like you did afterwards.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“There is an inn on this road, why don’t we stay there tonight? I’ll get you your own room, but we can have a drink and talk and get to know each other like we should have done in the first place.”
Layla smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Do I still have to call you sir?”
He laughed. “Call me Larson—everyone else does.”
“Is that your public schoolboy name?”
“Now who is judgemental?” He laughed. “I didn’t go to public school. I grew up on a council estate, and my parents built their business from nothing at the time when e-commerce was starting to boom. They helped me start my business.”
“So why were you so against me?”
“Because I’m a dick.” He smiled. “And because I’ve made my success on pretence. On pretending to be refined, pretending to be rich even when I wasn’t, pretending to be ruthless to get my own way. I was worried when the Fosters insisted that you came to the dinner that you would ruin my façade, but they love you exactly as you are. That deal would never have happened if it wasn’t for you, and I was jealous that it wasn’t me who made it. I was jealous that you made one of the biggest deals in my company in your lunch hour, and that you could show up at a fancy restaurant in a twenty-pound dress, not knowing which fork was which, and they not only offered contracts but offered you a job.”
“He has offered me a job again today.”
“I know. It’s an excellent opportunity. You should take it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I will give you your fair cut of those contracts. I was reluctant at first because I knew you would pay off your debts, and I would have nothing to keep you in the arrangement with. I am a selfish ass,” he said, staring at the road ahead. “I have made a mess, but I will put it right. You’re going to be well-off now, Layla. These contracts could be the start of something great for you.” He turned, and his eyes met hers briefly before he turned back to the road. “I will respect your decision to end things between us.”
He is more handsome when he’s apologising.
“Perhaps we can have a new arrangement,” Layla said as Mr Larson pulled the Audi into the pub car park.
“One that involves no money and two consenting adults who want to have fun with each other.”
Mr Larson grinned. “I like that arrangement. Can I still be in charge?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled coyly.
Mr Larson booked one room, and after a lovely meal and a few drinks he dragged Layla into the room. She stood before him with her eyes to the floor as he pulled her towards him to kiss her mouth. She gasped as he kissed her hard and crushed her body tightly against his. He grasped a fistful of hair and pulled her head back to expose her throat. He placed gentle hot kisses at her throat before nibbling at her ear.
“What do you want me to do to you?” he whispered as he bit her earlobe.
“I have been a naughty girl, Mr Larson,” Layla replied. “I have agreed that I will allow my boss to use me for his pleasure. I deserve to be punished.”
“I see nothing here I can use to punish you,” he whispered. “My hands will not offer a severe enough punishment.”
Layla smiled coyly and walked away from him. She picked up one of her sandals, the TV remote, a rolled-up copy of Surrey Life, and a bamboo cane from a potted plant on the balcony. She strode towards Mr Larson and knelt before him with her eyes towards the floor and offered him the items for her punishment.
“Good girl,” he murmured with excitement. “My good obedient girl. Do you want me to use these things on you?”
“Yes, Mr Larson,” she said.
“Even this?” he asked, spinning the cane between his thumb and forefinger.
“Yes, sir. Please punish me. I deserve it.”
Mr Larson smiled hungrily and pulled her over his knee. After warming her skin with his hand he began to beat her with the sandal. Layla moaned as her bottom burned.
Yes. I need this.
Mr Larson had reddened her skin before he used the remote to make short, sharp bites across her cheeks and the backs of her thighs. Layla felt ecstatic as the blood rushed to the surface of her skin and flushed it red.
“Stand,” Mr Larson commanded. She obeyed, and Mr Larson removed her clothing. He pulled hard at her nipples and made them erect and swollen.
“May I retrieve something from my purse, master?”
He nodded, and she retrieved the nipple clamps she had taken from his attic and forgotten about. Mr Larson smiled, taking them from her. “You have earned an extra few strokes for stealing my property.”
“Yes, sir.” She grinned as he squeezed her hard nipples between the clamps. She groaned at the exquisite pain that bit her nipples and felt her pussy juice begin to trickle down her thigh.
Mr Larson noticed her glistening thighs and reached his fingers to touch her. Layla bit her lip at the pressure of his fingers against her swollen clit.
“Lie down and spread your legs,” Mr Larson commanded.
“Yes, sir.” Layla obeyed, and Mr Larson lowered his mouth to her pussy.
Layla gasped as his lips met hers. She was soaking, and he feasted on her juices and licked every drop. He ran his tongue inside her and flicked it against the bud of her clit. Layla groaned and tried to close her legs. Mr Larson used his strength to pin them apart and began to suck on her. Layla moaned loudly with every pulse of her clit as it throbbed between Mr Larson’s lips.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, master. Oh. God. Oh!”
Mr Larson caught her come on his tongue as it ran into his mouth. He climbed up her body and plunged his tongue into her mouth and made her taste her come. Layla licked at his tongue to savour every delicious drop.
“Turn over,” Mr Larson commanded.
“Yes, sir,” replied Layla, lying on her stomach on the bed. He commanded her to put her feet on the floor, and she obeyed.
Mr Larson picked up the magazine and began to hit her with it. It was a pleasing sensation and much less painful than the sandal and remote control. He hit her ass, thighs, back and shoulders before ordering her to lie on her back again so he could beat her between her legs.
Layla roamed her hands towards her breasts and tugged at her clamped nipples. She had adjusted to the sensation and no longer felt the delectable pain. Mr Larson smiled.
“Good girl,” he said, adjusting the clamps so they became tighter.
“Thank you, sir,” she gasped.
“Are you ready for your caning?” he whispered.
“Yes, Mr Larson.”
“I am going to give you a lot of light strokes and six hard strokes. I want you to count the hard strokes. If you miss, then I will start again. Do you understand, Miss Farrow?”
He positioned her in the corner of the room, bent over with her hands against the wall.
She felt her anxiety and excitement burn. She knew this would hurt, but she knew she needed to yield to him. She needed to submit to him and allow him to punish her. She could not explain why, but she felt so satisfied under his command. She wanted him to be fulfilled when she submitted herself to him and accepted his dominance and his discipline.
Mr Larson began to use the cane to make light strokes around her back, shoulders and thighs and finally on her bottom. They felt wonderful, though she braced herself and the first hard stroke bit her skin.
“One. Thank you, sir.”
He hit her lightly again and the second came. She felt herself twist away but held her position.
“Two. Thank you, sir.”
The third followed closely, and she rose onto her toes. Tears sprang from her eyes.
“Three. Thank you, sir.”
He hit her lightly again around the bottom, the cane stinging where it touched the tender spots where the cane had sharply found her skin. Again.
“Four. Thank you, sir.”
“Are you ready for a hard one?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
The cane thundered against her cheeks, and she yelped.
Oh, my God, that hurts.
“Five. Thank you, sir.”
The final blow made her cry out.
“Ouch. Six. Thank you, sir.”
Mr Larson dropped the cane and rubbed his hands on her bottom. It was so sore, but she loved the sensation of him touching her. “Well done,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, catching her breath. “Thank you for caning me. I deserved it.”
“You took that well.” He stood her up and turned her around. “It makes me happy when you obey me.”
“Lie on the bed and spread your legs.”
Mr Larson pulled the cords from the complimentary dressing gowns and used them to bind Layla’s wrists together and tie them to the bed frame. He stripped his clothes and knelt in front of her. It was the first time she had seen him naked, and he was magnificent. His huge cock stood to attention, and Layla’s pussy pulsed with anticipation.
Is this it? Is he finally going to fuck me?
Mr Larson removed a condom from his wallet and rolled it onto his cock. He lowered himself towards her and pushed inside her. She groaned as his enormous length filled her and stroked slowly in and out of her.
“Do you want me, slut?” he asked.
He smiled, and his cock began to pound her. He lowered himself over her and began to fuck her harder. He squeezed at the clamps on her nipples, increasing the sensation, and bit at her neck. Her sore bottom rubbed against the sheets as his cock grinded inside her. The fusion of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, and she cried out as she squeezed against him in response to her orgasm.
Mr Larson pulled out and turned her over onto her knees. He entered her again and, holding her hips tightly, he thundered into her. She yelped as his skin slapped against her sore rear. He pulled at her hair. She pulled uselessly at the restraints. She was helpless and completely at his mercy as he ravaged her. He fucked her relentlessly, and Layla’s body screamed red as his cock tormented her. She cried out, and Mr Larson groaned loudly as they were both brought to a staggering climax.
Mr Larson lay on his side and pulled her into his arms holding her closely and kissing her neck. She was still tied to the bed frame, her nipples were still clamped, and her derriere was battered. Perhaps it was sleazy. Perhaps it was perverted. She didn’t care. She had never felt more satisfied.