Page 37 of Wicked Design
“I want to see them.” Carefully she put the painting on his desk. “And the strap, paddle, gag—”
“Whoa. I figured you were bringing that stuff.”
“We’ll improvise. Let’s see my shackles.”
He handed her the bag.
She whistled at the cuffs. “I like the red ones best. They match my underwear. Soon as I wash my bra and thongs, I’ll show you.” She ripped off the plastic packaging on the cuffs and tossed it on a counter next to his other surprise. “Wow, you brought beer and pizza, too?”
The pie was from his earlier meal. “We also have candy bars and potato chips. With the pizza and beer, that’s the four major food groups.” He chucked her chin. “You need to keep up your strength.”
“Clearly.” The cuffs dangled from her thumb. “Put them on me. Make me pay for being such a bad girl.”
“Strip first.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door. “Slowly.”
“I need music. Can you whistle the theme from Burlesque or Magic Mike?”
“Even better.” He tapped the music app on his smartphone, browsed, and found what he wanted. Beethoven’s 5th poured from the device. “No excuses now. Give me a show.”
She bent over laughing. “Sure thing.”
With each thunderous beat and frenzied trill, she shook her booty or pranced across the room, shoulders pulled back, chest thrust out, swinging her top over her head. Definitely not what poor Ludwig had envisioned for his opus.
After throwing her top on a chair, she stopped in front of Van Gogh, pumped her hips and sucked her forefinger as she had his cock.
His balls crawled up into his belly. His rod pushed against his fly, wanting out.
He caught her wrist and slapped on a cuff with more authority than he knew he owned. This was fucking great. Before she could react, he secured the other one, her hands in front, pulled her to the padded cushion, and bent her from the waist, ass high.
“Time for you to behave.”
