Revenge is Sweeter
“Who the hell are you?”
A dark, brooding man stands in the doorway of my office, an unsettling smile on his face. He carries an air of very distinct confidence and looks like a man who gives orders rather than takes them. Saying nothing, he slowly walks in, not breaking eye contact as he strides over to my desk, a folder in his hand.
I lean back in my seat to create distance and grab my cell phone, ready to call security.
“No need for that,” he says casually as he sits in the chair opposite my desk. “I’m just here to talk, Rebecca.”
My anger at being called so informally by someone I don’t even know helps me find my usual voice of authority — the one that creates fear in those I employ. “It’s Ms. Reynolds,” I snap. “Now tell me who you are and how you got in.”
“Don’t bother yourself with the details, Ms. Reynolds,” he says, emphasizing my name with a mocking smile. I’m even more frustrated now; he appears entirely unaffected by my coldness and intimidation, something that usually makes grown men quiver.
“I’m here to make a deal with you,” he says.
“A business deal? Not interested,” I say bluntly. No way in hell I’m going to do anything with this cocky bastard.
“Not business exactly.” He leans forward now, hands on his elbows, and stares intensely into my eyes. “Do you remember me, Ms. Reynolds?”
I don’t have time to care about each person who comes into my office or whom I met in the past. My office is a revolving door of faceless businessmen and salesmen. I don’t care enough to get to know them, let alone look at them.
“No, I don’t remember you,” I answer, hoping my rejection will shake his ego.
It doesn’t.
“Let me see if I can help you remember.” He stands and begins to pace in front of me. “Senior prom, ten years ago. You told my date I had an STI, and she left me in the middle of the dance. The rumor spread through the school, as did your explanation of it. Remember what you said? ‘The infection was probably from masturbating on a dirty toilet, because there’s no way any girl would have sex with him.’ ”
I laugh, proud of my high-school self for her quick wit, but I can’t recall a face like his. It certainly sounds like something I would have said, but to whom, I have no idea.
He continues. “Because your rumor got around the school, it eventually ended up in the hands of the principal, who then thought it necessary for me to be taken to the school nurse and thoroughly tested by her.” He looks into my eyes and suddenly I see a hatred that jolts a name into my brain.
“Daniel?” I say quietly. My brain toggles back and forth. It couldn’t be him — Dan from high school was weird, dirty, and unwanted. He had one shirt, one friend, and one very peculiar scent. He was so poor the only things he had two of were stomach rolls and chins. Surely this man in front of me, oozing self-confidence and sporting a trim, lean body, couldn’t possibly be that same Daniel.
He smiles, and a chill enters the room.
“Bingo,” he says, coming to rest one leg on my desk as he sits on it. “Dan the Manatee, I believe was your nickname for me.”
Everything rushes back now with perfect clarity, though no guilt comes as I recall the boy I tormented. After my STI comment, he was known around the school as the boy who got felt up by the school’s old nurse. He was made to have very thorough physical inspections every other month to ensure he didn’t have a flare-up from the nonexistent STI. As I already had an in with the principal — who knew my parents donated generously to the school — my word was taken over his. All he could do was glare at me with that same hatred in his eyes that he has now.
“You deserved that nickname. You were ginormous and smelled like a rotting fish,” I retort.
I control a shudder as a hint of something sinister begins to lurk behind his smile.
“You know, I’ve kept track of you since high school, followed your career, your rise to CEO,” he says, staring at his fingers unconcernedly. “You’ve done a lot to get here: blackmail, betrayal, lies.”
“And?” I ask, expressionless. “There’s no one in a position of power who doesn’t do those things. It’s part of the job.”
“True,” he says, coming to meet my eyes with an intimidating stare, “but not all of them involve insider trading and tax fraud.”
My body freezes in shock, but I keep my practiced, calm façade. How would he even know about that? It’s impossible. I soothe myself with the conclusion that he must be trying to get something out of me, so I laugh in disbelief.
“You think I did that? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Apparently, you’re still the same dumbass kid you were back then.”
Without saying a word, he slides the folder across the desk to me. He motions for me to open it, and I give him an angry glare, trying to appear irritated, but inside I’m trembling.
I open the folder slowly and see photos, paperwork, mountains of evidence against me — showing the illegal trades, the money I’d stolen, the lists of laws I’d broken to get ahead in this cutthroat industry. There’s no way I could avoid jail time with this amount of evidence, no matter who I slept with.
“What do you want?” I ask angrily, slamming the folder shut.
He smiles and leans toward me. “Revenge.”
“You’re insane,” I spit.
“No,” he says. “Just determined. I always wanted justice for the way you treated me back then, but could never find a way that would satisfy me for the hell you put me through. So I grew up, started working out, changed some habits, slept around, and became almost as successful as you. But all I was really doing was biding my time.”
“For what exactly?”
“For the chance to catch you with your hands in the cookie jar, so to speak. Something I could use for leverage against you to finally get the justice I deserve.”
“You’ve been carrying this grudge for ten years?” I ask incredulously. “Get over it already — it was just a dumb rumor. Besides, I wasn’t too happy with the outcome either. You wouldn’t leave me alone; you just stared at me all the time with that lustful look in your eyes. You were fucking obsessed with me.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he says calmly. “I wasn’t obsessed with you. No. I was obsessed with getting revenge on you. I hung around, hoping to catch you at fault for something I could use against you. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen as soon as I would have liked, but lucky me — I got rich enough to hire the right people to find something severe enough to hold over your head, hence putting my plan into motion.”
“So then what do you want from me now?” I snap. “Money, recognition, a letter of recommendation for your sorry ass?”
“No.” He walks to the side of me, forcing me to look up into his vindictive face. “I want to give you the same treatment you gave me.”
My high heels click against the tile in the lobby as I head toward Dan’s office. Last night, I accepted the offer he blackmailed me with. He would destroy all evidence of my unlawful behavior, and I would spend the next morning and afternoon with him for whatever he had planned. The choices went back and forth in my mind, but I couldn’t just hand over the empire I’d built. I agreed to all his conditions — whatever they might be. It will be easy to get through. I’ve done a lot worse for a lot less. It’s just part of the business — a business I’m not going to lose no matter the cost.
A secretary greets me in front of a large office, and I tell him I have an appointment with Daniel Beckman.
“You can head right in,” he says with a grin.
I scan the employees around me before I walk inside his office — there’s not a single female on the crew.
“Real inclusive place you’ve got here,” I chide as I shut his office door behind me.
Most of the curtains are drawn; the only light comes from a small lamp beside the desk. He’s seated behind it, looking like the king of a manor, dominance and authority radiating off him. I hate the creeping intimidation sinking into my body. I’m used to giving that feeling, not receiving it.
“Strip,” comes his low demand.
“Excuse me?” I stammer.
“I said—” He stands, walks over to me, towering. “Strip.”
“I—no, I’m not…” I mutter, angry at myself for losing composure as I try to piece a coherent sentence together.
“Your choice,” he says. “I’ve got a reporter friend who would love to hear how the top businesswoman in the state is going to prison for decades.”
“No, wait!” I blurt as he begins to walk toward his desk. “I’ll do it.”
He turns and leans against the desk, folding his arms and staring at me expectantly.
I slowly unzip my skirt and slide it down my legs, followed by my jacket and shirt. I’m left only in my bra and panties — and those leave little to the imagination as my breasts almost spill out of the cups.
He stares, and I shift uncomfortably before he stands and walks around me as if evaluating an object he’s considering purchasing.
“Nice tits,” he says, reaching both hands out to cup them, lifting them as he inspects them. “Heavy, round.” He bounces them a few times before releasing them so they fall and shake to a stop.
“You accused me of having an STI in high school. Now I’m going to repay the favor and make sure you weren’t just projecting that on me because you were hiding your own sex problems. I made an appointment with my doctor to give you a full exam so I can make sure you’re clean of any infections or diseases. Really, it’s the least I could do for someone so kind as you.”
I grit my teeth. He reaches over to my breasts once more and grabs them one by one, pulling them out until they sit on top of my bra cups. He pinches both of my nipples in his strong fingers and I bite my lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of a whimper. He releases them with a hard pinch, then picks up the silk shirt I dropped and hands it to me.
“Leave your breasts there,” he demands as I go to move the cups back over my boobs.
“What?” I exclaim. “That’s completely ridiculous!”
He stuffs the shirt over my head and pulls it down, forcing me to slide my arms into the sleeves.
“You agreed to this, and I intend to show you off and make you pay for every little thing you put me through. I’ve waited years for this, and I’m not going to let you go a single second without shame pulsing through your veins.”
I scowl, but he hardly notices. He looks down at my tits, poking hard through the thin silk.
“Perfect,” he says, kicking my jacket aside. “Let’s get you to your exam.”
We walk along the street, and my heels do nothing to prevent the jiggling of my breasts with each step. To make matters worse, we pass a construction site and the workers begin to catcall and whistle. I try to ignore them and slow down so my tits don’t jiggle as much. Dan sees right through my attempt and grabs my arm to increase our pace; my breasts bounce even more.
“Look at those boobies, boys,” one of them calls.
“Those look good enough to eat,” another says.
“Give us some more bounce, sexy girl.”
At that, Dan stops; I’m relieved, thinking he’ll shield me. Instead, he turns to me and says, “Jump for them.”
“What?” I’m aghast as he turns me toward the group of men.
“Jump,” he demands with such authority that I’m jumping before I can make a conscious decision.
My boobs bounce up and down without restraint, rising high in the air and then falling with a heavy drop as I jump awkwardly in my heels. They cheer and taunt as I perform, my cheeks flushing with humiliation. Yet I notice a burning low in my body I don’t quite understand.
Dan lets me continue for a minute to the workers’ pleasure and the other men passing by, though the women look at me in disgust.
“You’re done,” Dan states, and I gratefully come to a stop. “Now flash those big titties of yours.”
I hesitate but see the look on his face and remember I want my job more than I need respect, so I open my shirt to reveal my tits. I keep my eyes on Dan the whole time, challenging him in silence.
“Shake,” he commands.
I begin to shimmy, and my breasts move heavily back and forth as the men cheer with desire, miming crude gestures and grabbing their crotches.
His eyes don’t drift from mine during the whole display; he challenges me with his gaze before finally saying, “Good. Let’s go.”
I button up and try to forget the jeers echoing through the streets and the confusing arousal the situation has stirred in me.
We get to the doctor’s office, check in, and soon the nurse calls me back. I’m shocked as Dan follows me into the room. Surely he won’t stay for the checkup.
“So what are we seeing her for today?” the nurse asks, surprisingly addressing Dan and not me.
“Just a general sexual-health checkup,” he supplies as if he’s my guardian. “To make sure she’s clean from STIs. We’ll need a breast exam and a vaginal inspection as well.”
My mouth drops open, and I become unhinged, telling him there’s no way I’m doing all of that with him in the room.
The nurse looks at me with disapproval and scolds, “You shouldn’t talk to him that way.”
I look between the two of them and keep ranting.
Dan stands and grips my cheeks with one hand, then addresses the nurse, still looking at me. “Tell the doctor to prep the enema as well. And possibly bring in the restraints — we will most likely need them.”
I clamp my mouth shut and only let anger show in my eyes.
“Yes, sir,” the nurse says. “Have her strip down all the way; the gown is on the table.” She turns and walks to the door, saying, “She sounds like she needs a good spanking, too, with that temper.”
“Oh, believe me,” he says, still staring at me, revenge shining in his eyes. “She’ll be getting a good, hard spanking as soon as I get her home.”
I clench my jaw as he challenges me with his stare. I say nothing and he sits in the chair beside me, telling me to follow the nurse’s instructions.
I strip down, glancing at him as I pull my panties off and now stand completely naked. I sit on the table and pull the paper-thin gown over me. It does nothing to hide my nipples, stiff from the cold air.
The door opens and Dan orders a quick, “Behave” as the doctor enters. They shake hands like good friends and the doctor barely glances at me, addressing Dan once more. I can’t help but feel a little thrill as they talk about me as if I’m not there.
“So what are we doing today?” he asks.
“Ms. Reynolds will need a very thorough exam to make sure she’s STI-free and at the peak of health.”
“Absolutely,” the doctor says. “The nurse tells me we’re going to need an extra test today?”
“Yes,” Dan replies. “She’s got a mouth on her, so if you have any tips on effective discipline as well, I would love your recommendations.”
“Of course,” he says. “We’ll talk as we perform the exam.”
“We?” I think to myself.
“I have a few students here who are currently in medical school. They’ve never seen a sexual-health exam before, and I would love to give them some experience. Is that all right with you?”
Dan looks to me, offering me a chance to deny, but I nod my head in approval. I have gone past the point of caring and just want this day to be over with, so I can get back to my job.
The doctor turns to grab his implements, and Dan leans toward me, whispering, “Remember. You brought this on yourself, Rebecca.”
He says my name as if it’s the crudest swear word, and I roll my eyes.
The doctor opens the door and four male medical students walk in hesitantly, glimpsing me on the table. The doctor turns toward me, actually addressing me now, and tells me to stand and drop the gown to my waist.
“Now,” he says sternly at my hesitation. I drop the neckline to my waist and my breasts spring free into the open air, chilling them further. The students close their mouths; a few blush and shift on their feet.
“Good sensitivity response to the cold,” the doctor tells Dan as he kneads my nipples, hardening them further. “Now let me check and see if her breasts are free from any lumps.”
My face flushes as the doctor tells the students to take diligent notes. He cups a hand under one breast and squeezes and kneads it, then repeats the same with the other.
He begins to describe what he finds, and I burn red as they write: “No lumps. Breasts are heavy and somewhat firm. Nipples responsive to cold. Mostly round, pink areolas, and darker pink nipples. One breast seems a little larger than the other; we’ll need to weigh them to be sure.”
He leads me to a small rolling table and tells me to scoot forward and place one breast on the surface where a small scale sits. I lift it and a small digital screen shows the weight; once he’s written it down, he has me repeat the process with the other.
“Weight varies a bit, but nothing to be concerned about,” he says, then places both breasts on the scale and notes their combined weight on his board.
“They’re quite heavy for someone her size,” he says. “We may need to take some pictures to load into our database so we can analyze and measure them digitally, making sure the weight is healthy in comparison to the size.”
“Of course,” Dan says agreeably.
“Jack,” the doctor calls, turning to one of the students. Jack seems the most confident and steps forward.
“Come behind the patient and lift her breasts with your hands cupped underneath them. Yes, just like that.”
I feel Jack’s erection brush my ass and hear him whisper, “These boobies are so heavy and big. I wonder if I could fit my whole mouth around them.”
I go to snap at him, but Dan’s warning glare keeps me silent.
“Martin, take some photos for us of her breasts so we can examine them later as a group.”
Martin comes forward hesitantly, excitement in his eyes as he holds up the camera and starts clicking photos while Jack cups and lifts them. The doctor gives directions as he clicks.
“Close-up of the left breast — make sure to get the entire nipple in there; scoot closer if you need to. Jake, lift that right breast a little higher.”
They repeat the process until every angle of my boobs has been documented. The two students return smiling, and I see them adjusting themselves in their pants.
“Okay, now onto the vaginal exam,” the doctor says, instructing me to lie on the table. I do so and clench my eyes shut as I see the stirrups come up, which will spread my legs wide and put everything on display.
He tells me to place my feet in the stirrups, and I snap back, “I know how this works, asshole.”
Dan stands up swiftly beside me. He shoves me roughly onto my side, lifts my gown, exposing my ass to the rapt stares of the students, then lands a hard spank. He peppers my backside with more. I look at the students and feel humiliation wash over me as they watch with wide eyes; each spank earns sideways glances of surprise and excitement.
“You will respect the doctor,” he says, accentuating every other word with a powerful spank, “or I will bend you over this table and let each student take a turn spanking that disrespectful ass of yours.”
I cry out as the pain spreads and the sting of the spanks hits. “Yes, yes, okay, I will!”
He continues to spank and scolds, “Is it embarrassing to be spanked like a child in front of all of these boys?”
“Yes, please, no more,” I say as I turn to see their delighted faces.
“Then be a good girl and no more cheek,” he says, spanking me harder and producing another cry.
“Okay, okay,” I give in.
He lands a final powerful spank and pulls me onto my back once again. I look shamefully toward the boys who had a front-row seat to my discipline and turn away, unable to meet their intrigued stares. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m just as turned on as they probably are. I can feel wetness gathering between my legs and pray they won’t be able to see it when I spread them.
Dan sits and the doctor asks me again to place my feet in the stirrups. I do so and watch as he lifts my gown to my stomach, completely exposing my pussy to the students and himself. I try to close my legs instinctively, but the doctor senses it and places a hand on my inner thigh, telling one of the students to grab the restraints.
My ankles and calves are tied to the stirrups’ attachments, rendering me unable to move my legs.
“Come closer, class, make sure you all get a good look as I do these exams,” the doctor instructs.
The students move in closer, each staring at my exposed pussy with interest.
“We can’t see everything clearly, so we’ll need to open those legs a little more.”
He pulls a crank, and my legs are slowly spread wider and wider until I’m stretched to capacity, all of my intimate areas exposed.
“It’s still a bit hard to see,” the doctor says, then grabs a large light and moves it until it’s pointed at my opening. My pussy is on stage with a spotlight, and these strangers are the audience.
“There now, with it lit up, we can see both labia, the vaginal opening, and the clitoris. We can also see she’s become somewhat aroused — you can tell by her wetness.”
I blush as my arousal is seen, and Dan turns to me with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Where is the clitoris, sir?” one of the students asks, fascinated as if this is his first close look.
“They can be hard to find as they’re covered by a small hood, but let me move some of this and show you.”
His fingers begin to spread my folds. I feel cool air wash over my clit.
“It’s right here. Let me stimulate it so you can see it better.” He brings his gloved finger and brushes it lightly over my clit, again and again. I can’t help a small moan as my pussy moistens.
“Some vaginal secretion is normal when the clitoris is stimulated,” he says as he runs his finger up and down my slit, spreading my wetness and causing further arousal.
“Do you mind if I give it a try?” a newbie asks, trying to keep his excitement minimal.
“Of course,” the doctor says, wheeling his chair aside. “In fact, all of you take a moment to find the clit and stimulate it. Watch the arousal build as the body reacts.”
My thighs shake as each student comes up and strokes my clit, spreading my wetness. One slightly tickles it, one moves his finger fast around it, but two go further, flicking and pinching until I’m driven crazy with desire and in need of an orgasm.
“You see, she enjoys the feelings of pleasure and pain as they’re connected. Her legs shaking show she wants an orgasm and her pulse shows the same. That indicates sexual health is at a good spot for a woman her age.”
The students nod as if learning something new. The doctor wheels back until he’s eye-level with my entrance.
“We’ll run some tests now, then I’ll allow you all to look deeply and examine her properly.”
The doctor performs each test: poking, instruments, bloodwork — everything. When he stretches my opening wide, the students come forward, staring into the depths of my pussy and commenting on its size, shape, and look. The doctor shines his light closer and beckons them to see every detail and document it.
“We’re almost done,” the doctor says. I inwardly sigh, needing to escape and release this frustrating need to cum. “But the guardian here advised me that the patient was combative and might have an infection inside her stomach causing her to act up. We’ll give her an enema to clean her out and take her temperature to rule out any pathogens.”
He removes the restraints and has me turn onto my stomach. I feel relief that my pussy is finally covered and I can hide my face rather than look at the enraptured students.
The doctor pats my ass and I flinch; it irritates my already-sore skin. “She has been a very disobedient girl, so we can infer she might be feeling stomach discomfort. We’ll give her an enema and take her temperature.”
“Now,” the doctor continues, wheeling the bag and tube. “This will go directly into her anus, and the liquid will help clean out her insides. Kneel on the table, stick your bottom in the air, and your face on the pillow.”
My humiliation reaches an all-time high as I assume the exposed position.
“Spread your cheeks,” the doctor demands.
I reach back, grab both cheeks, and pull them apart — the last intimate hole of my body exposed. I clench as the doctor rubs my ring with his finger.
“You need it nice and wet; otherwise objects won’t enter as well,” he says, rubbing until I’m almost moaning, before inserting his finger slightly and rubbing the lube inside.
“Now, the enema.”
A cold sensation at my tight hole, and I clench as the tube enters me.
“Relax,” the doctor orders, spanking my ass.
I yelp and do my best to relax as the tube enters.
My stomach cramps as the liquid rushes inside, gurgling and churning. I imagine how I must look — a tube stuck in my ass — as the students stare and mark notes on their clipboards.
After a few moments, the doctor removes the enema and has a student hold a basin beneath me.
He removes the tube, and I hear the liquid splash from my ass into the tub.
“Wow,” one student says. “That’s a lot of water. Can she not stop it coming out?”
“No, she must wait until it empties on its own; she has no control.”
“Isn’t that a little… embarrassing?” another asks.
“Extremely so,” the doctor replies. “The shame and humiliation add to the knowledge that despite acting out, she must be obedient. If she doesn’t, these are the consequences.”
When the water is emptied, the doctor wipes me from clit to asshole, then down my legs to remove leftover moisture. He then teaches a student how to insert a thermometer into my ass, spreading me for him. As my temperature is taken, he continues.
“Mr. Beckman here has informed me that our patient has a problem with backtalk and disrespect. He’s asked me to help with discipline techniques. This can be important in case you decide pediatrics is the right path.”
The boys agree excitedly — I don’t think it’s about pediatrics.
“Now, one of my most effective techniques is humiliation, as we’ve alluded to. Anything you can use to shame her, public or private, is a great tool. Public punishment seems to strike more fear than private. Of course, pain is the greatest teacher paired with those things. Spanking over the knee, over the bed, or positioned like this increases the pain. Scolding during a spanking helps them remember their disobedience. Any sensitive areas — the nipple, the labia, the clitoris — make for good places to inflict pain when you need to get the message across.”
The doctor removes the thermometer, showing normal readings, then says, “With normal results, this acting up is purely disobedience and not discomfort. Would you like to demonstrate a regular spanking for the students again, Dan, since she’s clearly in need?”
“Of course,” he says, standing.
With my ass and pussy still exposed, I shake and try to squirm away, praying they won’t see my wetness again, but Dan places his hand on my lower back to stop me.
“Now, Ms. Reynolds,” he mocks, “don’t make me take off my belt. Be a good girl and take your bare-bottom spanking.”
Once more he spanks my ass in front of the students, and I hear them muttering between each loud slap.
“Look at her boobs. They’re shaking with each spank.”
“They’re hanging down so far — I just want to be under them biting and sucking.”
“You ever seen nipples that tight before?”
“She deserves this spanking; talking that way to her man is not okay.”
“I bet she’s totally humiliated with all of us watching. I’m going to tell all my friends about this; they won’t believe me.”
Finally, the spanking is over, and I’m allowed to turn over and sit up, though my ass stings as it hits the table.
Dan looks at me. “Now that you’ve been spanked, you need to apologize to these students and the doctor for your behavior.”
I look down as shame floods my cheeks and wetness fills me.
“Sorry for my bad behavior,” I say quietly, shifting to try to relieve some arousal.
“Good girl,” Dan says, looking to the doctor.
The doctor nods and turns to me. “Stand and get dressed now.”
Once my bra is on, Dan comes over before I can replace my shirt and reaches in to place my breasts on top of the cups again.
“Perfect breasts like these need to be on display.”
Everyone nods in agreement and stares at my tits, shoved up until they’re parallel with the ground.
“Damn,” one mutters.
“One more thing before you go: we need to test skin health,” the doctor says. “Each of you will get a chance to slap the patient’s breasts to check elasticity. This indicates collagen levels.”
The students approach with excited eyes and begin to slap my breasts, making them shake and jiggle.
“Get her under-boob,” one says quietly, chuckling.
A student slaps both undersides strongly and I almost stumble backward as my center of gravity shifts and my breasts bounce. Another student claims to miss while hitting my nipples too accurately to have been an accident, then administers a few more slaps.
When they finish, the doctor gives the all-clear. I quickly put my shirt on, grateful for the cool silk soothing the throbbing red prints on my breasts and nipples.
“Thank the doctor and the students for their help today,” Dan says condescendingly, as if speaking to a toddler.
“Thank you,” I say through clenched teeth, unable to look up.
Dan spanks my ass once more. “Show respect and look up at them.”
I do so, nostrils flaring with frustration and pent-up arousal.
“Thank you,” I say, meeting their cocky eyes and gratified smiles.
“Good girl,” he tells me, leading me to the door.
Out in the street again, Dan turns to me; my face is still flushed and my breathing heavy with need.
“Have you learned your lesson yet?”
My anger at his enjoyment of my humiliation rages. But more than that, most of the anger comes from the fact that I have loved every second of it.
“You deserved all the hate I gave you and more,” I spit back, unwilling to let him in on my inner thoughts.
He chuckles low. “Looks like you haven’t learned your lesson yet. Buckle up, Ms. Reynolds. I’ve got all day and a list of humiliating punishments lined up for you that I’ve been curating over the years. And possibly some pleasurable ones as well.”
He looks at me with a wicked grin, and I can’t stop the leap in my belly as excitement rushes through me.
“Clearly, this obsessive desire for revenge you’d had for so many years didn’t do you any good,” I whisper menacingly, though my arousal climbs. “You’re a real bitch.”
“Maybe,” he says, grabbing my chin roughly and pulling me toward him. “But revenge can’t always be sweet, Ms. Reynolds...”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small length of ginger, holding it to my face. “Sometimes it has to be bitter.”
My breath catches as I imagine the plans he has for that little root.
“Let’s get you to my place,” he says. “I have a few friends who have always wanted to see how ginger root works.”
I swallow hard.
“And we’ve got more than a few hours and ways to show them how,” he grins.
