By the time she walked toward the conference table, her nipples were tight points, her clit a steady throb.
Kenny’s eyes tracked her the entire way in. “Spread-kneel.”
Her knees hit the carpet, thighs apart, the backs of her hands resting on them. Heart pounding.
“Kneel up, hands grasping your elbows.”
She rose, spine straight, then arched to accommodate her arms.
He stepped close enough she could smell the steel before she saw it. The collar was cold against her throat, and the littleclickof the hinge made her chest tighten. Then the soft metallic scrape of the hex key finding the set screw — turn, turn — until she heard the final little click. Locking it onto her.
Locking everything she’d just agreed to around her neck.
“Stand.” Silas’s voice now.
She obeyed, rocking back on bent toes and standing in the graceful way Kenny demanded.
“Left wrist,” Silas said, and she looked at him, trying to see if this meant as much to him as it did her, but he was focused on the task, his eyes on her arm.
The cuff circled her wrist, locked with the same sure turn of the key, then the right.
She looked down to see them on her wrists, and her pulse fluttered so hard she could see it in the hollow between her thumb and palm.
Boone lifted her, sat her on the edge of the table, her bare ass against the cool surface.
He sat in a chair in front of her and closed the cuffs around both ankles before using the hex key to lock them on.
The weight of the steel pulled at her awareness — neck, wrists, ankles — all points owned.
They didn’t speak. One by one, each man leaned in to kiss her. Kenny’s steady, Silas’s biting, Boone’s warm and sure.
“Against the wall, facing out, grasp your elbows,” Silas said, and she looked in the direction he motioned.
Six steps felt like a football field, and she stood as ordered, her tits sticking up with her arms pressed between her back and the wall.
When she saw the cane in Silas’s hand, a surge of adrenaline hit like a tidal wave. Her racing heart thundered in her chest, and she shook her head. Not to thefrontsof her thighs.
Fuck.
The cane was a whisper in the air before it landed.Thwack. A sharp cut, and then an instant later, intense fire blazed in a focused line across the fronts of her thighs.
She screamed without knowing she was going to, the sound a reflex, and while the sound still tore from her throat, he struck her again.
And again.
Her screams were frantic now, short and sharp, with hyperventilating breaths between. Silas stepped to her and grabbed her chin, his eyes inches in front of hers.
“Enough. Breathe, little cumdump.”
The words were harsh and crass, and they did the job. She sucked a deep breath in and stopped screaming.
He nodded and stepped back.
“Bend over the table, arms out to your sides,” Boone’s voice came low and calm, but harsher than she was used to from him. “Palms down, and don’t even think of making them into fists while I mark you.”
The fronts of her thighs throbbed and complained when she bent her legs to walk. Silas had brought blood to the surface, but hadn’t opened her up. Right on the fucking edge of it though.
The table’s surface was cool against her ribs and outstretched arms. Her ass was bare, high, completely exposed. No skirt to drop, no fabric to protect her.
