Daddy Issues Read online

  “Let me go, you fucker!” I snarled, aware that I was prob­ably mak­ing the situ­ation worse for my­self but un­able to help it. I didn’t like be­ing strapped down and feel­ing help­less and little and scared. Didn’t like it one God­damned bit.

  Berkley’s face darkened.

  “That will be enough of your nasty lan­guage, young lady,” he said sternly. “Hand me the crop, Mi­chaels,” he told the guard. “No, not that one—the other one.”

  To my mount­ing hor­ror, Mi­chaels handed him a long-handled, black rid­ing crop. It had a flat leather at­tach­ment that looked a little like a mini­ature leather paddle on the end of a long stick. I had ab­so­lutely no wish to have it used on me.

  “Let me go!” I de­man­ded again. “What do you think you’re do­ing? You can’t even reach me to whip me this way!”

  I was hop­ing that Berkley would un­strap my wrists and ankles in or­der to flip me over—then I might have a chance to get away. But I had mis­un­der­stood his in­ten­tions.

  “Oh no, my dear—it’s not your ass I in­tend to whip,” he said, smil­ing un­pleas­antly at me. “It’s your pussy. It’s a much more tender area—ex­cel­lent for pun­ish­ment pur­poses. After a pussy spank­ing, I think you’ll con­sider your word choice much more care­fully.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Once again I tried un­suc­cess­fully to close my legs.

  “Oh, but I would! But don’t worry.” He gave me a leer­ing grin. “Your little ass won’t be neg­lected for long. I think it’s long past time we in­ser­ted your first plug.” Reach­ing into a drawer of the cab­inet be­side him, he pulled out a black bulbous plug and held it out for me to see.

  Every part of my body seemed to shrink back at the sight of the damn plug. Oh my God, no—he can’t! He won’t!

  But the look on the dir­ector’s face said he ab­so­lutely would—and he would en­joy every minute of it. For the first time, I ser­i­ously con­sidered blow­ing my cover. I could take the spank­ing—it wouldn’t be fun but I could do it. But I couldn’t lie here and let that dis­gust­ing bas­tard Berkley force for­eign ob­jects into my body. I just couldn’t.

  But what about the video of the girl on Please beg­ging to be fucked? What about the deadly drug flow­ing through this place like a poison river, just wait­ing to in­fect any­one stu­pid enough or un­lucky enough to take it? What about everything I had already en­dured in or­der to make this case—could I really blow it all now?

  I didn’t know.

  “Enough idle chat­ter,” Berkley an­nounced. “Time for your pun­ish­ment.”

  Be­fore I could an­swer or protest, he swung the black rid­ing crop in an ex­pert arc. It landed with a flat smack against my bare pussy lips, mak­ing me jump and gasp. Then he did it again and again…and again.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever been spanked in that area but I don’t re­com­mend it—it fuck­ing hurts. There was no pad­ding to cush­ion the blows and soon my pussy lips were sting­ing like crazy. Also, un­like the spank­ing Salt had given me the night be­fore on my bot­tom, this one was all pain and no pleas­ure. I don’t know if it was be­cause someone other than my part­ner was do­ing the spank­ing or be­cause they had me tied down and help­less, but it did ab­so­lutely noth­ing to turn me on—it just hurt like a son of a bitch.

  I twitched my hips from side to side, des­per­ately try­ing to avoid the blows. Berkley was an ex­pert with the crop, how­ever and I couldn’t get away from his mer­ci­less spank­ing.

  “Stop—ow! Let me—ow—go!” I gasped.

  “In good time.” Berkley landed one last blow and then ex­amined his handi­work. “See this, Mi­chaels?” he said to the guard, who was still watch­ing with a lust­ful look in his mud-brown eyes. “See how the outer pussy lips are all swollen and red? That’s ex­actly how you want it to look.”

  “Yeah, ex­actly.” The guard was prac­tic­ally drool­ing. Clearly he was less in­ter­ested in the fine art of pussy spank­ing and more in­ter­ested in my na­ked crotch. I prayed that Berkley wouldn’t leave me alone with him. I had a feel­ing he would use more than the crop on me if he got a chance.

  “Would you like to try a few strokes be­fore I in­sert the plug?” Berkley was hand­ing the other man the rid­ing crop.

  “Uh…sure, I guess.” The way Mi­chaels gripped the crop I could tell he wasn’t nearly as ex­per­i­enced with its use as Berkley. And sure enough, his first blow was much harder than any of the pre­vi­ous ones landed by the dir­ector.

  I had been gasp­ing and moan­ing be­fore but now I screamed in real pain. This was a del­ic­ate area that was not meant to take such rig­or­ous ab­use. I felt like I was go­ing to pass out for a minute, it hurt so badly.

  “Huh—think I’m get­ting the hang of this,” Mi­chaels grunted. The look on his face said he en­joyed the sound of my agony al­most as much as he liked look­ing at my bare pussy. Sick bas­tard.

  “Very good.” Berkley nod­ded and I saw that he was get­ting out a bottle of lube, pre­sum­ably to help with the plug in­ser­tion. “Try again but use a little more fin­esse this time. It’s all in the flick of the wrist.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Mi­chaels raised the crop, a greedy look on his lump­ish fea­tures.

  But the blow never fell.

  Sud­denly Salt was loom­ing in the door­way with a look on his face that was ter­rible to be­hold. His fa­cial fea­tures were ab­so­lutely calm and cold but there was murder in his ice blue eyes. I thought it must be the same way he’d looked when he killed his own father.

  Step­ping for­ward into the room he grabbed Mi­chael’s raised arm. With one swift mo­tion, he brought it down around be­hind the man’s back and then sharply up.

  There was a muffled pop­ping sound and Mi­chaels dropped the rid­ing crop and screamed like a little girl. Then Salt had him by the neck, lift­ing him off the floor as though it was noth­ing to hold a two hun­dred and fifty-pound man sev­eral feet off the ground.

  Berkley looked up from his plug pre­par­a­tion, clearly startled.

  “Mr. Saltanov,” he ex­claimed. “What do you think you’re do­ing?”

  “I could ask same thing.” The look in Salt’s eyes was very ugly. “I leave my mishka alone for a few minutes and the next thing I know I am hear­ing her scream­ing. Then I come up and find this.” He nod­ded at the stunned Mi­chaels who was still strug­gling feebly in his grasp. One of his arms was cocked at an un­nat­ural angle—either it was broken or the shoulder was popped out of its socket. I couldn’t say I felt very sorry for him either way.

  “But—” Berkley pro­tested.

  “How dare you touch her?” Salt growled, his eyes hot with rage. “How dare you hurt her? Mishka is mine—mine. No one is to touch her but me.”

  “She was tres­passing…snoop­ing in a for­bid­den area,” Berkley blustered. “The con­tract you signed clearly states that I have the right to pun­ish such in­frac­tions as I see fit. Read it again if you want proof—you signed it. It’s all per­fectly legal.”

  “I do not give fuck about con­tract.” Salt’s ac­cent was get­ting thick again, as it al­ways did when he was up­set. “You hurt my mishka.” His fin­gers tightened on the guard’s throat and I no­ticed that Mi­chaels’ face was turn­ing a sickly shade of dusky purple.

  “Salt—no!” I said sharply. If he killed someone we would be kicked out of here for good. “No, you can’t.”

  “The hell I can’t—he hurt you.” There was still fury burn­ing in Salt’s pale eyes but at last he dropped the guard in a heap.

  Mi­chaels moaned and moved weakly for the door, crawl­ing on hands and knees—well, one hand, any­way. The other hung use­less by his side as he dragged him­self out of the med­ical suite.

  “Well…” Berkley took a deep breath and seemed to take cour­age from the fact that Salt had let the guard go. “Mr. Saltanov, I must ask you not to mo­lest the staff. They are only here fo