Executive Toy by Cleo Peitsche Read Free Book Online Page A

pinch, the hardest one so far, and releases me. My hand flies to my chest, but Slade catches my arm. It seems I’m not allowed to comfort myself.
    Hawthorne ends his kiss with a bite that’s more painful than playful, then wraps his hand in my hair and yanks me forward. I’m unbalanced because Slade is still in my pussy, still gripping my hips. But then he comes with me. Hawthorne pulls me down by my hair, and Slade is shoving down my hips.
    My palms stop my face from slamming into the floor, and I lock my elbows. The carpet is rough under my palms. It abrades my knees.
    This whole experience is degrading, and if Slade’s fat cock weren’t deep in my pussy, I’d probably tell them to take it easy. But my hole is stretched for the first time in forever, and it feels so good that I don’t dare complain for fear that he’ll take his dick away.
    “You’re a slut, aren’t you?” Hawthorne says. He sounds surprised, and while I think it’s supposed to be an insult, there’s an unexpected note of tenderness in his voice.
    “Go fuck a land mine,” I snap. Because no matter how he says it, it’s not a compliment.
    A broad palm slaps my ass hard, driving the breath right out of my lungs. Then Romeo is kneeling beside my head. Frankly, it’s impressive that a man of his size is able to get down so low.
    He tilts my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Is there confusion about how this works?” he asks. “You are submissive to us. You were rude to Hawthorne. Apologize.”
    Whatever kindness was in his face before, it’s gone, and I realize I just alienated my only ally. And even if he was an ally who pinched my nipples mercilessly and told the others to throw me to the floor like a common whore, I need him on my side. I lick my lips and smile contritely. “I’m sorry.”
    “I’m not satisfied with the apology,” Hawthorne says. That punishing palm slams against my ass, and I gasp. Slade pushes deep again. My pussy is dripping down my thighs.
    Romeo strokes my cheek, but his face is still hard. “You have so much to learn.” Without moving his eyes from mine, he says, “Let’s take her into the back.” He rises easily, gracefully, leaving a waft of that expensive cologne in his wake.
    Slade slowly pulls out of my pussy, and my whole body sags in dismay. Barely a second passes and then I’m hauled up by my hair again. It doesn’t surprise me to learn that I’m in Hawthorne’s pitiless grasp.
    He yanks my head back, pulling me off balance, and his eyes drill into mine. “You can use your safe word whenever,” he says. His tone implies he thinks I should use it now. It’s a taunt, and I’d like to curse at him again, but given how these men treated me when I wasn’t being disciplined, I decide to keep my mouth shut and see what they have in mind before I rack up more punishments.

Chapter 7

    The back room, despite sounding like something I’d expect to find in a rest stop convenience store, is actually a very nice office. Why Hawthorne has so many personal offices makes no sense. Maybe he ran out of things to spend his money on.
    The theme is black. It could be tacky, but the quality of everything—three padded sofas, a desk larger than a football field, two-toned black paintings à la Rothko on the walls—makes it sophisticated. Even the statue on the coffee table, a woman entwined with three men, is tasteful.
    Hawthorne flings me at one of the sofas, and I stumble into it, breaking my fall with my arms. I knew he was going to do it because a moment before he launched me, I felt him shifting his weight back, giving me a clear and intentional warning that something like this might be coming.
    I stay where I am, my hair flipped over my head and covering my face and arms in a platinum waterfall, one of my legs awkwardly on the floor, the other bent almost underneath me. I hope this makes an alluring visual for the men because I’ve already earned one unknown punishment; I want them to think