Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 2: A New Adult Romantic Comedy Read Online Free Page B

beyond turned on. I squeezed my thighs together in anticipation.
    “Do you… you want me to wear that?” I asked, glancing at the collar.
    He examined it as if reevaluating his choice. “No, actually, I have a better idea.”
    He dropped the collar to the floor with a thud and reached down into his pants. The bulge between his legs moved, shifted, and as his hand came up… disappeared. In the low light, it took me a few moments to understand the majority of the bulge in his pants had actually been a bright red ball gag.
    Lust and promise filled his gaze. Without a word, he handed me the whip. My mouth dropped open but before I could ask one of the hundred questions flying through my mind. He held the bright red ball into his mouth, moved to fasten the strap around his own neck, and fell to his knees in front of me. Before he fully tightened the device on his face, he pulled it away and spoke, sounding like he was already on the edge of orgasm.
    “Talia. Make me your little bitch.”
     

    Oh my God, oh my… holy shit… why was that down his pants? Holy shit. Did he have that down there the entire date?
    “Um, what?” I stammered.
    “I’ve been a horribly bad boy. You need to teach me a lesson,” he moaned.
    I stared at the whip in my hand, the red ball hanging around his neck, and resisted the urge to check the corner of the room for cameras. “I… this…”
    “I promise I’ll be a good boy from now on, but I understand you have to punish me.” He gave me a little wink before slipping the gag into his mouth and tightening the straps behind his head. He curled his lip as his teeth sank into the hard rubber, an erotic moan filling the silence. On his hands and knees, he crawled to the middle of the room where a variety of large foam cushions waited.
    I was frozen in the doorway. The whip in my hand felt foreign, almost alien. Imagine a clown in a bowler hat at your front door handing you a trout covered in pink glitter with instructions on how to launch it into space. Bizarre, right? That’s what the whip felt like.
    In a daze, almost as if I couldn’t believe I was doing it, I walked toward him. He was already writhing on the cushions, his hips bucking into the air, as if they were rising to meet me. As strange and unexpected as it was, there was a part of me strangely intrigued at how much of an effect this was having on him. His muscles tightened with every footfall of my heels on the hard floor.
    I was playing a role now. This was so far out of my comfort zone, I might as well be on stage pretending to be that clown in a bowler hat. But I tried. I really did. Forrest, if you ever read this, try to understand I did my best.
    “Get on your stomach.” I wanted to sound intimidating and intense. Instead, my voice came out high-pitched and squeaky. It didn’t seem to bother Forrest in the slightest, who immediately flipped over and whimpered.
    I took a few steps forward, standing just over his legs. He ground his hips into the foam pillows, dry humping his cock against them.
    “Stop that.”
    And he did.
    I glanced at the whip in my hand, tightening my fingers around the handle and running my fingers through the fringe. I had no idea how hard or soft you’re supposed to whip a person. My first attempt was laughable. With a weak wrist, I did little more than tickle him. Maybe if I role play a little bit more.
    “You’ve been so… naughty,” I said, the last word coming out in an odd English accent. I actually laughed a bit, but his groan drowned out the sound.
    With a little bit more force, I slapped his back with the whip again but still not hard enough to leave a mark. He writhed under the contact and for a moment, I thought he might cum on the spot.
    “You like that, don’t you?” I was no longer in control of my mouth. I was essentially hearing myself speak, my dialogue sounding like every bad porn ever created.
    Forrest looked over his shoulder, his lips spread open by the red ball in his