Punching Bag

Crystal opens the door and tells Aiden to get inside. They trade a few lines while she sizes him up; guy’s obviously on the clock. She leads him straight to the bedroom, tossing her jacket on the floor. A leather harness and set of cuffs sit ready on the bed. Crystal mutters that she can’t stand Derrick, that smug asshole at work who keeps on her case. Aiden laughs. "Whatever poor Derrick’s missing out on, I’m more than happy to let you do to me." Crystal’s stare turns cold. "Let me?" The riding crop comes down sharp across her palm, the crack loud enough to rattle his balls. Title card slams in. She orders him naked and on his knees fast. Cock already hard, he obeys. Crystal climbs over him, riding rough, snapping orders like she’s whipping around the office. She starts calling him Derrick—"fuck me like a man, Derrick, or get the fuck out." Aiden stays quiet, figuring it’s just kinky talk, letting her vent. Each slap of her hips gets harder, her voice uglier. She spits insults in Derrick’s name, squeezes Aiden’s throat, yanks his hair. By the time she’s grinding out an orgasm she’s still cursing the real guy, eyes glassy with spite. Aiden’s wrists burn in the cuffs. He breathes through his teeth. What the hell did he sign up for?