River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations Read online

  “Regardless, I was the only one willing to sacrifice anything. Not my father. Not my brother. Me! Stupid or not, I was the only brave one willing to put my own life on the line for someone I love.”

  “That just proves that emotion drives women, and it leads them to make stupid decisions.”

  “And if it were you? Would you rather I just sit back and make the ‘smart’ decision of doing nothing? If it came down to saving you…what would you want me to do?”

  There…right there, in his eyes, I saw realization flash.

  “Stupid or not, emotional or not…I did the only thing I could. Because I will not sit back and watch someone I love die. Even if it means I may die in the process. I will fight until my heart no longer beats in my chest.”

  “I paid it off.”

  My eyes opened wide in shock. “You? How?”

  “I learned a long time ago to never depend on my father’s resources. I’ve been building my own empire. Smarter than his. And it will be bigger than his.”

  I have never been more turned on in my life.

  “And when the time is right, Tesoro…we will rule that empire. And then you will be feared. Not the other way around. Men like Zeke will cower to you, by my side.”

  They say the passage of time will heal all wounds, but the greater the loss, the deeper the cut and the more difficult the process to become whole again. The pain may fade, but scars serve as a reminder of our suffering and make the bearer, all the more resolved, never to be wounded again. So as time moves along, we get lost in distractions, act out in frustration, react with aggression, give in to anger, and all the while, we plot and plan as we wait to grow stronger. Before we know it, the time passes. We are healed. Ready to begin anew. My family, my legacy, were the most important things.

  However, I realize now, I have a new weakness...

  It’s called love.

  THE END

  SPANKED!

  CHAPTER one

  I’m just out of school, and I’m already feeling the pressures of the real world bearing down on me. Nearly fifty thousand dollars of reality piling up, taunting me. I need to make some serious cash and fast. My job at the diner just won’t cut it. I barely make enough to survive, let alone set any funds aside for the future of debt I have smacking me in the face. And with the economy circling the drain, I’ve had little prospects on the career front. Funny, considering I received a degree in economics. Go figure. Plus, I can’t afford to take on any more hours with my hectic schedule. Between work at the diner, looking for another job, and taking care of my mother, I don’t have much time or energy for anything else.

  “Where are you going so damn early?” Lee, my roommate and best friend, asks as I run about our apartment, scrambling to get ready.

  I’m surprised to see her up this early. She usually doesn’t wake before ten since she bartends at night. She looks like a cute mess, her exotic eyes heavy with sleep. Her black hair with electric blue tips carelessly thrown into a sloppy bun atop her head. She’s even wearing her ratty bunny slippers. With a Chinese father and an English mother, her mixed beauty has always attracted the affections of every guy she meets.

  “I told you yesterday. I have an appointment with some doctor.”

  “Are the herps flaring up again?” she teases.

  I halt and peer at her, fighting back a chuckle.

  “You have a real twisted sense of humor, you know that?”

  “Eh.” She shrugs, inhaling a mouthful of her cereal.

  Childishly, I stick my tongue out at her and she returns the gesture.

  “And, FYI. It’s an interview.”

  “For a job?”

  “A study.” I snag my purse and toss it over my shoulder. “But it pays some serious dough.”

  “Nice. We can go on a shopping spree.”

  “Oh, sure.” I roll my eyes at her. “Would you like a new car while I’m at it?”

  “Yes, preferably in red.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” I retort.

  Walking into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee and grab an egg bagel, I run my fingers through my hair.

  “I can’t believe I let you cut off all my hair.”

  During a recent girls’ night, I let Lee chop off most of it. Once long and blonde, it’s now short, the bangs are longer, sweeping over one of my eyes. It’s kind of fresh and hip, but I still haven’t gotten used to the drastic change.

  “It looks fucking tight. Trust me, I would not do you wrong. You look smokin’.”

  “Smokin’?” I would never categorize myself like that, cute, intelligent, nice, occasionally smart-alecky, but never smokin’. I shake my head and laugh at the idea.

  “I’ll see you later,” I comment, heading for the door. “Love you!”

  “Love you!” she calls out as it shuts behind me.

  Ten minutes later, I’m heading across the oddly empty campus to the University of Texas School of Medicine, which I live only a few minutes from. I’d heard through the grapevine the university was conducting a study on pain inhibitors and their effects on the nervous system when external pain is presented. It’s funded by a multi-national pharmaceutical company called Neuro-Pharm.

  Due to the extremity of the study, it pays really well. Enough to eat a huge chunk out of the debt keeping me up at night. That and finals, which are stressful all on their own. They don’t need any help.

  I take a big swig of coffee hoping to wake up before my early interview with the doctor leading the research. Not smart. I burn my tongue.

  “Ah! Shit!”

  I hiss, attempting to cool my now burnt tongue. It feels like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth.

  If it weren’t for the fact that seven a.m. is the only time he would see me, I’d be sleeping in on my only day off in a month, tongue unscathed. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but sleep is a rarity for me these days, and I’m in desperate need of it. Luckily, I was a last minute pick, as one of the subjects suddenly bailed out. That’s how I found out about it. She’s a regular patron at the diner. I had told her about my money woes, and she handed me the advertisement, explaining that circumstances prevented her from participating. Right after work, I called the number at the bottom and made an appointment with the doctor’s assistant. She informed me everything would be further explained during the interview.

  So, here we are now.

  I walk into the medical school building, suddenly nervous about what this study will entail. I’ve never been one to fear pain. Actually, in some ways, it intrigues me.

  I find the door marked with the name Dr. Oliver Landon painted in gold on the frosted glass, and take a steadying breath before stepping inside a small waiting room. The black door on the other side is cracked open, but not enough that I can see whoever’s behind it.

  “Please have a seat, Miss Petrov,” a low voice says from behind the slightly intimidating door. “I will be right with you.”

  He’s British.

  I sit and take the time to picture the face that belongs to the voice. I envision an older gentleman with hair dusted in silver and soft creases about his wise eyes. The thought eases me a bit.

  After a few minutes, he calls for me, “Come in, Miss Petrov.”

  I rise and walk over to the dark door, brushing my fingers through the bangs of my blonde, newly chopped hair. I inhale, smile big, and ease open the door, stepping inside. My stride halts when my eyes catch his, freezing on them with shocked fascination. They are the bluest of blues. I can’t tell from behind his black, rectangular specs, but I doubt the man before me has a single wrinkle. His blackish-brown hair, side-parted and slick, doesn’t have even a strand of gray.

  He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares back at me, keeping my gaze on him.

  “Are you Mila Petrov?” he finally speaks, his tongue gently stroking my name.

  “Yes,” I whisper then clear my throat. “But, Mila is fine.”

  “During the course of this intervie
w, and if you decide to continue further with the study, I would like to keep a professionalism, Miss Petrov. This is extremely important research and must be conducted in a fitting manner.”

  He’s very composed, cold even.

  “Yes, Dr. Landon.”

  He rises from behind his desk, giving me a chance to get a good look. His light blue dress shirt enhances his already vibrant eyes, and the black slacks he’s wearing appear to be ironed to perfection. This guy is anal, which also tells me he’s a stickler for detail.

  Holy hell. He’s going to be a pain in my ass.

  CHAPTER two

  He takes me into a small examination room with a bench covered in white paper, bright florescent lights, and glass jars filled with medical instruments.

  My stomach turns.

  The paper cracks and crinkles under my ass as I fidget anxiously. I’m irrationally nervous. I don’t know why, it’s just a simple examination, but I am. Maybe it’s him.

  Dr. Landon must notice because he glimpses up at me sympathetically.

  “There’s no need to panic, Miss Petrov.” He looks back down at his chart and mumbles, “Yet.”

  It’s so low I almost miss it.

  I sum up a little courage and ask, “What does this experiment involve exactly?”

  He jots something down in the file, avoiding eye contact with me. “I will explain everything once we’ve finished here. I would like to determine whether or not you are a desirable candidate first.”

  Why did he say it like that? What does that even mean? I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t see any others clambering for the opportunity to be a human guinea pig. Perhaps that should tell me something.

  “Now, Miss Petrov, are you allergic to anything, drugs, food, latex, or otherwise?”

  “No, Sir,” His eyes flash up at mine, but retreat quickly back the paper in front of him, “not that I’m aware of.”

  “Brilliant.” He writes something down, then continues, “Are you currently taking any medications?”

  I shake my head, but he doesn’t see me, lifting his face with a searching look. “No, none at all.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Well, actually,” I hesitate telling him, even though I know he’s a doctor and obviously dedicated to his work.

  “Yes?” he inquires, his brows raised.

  “I take bir-birth control.”

  His lips twitch into what almost looks like a smile. But it couldn’t be. That wouldn’t be proper conduct.

  He goes through a few more of the standard questions, marking things off as he goes. He’s very diligent in his task, leaving no stone unturned.

  “Last question,” he says. “Is there anything in your medical history you feel would hinder your participation in the study?”

  “No, Dr. Landon. I have been blessed with good health. I’ve never had a stitch or broken a single bone.”

  “This all seems to be in order.” His eyes scan the paper in the chart. “Now, we just need to complete the physical, and I will tell you everything you need to know about what we’ll be doing here.”

  He rises and walks over to a drawer, pulling out a stethoscope and placing the buds in his ears.

  “I’m going to listen to your heart,” he informs me, stepping toward me until his thighs rest against my shins. He tilts his head down, looking up at me from over the rims of his fashionable specs, and says in a gravelly voice, “May I touch you?”

  I don’t know what it is about what he just asked, but it sounds anything but professional, sending an almost numbing tingle through me.

  “Yes, Dr. Landon,” I utter, unbuttoning the top three buttons of my blouse, revealing my bra and cleavage to him.

  He lets out a breath before placing the cold, circular piece against my chest plate.

  “Take a nice steady breath for me.” I slowly inhale, causing my breasts to rise and his eyes to widen slightly. “Now, exhale for me.”

  We repeat this a few more times, him moving the piece about. Next, he checks my blood pressure, jotting down his notes as he checks off each task.

  “Well, Miss Petrov, you are very desirable.”

  “Excuse me?” I squeak out, my face twisted with shock.

  “For the study, you’re exactly the type I need.”

  “Oh, yes, good.” I shake my head at myself and let out a little chuckle, feeling dumb about my misunderstanding.

  He closes my file. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you what I require from you as a subject.”

  He turns and walks out of the room. I jump off the examination table and follow close behind him. He leads us out of his office and into the hall.

  “Now, I assume you know what we will be testing, correct?”

  “Yes, I understand that much. Inhibitors, enhancers, and placebos.”

  “That’s right. We want to explore and evaluate what happens when different levels of external pain are introduced to the subject.” He steps in front of a door and turns back to me. “How would you rate your tolerance of pain?”

  I giggle to myself on the inside, and a smirk sweeps across my lips for just an instant. “I’ve never been one to shy away from it, if that’s what you mean. I’ve always had a high tolerance.”

  He smiles at me, a genuine, warm smile. That one was unmistakable. He turns back to the door and opens it, stepping inside. I trail behind him, entering the dark room.

  Suddenly, light floods the large space and I spot a bulky object in the center, concealed by a white cover. He strides over to it and yanks the sheet off. “We felt this would be the safest instrument for introducing external pain.”

  Placed before a long metal arm, sits a tall bench with a padded, red leather top. Attached to the arm is a black, pliable paddle with tiny circular cutouts for aerodynamics. This isn’t some flimsy amateur apparatus. This is all business.

  I know what it is, but I’m so shocked I still have to ask, “What am I looking at exactly?”

  “This, Miss Petrov, is a spanking machine.”

  And I thought he was just going to be a metaphorical pain the butt.

  “You’ll be spanking me with this?” I clarify.

  “Yes.” He walks toward the machine, placing his hands, palms down, on the spanking bench. It’s positioned directly in front of the intimidating device, with a padded area for me to kneel. “You will bend over this,” he explains, running his fingers over the leather of the benchtop, “and I will administer the lashings to the mound of your backside.”

  “Why my ass?”

  His brow crinkles. “I can elicit the most pain without permanently harming you physically. Safety is key.”

  “I see,” I murmur, soaking in what I just walked into.

  “Would you like to see how it works?” he asks, picking up a small remote control.

  I nod my head softly. “Yes, please.”

  He smiles faintly and presses a button, moving the arm up and down, in and out, demonstrating its reach. When he hits the green button at the bottom, the metal arm flies through the air, coming to an abrupt halt. The floppy paddle cracks, letting out a deafening pop. I steal a glance over at him, noting a look of satisfaction as the snapping reverberates. He repeats it, over and over, increasing the speed and impact each time. The echoing noise of the paddle bounces from the walls of the empty clinical room.

  “Now that you’ve seen what it can do, are you still willing to participate in this study?”

  His gaze is almost challenging, but I’m sure it’s just in my head. He’s been nothing but professional the entire time.

  I need to think about this.

  “May I give you my answer tomorrow?”

  “Of course, Miss Petrov. I wouldn’t want you to make a rash decision about something this important. I’ll be waiting for your reply.”

  Later that night, after dinner has been consumed and cleaned up, I head to bed. I have the early shift tomorrow, which means I have to be there before opening to get everything set up. At least, that was t
he plan. Instead, I lie awake, staring up at the ceiling as shadows move across it from the headlights of passing cars. I can’t stop thinking about today’s interview and…demonstration. The idea of that floppy black paddle making contact with my backside sends ripples of arousal through me, hardening my nipples, causing my skin to vibrate with anticipation.

  Suddenly, I find my hands slowly dipping down below my sheets toward the source of my need. Wet and warm, I slide my fingers between the folds, finding my throbbing clit with the gentlest stroke. Ecstasy bursts through me, awakening every nerve-ending from head to toe.

  I imagine him in his white coat, standing over me with intensely watchful eyes, magnetic and dark. Aroused at the sight of me lying out for him to claim, to mark as his, his cock grows larger by primal need, straining against the fly of his pants.

  I picture what it will be like as he carries out the punishment. But instead of a cold leather paddle, he uses his warm skilled hand. With a sinister gleam in his eyes, his palm shoots through the air, coming to a rough stop on my flesh, grasping slightly to intensify the hot bite.

  I think of how his fingers would feel roaming over my raw, red ass with the delicate touch of a feather, handling me as if I were fragile lace, grazing every rise and fall.

  I’m lost.

  I wake the next morning, my decision resolute. I sign my name on the consent forms. I am going to go through with the study.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As instructed, I ate then took the medication I was given an hour before our first session. This is to give it time to take effect. I couldn’t help wonder, as I popped the little white pill in my mouth, which one I was consuming.

  I walk into his office, anxious, palms clammy, mind racing. But this overwhelming feeling isn’t about the pain I’m about to experience. It’s the man who will inflict it that has me all twisted in knots.

  Ever since our first meeting, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Dr. Landon, his penetrating eyes, or his strong hands working me over until I’m destroyed. Mentally, physically, emotionally, a fucking wreck.

  “Miss Petrov?” His soothing voice smashes through my reveries. It’s so smooth and melodic. It makes me want to melt.