janedavitt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
janedavitt) wrote2012-05-01 05:44 pm
janedavitt) wrote2012-05-01 05:44 pm
Entry tags:
Wesley's Views on a Certain Book
For those fans of our fic 'Secretary' who wondered what would happen if Wesley caught Faith reading Fifty Shades...
What? You weren't wondering?
Well, I was ;-))
NC17, around 1000 words.
Wesley walks in and Faith shoves the book she's reading under a cushion a whole five seconds too late.
Busted. Fuck.
He stands over her and holds out his hand. "I'm delighted to see you reading, Faith. There's no need to hide it."
"So why do you want to see it then?" she mutters. This isn't gonna end well.
"Because you tried to hide it."
"I hate you when you're all logical and shit."
"The book, Faith."
She shoves it into his hand with a pout and a scowl and watches him take in the title. His lips press together tightly and she feels a delicious quiver of apprehension. She doesn't piss Wesley off much these days -- not that it saves her ass from regular spankings -- and there's something intriguing about the thought that her punishment's going to be a real one.
"I thought I made my thoughts on this book perfectly clear, Faith."
"I'm not allowed to read anything written by someone with a less than solid grasp of the use of ellipses and the basics of kinky sex," she recites and punctuates it with an eye roll. "Everyone is reading it, Wes. And buying gray ties, but I didn't bother with that, 'cos you've got, like, fifty of them already."
"That's not an exact quotation, and I believe the number's significantly less, but in essence, yes." He weighs the book in his hand, studying her thoughtfully, before a cool, secretive smile curves his lips. "I'm going to punish you for reading this, Faith."
"Like that's news," she mutters sulkily, even as her cunt throbs, traitorously eager for the spanking she's earned and the slow torment he'll inflict on her afterward until she's finally allowed to come.
"I think we need a definite number of strokes. That always seems to focus your attention, I find. Let me see..."
He's staring at the book again and Faith feels a quiver of panic. Strokes means he won't be using his hand. If he goes for fifty with a paddle or a ruler...oh shit. She won't be able to walk. Wesley will take care of her, tending to her bruised, whipped ass with a solicitude that doesn't hide his arousal, but that's small comfort when she'd planned to go shoe shopping tomorrow. A girl can never have too many pairs of fuck-me pumps.
"Perhaps I've been unfair," he muses. "Judged based on hearsay." He opens the book and she watches him read a page or two. The quick frown and the grimace of distaste aren't promising.
"Oh my God," Wesley says. "Does this woman even have an editor? This is appalling." He breathes in. "Pick a page number."
"Sixty-nine," Faith snaps.
Wesley gives her a thin smile and takes a red Sharpie out of his pocket. "Very well. Let's give this book some much needed attention." He turns to that page and soon the Sharpie's being put to good use and he's muttering under his breath.
Faith sucks in a shocked breath of her own. Wesley defacing a book...never thought she'd see that.
He finishes, puts the Sharpie away, and counts up the errors he's found.
"Seventeen," he announces with a reproving tsk. "I'm going to round it up to twenty because I was profoundly irritated by the repetition of certain phrases, though strictly speaking that's a stylistic error, I suppose. The ruler, I think. It leaves such nice even lines on your arse."
"Twenty..." She groans, but she's already tingling in anticipation of every hard, delicious smack. Wesley's been working on an important case and coming home late and tired. Her ass is bare of bruises and that's just not right.
"And then I'm going to fuck you," Wesley murmurs, pushing her hair back off her face, a caress that's going to be the last gentle touch she gets for a while. "Slowly, until you're squirming as much as you can with your hands tied, and begging me for mercy. You'll have to be particularly eloquent, Faith. I'm not feeling terribly kind today. That dreadful book..."
"But I can come?" she asks hopefully, trying a winsome flutter of her eyelashes. "Eventually? After all the tormenting and shit?"
He narrows his impossibly blue eyes and she realizes for the thousandth time just how damned handsome he is. Her Wes. Hers.
"Well, that depends on so many factors."
"Name one!" God, if he tells her she can't come, leaves her pussy wet and empty, her body aching, unsatisfied, she'll cry herself to sleep. Except he'll love that, catching each tear on his fingertips, his eyes dark with arousal, sighing with pleasure over how she's suffering.
"Where you plan to shelve this book."
She snatches it from him and hurls it at the wastepaper bin in the corner. It misses, but her intention's plain.
"My good girl," he murmurs, sliding his hand over her ass, pinching the tender flesh through the dress she's wearing. "Now let's see if you can take the first six strokes without swearing once..."
She whimpers then, and again when he returns with the ruler in his hand.
She's positioned over the couch -- the scene of the crime, he tell her -- and the cushion she'd hidden the book under in placed where it will catch her tears as they spill down.
"Spread your legs for me," Wesley says, and she feels his fingers slip inside her cunt, finding her wet and hot. "Is this because of that book?" he asks, fucking her with rough, purposeful thrusts, three fingers now, stretching her. "Any of it?"
She twists around, indignant, hurt, still impaled on his fingers. "No! It's you, Wes." His expression's skeptical and she adds softly, "It's always you."
There's the longest pause before he takes his fingers out of her and picks up the ruler, wielding it with a focused ferocity.
But she can see his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, until her tears blind her, and he's smiling.
What? You weren't wondering?
Well, I was ;-))
NC17, around 1000 words.
Wesley walks in and Faith shoves the book she's reading under a cushion a whole five seconds too late.
Busted. Fuck.
He stands over her and holds out his hand. "I'm delighted to see you reading, Faith. There's no need to hide it."
"So why do you want to see it then?" she mutters. This isn't gonna end well.
"Because you tried to hide it."
"I hate you when you're all logical and shit."
"The book, Faith."
She shoves it into his hand with a pout and a scowl and watches him take in the title. His lips press together tightly and she feels a delicious quiver of apprehension. She doesn't piss Wesley off much these days -- not that it saves her ass from regular spankings -- and there's something intriguing about the thought that her punishment's going to be a real one.
"I thought I made my thoughts on this book perfectly clear, Faith."
"I'm not allowed to read anything written by someone with a less than solid grasp of the use of ellipses and the basics of kinky sex," she recites and punctuates it with an eye roll. "Everyone is reading it, Wes. And buying gray ties, but I didn't bother with that, 'cos you've got, like, fifty of them already."
"That's not an exact quotation, and I believe the number's significantly less, but in essence, yes." He weighs the book in his hand, studying her thoughtfully, before a cool, secretive smile curves his lips. "I'm going to punish you for reading this, Faith."
"Like that's news," she mutters sulkily, even as her cunt throbs, traitorously eager for the spanking she's earned and the slow torment he'll inflict on her afterward until she's finally allowed to come.
"I think we need a definite number of strokes. That always seems to focus your attention, I find. Let me see..."
He's staring at the book again and Faith feels a quiver of panic. Strokes means he won't be using his hand. If he goes for fifty with a paddle or a ruler...oh shit. She won't be able to walk. Wesley will take care of her, tending to her bruised, whipped ass with a solicitude that doesn't hide his arousal, but that's small comfort when she'd planned to go shoe shopping tomorrow. A girl can never have too many pairs of fuck-me pumps.
"Perhaps I've been unfair," he muses. "Judged based on hearsay." He opens the book and she watches him read a page or two. The quick frown and the grimace of distaste aren't promising.
"Oh my God," Wesley says. "Does this woman even have an editor? This is appalling." He breathes in. "Pick a page number."
"Sixty-nine," Faith snaps.
Wesley gives her a thin smile and takes a red Sharpie out of his pocket. "Very well. Let's give this book some much needed attention." He turns to that page and soon the Sharpie's being put to good use and he's muttering under his breath.
Faith sucks in a shocked breath of her own. Wesley defacing a book...never thought she'd see that.
He finishes, puts the Sharpie away, and counts up the errors he's found.
"Seventeen," he announces with a reproving tsk. "I'm going to round it up to twenty because I was profoundly irritated by the repetition of certain phrases, though strictly speaking that's a stylistic error, I suppose. The ruler, I think. It leaves such nice even lines on your arse."
"Twenty..." She groans, but she's already tingling in anticipation of every hard, delicious smack. Wesley's been working on an important case and coming home late and tired. Her ass is bare of bruises and that's just not right.
"And then I'm going to fuck you," Wesley murmurs, pushing her hair back off her face, a caress that's going to be the last gentle touch she gets for a while. "Slowly, until you're squirming as much as you can with your hands tied, and begging me for mercy. You'll have to be particularly eloquent, Faith. I'm not feeling terribly kind today. That dreadful book..."
"But I can come?" she asks hopefully, trying a winsome flutter of her eyelashes. "Eventually? After all the tormenting and shit?"
He narrows his impossibly blue eyes and she realizes for the thousandth time just how damned handsome he is. Her Wes. Hers.
"Well, that depends on so many factors."
"Name one!" God, if he tells her she can't come, leaves her pussy wet and empty, her body aching, unsatisfied, she'll cry herself to sleep. Except he'll love that, catching each tear on his fingertips, his eyes dark with arousal, sighing with pleasure over how she's suffering.
"Where you plan to shelve this book."
She snatches it from him and hurls it at the wastepaper bin in the corner. It misses, but her intention's plain.
"My good girl," he murmurs, sliding his hand over her ass, pinching the tender flesh through the dress she's wearing. "Now let's see if you can take the first six strokes without swearing once..."
She whimpers then, and again when he returns with the ruler in his hand.
She's positioned over the couch -- the scene of the crime, he tell her -- and the cushion she'd hidden the book under in placed where it will catch her tears as they spill down.
"Spread your legs for me," Wesley says, and she feels his fingers slip inside her cunt, finding her wet and hot. "Is this because of that book?" he asks, fucking her with rough, purposeful thrusts, three fingers now, stretching her. "Any of it?"
She twists around, indignant, hurt, still impaled on his fingers. "No! It's you, Wes." His expression's skeptical and she adds softly, "It's always you."
There's the longest pause before he takes his fingers out of her and picks up the ruler, wielding it with a focused ferocity.
But she can see his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, until her tears blind her, and he's smiling.
no subject
The important thing is the lulz and teh hawt, though. *g*
And I just realized that people are undoubtedly writing fanfic of Fifty Shades. *head starts spinning again*
no subject
Thank you for reading!
no subject
no subject