Free P I Honeytrap by Kristal Baird Page A

a dark corner, near to where Don was standing, surveying the scenery.
    If she just wandered about for a bit, in Don’s wake, she figured she could find out the sort of stuff that interested him most, while Alice and Marty filmed covertly. Hayley acknowledged her own fascination. She was intrigued by the things going on around her and could understand why a masculine guy like Don might be compelled to attend one of the club nights, even when he had a wife waiting at home. The sights she witnessed made her hot and horny.
    Something less pleasant niggled in the back of her mind.
    Don moved towards a group surrounding some activity in one dark corner. A young woman was being shackled to a wooden frame by a half-naked beast of a man. He was stripped to the waist, wearing black leather trousers and boots, his face obscured by a leather mask reminding Hayley of the executioners in medieval movies.
    The woman struggled ineffectually against the restraints she’d been placed in by her powerful captor and pleaded with him to release her, not to hurt her. He laughed callously at her distress. It was a well performed theatrical. Hayley had seen real fear before, and knew this was an act for the titillation of the crowd. She glanced across at her target. Don was only one of a number of spectators who were thoroughly entranced, lost in the fantasy of the helpless woman’s domination.
    The executioner grasped the woman’s white, flowing gown at the neckline and ripped it mercilessly down her back. She was naked beneath, exposed to the audience. His ruthless act made her cry for mercy and clemency. Undaunted, the villain picked up a flogger. He trailed it in deliberate torment across her back and over the swell of her buttocks.
    A silence of voyeuristic anticipation fell on the crowd. All waited for the first blow to be struck, as if replacing themselves mentally in the role of cruel master or errant submissive, awaiting punishment. Hayley couldn’t help imagining herself shackled to the rack, stretched limb from limb, expecting the inevitable torture. She grew more excited.
    The whooshing sound of leather fronds flew through the air and Hayley flinched as they fell, while the victim bucked against their sting. Hayley clenched her buttocks and her teeth. No matter that this was consensual, the whipping was truly taking place and the girl experienced the power of the executioner’s hand delivering pain. Hayley felt the sensual stimulation. Her nipples tightened.
    She held her breath as the muscular arm retreated once more, drawing the flogger back beyond a powerful shoulder until it flowed in a second graceful arc, ending in the crack of harsh leather against soft skin. The girl’s buttocks soon revealed livid marks where the whip struck and she writhed against its sting, her expression a reflection of both anguish and pleasure.
    Hayley pressed her thighs together, aware of the dampness growing between them.
    The executioner stepped closer and caressed the woman’s reddened flesh with his leather-gloved hands, soothing away the hurt he had joyfully inflicted. Hayley heard the harsh breath of the aroused spectators beside her. She grew aware that her own breathing matched theirs and was fascinated by the number of women who enjoyed the vicarious experience of submission to a ruthless male. It dawned on her she was one of them.
    ‘Who will come and feel the maiden’s hot, punished flesh?’ The executioner interrupted her thoughts, pointing his flogger around the crowd.
    Two men stepped forward. The executioner held one back with his whip hand while he nodded for the other to move in and caress the woman’s naked body. Hayley noted he was protecting her as well as punishing her.
    The volunteer’s hand slid eagerly over her hot bottom and she whimpered as if too sore to be touched. ‘Save me sir,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll be a good girl and won’t allow a wicked man to touch my body again, sir, if only you’ll save me from the