Remedial Training

The Man In Black isn’t waiting. Sicilia comes through the door already apologizing, but apologies don’t stop the clock. He doesn’t ask. He just grabs her by the hair, black strands twisted tight in his fist, and shoves her face-first over the desk. The corset’s stays bite into her ribs when he yanks the laces harder, cinching until her breath shortens. She’s blonde, pale under the lamplight, but the beard on his jaw scrapes rough against her thigh when he drops to taste her. One knee, then the other—his tongue works fast, unforgiving. Sicilia gasps, tries to speak, gets a slap across the ass for the effort. He stands, beard glistening, and tells her exactly what late means. Then he shows her. No warm-up, no mercy. He fucks her like the lesson she should have learned before she walked in. Every thrust drives home the same point: next time, don’t be late.