“I guess there is unfinished business between us, Tempest,” Orlando shot out briskly. He paused while she waited for him to continue. “If we ever hope to coexist in this theatre community, we’d better get it handled.”
From a mass of clothes strewn out on the floor, Orlando reached down and picked up something long and thin that Tempest could not make out, because with nearly the same motion, the director swept her into the circle of ferocious energy he was generating, and had her poised over his lap ready to be punished.
What the man had retrieved from the floor was definitely leather, Tempest realized when the first stroke landed. Successive strokes hit like the furies had been unleashed from their mythical home with all their accompanying darkness flailing against her quivering ass.
