Taking His Punishment (Forbidden Fantasies #68) Read Online S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Forbidden, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Forbidden Fantasies Series by S.E. Law

Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)

Bridge: I caught Renee doing something unmentionable for a young lady, so she needs to be punished. But this isn’t going to be hours of praying on her knees, or chanting rosaries while thinking about God. Instead, the curvy girl will be taking on a very special type of challenge that involves her round rear end … and then stretching until she moans.
Renee: I thought Bridge was kidding when he told me I was going to be punished. After all, I’m a grown woman and I don’t take orders from anyone, much less a handsome church elder. But the gorgeous man’s blue eyes gleamed as his body hardened. Bridge told me to bend over … and then thwap thwap thwap!
To my mortification, I cried out his name with joy!
But we weren’t done yet because the alpha male’s creative. He’s not just about a few smacks here and then finito. Instead, the gorgeous man lined up a series of toys on a low table, gleaming and wet. I thought it was a joke, a nightmare, or … maybe it’s every girl’s dirtiest fantasy. Because what Bridge doesn’t realize is that I’m no shy, innocent flower. Instead, I’m a naughty woman who’s ready to start riding as he punishes me for my sins!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



I lean back in my office, sighing. It’s almost 5 p.m. and there’s no one left in the offices of Sanctuary Church, so I’ve got the place to myself. The chair beneath me squeaks as I raise my hands over my head, stretching, and I pull a wry face as my spine cracks. Everything in this office is pretty basic, except for the chair. I decided to buy myself a nice one because everyone knows that without proper ergonomic support, you’ll be in a wheelchair by fifty. Seeing that I’m only twenty at the moment with decades of desk work before me, I didn’t want to take the chance. As a result, I splurged five hundred bucks on this thing, but it's worth it. The back support is a dream, and it’s almost like sitting on a firm (yet supportive) cloud.

But everything else in my office could be described as second-hand, at best. Hell, some of this stuff looks like it’s leftover from the 50’s because it’s got that ancient “Dick Tracy” feel. My desk is an old, metal thing with rust on its legs. Beside it is an equally ancient filing cabinet, and don’t even get me started on my computer. At least this piece of equipment should be modern, but instead I’m working on an old Apple that whirs audibly whenever I turn it on. I’ve tried to make a case for a new computer before everything crashes and fails, but Pastor Robert insists that my Macintosh is just fine.

Then again, I suppose as an administrative assistant for Sanctuary, I don’t exactly need a lot of computing power. Instead, my job consists of mostly straightforward stuff like maintaining our membership records, sending out the occasional newsletter to our parishioners, and creating the occasional post for the church’s Facebook page. By no means are we “social media savvy,” but at least we try!

But as you can imagine, that’s hardly enough to fill up eight hours and so most of the time, I’m just trying to keep boredom at bay. I read books and do crossword puzzles, all under my desk with the door closed. I wish I didn’t have to physically be here until five, but Sanctuary is old-fashioned that way. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder why the church even pays me when I have so little work to do. I appreciate the money, of course, but I wonder if it’s more of an ego trip for Church administration versus having someone on-board as a valued team member.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly. It seriously sounds like a time-bomb sometimes, and I frown.

Tick tick tick.

I scroll through a few of my most-frequented apps lackadaisically, hoping for something to pop up. It’s already 4:45 p.m. and the final fifteen minutes of the day are seriously dragging. As always.

“This sucks,” I mutter to the plain white walls. The overhead fan is a faint whir, the droning blades a contrast to the relentless ticking of the clock. I’m seriously dying here. I shuffle a couple manila folders on my desk, trying to make them look artfully messy so that I look like I’m getting work done. I’ve realized that a clean, Spartan office makes people suspicious, and that it’s actually better to be slightly disorganized so that people think you have work to do.

Sighing, I turn back to my computer. This is just so pointless! Why, oh why, can’t I go home? Aimlessly, I click on a few things on my home screen. There’s some filing software I was looking at, but it doesn’t interest me at this moment. Instead, I click open another tab to search for a new house plant that I’m interested in, the fiddle leaf fig. I’m a big plant person, and fiddle leaves are all the rage right now. I’d love to get one for my apartment and it’s so terrible to admit, but I actually have my credit card number memorized so that I can on-line shop whenever I please without anyone suspecting anything.