“It’s a sport?” she asked with mock-surprise. “I
was just there for the muscles and the tight outfits.”
He growled. “Brat. Right, bend over the edge of the bed. You’re going to be plugged while you’re in time-out.”
“I say Princess Nana should be plugged.”
“Princess Nana doesn’t have a bottom hole.”
“Lucky Princess Nana.”
“Marisol, face the bed, bend over and put your elbows on the mattress.”
With a sigh, she did as she was told. She heard him squirting out some lube then felt him part her bottom cheeks and place some lube on her puckered hole.
The cool plug was pressed to her back hole, she relaxed, taking a deep breath in and then letting it out slowly as he situated the plug in her bottom. He helped her stand up and then led her to the naughty corner.
“Right, you can sit on the stool. You might want to rest your thighs on it rather than your bottom then lean forward and place your nose in the corner. That’s it.”
She ended up with her ass hanging out over the side of the naughty girl stool, which was going to give him a good view of her tender cheeks, with the butt plug poking out between them.
“That’s a pretty sight,” he said with satisfaction. “I’ll start the timer. Fifteen minutes.”
She sighed. She really thought Princess Nana was getting out of this on a technicality.
This year, she decided, she was going to ask Santa for a doll with a bottom hole.
34
Ed looked up as Kiesha opened the door with a frown. He’d just gotten off the phone with a friend down in Dallas. He was trying to track down who that asshole cop had been years ago who’d scared Marisol.
He groaned. “Please don’t tell me Rosalind is back.”
She’d been calling constantly and trying to see him since she’d come in the other day to report Marisol missing. He didn’t know what her angle was, but she was driving him nuts. Today had been blissfully quiet. Until now.
Kiesha pulled the purple sucker from her mouth. “Nah, it’s not her.”
“Thank God.”
“It’s the FBI.”
“What? What do you mean, the FBI? There’s FBI agents here?” he asked.
“Yeah, well, kind of.”
“What?” he asked again, trying to be patient.
“One of them is FBI, another is DEA and I didn’t hear what the other one said.”
“What do they want?”
“They want to talk to you.”
He sighed, striving for patience. “Then send them in.”
She turned and strode off. Two men and one woman entered his office soon after. One of the men was big, dark-skinned and serious looking. The other man was smaller with a big smile. The woman between them was tiny. She was dressed in an ugly gray suit with stockings and flat, brown shoes. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid. Her skin was smooth, her cheekbones high. She was gorgeous.
He turned his gaze from her as the slim-built man held out his hand. “Hi, Sheriff, I’m Jackson Lyle. I’m from the Treasury Department. These are my colleagues, Bronson Clay from the DEA and Georgina James from the FBI.”