The Girlfriend (The Boss) (20 page)

“I told you to relax. Are we going to have to stop so I can punish you?”

“No, Sir,” I whimpered, willing myself to hold entirely still.

There was a soft squirting noise and a cold glob of lube fell between my cheeks. He smeared it around with the tip of the plug. I moaned, fighting the urge to push back on it. “Take a breath, Sophie.”

I responded to his command automatically, and he slowly pressed the tip of the plug in. My thighs ached from my pose, and I concentrated on the burn of that to prepare myself for the burn I was about to feel. The cool, smooth glass slid in faster than I’d thought it would, widening and stretching me until the rounded, flared bottom had pushed past my opening, my hole gripping tight around the thinner neck.

“Thank you, Sir.” I shivered. It was really cold, and heavy, too. I had to clench to keep it from falling, which I assumed was the point. The contraction of my muscles pulled a harder, deeper pulse to my clit and pussy, and before I could stop myself, I rolled my hips against the pillows.

“What are you doing?” he asked with cool interest as I tried to discreetly grind my clit against the fabric.

“Nothing,” I said automatically, like a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Neil’s palm connected with my ass before I could anticipate the blow, and I uttered a startled cry.

“Turn over,” he ordered, though I didn’t have much choice in the matter. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled, and I had no alternative but to follow where his grip led. I was going to get punished. And surprisingly, I felt a bit disappointed in myself for not following the rules of the game.

The heels of my shoes dug into my ass where I laid on them, and I winced at the soreness in my thighs. Neil didn’t miss this detail; he ripped the panties down their side seams and pulled them off, balling them up in his fist. He helped me put one, then the other leg firmly on the floor, and leaned over me to stuff the pretty pink rayon into my mouth.

Mentally, I reminded myself of the safe signal to use while I was gagged.

He rubbed his hands up and down my sore thighs, kneading the muscles and relieving some of the stiffness in them. “What do you think is fitting punishment, Sophie? The flogger? The crop?”

I shivered and whimpered on the bed. His thumbs skimmed closer and closer to my vulva, and I ached for him to touch me.

He raised an eyebrow at me, but obviously I couldn’t answer him around the panties. “You’re right. The flogger, I think.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight as he moved to the table in the other room. Though I wasn’t looking at him, I imagined him standing there, his broad shoulders moving beneath the dusky purple dress shirt, his big watch catching the low light as he lifted first one implement, then another, considering. His face would be a study in concentration, because this was important to him; choosing exactly right, finding the way to bring me to the very breaking point of unbearable sensation before pulling me back, because I couldn’t do it myself. In that singular moment, I became wholly his, and he reveled in that.

“Open your eyes, Sophie.” He stood before me with the flogger in his hand, trailing the ends over his palm. Without another word, he whipped the flogger down, between my legs, scourging my vulva and thighs in a brutally hard swipe. What seemed like a million sparks of pain exploded in my nerve endings, and I screamed around the gag.

That. Hurt.

For a moment, the pain was all I could think of. I couldn’t even remember my signal for a split second, and I realized then why he had always reminded me the first few times we’d been together. But in that moment of confusion and hesitation, the flogger hit me again, and I cried out in total, burning agony. My breathing sped up, and a tear leaked from the corner of my eye. My cunt leaked, too, a gush of wetness that betrayed exactly how much I liked the pain, the joy of trusting him even as I was afraid. Purely driven by instinct, I closed my legs.

His hand gripped my jaw, squishing my cheeks, making it difficult for me to respond when he demanded, “Did I tell you to close your fucking legs?”

He tossed the flogger aside and went to the table. When he came back, he unzipped, rolled a condom on, and shoved into my cunt in one brutal thrust.

I reeled. It had been far too long, and finally he was inside me again. It didn’t matter that it was a punishment; I could have wept with the relief I felt.

“You didn’t answer, so let me repeat,” He growled beside my ear, his hard cock more an instrument of pain than pleasure as he ground into me. “Did I tell you to close your fucking legs?”

I could have tried to speak around the panties in my mouth, but I couldn’t breathe, he was fucking me so hard. I dug my hands into the duvet and shook my head as much as he allowed me.

He released my jaw to pull the panties from my mouth. “I couldn’t hear you, Sophie, tell me again.”

“No, Sir.” I panted under the steady onslaught of his deep, painful strokes.

“What was that?”

“No, Sir, you didn’t tell me to close my fucking legs, Sir.” I heard the tears in my voice, but I didn’t feel panicked or sad. It was a strange feeling, to cry from arousal and tension.

He pulled out of me slowly, raking over my g-spot. I whimpered, the ghosts of orgasms future taunting me. When he stood and stepped back, I sobbed aloud.

With two fingers, he stuffed the panties back into my mouth. Then he stripped off the condom, tucked himself away and said, “What on earth are you crying for? You don’t deserve it yet.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I muttered around the gag.

“Hold your legs open,” he instructed, bringing my hands to rest beneath my thighs. He pushed back on my calves, until my knees practically touched my ears. The plug shifted in me, the rigid length of it striking my inner walls and making me gasp.

“Keep them just like that.”

Of course Neil wanted me in this ridiculous position. It left me entirely vulnerable to him. In the past, there had been an undercurrent of play to our interactions. My control had been more pronounced, resting just below the surface of everything we did. Tonight, that control was buried beneath layers of overwhelming sensations, denied release, and trust mingled with fear. Every cell in my body was at tight, sharp attention.

He reached for the base of the plug and slowly twisted it out of me, then in again, and I wriggled in distress.

“It will be easier if you relax, Sophie.”

Relax. Right. On my back, with my legs spread open, and my sadistically imaginative boyfriend hovering over me.

The more he twisted and pulled the plug, the more relaxed my muscles became. I remembered him doing this in the hotel in Los Angeles, with his fingers, slowly adding one at a time as I winced and panted and tried to hide the pain so that he wouldn’t stop. I’d thought he would think I was a freak for liking things that hurt, but he’d told me that while we were together, I should do whatever I wanted. Remembering something like that, in the highly aroused state I was in, was akin to torture. He was giving me everything I wanted, and he knew it.

The plug stretched me wide, then narrowed again, the tip resting just against my opening before he pushed it in once more. “How does that feel?”

“Big,” I moaned. “And heavy, Sir, like you said.”

“That will help,” he explained, gently twisting it, pulling at the rim of tight muscle that would fight him when he tried to enter. “You’ll wear this for a while. While I’m fucking you, perhaps. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The thought of having him inside me, really fucking me, not just teasing or punishing... I could have wept with joy.

“Tell me what you’d like, Sophie.” He gave me that half-smile, all proud and arrogant and male. This was a part of him I never saw outside of the bedroom; completely, unapologetically egotistical, so certain that I was awestruck by his dominance and desperate for him.

I was.
 

“I’d like for you to fuck my pussy, Sir,” I whimpered, clenching around the plug as he pushed it back into place.

Neil unzipped and freed his erection from his trousers. He rolled a new condom on one-handed, then gripped my legs and pulled me to the edge of the bed. My vulva was flush against the head of his cock, but he didn’t enter me. I moved my hips just a fraction, and he clucked his tongue.

“Don’t move. You don’t get to move yet.”

I groaned in frustration.

“Ah ah, don’t disobey me.” He slapped my clit with his cock, and I moaned. “Beg for it.”

I couldn’t move, no matter how desperately I wanted to, simply because Neil had told me not to. That was the power he had over me. The power I had over him, I knew, was that my submission was my choice, and I freely granted it. He brushed the tip of his cock up and down my slit, and I sobbed, “Please, put your cock in me, Sir.”

“Oh, very good, Sophie,” he complimented me, and I felt the most ridiculous surge of pride. “A lovely selection of words. Let me hear them again.”

“Please, Sir.” A tear rolled from the corner of my eye into my hair. If he didn’t fuck me soon, I would break down completely. I needed the certainty of him deep inside me, the safety I felt when his body crushed mine to the mattress and the rest of the world faded away. “Please, please, please put your cock in me.”

He pressed slightly forward, and my swollen labia parted. I felt the first touch of him against my cunt, anticipated his entrance. I couldn’t help myself. I lifted up, and the instant I moved, he pulled away.

“No!” I shouted, my chest heaving with a shuddering sob. “No, I’m sorry, Sir, I’m sorry. Please just put it back. I won’t move. I promise I won’t move, please just put your cock in me!”

“There now.” He grinned down at me. “That’s proper begging.”

He eased into me again, and I moaned loudly in relief. It took every ounce of concentration and willpower I had to keep from moving, and even then I had no control over the muscles inside of me. They flexed and squeezed on him in gratitude, and I clenched around the plug in my ass. But it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until he was fucking me.
 

“Don’t come,” he warned. He reached beneath my neck to pull me up, just a little. “I want you to watch. Watch my cock filling you up, Sophie.”

I couldn’t look away if I had wanted to, but it only made his “don’t come” edict more difficult to obey. The sight of my body spread open around his unyielding flesh made every sensation more vivid as he slid into me then withdrew at a maddeningly slow pace. He never went deep enough.

“Please, more!” I gasped, my eyes widening as his cock disappeared into me. “More, more please!”

He pulled out and grabbed my jaw. “You do not tell me how to fuck you. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” Every muscle in my body was straining. My arms ached from resisting the urge to touch myself. My hips and thighs burned with the need to move. And I felt empty, so empty and incomplete without his touch.

He pushed into me again, and this time, he didn’t stop at a few inches. He pushed my legs back, so that my knees were practically touching my ears. I worried the plug might be forced out, and I squeezed on it, desperately trying to hold it in place as he filled my cunt. The pinching pressure inside me grew, a hot, painful spiral that sent shivers down my limbs as I took his entire length in.

“There. Is that better?” he asked, one hand locked possessively around my throat.

“Yes, Sir,” I gasped hoarsely.

He leaned down and kissed the track of a tear on my cheek. “Is the crying something I should be concerned about?”

I shook my head as best I could with his hand around my neck. “No, Sir.”

What I wanted to say, to scream, was, “Don’t stop fucking me, please, don’t stop fucking me or I’ll die.” Because I felt that, with every part of my soul. The only thing I wanted, the only thing I needed at that moment was to come, and the thick column of his erection raking every part of my over-aroused cunt was pleasurable enough to be painful, now.

He fucked me slowly, steadily, going deep and pulling out while I clutched on him. Twice, I felt the beginning of an orgasm start to grip me, and he went completely still, ordered me to breathe and fight against it. I wanted to come, wanted to come on his cock and feel him pulse in me. I had gone past some crucial point of control, and I could no longer reason with my tortured body and desperate mind. I had to either come, or safeword.

“Is it too much?” he asked, when I panted and cried out with another denied orgasm painfully knotting in my groin.

“Please, Sir,” I whimpered. “Please let me come. Please let me come or I’m... I’m...”

Still slowly moving inside me, he reached down and pulled the plug from my ass. “Are you ready for me, Sophie?”

“C-can I come? Please, Sir?” My fingernails dug into my palms. “While you’re fucking my ass, can I come?”

He groaned, his eyes shut tight. He went motionless inside me, just for a moment, visibly fighting for control of his body. Taking a deep breath, he eased out of my pussy. “Yes. You most certainly can. Wait here a moment.”

When he tucked himself away, he didn’t take off the condom or zip up. Which meant he wasn’t planning on wearing those pants much longer. I willed myself to relax; I’d had anal sex plenty of times. And he’d been my first. It hadn’t been awful then, and it wouldn’t be awful now. If I remembered correctly, it was going to be unbelievable.

He carried the glass plug back to the table and picked up the massager. I trembled as he approached with it.

“I’ve been dying to get the chance to use this on you.” He leaned over and plugged the cord and its voltage adapter into the wall.

Why, oh why, didn’t I listen to him when he’d said that this was going to be one of those, “Be careful what you wish for” scenarios?

He stood there, considering me, my body splayed out, a thin sheen of sweat covering my goose-pimpled skin.

“All right.” He motioned for me to turn over. “On your hands and knees. Over those pillows.”

Shaking with need and unbearable anticipation, I arranged the pillows and laid across them, my bottom in the air.