The Bride (The Boss 3)

“I called the concierge. I told them it was likely there would be a fair bit of noise from our room if he caught my drift, and that we would be more than willing to pay the hotel bill for anyone who might be inconvenienced.” He ran the paddle up and down the fronts of my thighs. “So I can make you scream as loudly as I like.”

I whimpered, and the paddle smacked just beneath my crotch. I breathed deeply through my nose.

“Would you like that, Sophie?”

I nodded.

Another smack, just below the last one. I redirected my muffled shout through my nose, my nostrils flaring with labored breaths.

“It doesn’t matter what you like, does it?”

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, bracing for another blow, one that never came. Instead, he brought the cold, plastic ball of the wand between my legs. He dropped the paddle and shoved two fingers past the gag, coating them with my saliva, pushing them far back so that I sputtered and drooled. He used those wet fingers to part my labia around the head of the vibrator, nestling it snug against my clit. I wanted to shift my hips to rub against it. I wanted the pleasure that would come the moment the strong, deep vibrations roared to life, but I knew that pleasure would come at a price. There would either be too much, or not enough.

He picked up the paddle again and rubbed my ass with it. My body tensed, and he flipped the switch.

There were two settings on the wand, a high, frantic frequency that numbed and stung at the same time, and a lower, deeper hum that drove me wild. He used the latter now, and I whined through my gag as my muscles tightened past the point of pain on the way to my climax. My ascending cries peaked with a high-pitched groan as the shock of my orgasm hit me. In the moment I should have wanted to buck away from the unrelenting vibration, he smacked my ass hard with the paddle and pulled the vibe away, clicking it off.

The conflicting sensations sent chills skating over my skin. He hit me again, over the same burning swath, and I muffled a curse against the gag.

He dropped the vibe and gripped my chin. “I said you could scream. Not swear. If you can’t keep your filthy mouth under control, you’ll be choking on my cock instead of that gag.”

The imagery turned my knees to liquid, and I swayed. His arm was at my back in a flash, supporting me, and he reached down for the vibrator again. He pushed it against my swollen, satisfied clit and said, “We’ll go again. In three, two, one—”

He clicked the switch and I jolted, pumping my hips, either to get away or to get closer, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care if he punished me for moving. I wanted him to. I wanted more. I wanted him to push me to the very edge. My end goal suddenly became using my safe word. I wanted to go so far I had to stop, though Neil often warned me that getting close was better than going past what I could endure. But just the thought of the extreme, the thought of indulging my truly masochistic side, was enough to bring me to another, stronger release. He followed it with three smacks of the paddle in quick succession, until I cried out.

He pulled the vibe away and gave me time to come down, time that was almost worse because the next orgasm would build from the ground up, not merely blend with the last one. My already taxed muscles were drawn up tight again; I would be impossibly sore in the morning. This time when he counted down and turned the vibrator on, he rolled the head in small circles, varying the sensation so that any numbness from the vibration wouldn’t help me. This time, I did scream, and kept on screaming as the paddle struck the backs of my thighs. He didn’t pull the wand away this time, keeping me teetering on the brink of too much pain and way too much pleasure, until it all became pain, twisting and writhing around my every nerve ending.

I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I fell against him, and he dropped both the paddle and the vibrator to catch me. He swiftly untied the gag and pushed my sweaty hair back from my face. Droplets of perspiration ran down my neck, below my collar, over my chest. He gripped the wet locks at my nape and tilted my head back. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Sir,” I panted, my throat hoarse. My eyes slid closed as I savored the boneless peace of my ebbing high.

“Come back to me a moment,” he said gently, stroking a finger down my cheek. “Check in. Where are we?”

“Green, Sir.” I didn’t want to stop. I never wanted to stop feeling the way I did in that moment. I wouldn’t have cared if we stayed like this all week.

He sat me down on the crisp white duvet and worked at the knots binding my wrists. When I was untied, he helped me straighten my arms and rubbed the soreness from my shoulders.

“How is that?”

Sir took such good care of me.

“Much better, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

He skimmed his hands up and down my arms then urged me to lie back. He slipped one of the pillows from the head of the bed under my hips. “Spread your legs. There you are.”

I shivered as his hand glided down, over my stomach, between my legs. He petted my labia, his fingertips straying between.

One finger slipped inside me, and I clenched on it, mewling in mingled relief and frustration. I needed more than just his finger. I wanted to be filled up.

“Oh…” he said, soft and low. “You want more.”

He withdrew and reached for the medium-sized dildo. He brought it between my legs and swiped the surface of the soft silicone up and down my slit, coating it. I’d brought lube, but I wasn’t sure it was going to be necessary. I was dripping, my pussy making obscene squelching noises as my muscles grasped on emptiness. My breathing became labored, stuttering through my lips, almost a sob but never quite reaching that pitch.

Slowly, he pushed the head of the dildo inside of me, inserting and withdrawing just an inch or two, raking the ridge of the head over my g-spot. It was almost irritating, in that my body had already been satisfied to the point of overstimulation, but it was such a relief to be penetrated. He pushed deeper, twisting his wrist as he drew the length out, in a slow, measured pace.

I wriggled a little. I couldn’t help it.

“You may move, if you’d like.”