The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

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.