Sophie (The Boss 8)

My safeword was the furthest thing from my mind. My neck corded with the strain of enduring the stretching, stabbing sensation of his too-wide hand forcing my cunt open. It contrasted sharply with the singing of my nerve endings beneath his tongue; he licked and teased my ass relentlessly.

“I thought you weren’t enjoying yourself.” He tutted in admonishment. “I don’t think you’d mind lying here, getting fucked by the entire crew.”

“Please, no!” I begged while wondering if Neil and El-Mudad would roleplay such a scenario for my birthday.

“I wouldn’t even have to restrain you. You’d lie there and take every cock on offer.”

“No!”

“You’d tell yourself you were powerless. Too weak from coming. Too sore from having my hand in your cunt and my cock in your ass.” His fingers were inside of me up to the knuckles; he pushed the tip of his thumb into my asshole. “But you want it. You’re an insatiable little slut.”

“Only for you, Sir!” I sobbed as he twisted and wriggled his fingers inside.

“For whomever I wish to share you with,” he threatened. “Now, you’re going to come.”

“I won’t!” Oh, I would. He would make sure of that.

“Too late,” he warned, withdrawing his hand to give him access to my clit with his mouth once more. He peeled back the hood and sucked, setting up a rhythmic pulse and a wicked flick of his tongue. It took only seconds for my legs to stiffen and my back to bow.

“Stop! Stop!” I pounded the back of the chair in a futile attempt to redirect the unbearable pressure climbing like wildfire to scorch through my veins. When the tension finally burst, I imagined the gush between my legs as lava; there was no way I hadn’t burned up from the inside.

My already overwhelming climax turned into another, then another, until I forgot I was supposed to be pretending to hate them. When I repeated, “stop, stop, stop,” under my breath, it wasn’t for my Sir’s benefit. There were two directions I could go at that point, and I made a choice even as I went numb beneath his mouth. Safeword and stop the torment or let go and spiral down into total submission. Cease being a person with thoughts and feelings and preferences. Allow myself to become a blank canvas upon which Sir could paint another sadistic scene.

I chose the latter.

Did I feel the pain of his whole hand, thumb and all, now, nearly prying my hip bones apart? Yes, but it didn’t matter. It was my purpose to feel the pain he wanted me to feel, to satisfy his desires. “Sophie” didn’t exist beyond what Sir wished to exploit, abuse, wear out, torment. And I welcomed all of it, right up to his wrist.

“Your cunt is so hungry for me.” He twisted his arm, pulling a scream from me that I once again muffled with the back of the chair. “You’re going to come again. And then, I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yes,” I cried out. “Yes, Sir, please fuck me.”

“I thought you didn’t want it,” he taunted me. “I thought you weren’t a filthy little slut.”

“I am,” I panted as he stroked my clit with his free hand. “I’m filthy! Please fuck me! Please fill me up with your cum, Sir!”

“I will,” he promised. “You’ll get every inch of my cock and every bit of my cum. And you’re going to go to sleep dirty, just like the whore you are.”

“Yes, please! I’ll never be a bratty sub again,” I promised.

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, Sophie. I don’t believe you.”

I didn’t believe me, either.

The silence of the room amplified the obscene sound of my sopping cunt sucking and parting around his wrist. I moaned and lost myself in the gentle manipulation of my clitoris and the contrasting pain of Sir’s fist.

“Come for me, Sophie. Show me what I do to you.” There were times when even my Sir could be gentle. And in those moments, my psyche plunged into joy so delicious that all the pain became a blessing, the humiliation love.

I didn’t fight my orgasm. I let it happen because it was unreasonable to stand defiant in the face of inevitability.

And because he wanted it. I gave Sir my orgasm, to own as he owned every one of my orgasms. His groan of appreciation was enough to bring me over the peak again, and he let me ride his hand until the last desperate clutches of my cunt around his wrist passed.

Carefully, he took his hand from my pussy; I felt as though I gaped open, that he wouldn’t feel anything when he slid into me.

“Rest a moment,” he ordered, and I slumped into the chair sideways. My thighs shook with muscle tremors. My throat hurt, both from dryness and screaming into the leather I’d bitten a hole through.