The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“I wish I could touch you,” Monsieur said. “I wish I could kneel at your feet and eat your beautiful pussy while he held you captive. Imagine it, Sophie. Dangling between us, your legs over my shoulders, unable to move or escape.”

I did imagine it, and my cunt flooded. The crotch of my panties would be soaked before we even really got going.

Each stroke of Sir’s fingers across my breasts, around my nipples, sent darts of pleasure straight to my pelvis. I wanted to press my hips back, to grind on his cock, which was already hard and prodding against my backside through his trousers. I couldn’t, though, at least, not without being punished. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, necessarily, but it would interrupt their plans a bit. Sir and Monsieur had no problem stopping a scene to discipline me thoroughly.

“I know you could come from this,” Sir taunted me. “I’ve made you do it before. I could do it now—“

“Oh yes, please,” I breathed.

“Did you just speak out of turn?” Monsieur demanded sternly.

“I did, Monsieur. I’m sorry.” I quickly added, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be if you do it again,” Sir warned, but he didn’t stop touching me. “And you will tell me when you’re close. Do not come without our permission tonight, or you won’t come at all.”

Oh no.

A part of me doubted that they would deny me on my birthday, but another part feared they would. A very insistent, throbby part that already ached to be touched.

“Yes, Sir. Monsieur.”

“Tell me how it feels to have his hands on you.” Monsieur’s tone was wistful. “I’ve missed those hands. I’ve missed the way they feel on my cock. The way they feel on your cunt when I’m fucking it.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed, savoring the mental image. Riding El-Mudad while Neil knelt behind me, his arms around my hips to hold me open so that every stroke of El-Mudad’s shaft tormented my already painfully sensitive clit. The feeling of Neil’s fingers slipping in with El-Mudad’s cock, stretching me painfully. God, that had been an amazing night.

“Sophie, give Monsieur an answer,” Sir reminded me.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir, Monsieur.” I tried to collect my thoughts, though I was already spiraling deep into subspace. “It feels...good.” That wasn’t enough. I knew that when Sir pinched me viciously. I cried out.

“You can do better than that, Sophie,” Monsieur chided.

“It feels like...he’s touching everything. Every part of my body.” I wanted to writhe and arch into his hands. “My pussy, my clit, down to my toes. It makes me want...want...”

“To come?” Sir prompted.

“Mmhm,” I moaned.

“You will come tonight, Sophie,” Monsieur promised. “More than you probably wish to.”

He had no idea how much and how many times I longed to come when I was with them. I loved it when they turned pleasure into torment, when they punished me with the thing I desired most.

The low, tightening feeling in my groin warned me that I was perilously close to losing that chance, so I gasped out, “Sir, I’m going to come!”

He immediately pulled his hands away. “That was quite soon.”

“We have made her wait a long time,” Monsieur mused.

Too long. Sir and I still played together, but not as hard as when we were with Monsieur. Without him, something felt lacking for both of us, and though we had great sex just the two of us, we were both content to save our darkest sessions to share with him.

“Take the panties off, too,” Monsieur said, and when my hands moved to do so, he clucked his tongue. “I was talking to your Sir.”

Hooking his fingers through the legs, Sir dragged the velvet thong down my thighs as he knelt before me. I’d assumed he would rip it or cut it with the scissors, but instead, he guided one side, then the other, off each foot.

He held my panties to his nose and inhaled, the cloth muffling his appreciative growl. On the screen, Monsieur groaned as well.

“This is torment,” he near-whispered. “Not being there to touch you. To feel you, smell you.”

Sir pushed two fingers inside me. It was meant to be rough, but I was already so wet that they slid right in. I shuddered as he pumped his fingers back and forth. He withdrew, my wetness shining on his hand, and he licked it clean. “To taste her?”

“Yes,” Monsieur rasped. “Oh, yes.”

Though they were both giving me orders, Neil was engaging in a wholly different type of play with El-Mudad. Teasing him with denial, the way they both loved to tease me.

I spread my legs a little wider, hoping Sir would go directly to the source, but he had other plans. He guided me to stand perpendicular to the camera, then said, “On your knees.”

When he unzipped his fly, my mouth fell open automatically.