The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

I obeyed, though it was difficult to actually hold it, as slippery as everything was.

“Good,” he said. “Now, slowly, slide the hood back.”

I sucked in a breath as the cold air hit my fully exposed nerves.

“I wish I could be there to do that myself. To see you up close.” His disappointment and frustration echoed our own. “Now, slide it forward. Just as slowly.”

A delicious thrill rippled through me. A dangerous one. If I kept touching myself like this, eventually I would come. When I masturbated, this wasn’t how I did it. This was like someone else touching me. Like my Monsieur touching me.

And that was the point, I realized. To get me to the edge. To make it difficult to hold back. To make me struggle in bondage to my own body.

“Keep going. Just like that,” Monsieur purred into my ear. “Are you going to come, Sophie?”

“I will soon, Monsieur.” My every breath brought me closer, as though the very oxygen in my blood conspired against me. “I want...I want...”

“You want nothing,” Monsieur reminded me, his tone sharp. “I want. Sir wants. You’re nothing but our plaything.”

“Yes, Monsieur. I’m sorry, Monsieur.”

“Take your hand away,” he ordered. “You think that because I am not as cruel to you as your Sir that you can speak out of turn?”

“No, Monsieur,” I whispered.

“Speak up!”

“No, Monsieur!” I cried out.

He was silent for a long while. The brush of Sir’s shirt against my arm startled me. How had nothing else alerted me to his return?

My heart pounded. This was their plan. To distract me. To keep me from knowing what would come next, from where, and how.

To frighten me.

My pussy clenched. I loved being scared of them, knowing that the scare was purely voluntary and that I could stop at any time.

Sir’s fingers shoved something rough into my mouth, and I recognized from experience that it was my panties.

“Since you can’t answer me the first time I ask a question, you needn’t speak at all,” Monsieur admonished me. “Perhaps I shouldn’t give you your gift.”

I kept my head bowed.

“But I wouldn’t deny myself,” he went on. “Sir, would you give her my gift?”

Sir roughly grasped my wrists and forced them behind my back. Something closed around them, smooth and cold, covering me to mid-forearm. Cuffs, lined in what felt like leather.

“I hope you like them. I can’t wait for you to see them,” Monsieur said as Sir pulled my arms up painfully. He walked me backward a few steps and bent me slightly forward until I was almost on my toes in my high heels. So, it would be strappado, then. Easily my least favorite bondage position.

“She doesn’t like this one,” Sir said, and I heard him chuckle over the earbuds.

“And that’s why you love it,” Monsieur replied.

Sir hooked the cuffs to the frame, leaving me dangling by my wrists, my arms extended painfully behind me. A moment later, I felt the rigid spreader bar between my legs, the straps closing around my ankles. The position left me fully exposed, my feet apart for balance, my upper body tilted forward, my ass thrust back.

“He has a plug for you,” Monsieur informed me, just as the tip of something brushed my ass and left behind a sticky smear of lube. Sir pushed hard, and I shouted as the instrument stretched me. Though I couldn’t see him, I could hear the smile in Monsieur’s voice as he said, “Oh, it is...substantial.”

That was an understatement. The plug opened me wider and wider as Sir firmly, quickly shoved it inside me. It was larger than any I could remember owning. I wondered if they’d bought it just for this. The pain was intense, and though I gritted my teeth against it, I did cry out through my gag. This wasn’t the fun kind of sexy pain. It hurt.

I loved it.

Finally, the instrument of my torture was fully inside, my hole grasping the thinner neck of it. Then, Sir began to pull it out again, and I screamed. But there was nowhere I could go. I couldn’t pull away, and I wouldn’t have if it had been possible, because I would be punished. My toes curled in my shoes, and I sobbed against the gag of my panties. There was no gentle taper this time as the plug widened me; the cruelest part came first. Sir didn’t take it out all the way, just enough for a cold shiver of relief to run down my spine before he forced it back in. He did this again and again, and no matter how I tried to relax through it, by the time he finally brought it to rest inside me, I was screaming on every thrust.

“You should be grateful,” Monsieur admonished me. “He’s being kind. It was my idea to do what comes next without any preparation at all.”