Sophie (The Boss 8)

When he’d said he would drink every drop, Sir hadn’t been lying. But for every long curl of his tongue inside me, another flood came in its wake until my thighs were wet and sticky, pressed against the leather.

Sir came up for air, breathing hard. “You like this, don’t you, my little slut?”

“I do, Sir.”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“Please. Please, yes.” Would he give me what I asked for? Or would he hold out to punish me?

“Do you want me to make you come?” He pushed two fingers into my pussy, as deep as they would go. “You would be a naughty girl if you did.”

I whimpered in distress.

“You like it,” he went on. “You like dripping all over the chair. You like my tongue on your ass. In your pussy. Because you’re a filthy whore.”

I shook my head, thrilling at the direction our play had taken. “No. I’m not. I’m a good girl, Sir. I don’t like this.”

“You do.” His fingers left my pussy, and he wiped his hand over my wet vulva. He gave it a hard slap and caught my shriek of pain in the hand glistening with my wetness. He smeared my silky juices across my mouth and forced three fingers inside until I gagged. “You love the taste of your cunt on my hand.”

I tried to deny it around the digits that choked me.

“I’m going to make you come, Sophie,” he warned.

I coughed up a torrent of saliva when he took his fingers out of my mouth. He didn’t let me wipe the drool from my chin. I gasped out, “No. I won’t,” with pathetic defiance.

“You will,” he insisted, pushing a finger into my sopping pussy to put agonizing pressure on my g-spot. “And you’re going to make a big mess. I’m going to make you squirt all over this chair. Then you’re going to clean it up while I fuck you.”

“No!” I pretended to struggle.

“And then I’m going to leave you here. Exposed, exhausted, unable to defend yourself from anyone who would have this tight pussy or–” His tongue teased my asshole again as if to punctuate his next point. “This incredible ass.”

I shivered, lost in the fantasy. What would it be like to lay on the floor all night, fucked over and over by strangers, no matter how much I pleaded for them to stop? Though our swinging days were in the past—we’d promised El-Mudad a closed relationship once we’d gotten serious—there was nothing forbidden in pretend.

“I could offer you to the crew,” Sir mused. He relished the fantasy as he described it. “They could line up and take turns. I would let them come in you, as many times as they wanted.”

I imagined those strange faces looking down at me, eager to use me, lying spread and too weak to fight them off.

“How many could you take, my little whore?” He added another finger and began a cruel, pummeling rhythm against my g-spot, pulling ascending cries from my throat. My orgasm was inevitable from his words alone. He sped me along with his tongue sweeping back and forth between my clit and my ass, around the obstacle of his fingers. There was no grace in it, just hunger.

“Don’t!” I cried out, still locked in my pretending. “Please don’t make me come, Sir! I don’t want to be bad!

He added a third finger. Pain sliced through my pelvis at the sudden stretch, and it was enough to put me over. I wailed with despair as I came. He kept going, never slowing down despite my admittedly half-hearted attempts to twist away from him.

“I’m not dirty!” I insisted. “Don’t make me come again!”

A fourth finger. He lifted his mouth. “Your pussy is so tight now. I’ll barely get my fist in.”

A cold sweat broke out over my body. “Yellow. I might have to safeword during that.”

“Do you worry that I won’t stop?” Though he tried to keep his tone commanding, shaming, even, I heard my husband behind that question.

“Of course not, Sir. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

The cushion shifted beneath me, then dipped with a heavier weight. His body pressed against mine; the zipper of his open fly chafed my skin. With one hand around my throat, he gently eased me up and leaned over me for a kiss that stole my breath away. When he lifted his head, he searched my face for a long moment. “You never disappoint me. You couldn’t possibly.”

I rubbed my cheek against his arm. “Then let me be a good sub for you, Sir.”

With another, far too brief kiss, he released me and slid back to the floor.

“Now, where were we?”

Those four fingers rammed into me without warning. Yes, that was exactly where we’d been. I screamed at the searing, burning pain, remembering too late that I might bring someone running. I sank my teeth into the back of the chair, tears leaking from my eyes.