Sophie (The Boss 8)

"Bad, disobedient girls don't get the privilege of touching themselves," Monsieur reminded me as I whimpered in frustration.

"I'll be good, Monsieur. Please." It was useless to beg him. But it felt so good.

"Now, I want you leave your finger right there," he instructed at the apex of one circle. "Don't move it. Use only the lightest pressure."

He crawled forward, kicking his shorts aside as he lay between my legs, his face so close to my pussy that I almost couldn't stop myself from rubbing against him. When he spoke, the breath from his lips cooled my slick skin. "Now, when I count down, I want you to clench your beautiful cunt with every number. No moving your finger."

I could feel my pulse under that finger.

"Ten," he said, and I swore his voice vibrated through me. I tightened my internal muscles and released, and he clucked his tongue. "Perhaps I was not clear before. You should clench down the number of times I say. Not once with every number."

That was even more torturous. With every clutch around emptiness, the want in me ramped up. I would never be a patient sub. That was to their advantage. It was so much easier to torment a greedy person than someone with no expectation.

By the time he reached five, it was nearly impossible to hold still. At three, I made the mistake of shifting my hips just a little.

"Oh no, Sophie!" He shook his head in feigned disappointment. "We'll have to start all over."

I would come. I wouldn't be able to resist.

Of course, resisting might not have been the point. I moaned and whimpered my way through another ten, nine, eight, and at seven, it was no longer avoidable.

"Monsieur, I'm going to come!" I gasped, my pelvis lifting from the bed as my impending orgasm built to its breaking point.

"No, you won't." It was Sir who said it, and my body automatically obeyed.

"It seems I must be crueler to you, Sophie," Monsieur laughed. "You might be more inclined to obey me."

He waited until I could continue without climaxing, another torturous count that finally, finally reached three again. My body shook from the effort it took not to writhe. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Delaying orgasm was no longer my primary concern; now, I fought my body's will to remain immobile even under intense stimuli. I lost track of time. I lost track of where we even were.

None of that mattered, anyway. I didn't need to worry about pesky details like geographical or chronological location; Monsieur and Sir would tell me where I needed to be and when. They would tell me what I should be doing, wearing, who I should be.

"You've done so well," Monsieur told me, kneading my belly with one warm hand after he'd finally reached the last number. "You're allowed to come, once I'm inside of you."

He didn't even bother to remove my panties. He sat back on his heels, dragged me onto his lap, pushed the sodden material aside, and drove into my body.

Though I'd needed lube to get started, I didn't need it anymore, not after Monsieur’s little exercise to keep me needy and unfulfilled for as long as he could stand it. Our skin stuck together wetly from stomach to thighs. He rocked with me in his lap, whispering, "Come for me, sweet Sophie," against my ear, while my moans grew loud enough to be shouts. Our bodies’ tight fit pressed his brutally hard cock firmly against my g-spot and sawed the base of him over my clit with every short stroke. He guided my arms around his neck, and I clung to him as the pleasure I'd been so irritatingly denied swelled and swelled, finally bursting in an orgasm that made spots appear when I opened my eyes.

Monsieur lifted me off his cock. "Hands and knees, please. I'm going to finish now."

I was slightly disappointed that it wasn't a longer game, but I had no say in the matter. I had no sooner gotten into position than he jerked my panties down to my knees, straddled my calves, and thrust into me with a force that knocked the wind from my lungs. I gasped in shock and pain, and that gasp turned into an ascending cry as each stroke became rougher, as if he had a personal vendetta against my pussy. I was sore, tight, and highly sensitive.

Luckily—or not, because the pain was ecstatic—he didn't last long. He picked up speed, the slap of his pelvis against my ass exquisitely vulgar in the quiet of the room. He crushed my hips in his grasp, jerking me off my knees for the final few thrusts before flooding me with hot bursts. He groaned loudly in relief, sweat dripping onto my back.

"Are you quite finished with her?" Sir said from his chair in the corner.