The Boss (27 page)

"Not too tight," I assured him, wriggling my
fingers. They didn't have that disembodied feeling indicating
cutoff circulation. "It'll take some getting used to."

"I have bandage scissors in my nightstand. If
you feel yourself becoming panicky or claustrophobic, I can cut you
out of this very quickly." He traced a finger down my spine, and
over the cuff of rope binding me.

He helped me to my feet and walked me over to
his bed. His big hands steadied me, and it all felt entirely
surreal, like I was some helpless doll. It was a little scary;
without my hands, I was very much at his mercy. The thrill of the
safe scare made me giggle, trepidation tickling my clit.

The mattress stood much higher than the one
at the W, so when he bent me over the side, with a pillow beneath
my turned head, I had to practically stand on my toes, even in my
heels.

I watched him walk back to the closet, to
retrieve the paddle, and when he returned he asked, "How much do
you want this, Sophie?”

My still aching breasts pushed into the thick
down comforter on his bed. The pillow beneath my cheek smelled of
fresh laundry. My arms were bound, and my cunt was sopping wet from
my earlier orgasm as well as my renewed desire.

"On a scale of one to ten?” I asked, wetting
my lips and smiling at him. "Twelve hundred, Sir.”

"Twelve hundred seems a bit excessive." He
stepped up behind me and rested the paddle against my butt. I
clenched my muscles then remembered to relax. He wouldn’t do it
until he could catch me off guard. “But I think we can do
twelve.”

Oh. I guess I had misunderstood the question.
Twelve seemed like kind of a lot now.

The first crack of paddle against my flesh
was more surprising than painful. In fact, it didn't hurt much more
than a firm slap from his hand.

"Are you taking it easy on me?" I asked,
lifting my head as best as I could, without using my arms.

“I don’t like your tone.” He smacked me
again, this time hard enough to steal my breath in a sharp gasp.
The stinging pain blossomed out from the wide point of impact, and
I squirmed, pressing my groin against the edge of the mattress.

"There will be none of that," he warned,
holding me motionless with a hand splayed across my lower back.
"You’ve got ten more to go before you can even think of touching
yourself. Stay still. Now, what do we say?”

"I’m sorry, Sir," I said, a little breathily
as the next blow landed, then two more in rapid succession with no
break between them. That was enough to pull a cry of pain from me,
and I shocked myself with the loud, ragged sound.

I tried to imagine just what it would feel
like if he really let go, if he really gave it to me as hard as he
could. Tonight, it was enough to feel the wicked sting of leather
slapping my backside, the jarring impact of the paddle nearly
knocking me off my feet. My fingernails bit into my palms, and more
than once I tried instinctively to move my hand back to stop him.
Neil had been so right. Even though I wanted this, even though the
wake of every blow sent more blood throbbing into my clit, I would
have tried to stop him in the most stupid way possible, and wound
up with mangled fingers.

After the seventh and eighth he stopped,
brushing his palm over my burning skin. He threaded his hand into
my hair and gently tugged my head back. “Four more. Do you think
you can take them?”

I moaned, “Yes, Sir. Please Sir.”

What was it about this that made me so hot?
The waiting, I supposed, and the endorphin rush that followed in
the wake of the pain. But more than any of that, I realized, it was
the trust. The sense of doing something dangerous, but not actually
being in any danger, because I knew Neil would never hurt me. I
could enjoy a hard spanking and a punishing fuck because I knew
that while he could make me feel so many things - lust, pleasure,
anticipation, pain - he would never actually make me feel afraid. I
didn't fear him, and I didn't have to fear making him disapprove of
me. Everything we did together was for our mutual pleasure.

What, exactly, he got out of it, I had no
clue.

The next stroke was lower, across my thighs
and labia. That was a shock I hadn’t been expecting, and a strange
combination of pain and relief ripped through me.

“Do you like that?” He asked, slipping his
hand down to cup me. One finger pushed roughly into my pussy, and
my legs wobbled.

“Yes, Sir,” I whimpered, and he withdrew to
set up the next blow. Another slap landed, so hard that I almost
rocked off my high heels, and again it was aimed at my defenseless,
exposed cunt. This time, he held the paddle in front of my face, so
I could see the wet kiss left behind.

“You’re a wicked girl, aren’t you?” he mock
scolded, and white-hot darts of arousal pierced every vein in my
body. I wanted him so badly I was trembling, and to see the proof
of my desire right in front of me almost pushed me over the
edge.

“Clean it off,” he ordered me, holding the
paddle in front of my face. I had to extend my tongue to lick my
own wetness off the leather surface of the paddle, while his hands
caressed my scalp, sliding through my hair.

He shoved my face down and moved the paddle
to my backside, giving me a swift, vicious smack. Two fingers
delved into me, pumping vigorously, spearing deep. I groaned and
arched against his hand, and he withdrew, spreading my wetness over
my swollen labia. I moaned my relief, and slowly he pushed his
fingers in again, coaxing more slick fluid from me.

“Would you like to know something interesting
about wet skin?” he asked over the sound of my moans.

I nodded, gasping. Then the paddle hit me,
and it felt like my pussy was on fire.

“It makes spankings hurt more.”

“Oh, fuck!” I pressed my clit against the
edge of the mattress again, so close to coming that my toes curled
inside my shoes. It felt like any touch at all would be enough to
spin me out of control. My fingernails dug into my palms as I hung
on, praying for release.

Tears leaked from my eyes when the last hard
smack forced an actual scream from me. But I didn’t come and
actually sobbed in my frustration.

Leaning over me, he wiped a tear from my
cheek with his thumb and kissed the track left by it.

"It can’t be as bad as all that, Sophie," he
taunted me, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip. His jeans rough
against my thighs, he pinned me to the bed. “Tell me what would
make it better. I already know what you’ll say, but I love to hear
it.”

I let out a shuddering breath. I hadn't even
realized I'd been holding it in. "Fuck me, Sir."

Gently, he smoothed his palm over my welted
backside. “Don’t move.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, bouncing a little
with impatience as he went to his nightstand for a condom. I heard
him unzip his jeans, the crumpling of the wrapper, and then, faster
than I had anticipated, he stood behind me, the head of his cock
prodding my backside. He parted my thighs with a hand, then
positioned himself at the opening of my sex and pushed in, filling
me deeply. I moaned and arched my back, gripping him as he slowly
withdrew and sank in again.

"You feel incredible," he groaned, his
fingers digging into my hips.

My thighs quivered with the strain of keeping
my balance on the balls of my feet while he fucked me with such
torturous slowness that I could feel every inch of him against
every part of me.

"Do you remember what I wanted to do to you
last night?"

"You wanted to tie me up, Sir," I answered on
a choking gasp as he filled me again.

"Specifically, that I wanted you riding me
with your hands tied. I think we’ll do that now." He pulled out of
me abruptly. "Stand up."

I whimpered disconsolately as he helped me
straighten. I'd been waiting all night, now I'd just gotten his
cock in me and he was going to stop?

"That's enough of your pouting," he warned.
"Stay there a moment."

He went to the other side of the bed, to the
nightstand on what I assumed was his side of the bed. There was a
lamp, an alarm clock with an iPhone dock, a pair of glasses, and a
box of tissue on that side. The other nightstand was empty, except
for the matching lamp. Neil opened the drawer and withdrew a metal
cylinder about as long as my hand and as thick as a Sharpie
marker.

"What's that?" I asked, watching as he turned
it in his hands. The gleaming metal intrigued me. Whatever it was,
it would feel super cold on my body, I was certain.

"It's a vibrator," he said, twisting the
base. It was an incredibly sleek one, nothing at all like the
thirteen-dollar plastic pseudo-dick one I had at home.

Then I remembered the plethora of sex toys
I'd recently acquired, and the use I'd gotten out of them while
Neil had been gone. I grinned to myself.

"What I would like to do," he began, coming
to my side and turning me in his arms so that the front of my body
was flush against his. He brushed my hair behind my ear, his hand
lingering on my jaw, and I swayed against him. "Is to set you on my
cock, and use that vibrator on you."

My mouth went dry. The thing looked more like
a sterile surgical implement than a sex toy, its metal surface
gleaming in the low light. "Is that... platinum?"

“It was that or the twenty-four karat gold,
and that one seemed a bit ostentatious.” He grinned down at me.
"What do you say?"

"I don't know,
Sir
," I waggled my
fingers in their binding. "Being on top... that doesn't sound very
submissive."

"Would you like me to prove you wrong?" There
was a delicious warning in his voice, a promise that he would
indeed prove me wrong, and I would be a very sorry - and a very
happy - woman while he was doing it.

"Please do. Sir. Please prove me wrong." I
deliberately swiped my tongue over my top lip.

The hand at my jaw suddenly gripped my chin.
He gave me a gentle shake, but his hold was firm, surprising me.
"Kneel on the bed."

I did as I was told, my needy cunt weeping in
desperation. He sat down beside me and reached for me. I guess I'd
never realized how hard it would be to balance without using my
arms. I was glad he was there to steady me. He pulled me to
straddle his lap, and I tried to inch forward on my knees to
position the head of his cock against me.

"No." He wrapped an arm around my waist and
pulled me with him as he scooted us up the bed. Then, lying back,
he jerked my hips down, bringing me flush against his erection. The
lips of my sex parted around his shaft. I shifted on him, sliding
back and forth. My clit was swollen and aching, the only relief the
pressure of his cock under me. I was almost embarrassed at how wet
I was; I was dripping on his cock, and my thighs were sticky. The
lubrication made every sensation more sleek and purposeful, and I
felt my long-denied orgasm building, trying to hold back my moans
so he wouldn't know until it was too late.

"Are you going to come?" he asked, grabbing
my hips and holding me captive.

"Please," I practically sobbed, caught on the
razor thin edge of my release. "Please, I have to!"

"You will," he soothed, leaning up to reach
between us. Slowly, he eased the head of his erection into me. He
reached for the vibrator and turned it on, pressing the cool,
smooth metal against my clit as he thrust upward, filling me
completely.

That was all it took, and I was screaming,
gasping and writhing on him as my pussy gripped him in erratic
waves of pleasure that shook my entire body. Pops of light burst
behind my eyelids. The vibration from the thin wand was
surprisingly strong, and I lifted up to escape, to get a moment's
reprieve from the sensation I had been dying for only moments
ago.

"I seem to remember you saying that this
position wasn't submissive?" He taunted, reaching up to clamp a
firm hand over the nape of my neck. He pulled me down hard, and
with no way to catch myself I was at his mercy. He held me tight
against his chest, lifting his hips to pound into me deeper,
faster. The vibrator was trapped between us, lying along the length
of my clit, nudging and sliding with every thrust, the buzzing
never letting up. I twisted my hands in their binding. My nails dug
into my palms. I was going to come again, oh god, I was going to
come again, and there was no way to prevent it, no way to squirm
from the sensation with his knees up behind me and his arms locked
around my back. Tension drew my head back, tightened my body like a
bowstring, and I climaxed with a long, pinched wail.

Neil laughed, breathless, never letting up
the long, brutal strokes, never removing the vibrator that had
become an instrument of torture. "Do you still feel you have too
much control?"

"No! No, Sir!" I panted in time to his
thrusts, nearly hyperventilating. My cunt was swollen and pillowy
from my orgasms, my flesh impossibly tight around him. My lungs
ached. My hair was plastered to my sweaty forehead. When had I
worked up a sweat?

I was caught in a never-ending loop of
stimulation, swinging from too much to not enough to fully
satisfied and back again, over and over. I lost count of how many
times I came, lost track of what I said or did. I know I pleaded
with him, but the words "yes," and "no," and "please," and "no
more!" shed all meaning, becoming a despairing, triumphant litany.
“Red” was constantly in the back of my mind, but I didn’t want to
stop, not really. Or did I? I couldn’t tell.

His thighs slapped against my ass, the
obscene sound driving my arousal higher as he pumped into me.

"You're going to make me come, Sophie," he
growled against my neck. He grabbed my ass, digging his fingers in,
and arched up from the bed with a groan of relief. This time, when
I came, it wasn't solely because of the torturous buzzing or the
relentless fucking. As he shoved deep, pulsing into me, I gave over
to one last, wrenching release, focused on his words. I made him
come. It didn't matter that I was tied up and totally unable to do
anything but get fucked,
I
had made him come. The thought
coaxed a half-sobbed moan from my lips. A drop of sweat fell from
the tip of my nose, and I squirmed, the ropes, the vibrator, the
throb of his flagging erection too much for me.