The Boss

by Abigail Barnette

  He bent his head and kissed the palm of one of my hands, then patted my bottom. "How does that feel?"

  "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 s
ide. 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.

  "Red," I panted, scrambling to climb off him. I fell to the bed, trying to blow the hair out of my face. As Neil immediately began to work on the ropes around my wrists, I forced myself to remain patient. It was so strange, that the binding hadn't bothered me before, but now I wanted to thrash and claw my way free.

  "Easy now," he murmured, loosening the ropes quickly. He massaged my wrists, my forearms, and rolled me onto my stomach to work on my back.

  "What's this for?" I groaned in relief as he kneaded my muscles, and I stretched my freed arms over my head. "Not that I'm complaining."

  "You were tied in one position for a good, long time, and I don't want you to feel sore in the morning." His big hands paused in their kneading of my muscles and he added, "Well, I don’t want your back sore, that is. I fear there's no hope for the rest of you."

  I felt the hot blush in my face and muffled my giggles with the duvet. "Is my ass bruised?"

  "Not bruised. Cherry red, though. And you’re hoarse, you should drink some water." He left the bed and disappeared through the closet. I saw the bathroom light click on, and when Neil returned - unselfconscious in his nakedness, making my stomach do little backflips - he had not only a glass of water for me, but a little package of single-use toothbrushes. "For the morning," he explained as he set my dental-care saviors on the empty nightstand. "So you don't bolt from my bed the moment your eyes open."

  I smiled, remembering my panic at waking up with him that morning. "You're such a thoughtful host."

  He smoothed his palm over my bottom. "Do you want me to get you some ice?"

  I sat up and reached for the water. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. "No. I like to feel it, remember?"

  He picked up the vibrator from the bed and turned it off. "I'm going to go take care of this, take out my contacts then I'm going to come back to the feeling of a beautiful, naked woman in my arms. If that's all right with you?" He waited for me to lower the water glass then kissed the tip of my nose.

  "I'll be here." When he was gone, I wriggled down in the big bed and smoothed my sweaty hair back from my face. I thought of Neil sleeping in here, all alone. Then I thought of his wife, sleeping in here with him, and my stomach turned sour.

  I looked at the bedside table on my side. Her side? Wh
ichever, it was still a bare and depressing nightstand, all set up for the new woman's weird tooth paranoia.

  Neil came back and climbed beneath the covers beside me. "How did that go, then?"

  "Amazing as always." I fluffed up the pillows behind me. There was a serious four-per-person pillow situation going on. When I leaned back, it felt like I was never going to stop sinking. It was heavenly.

  "Is there anything you'd want me to do differently? For next time?"

  I loved the way his voice sounded late at night, sleepy and deep. I mulled the question over, sliding my fingers along the satin edge of the duvet where it lay across my chest. "No. Honestly, you're very good at knowing what I need, and you ask what I want, which is good, too. I just don't see what you get out of it."

  "I like the challenge." He rolled to his side to face me, one arm over my stomach on top of the blankets. "It's a bit like a puzzle for me, figuring out what it is that gives you the most pleasure. What you need to be able to give me your total submission."

  "Good luck with that, I don't think I'll ever be totally submissive." I snorted.

  He cupped my cheek, and just that small touch sent a shockwave of desire though me. Despite the fact that I was exhausted and should have been completely satiated, I wanted him again.

  "You already are. You're thinking of submission as an act of humiliation." He let his fingers slide down my jaw, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. "And it can be, if that’s what a sub needs. But you've been given the mistaken impression that Dominance and submission are all about taking. You take the orders, the pain, the restrictions, while I take control away from you. The reality is far different. When you submit, you give yourself to me wholly. Your desire, your attention, your mind, and you give these things to me because you want to."

  "So, that makes you the taker?" I asked, sucking the tip of his thumb between my lips briefly.

  "There is no 'taker.' I give you pleasure, I give you limitations in regards to the sensations you feel and how you feel them. But I'm never taking your control away against your will. I wouldn’t want that." He leaned up and coaxed me down, until our lips and tongues met in a slow, thorough kiss. His hand fisted in the hair at my nape, and he pulled my head back. I gasped as our mouths parted.