THE BABY
Abigail Barnette
Copyright © 2015 Abigail Barnette
All Rights Reserved
Content Warning: This book contains mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, as well as recovery.
For my readers, for giving my characters a life I never dreamed they could have.
CHAPTER ONE
Tonight. Pavillon Français. The moment you cross the threshold, you are mine. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will obey my every command.
I read the words over and over again as I stood in front of the doors. Neil had converted the building, a recreation of the Pavillon Français at Versailles, with the express purpose of holding all manner of carnal delights with which to torment me. And, inside, my Sir waited.
My heart pounded. The gilt-edged note had arrived via courier that afternoon, written in Sir’s hand. I’d made the mistake of opening it at my desk. It had been incredibly difficult to concentrate on photos of jackets while pressing my thighs together all day.
And that had been his plan, all along. To get me thinking about him, his control over me, and the need I had to submit to his every sexual whim. It was a need that would never be satisfied.
So, it was a good thing I was married to him.
I dragged in a shaky lungful of sharp January air. I’d arrived home in time to quickly bathe and shape my hair into large, fluffy curls that floated around my shoulders. I’d dressed my part, though I had no idea what Sir had planned. Some nights, I found myself spread-eagle, bound to a steel frame as Sir lashed my body all over with a flogger. Others, I’d be bent over a padded bench as a mechanical sex machine rammed into me while I screamed through my gag. No matter how much care I took with my appearance, it would be utterly ruined by the time we were finished. Still, I’d painted on sharp wings of black eyeliner over smoky silver shadow and stained my lips with a matte plum gloss. Beneath my black wrap dress with its three-quarter length sleeves, I wore dark maroon panties and bra—silky and perfectly cut. The panties were already wet from my anticipation.
I took a deep breath and pushed open one of the doors. The moment you cross the threshold. The toe of my black Madden Proto pump touched the tile. The bottoms of my feet tingled. My heart raced. My mouth went dry. I stepped through and closed the door behind me.
There he was. My Sir. My husband. Neil Elwood.
He sat in one of the ornate Louis XVI chairs before the fireplace. He wore a white button down and sharkskin gray trousers, perfectly crisp and presentable, despite the depraved things he would do to me. The light from the tall tapers in the candelabras gilded and darkened his hair, which was more silver now than its former ashy brown. The soft overhead lighting supplemented the candlelight.
He motioned me forward with a snap of his fingers and held up a hand to halt me when he deemed me close enough.
He hadn’t said a single word, yet, and I was already his.
A door creaked, but I didn’t dare look away from Sir’s gaze. I heard the footsteps behind me before the soft, faintly accented voice. “Good evening, Chloe.”
My heart stuttered.
“Yes, good evening, Chloe,” Sir said. Chloe was the role I played when we were with our lover, Emir. We’d met him at an exclusive sex club in Paris where anonymity had been of utmost importance, but we still used those club names while playing. They were like terms of endearment, now.
Emir slowly circled me, his dark eyes drifting over my body in open appraisal. I was an object under his gaze, the same as a priceless jewel or an exotic automobile. The warm, dim light burnished his golden brown skin, and dark whorls of chest hair showed in the parted collar of his black button-down shirt.
Neil and I hadn’t seen Emir in months, as he had been settling his divorce and had kept his sexual proclivities more secret than usual. That he was here, standing in our miniature pleasure palace, on a night when I knew anything could happen, seemed like a dream.
“Do you understand the terms I sent you?” Neil asked, never moving from his chair.
I nodded.
“Answer me.”
My breath halted in my throat. “Yes, Sir.”
“Our usual safe word system is in place,” he went on. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Emir said nothing, his gaze fixed on mine. He trailed one fingertip across my collarbones, then in a line down the V of flesh revealed by the dress’s low neckline. He pulled one side back, then the other, baring my breasts in my satin bra.
“Tonight, I’ve decided to loan you to my friend. He’ll use you as he likes, and you’ll let him,” Neil stated. “You may not object to a single command, except to safe word. You are nothing but a gift to please my friend. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” My clit pulsed almost painfully.
“Thank you, Leif,” Emir said with a sly smile. Another false name. Just as Neil had adopted Leif as his identity at the exclusive Parisian sex club they both belonged to, “Emir” was actually El-Mudad ibn Farid ibn Abdel Ati. Like Neil, El-Mudad was a billionaire with a penchant for kinky sex. He and Neil had planned this together, and that could only be to my advantage.
Emir reached for the tie of my dress and gave it a tug. It fell open, and he took in my body before pushing the sleeves down my shoulders. “Beautiful. Just as I remember.”
“What do you say, Chloe?” Neil prompted.
I met Emir’s gaze as my dress slid to the floor. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Emir slipped his fingers beneath my bra straps. “Take this off.”
I’d only just gotten dressed, but I’d known I wouldn’t be dressed for long. The disrobing lifted my arousal. At that point, my bra was as much a sex toy as any of the vibrators in the toy closet.
As I unhooked my bra and slid it down, Emir moved to stand behind me. He pulled me back with a hand covering my throat. The other hand slipped into my panties.
“Look me in the eye, Chloe,” my Sir ordered. I did as he commanded and saw the dark fire of possessiveness kindling there.
“He’s jealous,” Emir whispered against my ear. He rubbed my clit with his fingertips. “He’ll punish you after this, you know.”
I nodded. I wasn’t supposed to speak.
“How will you punish her, Leif?” Emir asked, the hand at my neck skimming down to my breast.
Neil leaned with his elbow on the arm of the chair and brought his hand to his face, his fingers curved thoughtfully in front of his mouth. He got off on his jealousy, and on punishing me, especially. With a long sigh, he said, “The cane, I think. We haven’t done that in a while.”
My nerves sang with joy at the promise of pain, and the pleasure that would come with it.
And before it. My clit pounded under Emir’s talented fingers. He wedged one foot between mine and whispered, “Spread for me.”
I widened my stance, offering him better access. His other hand cupped my breast, kneading it, and I leaned against him for support.
“I could make you come like this,” he murmured against my ear. “I’ve missed the way you gush over my hand.”
My knees trembled.
“But I can wait a little longer.” He pulled both of his hands away, and I stumbled. “Get on your knees.”
That would definitely feed Neil’s jealousy. Only he was my Sir. To hear Emir give me an order, and to watch me follow it, would go much further than simple sex. It might actually threaten Neil.
I knelt before Emir, and he unzipped his pants. I expected him to pull a condom from his pocket, but Neil said behind me, “My friend and I discussed making some changes to our precautions, now that we’re the only partners he sees.”
My heart leapt, my Sophie heart
, not the part of me who was a submissive. Emir was, like, exclusive with us? I grinned up at him. I couldn’t wait to tell him how happy this new development made me.
He was going to get the most enthusiastic blowjob ever.
“Are you comfortable forgoing extra protection?” Neil asked.
As submissive as I was during our sex play, Neil would never put me at real risk—as my husband or as my Dom. And Emir was one of the most cautious lovers we’d ever had, almost pathologically so. I was safe with both of them, and my IUD had me covered on the reproductive front.
The thought of doing all the dirty things we never really got to do with Emir, like swallowing his cum or letting him come inside me, made me feel like I was on a shopping spree through a whole new land of sexual perversion. “I’m absolutely comfortable with that.”
My desire renewed by this declaration of sexual monogamy between the three of us, I obediently opened my mouth for Emir’s cock. His pubic hair was neatly clipped, and his penis long, hard, and smooth—without the pronounced veiny ridges Neil’s had. I wanted to know what Emir would feel like inside me, without the barrier of a condom between us. I hoped he would fuck me, and this wasn’t all just a massive tease.
“Hands behind my back?” I asked as he brushed the head of his cock over my lips.
“No rules, Chloe. Just please me, and I will reward you.” His voice was so deep and rich I felt like I was swimming in warm honey.
I held him in one hand, stroking his foreskin up and over the tip. I made a ring of my index finger and thumb and pulsed it, just below the head, and he sighed in pleasure, one hand tangling in my hair.
“Am I pleasing you?” I asked him, wetting my lips so that the back of my tongue touched him.
“No speaking unless you’re spoken to,” he reminded me. “That’s Leif’s rule.”
I looked up at Emir and pressed the flat of my tongue against the underside of his cock, asking with my eyes.
He laughed. “Yes. You are pleasing me very much.”
I pumped my fist up and down his length in slow strokes, teasing him with my tongue in slow circles around the frilled edge of his foreskin where it gathered over the tip. Then, I parted my lips and closed them around him, slowly sucking as I pulled back, releasing him with a satisfying slurp.
Emir closed his eyes, so I shifted my gaze to Neil. He watched me with a darkly amused expression. I worked Emir’s cock with my fist and alternated licking him slowly and sucking him into my mouth. His hips flexed forward, and I took him so deep I gagged and coughed, drool running down my chin. I met Neil’s eyes the whole time. He shifted, uncrossing the ankle that had rested on the opposite knee, extending it in front of him. His erection was impossible to disguise; in the penis department, Neil was huge.
I thought of his threat of caning me later. I knew he would do it, and I knew better than anyone that it could be unpleasant. That’s what I liked about it. I lived for the pain my Sir would cause me. He was the only one who truly understood what I needed, and I was the only partner with whom he’d ever been able to let his inner sadist take over completely.
Emir was right;I did gush when I was turned on. At the moment, I was wetter than the fucking sea. My juices rolled down my thighs, and I cast my gaze up at him, desperately trying to communicate that I needed to touch myself.
He opened his eyes to pleasure-drugged slits. “You need relief.”
I nodded, still working his cock with my hand and mouth. I had no idea how much time had passed, but Emir’s breathing wasn’t so even and unaffected, now.
I was great at giving oral, and I refused to apologize for that.
“Come with me,” Emir said, tucking himself into his pants and offering me a hand up. My thighs slicked against each other as we walked. I looked over my shoulder. Neil followed, five steps behind. Emir took me to the bedroom, a rather traditional place for sex, but the things the walls had seen were far from traditional. My panties were wet—not damp, but wet—and Emir ordered me to step out of them. I obeyed, and he leaned down to retrieve them. When Neil entered, Emir tossed the scrap of sodden silk to him.
“My, my, Chloe,” Neil said, pretending to be shocked as he rubbed the material between his fingers.
I rolled my eyes and looked away.
“Give her a slap, would you?” Neil asked Emir, and I sucked in a breath. We’d never played that way with Emir before.
“Yellow,” I said, holding up a hand. “Neil, if you want to slap me, I’m fine with that, but I don’t want him to do it. I’m not comfortable letting anyone but Neil hit me. No offense meant to you, Emir.”
“None taken, at all,” he assured me.
“Okay.” I nodded. “Then…we’re green.”
“Good.” Neil crossed the room, my panties still in his hand. He slapped me hard across the face and stuffed the silk into my mouth. “Continue with your obstinacy. See what will happen.”
Well, when he put it that way, I kind of wanted to. But I would be an obedient sub and please Emir at my Sir’s command.
Emir stripped off his shirt. His body was ridiculous—lean and ridged with muscle anywhere a man’s torso could have muscle. He was a walking Men’s Health cover, and he put his strong arms around me, bringing my naked body up against his half-clothed one. He tilted my head and turned my burning, slapped cheek to his lips, leaving a soft kiss there.
Taking my hands in his, Emir pulled me toward the bed, a canopied copy of one at Versailles, decked out in gold and crème bedding and mounds of pillows, with gold-plated manacles dangling from the scrollwork headboard and attached strategically around the wide mattress. We climbed on the bed as Neil took a seat on the recamier near the foot.
“Here,” Emir said, lying on his back. “Come let me taste you.” I moved to straddle his head, and he stopped me. “No, not like that. Face him.”
I turned and carefully placed a knee on either side of Emir’s face. I lowered myself to his waiting mouth. The flat of his tongue slowly dragged up and down, from my cunt to my clit, swirling over my slick labia.
And Neil watched. My Sir watched as another man ate my pussy, as I moaned and panted and ground myself against his face.
“Here’s a thought,” Neil said, and Emir took his tongue, his amazing tongue, away. I made a frustrated noise through the silk stuffed in my mouth.
Squeezing my ass with both hands, Emir responded, “What’s your thought?”
“Why doesn’t she suck your cock while you do that?” Neil said evenly. “You could fuck her face while she rides yours? I could hold her head at the right angle.”
“I like that idea. By all means,” Emir said with a laugh. “If you’d like to join us—”
“Not yet,” Neil said mildly. “But I can help you with this.”
Emir pulled me back down, and Neil wrapped my hair around his fist, using his knuckles to push down my head. “Open,” he ordered, and I did. He pulled the panties out and guided my mouth onto Emir’s cock, so far down that I gagged. I didn’t mind gagging, at all—I thought it was kind of sexy—but when someone else was pushing my head down, it made me afraid and out of control. I struggled against Sir’s hold, and he said sternly, “Are you resisting?”
The threat in his tone reasserted that I didn’t need to worry about being “in control”. I just needed to please them. They both trusted me to signal when I needed to stop, and remembering that helped me to relax, despite the odd angle at which Neil held my head. I couldn’t really do anything in my position, except hold my mouth open and brace myself on my elbows on either side of Emir’s body. I shifted, and it was apparently more movement than I deserved, because Neil said, “Put your arms behind your back, Chloe.”
That required letting all of my weight rest on Emir, and even though I knew I wasn’t going to crush him, I felt like I would. I obeyed, anyway, and Neil pinned my wrists in his grasp, holding them at the small of my back. I was totally powerless to do anything but feel Emir’s mouth on me, while he thrust in and o
ut of my throat.
Emir didn’t savor me; he devoured me. He held the cheeks of my ass spread apart, totally exposing my pussy to his mouth. With every swipe of his tongue over my clit, my cunt clenched. Pulled wide as it was, the lack of penetration was even more pointed. He dove his face across me, from forehead to chin, his nose dipping in, the stubble on his jaw raking my clit raw.
I choked and drooled around his cock as he fucked my mouth, and my neck and back ached from the position Neil held me in. I wanted to keep going, to enjoy this torment for longer, but if I did, I would seriously injure myself. I snapped my fingers three times, and Emir and Neil both released me. I braced myself on hands and wiped my mouth. “Sorry. My neck.”
“That’s quite all right,” Emir said. “Would you like me to continue this?”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely,” I replied breathlessly.
“Leif, why don’t you have a seat over there,” Emir suggested, his fingers digging into my thighs and releasing, in a steady rhythm. “You can watch me make her come.”
With a smirk, Neil went back to the recamier and sat, content to watch the show.
“Sit up tall,” Emir told me, and I rose up on my knees. His tongue sought out my aching clit, and my thighs quaked. Emir kissed the inside of one and said, “Look him in the eye. Let him see you come from another man’s mouth on you. Make him see.”
I took a shuddering breath. The more we preyed on Neil’s sexual jealousy, the worse my punishment would be. Well, worse as in better.
I did as Emir told me, holding Neil’s gaze while Emir sucked my clit and swirled his tongue over it. My hands found their way to my breasts, and I cupped them, teasing my nipples with my thumbs. As I climbed closer and closer, it was a fight to keep my eyes open. Luckily, I’d had practice; Neil often made me stand in front of a mirror and masturbate myself to orgasm while maintaining eye contact with my own reflection. The practice helped me reconcile Sophie the person with Sophie the sexual being, and had served as an aftercare cool down ritual in the past.
The Baby (The Boss #5) Page 1
