She sobbed once. Couldn’t stop it. But she obeyed.
“My hips moved, Sir. Without permission. The pressure… it pushed me right there and I… I remembered…”
His voice stayed soft. “You thought about being used. All three of us fucking you at once?”
Her face burned. She couldn’t nod. Couldn’t look down. Couldn’t look away.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Were you loud, when you came?”
“No, Sir. I… I squeezed my jaws shut.”
“Did you try to stop it?”
“I didn’t have time,” she whispered. “It just…happened.”
Silence.
He waited.
“You fantasized about three cocks pounding you while your holes were filled and vibrating, and you fucked the sheets like a common whore.”
Tears slipped free.
“You think ‘not using your fingers’ makes it better?”
She tried to shake her head.
“You came without permission.”
It was a statement, but she responded anyway. “Yes, Sir.”
“And then you tried to tell an untruth about it to absolve yourself of responsibility.”
Fuck. “I… it really did just happen, Sir. It wasn’t like I planned it.”
“But you’ve admitted to helping it along, so your original story is bullshit, pretending it wasn’t your fault because you didn’t use your fingers while neglecting to mention you fucked Boone’s bed to give your greedy little clit the friction and contact it needed.”
A wave of shame threatened to drown her, and her voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“You told an untruth?”
“I did, Sir.”
He let that sit too long before he said, voice like steel, “An untruth is a lie.”
She stared at him through dozens of heartbeats. Long enough to choke on the silence between them.
“Agree or argue, you disobedient little fucktoy.”
“It is, Sir.”
“It. Is. What.”
Her scalp hurt. Her neck was at a horrible angle. Her back ached in the forced arch. Her hips threatened to spasm.
