However, within five minutes of walking back into the house, they both started again — low, teasing vibrations that made her legs twitch.
She’d figured Kenny had a way to pause it while she was driving, and that confirmed it for her. Also, whoever programmed them had clearly decided the bursts would be short and intense, or long and steady at low-to-medium range. Not enough to make her come, but plenty enough to keep her thinking about it.
An hour and a half after returning to Kenny’s, the stupid lines were written, her hand cramping from the repetitive motions, and she couldn’t last another moment.
The need had been building all day, every buzz of the toys making it worse.
She wanted to do this in her bedroom, but she wasn’t allowed on her bed without permission, and she wasn’t brave enough to break two rules, so she went into the downstairs den, stretched out on the leather sofa, and slid her hand between her pussy lips.
She told herself she’d just touch herself quickly, enough to take the edge off. But even as her hand moved, she knew she was crossing a line. Disobeying.
The pressure on her clit was instant relief, her mind flashing back to the night before, taking all three men at once — Boone’s weight behind her, Silas’s sharp rhythm in her ass, Kenny’s cock filling her throat.
The egg was still going strong, and the orgasm hit fast, almost embarrassingly so, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
When it was over, the pleasure melted into dread.
She’d disobeyed.
The rest of the afternoon, the knowledge sat heavy in her chest.
Chapter 11
Kenny hadn’t looked forward to coming home from work this much since…ever.
But he knew something was wrong when he opened the door to find Willow on her knees, true regret and fear in her scent.
She was wearing her dress, but was in a spread-kneel, head bowed, hands palms-up on her thighs.
“I disobeyed today, Sir,” she said without looking up.
“Already?” His tone was flat, but a frisson of excitement went through his system. He’d expected it to happen the following day, but depending on what she’d done, today was probably fine.
He stood six feet in front of her and crossed his arms. Looked down with a face he’d been told made people want to piss their pants.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I touched myself without permission.”
“Just touched yourself?”
She shook her head and looked at his feet. “I had an orgasm, Sir.”
He studied her for a moment, then motioned her toward the kitchen. When she went to stand, he shook his head. “Crawl.”
The scent of the casserole hit him before he reached the doorway, rich and savory. He glanced at the oven display —twenty-three minutes left, then it would drop into warming mode.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of heavy-duty clamps, the industrial kind with rubber-tipped jaws. “Stand.”
She rose, and he leaned in to fasten one clamp, watching her face when the pain hit and she hissed then yelped.
He put the other on and flicked them both.
“Consider these specific clamps a hall pass. They let you enter the playroom without someone present to give permission.”
Her lips parted on a quick breath, and she nodded.
“Go upstairs. Gather the TENS unit, the nipple leads that go with it, arrange everything on one end of the bondage table. Then stand in the corner until someone comes for you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
