* * * *
Boone listened from her bedroom. The screams made the man palm his cock, but the wolf wanted to rescue her.
He knew the training schedule, though. Intense deterrence training on Kenny’s nights, while Silas and Boone made sure she had at least a half-dozen orgasms on the nights she was supposed to be able to have them, and none on her restriction nights. They’d take her to where they believed she should be able to hold back, and then apply whatever punishment she couldn’t handle if she slipped and orgasmed.
At least two nights a week, maybe three, she’d be required to have a half-dozen or more orgasms — given permission and then a nice littlegood girlafterward.
The rest of the week, she’d be denied release. Her two sessions with Kenny would be the hell he was currently putting her through. Working her up to an orgasm and then punishing her for it. A crash course in orgasm control.
And the screams meant it was working.
Boone preferred the long game, whispers instead of thunder. Touches that never let her come. Days of fullness, plugs and eggs and unsatisfied ache until shebeggedfor release.
He watched his favorite podcaster while he listened to Kenny bring her to orgasm and then punish her five times, holdingthe wand to her clit one second longer each time, which doesn’t sound like much, but the difference in the three-second screams and the eight-second ones were monumental.
She’d be raw when he got her, wrecked and sore — and still, she’d open for him when he demanded it, tears in her eyes while she fought to take him.
He set his phone to the side when they finished, his cock granite hard from her last series of screams.
Chapter 14
Friday evening, Willow left her apartment wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The experiment had been from six Thursday to six the following Thursday, and she’d opted to go to her apartment the night before when the time was up.
The men were interested in continuing, and she’d needed to consider what she wanted to agree to.
The night alone, when she was used to sleeping with two men, left her feelingoff. The bed had felt too big, too cold. No steady heat at her back, no warm thigh over hers to keep her pinned in place. She’d curled around a pillow, but it didn’t smell like any of them, and the quiet was too loud without their breathing.
She’d enjoyed her alone time in the cabin. Hadn’t missed James even a tiny bit.
But she’d missed all three men while she was away from them. Breakfast had been lonely. And sure, she’d spent three hours masturbating today — she’d chased herself over the edge again and again, fingers working fast, toys humming, but it was hollow without the weight of a man’s body keeping her down, without the sharp edge of being told she couldn’t come.
Relief without permission didn’t scratch the itch they’d conditioned into her in less than a fucking week.
And this week had given her what she wanted in a way she hadn’t understood when only two or three days into it. Monday morning, she’d awakened at the proper time, so she had fifteen minutes to use the toilet, brush her teeth and hair, and wash her face.
She’d stood outside Kenny’s room until his alarm had gone off. Entered as instructed. Started his shower. It was only the second time, but already, it was routine. Ritual.
And then Silas, who’d given her three strikes with a cruel loopy Johnny before fucking her ass and then giving a casual, “Dismissed” on his way to the shower. The welts had stung all through breakfast, each shift in her chair sending a reminder up her spine — pain wrapped in routine, the kind that left her wet even while she winced.
Once she’d known where to find things in the kitchen, cooking for them was no longer stressful. Making sure their drinks didn’t go empty was habit. Taking care of them felt good. Right.
After the first two days, she’d thought the morning ritual too much, but by the end, all the sex parts were fine.
Better than fine. The ritual of her days was soothing, anchoring her into her submission, into belonging.
But that damned egg and plug in her every day while they were at work needed to go, and yet, if she gave herself to them, could she make that demand?
Maybe she could at least ask for them to be turned off during her personal time? They never came on when she was driving, so they were clearly programmable.
And then there was Boone’s damned fist.Fuck. She’d worried he’d stretch her beyond her ability to bounce back, but Kenny had bought this damned pussy exerciser she had to do for ten minutes every other fucking day, to be built up to every day. And he could sign into the Perifit app to see her progress. Damn.
Which meant she didn’t have a reason to deny the fisting. It was Boone’s big kink — refusing it would’ve been like James refusing to so much as give her an OTK spanking. Which he had. Denial of your biggest desires sucked, and she couldn’t do that to Boone even if the memory of his knuckles haunted her even while driving, her thighs clenching at way they’d relentlessly forced her open without mercy.
Kenny had told her the three of them would very much be interested in continuing this. That if they do, Silas and Boone would move in, and that would involve some construction. Her room and the playroom would see some changes. Their bedrooms. Probably a few rooms added downstairs — a weight room for Boone, the kitchen changed a little for Silas’s preferences.
Which put the ball in her court, but she wasn’t sure how much she could or should negotiate. If she demanded too much, it might spoil what the men had started.
And yet, a few things would have to change. They’d been great for a week, but not indefinitely.
