When she put her fork down, her plate empty, Boone asked, “You done?”
She met his gaze and nodded.
“Let’s walk for fifteen or twenty minutes. Let your food settle.”
“Might want to remove the plug I put in her,” Kenny said. “Hadn’t counted on you taking the pet for a walk.”
“Oh,” Silas said. “I can do that.” He turned to her, his smile pure malice. “Over the table, fuckhole. Let’s show Boone what a ruin Kenny and I have made of your asshole before his nice evening stroll.”
She leaned over the table, face blazing hot, and squeezed her eyes closed, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a cry when he pulled it out. She almost managed silence, but she couldn’t stop the short gasp.
And then she stayed bent over while Kenny spread her cheeks and the three talked about her body as if she weren’t there — how red and swollen it looked, how raw it had to feel. Their words scalded nearly as much as the burn in her ass, worse than the stretch itself, humiliation crawling over her skin, but her cunt still pulsed, clenching with traitorous hunger while they appraised the wreckage.
When they finally let her up, she went to the downstairs coat closet to put on leggings and a jacket before meeting Boone on the back porch.
“I’m going to miss you,” Boone said, walking across the yard to the forest. “We all are.”
“I’ll miss all of you, too, but this is my job. You go off to work five days a week, Sir, and I don’t make a big deal of it. I’m home most of the time, but this is simply me leaving for work tomorrow. I’ll be back when I’m done. I just cram all my work hours together, so I have a longer time to be off.”
“I get that, but it’s still over a week without you. Not a guilt trip, just telling you how important you are to me.”
Eventually, he aimed them back to the house, taking the stairs first, his shoulders squared, confident. Just the way he held himself made her want to fall in line.
The coat and leggings had come off downstairs, and now she stripped out of the dress in the hallway and put it into the small dirty clothes bin in the bottom of the armoire, since she wasn’t likely to go back downstairs.
And then walked into her bedroom and stood to the right side of the wide-open expanse leading into the playroom, on the fancy Celtic knot inlayed with hundreds of different colored tinylittle broken pieces of tile, all worked together into the larger, gorgeous, intricate symbolism of twisted rope. This medallion was a close twin to the knot beside her bed, though the other was done in myriad tans.
“Enter,” Boone’s voice rumbled, and her pulse kicked a little when she passed from the low glow of her bedroom into the stark, unforgiving light of the playroom.
Another twenty steps and she made it to him, beside the leather sling.
She lifted herself into it, settled in, and put her hands and feet where she knew he’d want them. With the permanent cuffs, securing her to the leather was easy.
He showed her the plug and she nearly cried.
“I want you full tonight, but I also think your asshole needs a little help.” He opened a tube of healing ointment and lubed the plug.
She still yelped and whined when he inserted it because the damned thing was huge, but once it was in, it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps even a little better.
He poured lube directly onto her pussy, rubbed his fingers all around it to get them slick.
One finger slid in, then two. Her body flinched when the third pressed in, a deep, unrelenting stretch that made her eyes sting and her breath catch — and her hand squeeze into a fist.
He’d warned her about that, and her insides twisted when he looked up, saw them, and abruptly stood, turned, and walked to the cabinets along the wall.
She panted, arms trembling where they were clipped to the sling, her hands still clenched in betrayal of everything he’d drilled into her.
Boone returned with two small wooden boards, each studded with dozens of nails filed sharp.
He didn’t speak. Just took her right hand first, now open, and pressed her palm and fingers against the bed of nails until she hissed and whimpered, and the scent of her blood filled the room.
“Fists imply violence, and that’s unacceptable from a fucktoy. You show submission at all fucking times in this house, andespeciallyin this room.”
He wound a large elastic band around the board and her hand, another around her fingers, and moved to the other hand to repeat the process.
A tear streaked down her cheek, and more followed. She whimpered, her breath coming faster, but she didn’t protest.
“There we are,” he said when he finished. “No more fists until I’m done. Maybe longer.”
