Page 20 of Punish Me, Daddy (Boston Kings #8)

He moved behind me. My ears strained and I picked up on the sound of his hand pressing into his pocket. I heard a sound I dreaded to identify, the flex of plastic squeezed and a slurp.

My stomach dropped—a flutter of nerves, heat, and fear, tangled so tight I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

I felt his hand ghost over my hip.

Then it drifted lower.

“Daddy,” I whimpered, and it was half protest, half plea.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pulled out the plug inside of me and replaced it with a much larger one, this time slickened with the lube I’d heard dispensed a moment ago.

He pushed the much thicker toy inside my ass, forcing it inside me and spreading my poor hole far too wide.

I tried to stay quiet, but I couldn’t help the piteous cry that escaped me.

It was too much. Too big. It hurt so much.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered, running his hands along my sides, soothing the tremors. “Relax. Take it. Daddy’s not taking it out untilyou’re a very sore and sorry little girl.”

Fuck.

This couldn’t be happening.

How could this be happening?

“Look at you, stretched so wide,” he crooned, as he pulled my ass cheeks wide open so he could just look.

He grasped the base of the plug, pushed it deeper, and I cried out as my thighs trembled from the pain.

“Does that hurt, little girl?”

“ Yes ,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Good.”

He let go of the plug, leaving me impaled, and reached between my legs, finding my clit again. He circled his fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing me, taunting me, and then he pulled his hand away.

I cried out through the pleasure/pain, trying to take what he was giving me and feeling very sorry for myself, all while I was the most turned on I’d ever been in my life.

I couldn’t focus.

I couldn’t think.

All I could do was feel .

Feel the thick plug stretching me open. Feel his fingers moving over my clit. Feel the cool air against my pussy, soaked and dripping with arousal.

Without warning, he pressed two fingers inside my pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” I wailed.

My body fought him, and my fingers clamped around the front edge of the counter so much that my knuckles turned white.

“You’reso tight, little girl,” he murmured. “Icanbarely fit two fingers in there. Are you going to be able to take Daddy’s cock when the time comes?”

The thought of him inside of me like that made my stomach drop.

He pumped his fingers, his palm slapping against the base of the toy, forcing it into a sort of fucking motion, so that I was being reamed in both holes. I quickly became afraid of the orgasm that was waiting in the wings because it was going to be shamefully hard.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, unable to help myself.

He chuckled and kept fucking me with his fingers. He added a third and the stretch was intense, but the pleasure was even more so.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Take Daddy’s fingers in that sweet little cunt.”

Why did that sound so good?

I was close. So fucking close.

My legs started trembling. My chest was heaving. I was so full. So deliciously, torturously full. It hurt and I liked it, and I wanted it to stop and I didn’t want it to stop.

“You’re going to come hard for Daddy, aren’t you, naughty girl?”

He fluttered his fingers, brushing against the sensitive spot inside me, and I shuddered.

“Answer me, little girl,” he demanded.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Are you going to come with Daddy’s fingers in your needy little cunt?”

“Yes, Daddy …” I wailed.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He pressed his fingers deeper, his palm rubbing against the plug, and that was all it took.

My knees buckled, my back arched, and then I was falling apart for him. Again.

The orgasm was incredible and overwhelming, and I swore the edges of my vision started to darken.

My body trembled and shook, and the only thing holding me up was his arms wrapped around me and the counter beneath me.

Bright white light stuttered before my eyes and every nerve fired on overdrive.

All I could do was moan and shake and come so hard that the world tilted.

It was intense.

Erotic.

Pure fucking perfection.

When it was over, my knees were weak, and my arms felt like jelly, like they didn’t belong to me anymore.

I was wrung out, skin burning, nerves buzzing, and all I wanted to do was melt to the floor or maybe curl up in his lap and let him stroke my hair, and whisper in that low, rough voice that I was his good girl after all.

But then his hand was in my hair again, fisting it at the base of my neck, and then he was dragging me upright.

I whimpered; not in protest, not really, more because I didn’t have anything left to give him. I was too exhausted to fight him, too dazed to pretend I was not his to move wherever he wanted me.

“Daddy—”

“Hush, baby girl,” he said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

My heart lurched again.

He was still in charge. Of course he was.

He led me through the living room like I was weightless, like I wasn’t bare and aching and red-assed from the spanking he gave me.

I could feel the sting still lingering with every step, a reminder with every sway of my hips that I’d been thoroughly, completely punished.

There was also the much larger plug still seated in my very sore little bottom hole, adding to the humiliating burn.

There was no time to focus on how sore I was because my stomach flipped when I realize where we’re headed.

The front door.

My pulse spiked.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t take me outside like this—bare, humiliated, with his seed still drying on my face. Would he?

Shame flooded me, fast and sharp, twisting through the soft haze of arousal still lingering in my limbs. I tried to dig in my heels, but my legs were too wobbly, and he didn’t even notice.

“Daddy,” I breathed again, panicked now and trying to appeal to whatever side I could, “I’m not dressed?—”

“I know,” he answered, not slowing, not turning, not caring. “You won’t need clothes where we’re going.”

That did something awful and hot to my core, even as the shame twisted even tighter.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. I wanted to die of humiliation with every step, certain someone was going to walk out of a neighboring unit and catch a glimpse of me like this: limp, bare, completely and utterly owned. But no one did. Of course they didn’t.

He’d planned this.

He pressed a code into the elevator at the far end of the hall. It wasn’t one I’d ever used because I thought it was only for the penthouse unit at the top of the building. It hummed to life, and when it opened, he pulled me in with him.

I could barely hold myself upright and I counted myself a little bit lucky that he was strong enough for us both.

The ride was smooth and fast, taking us up higher than I’ve ever been in the building, past anything I thought was accessible to the public.

The elevator doors slid open to a private rooftop.

There was a sleek, matte-black helicopter, already powered, blades whirring in slow, dangerous rotations—waiting.

Waiting for him .

And now… for me .

My mouth fell open.

He was going to take me somewhere.

He gripped my jaw gently, forcing my gaze up to meet his.

“You want to play in my world?” he murmured. “Then you’ll learn what it means to be a part of it.”

I should have said no.

I should have resisted.

I should have screamed.

I should have fought him.

I should have run back to my apartment.

I did none of that.

Instead, I stepped into that helicopter, sore and flushed and dripping shame down my thighs—because I didn’t know what he would do to me next.

But a part of me wanted to…