Chapter 21
Silas texted two mornings later that he was taking her somewhere fancy, and to dress up. She had no idea what she was dressing for, and not a whole lot of super-fancy dresses in her armoire.
His next text told her to look in his closet, and damned if he didn’t have one of her nicer dresses stowed away. One of her favorites, and she paired the burgundy dress with burgundy and tan heels, fixed her hair and makeup, and was genuinely excited about an evening out with Silas.
She had time alone with Kenny every day during lunch, his quiet strength grounding her in the day-to-day luxury of her routine, the comfort of knowing how every day would unfold, not necessarily all the whats, but the whens.
She’d had a dozen small moments with Boone that week — walks in the woods, time working out together.
She had time with Silas in the evenings before the other two returned home, and as much as she hated his damned sadistic list in the mornings, it added to the daily routine too.
But she was looking forward to a special evening with him. Something special that involved dressing up.
He didn’t get out of the car. Just rolled down the window and said, “Well. Look at you.”
She climbed in, cheeks warm. “Thanks for making sure I had a nice dress, Sir.”
“Of course.” He reached over, slid two fingers along the inside of her thigh just above the hem of her dress. “I look forward to bending you over and fucking you in it later.”
She shivered and didn’t answer.
He drove with no explanations, and she didn’t waste her breath asking. She’d find out where he was taking her when they got there.
His hand stayed on her leg the whole time, possessive, but that was fine. She liked being owned by him.
When he pulled into a narrow lot tucked between brick buildings in the art district, she blinked.
“Wait, this is—”
“High Tea & Crumpet. Yes.” Silas cut the engine and turned toward her, smirking. “We’re going to sip overpriced Earl Grey and eat cucumber sandwiches while you pretend to be a well-behaved lady. Think you can manage?”
“I can try, Sir.” she grinned. “No promises.”
He led her in with a hand at her back. Inside, the teahouse was absurdly perfect, with mismatched floral China, delicate lace curtains, and soft classical music playing under the gentle clink of teacups and conversation.
A hostess in pearls seated them near a window and handed them menus like folded parchment.
Willow glanced around. “Boone and Kenny would hate this.”
“That’s why they’re not here.”
She smiled and let him order — a full tower service with tiny sandwiches, fresh-baked scones, and the “Winter Wonderland” tea blend he pronounced as if he were making fun of it. But he sipped it with every appearance of pleasure, pinky not raised but implied.
Willow picked up a triangle of egg salad on rye and took a careful bite.
Silas watched her. “Chew slowly. People are watching.”
“They are not,” she whispered.
“They absolutely are. You’re the only woman here whose dress fits like that.”
She flushed, but she didn’t stop eating.
They lingered over warm scones, clotted cream, and spiced apple jam. He reached across the table, wiped a dab of jam from her lower lip with his thumb, and brought it to her mouth.
“Clean it,” he said softly.
She took his thumb between her lips and sucked, and his eyes flared enough to awake something dark inside her.
“I’m sure there’s a joke somewhere about a wolf in a teahouse, but thank you for bringing me, Sir.”
“You love it.”
She smiled. “I really do.”
They finished the sweets — mini yule logs, peppermint bark shortbread, eggnog truffles, and gingerbread petit fours — and sat back in the afternoon light, her hand in his across the white-linen table.
“They have themed teas in spring,” he said.
She raised a brow. “Like what?”
“Bridgerton. Jane Austen. Mad Hatter.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yes,” he said smoothly. “We’re going to them all.”
She sighed. “I’ll need themed dresses, and maybe a little warning next time.”
He reached for her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers one by one. “You don’t get to give orders. You’ll come when and where you’re told.”
Her insides ignited, and she nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
They stopped for eggnog milkshakes on the way home because he said they needed some Americana. As soon as they were in the front door of the house, he bent her over a sofa in the living room and fucked her ass hard and ruthless.
It was a perfectly lovely evening.
* * * *
The days passed with the comfortable routines and schedules Willow craved. Mornings being used, chores and workouts, time with Kenny, personal time, Silas returning home, then the others. Dinner. A scene with one of them, bedtime with two.
It was comforting. More challenging some days than others, but this was her life and she reveled in it.
Did she love every second? No, but that wasn’t the point. She had exercises to get her used to pleasuring three men at once, rather than being used by them, and she went through the motions but had a hard time focusing. She resented some of the exercises Boone required, but she did them.
But even those items worked as part of her overall requirements. She’d given herself to these men, and if she liked everything they required, it would mean they weren’t using her to their fantasies, but to hers.
And that wouldn’t have worked for her.
But when Kenny told her their next foursome night would be a test to see how she was coming with her exercises, she was understandably nervous.
The lights were low when she walked into the bedroom, a chalkboard leaned against the headboard. White chalk in the tray.
Willow’s stomach clenched at the sight of it.
Silas and Boone were in the bed, Kenny standing on the other side while she stood on her medallion in inspection pose.
Kenny crossed his arms and looked at her appraisingly.
“You’ve been doing coordination drills,” he said, voice even.
“Silicone cocks, gag practice, vibrating toys. You should’ve learned how to stroke two cocks while your ass is being fucked by the machine.
Learned to suck while fucking. Tonight, we find out how well you’ve absorbed the lessons. ”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“This is training,” he reminded her. “You aren’t expected to be perfect, but every failure will be documented.” He climbed onto the mattress. “Permission to join us on the bed.”
She crawled to the center of the giant bed, and Boone lifted her, settled her on his thighs.
Silas and Kenny moved into position, one on either side, their cocks already half-hard. Silas handed her lube with a lazy grin.
“Let’s see if you can make music with those pretty little fucktoy hands.”
She lubed her palms and reached for them both — Kenny on the left, Silas on the right — and then Boone’s thick fingers were spreading her ass, his cock pressing against her rim. No warm-up. No mercy.
She gasped, body arching as he pushed in. She tried to keep her hands moving, but her left hand stuttered mid-stroke, and Kenny hissed.
“Focus.”
He leaned and made a mark on the board, and she resolved to do better.
She tried. Tried so hard. But Boone’s cock was massive and unforgiving, every inch stretching her until her brain felt like it was leaking out through her spine. Her arms trembled as she jerked each shaft out of sync, without rhythm.
Silas grunted in irritation. “Focus, fucksleeve.”
The chalk scraped the board. Two. Then three. Then four.
Boone thrust harder, his hand curled in her hair to keep her upright. Every slam of his hips made her falter. Her rhythm was gone. Hands slipped, jerked unevenly. She forgot to stop before she got to the top and lost them. Couldn’t keep her hands moving up and down. Forgot herself.
Scratch. Five. Six. Seven.
Boone groaned, low and rough, and when he finally emptied in her ass, she sagged with relief but it didn’t last.
“New position,” Kenny ordered. “My cock in your mouth. Boone at your side after he washes his dick. Silas in your ass. Hands and mouth, little whore. I want coordination.”
Her jaw ached before she even took him in, still stretched from training the day before. Kenny’s cock hit the back of her throat with brutal familiarity, and she choked once before settling into rhythm — suction, tongue, breathe, repeat.
Boone’s cock was only half-hard, and she wrapped her hand around it, thumb brushing the slit as she stroked.
Then Silas pushed into her ass, still raw and gaping from Boone, and the burn was too much. Her body fought it. Her mind fled.
And her hand stopped moving.
Scratch. Eight.
She whimpered, adjusted, but then her jaw trembled around Kenny and she gagged, pulled back too far, lost the seal. Lost him.
Scratch. Nine.
Silas grabbed her hips and fucked into her deeper, harder, like he wanted to break something loose, and every time he bottomed out, she lost the thread. Boone went soft in her hand.
Scratch. Ten.
“Unacceptable,” Kenny murmured, and the disappointment in his voice hurt more than the marks on the board.
Her hands shook. Her mouth flooded with drool. Her cunt clenched on nothing, aching to be filled, to be used, but this wasn’t about getting off. It was about service. Obedience. Control.
And she was failing.
Fifteen. Twenty.
When Silas came in her ass, Kenny pulled her off his cock and gave her a moment to breathe.
“Let’s see if you can fuck yourself properly while your mouth’s busy,” he said.
She climbed into his lap and lowered herself down, his cock sliding into her cunt, and she moaned. Finally filled.
Her thighs quivered. Her inside muscles grabbed at him, the beginnings of orgasm inches away if she’d only start moving.
Silas sat in front of her and snapped clamps onto both nipples. No warmup. No warning. She cried out and froze.
Scratch.