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She allows herself to be restrained believing she is submissive, longing for someone to take control. But at my hands and lips she very slowly – excruciatingly – learns the raw and basic truth of her own aggression.
She seethes with anger and ferocity even as her scent soaks her panties and her nipples shrivel.
There is nothing more beautiful than a woman who needs.
It is in her crimson blush as she feels naked before even a stitch has come off. It is in the wake of goose bumps behind my fingertips. It is in that first tiny, involuntary movement of her hips that signals she is beginning to lose control. It is in her musky fragrance as it begins to fill the room. It is in her almost imperceptible whimper as my tongue traces a tiny wet line along her skin so slowly that the heat from my breath has the time to blow it dry.
And then she is mine.
She tests the cushy restraints that splay her, but she still has no idea how much she is about to learn. She kisses back, for now. She believes still that this is merely a game. She thinks this is what she wants – a man hovering over her and taking.
Soon, however - as the minutes pass into hours and she is brought to the tortured edge for the 11th time – she will be pulling at those binds with all her feminine strength. Her hips will search desperately for friction. Her entire universe will center on the nine square inches between her legs, yearning for an end.
She realizes only then that this is not a game, but a meteor’s path into her very core.
My calm repose at her side infuriates her as her taut and hypersensitive body writhes and squirms for more acute attention. Her eyes are filled with rage. She spits at me. She growls at me. She tells me to go to hell.
She knows that if should could only get loose her adrenaline and wanton frustration would give her the strength to throw me down and devour me whole.
And there she is, finally - the predator, the alpha male in every woman that transcends the delicious hours of torture into a sexual masterpiece.
It is deliciously ironic that now – helpless and desperate and so incredibly wet to the touch – it is she who is the dominant one. It is she who is coiled like a puma on a mesa cliff. It is she whose aggression and power is uncontained at the surface of her ferocious eyes.
Those eyes close as she feels me lean in close, and she winces as she hears my whisper.
“Just tell me what you want me to do?’
She knows I am relishing her helplessness.
She growls loudly in frustration. We both know what she wants, but she must say it. She must beg for it. She wants to scream “FUCK ME, YOU ASS----” but her pride and her fury won’t let her. She slams her eyes shut and turns away from me.
So, we will start again. My teasing, probing fingers move between her outstretched legs to once again begin the gentle frustrating rise as my lips find the pebbles atop her heaving breasts. She moans out loud and begins to struggle again.
She feels no pain. She hears no barked orders. She feels no whip. These things are the cliched window dressings of a pro.
Inflicting pain is not difficult. It requires no perception, no sensitivity, no nuance. Anyone can inflict pain. Anyone can bark profanities.
It is another thing altogether to transform want into need, to keep her on cusp of ecstasy indefinitely forcing emotions unexplored, to completely blur the line between dominance and submission and, in the end, peer into the perfect, hungry eyes of a caged animal.
She hungers for me. She hungers for revenge.
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You have tortured me for hours, using your body, your lips, your fingers to tease me until I am insane with lust and need. I lost count how many times I have given you pleasure with my mouth, my fingers, everything I have.
Every time - as you glow in your sleepy and satisfied aftermath - you settle in next to me, hugging me tenderly and explaining how nice it was, how good it felt, what effect it had on your body.
Of course, your clever and calculated words are torture too. I know this even as you speak them, but it only enhances their effectiveness.
You explain in explicit detail how you have enjoyed what you have denied me all day - what you had taken so freely, even while i was burning for just a tiny taste of you, one more taste. The blue veins in my cock surge as you explain how the intense pressure of your latest release has left you completely drained and content. You tell me how it felt as you ground away and it all came flowing out of you onto my tongue.
I shiver at your words. I cannot recognize the feelings you describe. They are a distant memory of a happier day. A dream.
No, I am focused instead on your relentless finger exploring those veins gently for the hundredth time. I am focused on my own pressure, intense pressure threatening to burst for hours, hours that seemed like days.
"Damn you," I say, half under my breath. Your head, which was comfortably resting on my chest as you watched my cock throb and twitch in your fingers, slowly pops up so you can look into my desperate eyes.
"Ahhh, I'm sorry," you say, mocking sympathy. "It's so rude of me to talk about how good that felt when you are so desperate. It's just that you are so hot when you are needy. I love to play with your body when you need me. You do need me, don't you Dave?
"Please tell me how much you need me?"
I groan and close my eyes. What a bitch, I think to myself, what a sadistic, evil bitch. You are still talking.
"I feel so bad, you have been so good to me and I have been so mean,'' you say. "I've been tickling you and teasing you, bringing you so close over and over and over. I want to make you happy now. I want to help you."
No way am I going to trust this, not after what you have done to me. My skin is on fire because of you. I am sensitive at every nerve ending. Your every touch, your every hot breath I felt shoot from whereever it strikes like a bolt of lightning to the very tip of my engorged and angry cock.
I feel everything you do between my legs. My entire world is between my legs. It is almost painful.
Your delicate hand wraps around the base of my cock, and again, my traitorous body responds by squirming and thrusting to meet you.
"Hmmm, I love it when you squirm like that,'' You say. "That's when I know how much you really need me. You can't control it can you, the squirming and thrusting at my hand. Can you control it?"
"God Dammit! You bitch! Stop talking and just finish it! FINISH ME NOW!"
You giggle.
"Wow, there's no need to scream at me," You say. "There is nothing I would like more than to see that volcano emerge, to see your body contort and tense and all that gooey white liquid come shooting out - spurt after spurt. I bet you have a lot in there by now, don't you?''
I growl again. You keep talking and fondling me.
"Can you just imagine how good that would feel? I bet it would be the best explosion of your entire life,'' you say. "It would be so easy for me right now too, with you so ready and willing and aching to burst. I bet I could do it with one finger in just a few short seconds. You think?
"But then all the fun will be over. You will just fall unconscious and all the this beautiful taut tension I have worked so hard to witness will be gone. You know that's what would happen. You would be so completely satisfied that you would sleep until tomorrow.
"And I don't want you to fall asleep, I want you to be wide awake and wanting me," you say. "I like you that way.''
"You f--ing bitch! I can't take it any more. It hurts!"
"Ahhhh, does it really hurt? Or are you just saying that because you want me to wrap my hand around you and pump it until it explodes? You know I'd love to pump you right now, but with all this squirming I don't think you could control yourself."
Suddenly, your eyes fly wide. "I have an idea!"
Great, another idea.
"I tell you what, I promise I will keep my hand around you, caressing you and stroking you for as long as you want,'' you say, "but you have to stop squirming. You have to remain perfectly still. You move and you lose my hand. Deal?"
"Damn you! please just finish me?"
What choice do I have. I must have that sweet hand on my cock. I don't know what I would do if that hand left my cock. It was like part of me now.
"Okay, you have to concentrate, because I know how hard this is for you," you giggle at your own double entendre. "Okay, I'm going to start now."
As always, your hand is heaven. You grasp it firmly, wet already from my constant leaking, and apply long firm strokes up my sensitive skin all the way to head, where you palm it gently and then move slowly back down. You are an expert. And I am already so close.
I moan in ecstacy, unable to catch my breath. You are bringing me up so quickly. Three strokes, four, five long slow firms pumps. It is perfection. My mind works very hard to control my hips. My instinct is to lunge and thrust and meet every stroke with my own power. But I resist.
As you see my toes curl and listen to my advancing moans, your hand begins to slow, edging me slower and slower to the point of no return. I am frantic. I can't control the tossing of my head, every muscle in my body is clinched. My face is contorted into an ugly grimace.
Your face is aglow with astonishment. You slow even more, until your hand is barely moving. It takes a full minute for your hand to move up my cock to the tip. I am on the edge of heaven, right there. I feel the fluids rise. Then, your hand at the very tip of my cock, grasps it tightly, and stops.
The veins in my neck stand out as I scream. My body is trying to force me to pump, just one thrust could do it. Your evil hand is just sitting there, gripping, feeling my pulsing cock twitch and fill with every beat of my heart.
Your eyes are ablaze with excitement. You are watching my body fight to remain still, my muscles strain, my eyes yearn for friction.
"PLEASE! DON"T DO THIS TO ME!" I scream.
This moment of intense pressure and frustration - unlike any I had ever felt - seems like forever. I am sure my cock is burning the flesh of your immobile hand. You're daring me to pump, you want me to surrender and thrust. You want me to lose control.
But I endure and the moment wanes. I slowly come back from the precipice and start to relax a bit.
"Good good boy,'' you say. "You stayed perfectly still. I want to see that again. Let's try it again."
"NOOOO!. GOD YOU HAVE TO STOP THIS."
And your hand is moving again, taking me back to the brink. I am lost. I know now I cannot win this game. I give in and meet your hand. I am thrusting and bucking and twisting and screaming. Every muscle in my body is pulling at the chains. I want to throw you down and rape every orifice all at once. I hate you. Hate you.
It takes me a full minute to realize your hand is gone, and slowly my frenzy subsides.
"Too bad," you say. "You were such a good boy for such a long time. But rules are rules."
Your hand - just seconds ago on my aching hardness - now is tickling my full jewels and then moving over my chest and sides, keeping me in the game. I am spitting mad, and screaming at you. But the bonds hold.
"It's okay, I will let you settle down a little bit,'' you say, moving your hand once again to the base of my cock, but keeping it silent while my bucking and cursing subsides. "And then we will start again."
I want to die. I want to be anywhere else but here. You are evil, pure evil. And I want to be away from you. I would do anything to be away from you.
"Who knows, if you learn to control yourself a little better, we can play this game with your cock in my mouth," you say. "Would you like to feel it in my mouth, sucking you? Sucking on you until you are insane?
"But that will be much later, right now I want mine first," you say. "All this sexual tension makes me so wet and horny for you."
As you settle yourself once again on my diligent tongue, you suddenly pull away - leaving me with the most beautiful frustrating view just inches away.
"Hey, you know what, I am being so selfish aren't I?" you say. "I am such an ingrate, taking all this pleasure for myself, thinking of no one but myself. It's really not fair, it is?"
I can only moan and buck and stretch my neck for one more taste of heaven.
You lean back and plant yourself on my nose and mouth, almost blocking out any air. I feel you reach to the bedside, but I cannot see. I am busy at my task.
"Hey, stop that for a second,'' you say, giggling. "I need to concentrate for a second."
You lift off me again, leaving yourself just out of reach.
"Dammit," I say. You giggle.
And then, I hear the most cruel words yet out of your mouth. They are words that make my blood boil, my face blush. They bring a newfound rush of strength to my sore and aching muscles as I pull frantically at the chains. Your words strike terror at my heart. Just two simple words:
"Hi, Becky?" you say into the phone.
"No," I say, as I renew my struggles. "Please no!"
"Hi Becky, it's me," you say. "What are you doing right now? I have something really, really interested here you have to see, right now. And, and Becky, do you still have all those paintbrushes?"
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| Age: 23 |
| South west,
United Kingdom |
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