This topic contains 2 replies, has 2 voices, and was last updated by  Cheeky 1 year, 2 months ago.

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  • #27270

    Registered subMrs™

    Note: See part 1 here.

    Squirming fruitlessly beneath him, I evade his thumb for only a second before he brushes it over my nipple again. It’s hard and aching for more. Or less.

    “I’m going to let go of your wrists now. Stay put.”

    “Yes, Sir.” I will try to stay put, but I know what he’s planning and it won’t be easy.

    Leaning over me, his body compressing one side of mine to the mattress, he strokes my hair and cheek, kisses my lips and jaw. With one finger, he lifts my chin, following it up with a trail of whispered kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, and down my chest. As he nears the peak of my breast, I squirm with anxious anticipation.

    “Don’t move,” he reprimands.

    I hold still and brace myself for his payback.

    A bite for a bite.

    He nibbles and sucks his way toward my nipple at a tantalizingly slow pace. Stopping, he grins at me, opens his mouth wide, and lets out a hot breath without touching me.

    “Just do it!” I squirm, mindful of my arms still stretched over my head.

    Smile gone, he raises his head, tone lowered. “I beg your pardon.”

    Shit. His fire both startles and excited me, shoots straight to my core. I blink. “Sorry, Sir.”

    “Good,” he says, closes his teeth over my nipple, and tugs when I’m least prepared for it.

    I yelp and twist away. To my surprise, instead of holding me in place, he helps me roll over onto my stomach. I’m face down, hair tented around my head, blocking my view. The bed dips by my side where he kneels, his knee scuffing my hip. He presses his other knee to the small of my back just enough to hold me there.

    “One spank for the interruption and one for your tone. Are you ready?” He flattens his palm over one cheek.

    Muffled against the bedding, I confirm, “Yes, Sir.”

    He rubs in a small circle then lifts his hand away quickly. I brace myself for the smack. Instead, he resumes rubbing. I blink under my dark fort of hair. He lifts again and I brace myself. Still no smack. It’s frustrating as hell that he’s—


    Yelping, I jerk against his knee in my back. He groans and delivers the second smack to my other cheek. This one I’m ready for and take without flinching.

    “Good girl.”

    He removes his knee from my back and the bed dips a few times.

    “Roll over, doll,” he says.

    I do, swiping the hair away from my face so I can see him. He hooks a finger into my left cuff and bolts it to the top corner of the bed, the metal clasps clinking in the low, solid tone of well-made materials.

    After adding similar thick leather cuffs to my ankles, he bolts each of those to opposing corners of the foot of the bed. I’m sprawled like a starfish, my right arm the only free limb.

    “Give me your arm,” he says, hand out, palm up.

    I watch intently, my curiosity piqued, as he attaches a longer leash and drags it across my body to my left ankle.

    He glances up, his dark eyes full of mischief.

    “What are you doing?” I ask.

    He gives me a glare.

    I correct, tucking my chin. “Sir.”

    “That’s better. Your count is one. Watch your tone next time.” Without answering my question, he tugs on the leash.

    I lift my shoulder to accommodate. And to see what he is up to.

    “Lie back, pet. Flat.”

    I sigh. “Yes, Sir.”

    “Don’t sigh at me. That’s two. You’ve just fulfilled your previous count and you’re already climbing. Best slow it down.”

    My fingers jam against my inner thigh as he works to bind me. He slides the leather strap through the ring at my ankle, then back through its own clasp, ratcheting through three notches before pausing. “Resist,” he says.

    I raise my head. “Huh?”

    Resist,” he says more firmly.

    I pull against his hold, bending my elbow only slightly before he stops me with a tug.

    “Right there. Stop. Relax your arm.”

    “Yes, Sir.” I relax. The cuff around my wrist falls at the crest of my mons veneris, my fingertips dangling between my thighs.

    He locks the strap in place and tests it. “Perfect. Let’s begin.” He sits on the bed beside me and leans over, arms propped up on each side of me. “First rule, you are not allowed to touch yourself until—”

    “I’m not going to—”

    He gives me a warning look, jaw clenched. I bite my lip.

    “You are not to touch yourself until I say so. Do you understand?”

    “Yes, Sir.”

    “Second rule, you are not allowed to come without my permission.”

    My gaze shifts to one side and back to him. “Isn’t that always a rule?”

    “Yes.” He laughs. “You tend to need reminding.”

    My face heats up. When I’m ready to come, there’s no stopping it. I’m not sure how he expects me to—

    He slides his hand up the inside of my thigh, breaking my train of thought. Stopping short, he shifts it to my hip and slides up my side, under my arm. The bed creaks as he adjusts his position. Suctioning his lips over my breast, he flicks his tongue over my nipple. I buck against the restraints as the pleasure shoots straight between my legs.

    He pulls away with a sucking pop, glancing down my body. “Your count is three.”


    “Rule one,” he says. “Don’t touch yourself until I say so.”

    I realize I’ve pressed my fingers tight against myself, feeding the pressure I need. I let go, dropping my head back. “Sorry, Sir.”

    “Mm hm.” He resumes play on my nipples, touching me nowhere else. The void drives me mad. I yank at my restraints, clenching to expel a measure of my frustration.

    “Mmm,” he hums in my ear. “I love it when you respond to me.”

    The tickle of his breath on my ear increases my need and I give him another moan.

    He nibbles all around my ear. Then finally whispers, “You may touch yourself now.”

    I press my fingers firmly over my whole sex, letting out a whimper at the relief.

    “What’s rule two, pet?”

    “I’m not allowed to come without your permission, Sir.”

    “Good girl. Rule three, you may not stop touching yourself until I say so.”

    I can’t imagine why I would want to stop now that I’ve started. “Yes, Sir.”

    He smirks. “Remember that, love.”

    I slide my fingers between my lips and drag moisture up to my clit while he covers my body with kisses, dragging his tongue over sensitive spots, biting other spots. I’m lost in feeling. No thinking. Just him and me and the places we heat up.

    “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re radiant.”

    I’m nearing my peak in no time. “May I please come now, Sir?”

    He growls and bites my neck. “No, you may not.”

    I slow my touch, doing what I need to to stop the freight train coursing through my system. I won’t last much longer. “Please, Sir? May I come now?” I beg.

    He crawls over me on all fours until he’s kneeling over me, one leg between my thighs. “No, you may not.”

    Shit. I stop fondling myself and hold as still as possible. I need to cool down or I will come.

    “Rule three,” he says. You may not stop touching yourself until I say so.

    I whimper and press my fingers into my folds. I’m going out of my mind. He slides his flattened hand down my chest, belly, along one thigh, then slips two fingers inside me. I gasp and hold still.

    “Your count is four. Do not stop moving your hand.”

    I cry under my breath, reeling on the edge, straining to hold myself there until I have permission to fall. I pull against my restraints with fierce strength. “Please, Sir. I can’t…”

    Pulling his fingers back out, he takes my jaw in his hand. “Look at me, pet.”

    My eyelids are so heavy, I can’t open them.

    He taps my cheek gently. “Look at me, love. You can do this.”

    I make a valiant effort to open my eyes and focus on him.

    “What day of the week is it?”

    What fucking day of the week is it? I can’t even…

    “Come on. Think,” he says, gliding his fingers back inside me.

    I draw from the recesses of my mind. “It’s Friday.” The distraction successfully pulls me back from the edge. I think I can hold out.

    “Good girl. Don’t stop touching yourself,” he reminds me. He slides his fingertips along the opening of my vagina, up and down, over and over.

    My pleasure skyrockets. I’m teetering at the edge, starting to fall. I can’t stop it. “Please, may I come now, Sir?” I ask, frantic.

    He leans close. “Yes, you may.” Covering my mouth with his hand, he adds, “But don’t make a sound.”

    I crash, head first into the waves of my orgasm, stretching my restraints to their limits, arching my back, and swallowing my cries. Silenced, my pleasure can take only one path out of me. Gathered from all my extremities, bottle-necked and freed, my release hits ten-fold.

  • #27425

    Registered subMrs™

    Very nice, Cheeky

  • #30301

    Registered subMrs™

    Thank you, SweetOne!

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