“Give,” he repeated. Another slap on my leg. I couldn’t help it—I gasped again. Not from pain. But from the heat that wascreeping up my thigh from his touch and running straight to the core of me.
“Give.” My muscles tensed, prepared this time, and I got another slap on the thigh. His touches weren’t getting any rougher, but the constant smacking in that same place, over and over again, was starting to smart. My skin tingled even when his hand left me, and I was certain the spot had gone red.
“Your breasts and ass. May I hurt them?”
He didn’t ask:may I touch them?
He asked:may I hurt them?
I was throbbing. I didn’t know I wanted it to so much. All I could get out was an, “Mmhm.”
“I need to hear you say it, Ophelia,” he reminded gently.
“Yes. Yes, Sir.”
“Give.” I braced for the stinging slap, but it didn’t come. Instead, he ran a feather-light caress up my thigh, touching my underwear line. Then he drew his fingertips slowly back down.
The gentle touch was a surprise, and my body acted starved for it. My nipples got tight and hard and even the soft fabric of my bra felt unbearable. I moaned out loud.
“How do you feel about having an orgasm in public?” His voice was that same calm, controlled tone, like he was completely unaware of the puddle I’d made in my panties.
“Please,” I blurted out. My brain was scrambled, my cunt was tight, and I felt like I might cum on the spot if he asked it of me. Then I realized I should probably keepsomecards a little closer to my chest, so I stammered out, “I…I mean…I’m open to it.”
I wet my lips. They’d gone dry.
I heard him get up. I half expected him to come back with a Hitachi and shove it between my thighs. Instead, the lip of something hard pressed against my mouth.
“Swallow,” he said.
He tilted the cup. Cool water spilled into my mouth. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I tasted it. I swallowed it down obediently.
Is this what being taken care of felt like? It was nice.
“A little more,” he coaxed. Another gush of water down my throat. I swallowed as much as I could, but my mouth was too full. This time, a cold stream trickled down the side of my lips. His hand grasped my face, gently cleaning my mess off my cheek.
“Good girl,” Phantom said. His voice had a new, rough grit in it. Did feeding me water turn him on? If he was even atenthas horny as I was right now, he was in agony, but he was doing a noble job keeping it together.
To which I wanted to say:fuck nobility; rail me, paramedic daddy.
I swallowed, sucked in air, and got out, “Thank you, Sir.”
I heard the sound of the cup finding its place on a table. Then he said: “Give me your hands.”
I lifted my hands as best I could, fingers clasped, wrists bound together with the rope. His fingers tugged the rope. “Stand.” I did. “Follow me.”
He pulled me forward by my bound hands. Blind, I awkwardly shuffled forward. He walked at a quick clip, so I couldn’t overthink it, I just had to trust him. It seemed like he was leading me around the room, and I couldn’t help but wonder who else was there—who was watching me half-trip over my feet like a baby deer? The thought made my cunt ache again, and I was starting to realize how much I enjoyed being truly helpless with Phantom in the driver’s seat.
“Stop,” he said, a second too late. I squeaked, my face finding his chest, my body bumping against his. I heard him exhale sharply.
“Sorry, Sir.”
His hands clamped around my arms. He turned me in a circle, then moved me where he wanted me. I felt like a child about to hit the piñata, until I heard him say: “Bend over.”
Oh. No.Iwas the piñata.
I did. He took my hands and guided my palms to a flat surface. I heard something snap into place. When I attempted to move my hands back now, the rope caught, holding me in place.
“I’m going to take these off,” he said. His hands touched my panties.
