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My heels made the position particularly difficult. The entirety of my ass was on display, my short skirt useless. Manson’s boots stood close behind me, covered with my lipgloss kisses. He said nothing as the moments passed, moments that felt like an eternity.
“Spread your legs,” he said. “I want you exposed. All of you.”
I shuffled my feet apart, and the cool air kissed over my flesh. I waited, and my legs began to tremble. The difficulty of the position, and my ever-growing arousal, was going to make this an impossible pose to hold for long. Again, Manson was silent. I almost couldn’t bear it.
“Spread yourself open for me.”
A groan escaped me. Every command came so slowly, so methodically. He was giving me the time to linger, to truly feel the depths of my degradation. I hated him for it. Hated it...loved it...wanted more of it. I reached back, trying to get a hold on my tender bits. My fingers were slick, and I could barely manage to pull my labia open, unable to get any grip.
Manson was chuckling at the state of me as I finally managed to spread myself apart. God, I felt so filthy. I felt so exposed. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t even take a step closer to me. I wished he would. I wanted his touch so desperately.
The saliva was building up in my mouth. Unable to swallow, I’d start drooling soon. Humiliation on top of humiliation. My fingers slipped and I had to readjust, pressing my lips apart, exposing my wet and leaking hole. I heard his breath change - it might have been a gasp, or perhaps a soft laugh.
“God, it’s so pathetic how needy you are." His voice wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t taunting. He said it like it was simply a fact, and I whimpered my agreement around the thong. “Running away to the bathroom to touch yourself, such a naughty girl. Been a while since you got off, hm?"
If I’d been able to form coherent words, I would have agreed. I’d been with other guys since I’d broken up with Kyle; casual sex was my favorite stress reliever. But this was more than just sex: this had awakened another desire in me, a lust for something cruel and unusual that I’d never had fulfilled. It was a glaring, roaring monster that demanded to be satiated.
Manson squatted down, staring at me where my head hung down between my legs. He smiled: an utterly sadistic, wolfish grin. “Or are you just that much of a freak that being ordered to lick some weird guy’s boots is getting you this hot and bothered? Is being spanked and made to beg for mercy nearly enough to get you off? Such a fucking freak.” His gaze shifted, and I knew he was staring directly at my hole.
God please, touch me, touch me, fill me up!
“Service and discipline,” he murmured. “That’s what you’re lacking. You can’t expect to be rewarded for following such simple commands.”
I wanted it so bad - hadn’t he made me wait long enough? Drool gathered against my lips and began to drip. The urge to spit out my thong was growing, but the discomfort felt right. The longer I endured it the better I felt, because it meant I was still obeying. I was still following his orders. I was earning my reward.
You can’t expect to be rewarded for following such simple commands.
“Jessica, look at me.”
I’d closed my eyes without noticing, but I opened them to gaze at him, upside-down between my spread legs.
“Finger yourself,” he said softly. “Just one finger. Slowly.”
“Please...please, fuck…” The words were incomprehensible, swallowed up by the thong. How could I bring myself to do that in front of him? He’d see everything. The choice to say no was there. He’d given me a safety word and demanded I use it, if the need arose. But I didn’t feel that need. I felt humiliated...embarrassed...turned on… I was frightened, but not in a bad way.
I was not frightened of what he would do to me, but of what I was willing to do at his command.
With one finger, slowly, I pressed inside my pussy. My flesh parted, soft and slick. I had to move carefully so my pink acrylics wouldn’t poke. Only one finger wasn’t enough, but the subtle stimulation made my breath shudder. I closed my eyes again, unable to bear looking at him as he watched me.
“Fuck yourself. Come on, Jess. In and out.”
Why did he have to make it worse by talking me through it? I slid my finger out, then slowly all the way back in. Then again, and again. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, even with my eyes closed. With every thrust of my finger, I was drawing out more wetness. My clit felt swollen with need. Instead of continuing to hold myself open, I moved my other hand down between my legs, and rubbed my fingers over my clitoris, sending shocks of stimulation through my trembling legs. I rested my head against the wall to keep my balance. Drool dripped down my chin as I moaned, struggling to keep my knees straight. Unbidden, I added a second finger inside myself, pumping in and out.
I was groaning loudly, not caring if anyone heard me, no thoughts of how grossly embarrassing it was. I was getting close...so close...god, it felt so good, my knees were buckling...
“Jessica, stop. Now.”
His voice cut through everything, like a switch being flicked in my brain. The fact that he was laughing startled me almost instantly out of my desperate, horny fog. I withdrew my fingers, swearing around my gag. I’d been close...so damn close! I should have kept going, I should have had my pleasure when I had the chance! Instead I stood up so quickly that my head spun. I pulled the thong from my mouth and tossed it to the floor, then turned to face him with a glare on my face and my back pressed to the wall. He squatted there, looking up at me, and bared his sharp teeth in a grin.
“How funny,” he murmured. “You’d rather obey me than get yourself off. Even though it frustrates you...you’d still rather obey. That's good. Much better.” His grin widened as he stood up. He grasped a hand around my throat, but he didn’t squeeze - not yet. He just held me there, pinned to the wall. My breath was unsteady, hot and heavy in my lungs as I trembled. With his free hand, he grasped my wrist and brought it up, looking at the fingers I’d used to pleasure myself.
“You’re more fun than I expected,” he said softly. Gently, he took my finger in his mouth. I gasped at the contact. His tongue slid over my skin, savoring every drop of my juices, his mouth embracing me in a way that was both terrifying and arousing. His lips were tender. His teeth grazed over my skin as he sucked, his mouth enclosing me with a suction that I couldn’t help but imagine being applied to other parts of myself. His grip on my throat tightened, pressing me back, making my breathing difficult but not impossible.
I sucked in my breath as best I could while he slowly withdrew my finger from his mouth. He licked his lips, and his eyes met mine. His look was vicious, hungry. His gaze flickered from my eyes to my mouth, a silent question, a command he didn’t dare give.
So I gave it instead.
“Do it,” I demanded. “Kiss me.”
His hand remained gripped around my throat as he claimed my mouth, his body pressed up against mine, the metal straps on the harness he wore digging into my chest, and the pain made me want to cling to him harder. My hands gripped his hips, then clawed up his back, wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against me as our tongues intertwined. His taste was mint, faint tobacco and beer. He bit my lip, laughed at my gasp, then kissed me again. It was a struggle between us for who could be rougher, who could demand more, as if we were trying to meld our bodies together. I scratched his neck, determined to break the skin, and he shuddered against me.
