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I was so wet. His fingers slid so easily through my arousal that I groaned with shame. I tried to press my thighs back together, but it didn’t stop him, not even a little bit.
He circled my clit slowly, possessively, like it belonged to him, and I pressed against him despite everything in me that told me not to. He leaned down low enough to press his lips against my shoulder and I sucked in an anxious breath. I was so out of my element it was hard to guess what to expect from a man like him. My cheeks were still damp with my tears as I drew in a shaky breath and I did the only thing I could think of.
“Please,” I managed to beg.
“Such a wet little puss
y. It’s almost as if you’d like to come for me, isn’t that right, little girl?” he whispered, his voice low enough so that I was the only one who would be able to hear. His words were intoxicating, and I tried to focus on what I should want, rather than what my body needed. His fingers continued to tease me, and I lost all semblance of reason. I pressed my clit against his roughened finger pads and moaned at the thought of coming for him while on display like this for the audience to see.
What was wrong with me? Why would I even think that? Why was I like this?
“Stop thinking, sassy girl. You’re not in control right now. I am, and right now you’re going to come for me because you don’t have a choice. You’re going to come all over my fingers, and everyone is going to watch your shameful display, naughty girl,” he demanded softly, and a hot tremor raced down my spine.
“I… Please don’t,” I whimpered, even though I knew he could feel how my pussy was clenching just at the thought.
“There’s only one answer I expect to hear, little girl. You know what it is,” he scolded gently.
I licked my lips and closed my eyes, feeling reluctance even as I opened my mouth to answer. I didn’t want to say it, but I needed to.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, feeling a heated flush caress my cheeks. He pressed against my clit a bit harder with those two fingers and my stomach flittered with anxiety at what he was about to do. For several long terrifying moments, he explored that wetness between my thighs before he gently tapped my clit in warning with the flat of his finger. It was almost painful, but I found it all the more arousing anyway.
He gently teased my clit, gradually increasing the pressure until it dawned on me that he hadn’t said that in jest. I could feel myself hurtling closer to the edge of orgasm with every passing second, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I’d already passed the point of no return and his knowing touch danced across my flesh as if he knew exactly that.
That was the first moment that I truly accepted that I was no longer in control and its effect was so intensely strong that I lost all sense of everything else. I forgot about the stage and the audience and focused on the only thing that mattered now.
His touch between my thighs.
His fingers played me like a song, and I was lost in sensation. My punished backside burned, but it only added fuel to the fire. His touch was gentle at first, but it didn’t stay that way much longer. It grew much rougher after that.
I keened with surprise as he forced me closer to the edge and not long after that he took his touch away entirely. The brutal slash of denial ripped through me and I moaned with frustration before his fingers returned. Then he did it again.
And again.
He edged me over and over until his touch became almost too painful to bear, but still I wanted it anyway. He would ramp up my desire until I thought I was just about ready to orgasm and he’d deny me over and over again. I couldn’t keep quiet. Soon I screamed with frustration and I didn’t stop there.
I moaned and cried. When he denied me release for what felt like the tenth time in a row, the resulting ache became too much to bear and I started to beg.
I didn’t care that everyone could hear me. I begged because I thought it might grant me mercy. His fingers returned to my pussy once more and when they roughly forced me close to orgasm once more, I was hopeful that my pleas had been heard.
They weren’t.
He took his fingers from my needy bud and I screamed in agony as the cruel denial jolted through my quivering body.
“Oh, God. Please let me come for you,” I pleaded. It didn’t matter that my words made me blush and that my hips lifted shamefully as I presented my pussy to him in acquiescence. I did it anyway. I hoped he would listen but after he edged me again, I knew without question now that no matter what I said or did, this was only going to end when he decided it should.
Something happened then that I didn’t expect.
A rolling warmth coursed through me. I wanted to hate his level of control over me, but somewhere beneath all the shock, my aching limbs, and the terrifyingly intense pleasure rampaging inside me, there was a sense of liberation that transcended it all.
It felt like complete and utter freedom.
I’d never felt anything like it.
My fingers holding the stool relaxed. I arched my back and accepted that I was about to orgasm at his hands despite the fact that he’d put me on such shameful display.
It was going to happen when he wanted it to.
I rode the painful edge again and again until I lost track of how many times he denied me release. The hurricane of pleasure in my core was growing and I knew that if he allowed me to finally come, the resulting storm might just very well break me.
