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“This is a clit tickler,” he says.
My eyes widen.
“It’s also extremely effective on the breasts. Would you like to try it?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He runs the blunt tines along my inner thigh. “How is it?”
Pleasure skitters up my nerves like static electricity and gathers in my clit. I clench my teeth, trying to hold back a moan, but it just resounds in my chest.
“Alright,” I squeak, looking forward to feeling it somewhere other than my thigh.
“I give you permission to whine and beg and plead to your heart’s content,” he says with a smirk.
His words hit like a slap of reality because I know he intends to draw this out. “Wait,” I say, my voice breathy. “Aren’t you going to use that thing on my clit?”
“That’s a possibility,” he drawls, and slides the tickler down my thigh.
I clamp my lips together, determined to take everything he dishes out and not give him the begging he wants. Professor Segul gets off on my humiliation. The kneeling, crawling, the kissing of his feet.
He’s training me to enjoy his touch—maybe it’s time I trained him to enjoy giving me pleasure.
He slides the ticker up and down my inner thighs. Each time he gets even close to my sex, it clenches.
“How is that?” he asks.
I inhale a sharp breath into my nostrils and force my voice not to betray my excitement. “It’s alright.”
Then he rakes it across my fabric-covered pussy. “And this?”
“Oh,” I blurt. “N-not bad.”
His eyes flash with a challenge, and he runs the tickler from one side of my pussy to the other. It slows over my clit, unleashing mayhem. They’re like little metallic fingers stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, igniting lines of dynamite along each axon before they meet in my core and explode.
My thighs want to clamp together, but the stirrups spread me open. I want to howl at the pleasure, but I’m too stubborn.
This time, he positions the tickler on my mound, inches above my covered clit. He pauses to meet my eyes with a penetrating stare that tells me he’s analyzing my every response.
With the gentlest of movements, he slides the metal implement down the fabric. I can barely feel the pressure but it’s a ghost of a tickle that spreads tendrils of sensation across my skin.
I close my eyes because I don’t want to look at him when that thing reaches my clit.
“Eyes on me.” He pauses the tickler.
My eyes open, and a breath stalls in my throat. Once he’s satisfied that he’s captured all my attention, he slides the tickler down.
I had no idea a man could be so measured in his movements, but a jolt of pleasure strikes the base of my clit. Imaginary forks of lightning zip across the surrounding flesh and travel as far as my back.
Arching in the chair, I gasp as the metal tines make their slow progress up my clit. Warmth and blood and sensation rush to that tiny, sensitive spot, making it feel five times its size.
I pant hard through parted lips, my gaze fixed on his cruel smile.
“How is it now,Miss Stahl?”
There’s a bite to the way he says my name, a threat that if I continue acting unaffected by the tickler, he’ll escalate.
I can’t fucking wait.
