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“I just—” Daphne grits her teeth. It’s going to get away from her, and then—fuck. I might lose control of myself, too. “I need to come. Please, don’t be so mean to me.”
“It’s work to be art.” This is the same tone I’d use if I were informing a buyer about a piece. “It’s not simply hanging in a frame. You have to be at your best, little painter. Are you at your best right now? Are you going to be good?”
She clenches around me as I say it, and I almost come in my pants.
“I can be good. I’ll be pretty for you.”
“Can you? Because I think you’re about to come without permission.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Her eyelids flutter closed.
“Eyes on me, little painter.” I don’t want her looking away for a single fucking moment. Her eyes bring life to the rest of her. They set off the fine curve of her cheek and the gorgeous slope of her shoulders. Her arms, up next to her head like this, create shadow. My little painter is a complex, textured image.
No. Not an image.
I’m still finger-fucking her.
Daphne gets wetter with every stroke. Her noises become more animal, more involuntary.
“Emerson. Please.”
“You begged me before. I enjoyed that very much. I don’t want you to come now. I might not get to hear you beg.”
“Please let me come.” She’s absolutely urgent. A true emergency. “Please, please, let me come on your fingers. Please.” Tears gather at the corners of her eyes and run down in rivulets. “Please. I don’t want to disappoint you.” Oh, my little painter. Such honesty. “I’m trying to be good. Please, please, please let me.”
I haven’t picked up the pace. Haven’t fucked her harder.
I kiss her, stealing her words for myself. “Don’t disappoint me, then. Don’t come before I say. If you do, there will be consequences.”
“Like what? You’ll take me out of my frame?”
It makes me laugh. It feels so good to hear that. “Would that be the worst thing to happen to you, little painter? Being dismissed from your frame?”
She nods, ashamed.
My god, she’s perfect for me. It would be the worst thing to happen to her if I stopped the game because of this. I kiss her collarbone.
“I won’t, Daphne. I will never let you out. You’ll be framed here forever so I can watch you and play with you and fuck you. So I can deny you permission to come.”
“I can’t stop. Please.”
“Thirty more seconds.”
She starts counting, silently, the words on her lips. It’s agonizing. Her body rebels the entire way. Every ten seconds, I increase the pressure on her clit. She’s sobbing by the time we approach the end. It’s a punishment for us both, I suppose, because there’s nothing I want more than to fuck her.
“Now, little painter.”
Daphne comes without hesitation.
She’s torn apart by it. My little painter can’t keep her eyes open. Her words turn senseless and hot. Her pussy grips my fingers tight.
And because I am a bastard, I don’t let her stop. I catch her before she’s all the way down and send her back up with the pad of my thumb. Relentless.
“Oh, no,” she says. “Oh, no—”
I cover her mouth with my other hand.
“Be quiet and let me see you.”
