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“Oh, I don’t think so, sweetness. Not today.”
I’m frustrated after the fruitless hunt, and after that picture? I’m hungry. And annoyed.
Sarah’s been abused her whole life, so I get why she’s so weird about sex, but I’m tired of her trying to make me the villain in our dynamic. I was for a day. And she loved it. Since then I’ve been nothing other than what she needs. And she’s denying it.
I bring my hand between her legs, roughly shoving my finger deep inside her drenched cunt. With my free hand, I open my bag, and search one of the side pockets until I find what I need: a small binder clip.
I secure it around her clit, and she screams, head thrown back, shutting her legs closed and writhing from the intensity of the pressure.
She reaches between her legs to remove it, and I grab her wrists, pinning them over her head.
“Why did you send it?” I grunt, demanding as she moans, pants and rubs her leg together.
A casual observer would say she’s too overwhelmed to speak. I know she’s just refusing to. Shifting her hands so they’re both in one of mine, I then remove the clip and proceed to slap her clit, palm flat, repeating the motion again and again.
Sarah starts screaming as I keep torturing the sensitive nub, legs, arms, mouth thrown open in a silent plea.
“If you believe for one second I’ll give you what you want tonight without you giving me what I need, you’re sorely mistaken, brat.Tell me.”
I put the clip back on, and this time, her scream could have woken the dead—or brought all of our roommates to her room to check if I was murdering her. But our roommates are who they are, so no one comes to her aid.
“I—”
“Yes?” I prompt, running my thumbs on her nipples as an incentive to keep going.
She doesn’t, ending in a whimper.
She’ll never make things easy for herself, will she?
I remove it again, freeing her clit to put the clip on her nipple this time.
I reach into my bag again, finding a cane, and I flick it over her clit, my wrists running circles, hitting it again and again.
I don’t stop as I hiss between my teeth, “You will tell me why you sent the picture. Or I will keep torturing you. And don’t you ever think I’ll let you come.”
She wails. “You know why!”
Of course I do.
It’s not what I want, but it’s something, so I bring my mouth to her other nipple, licking it before saying, “Why don’t you clarify it for me, sweetness? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong impression.”
“Bastard!”
“You have me confused with both of my brothers.” I’m the legitimate kid, technically. Not that it’s relevant to anything.
“Marius!” she screams, desperation coating her lilt.
She’s fucking dying for a release, but she’s not giving in, no matter how much I torture her. Because she knows I want her to come, and suspects she’ll get her way. An assumption I’ve led her to hold. Sure, last week, I left her hanging, but this week, she’s had all the satisfaction she could have dreamt of without a single compromise on her part. She could still play her favorite role, the one she’s used to and finds comfort in: the victim.
Fine. I’ll treat her like one.
I know how to do exactly that.
I look through my bag again, finding a black bottle.
I’m mostly naked, except for my boxers, so I lower them before applying a generous amount of lube to my hard length.
Still keeping her hands firmly secured, and that strong clip cutting off the circulation to her clit, I lift her leg up, and press the head of my cock to her lower hole.
