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Denial

The room had begun to feel warmish, even with the air conditioning blasting away. A slight sheen of sweat clings to your breasts and your belly. A few full drops pool in your cleavage. Perhaps you may have been tempted to wipe them away, were your wrists not bound together, stretched above your head, and then secured to the headboard. The effect gave your body a long, graceful and sinuous look, a woman caught in her first morning stretch as she wakes, rather than a woman bound. Ravishing in her exposure, most seductive in her vulnerability. I let the mink glove on my left hand wipe gently over your breasts, and linger long enough to further tease your nipples, keeping them taut and erect. As I slide by, the last moisture evaporates, letting the AC further cool and tingle them, straining them further.

How long has it been, little girl? An hour? Perhaps less. During that time I'd forced your arousal to ebb and flow how many times? Closer each time to a crescendo, but never quite reaching it. The mink glove roams your upper body with soft teasing strokes, paying closest attention to your lovely breasts. Your legs, which retain the last vestiges of your clothing, your thigh high black stockings, are spread shamelessly wide for me by now. Inviting, urging, begging for more attention from my lips and tongue to your wanton, needy pussy. I let my tongue make soft, lazy circles over the lips of your labia, occasionally delving deep inside or sliding higher to tease and nibble your hidden button. In my right hand, a tiny pocket rocket finds that mark more often, and just a few seconds of stimulation at this point has you again at the edge. A few seconds more, we both know, would push you over. Not yet, mon cher. I find I can tuck the rocket inside of you, and maneuver it with my tongue, the sensations not quite enough to bring your release, but the tiny vibrations still managing to spread and tease and stimulate your now neglected and yearning clit. I listen to your ragged breath, hear it catch. So very close, little one.

My fingers followed the path of your juices, those my lips have not already captured, as they trickle down between your legs. I collect them on my fingers, and now you can feel me begin to massage them into the wrinkled skin rimming your cute, tightly puckered little ass. I let you feel the pressure of my fingers as I continue to lubricate you, let it build, let you yield, until one, then two insistent fingers push their way inside you. My tongue assaults your clit once more, and your shiver drives my fingers deeper within you. Now my thumb finds its' way back to your pussy. No need to tease here. Your lips are wide open, waiting, inviting. I slide easily into your slickened hole. I capture our tireless little buzzer, and pinch it between my thumb and fingers, against the thin wall of your flesh that separates them. I can feel the vibration now throughout my hand, all the way to my wrist. I can tell from your moans that it resonates throughout the warm, moist center of your being. I flatten my tongue and rake it, long, slow, harshly over your swollen clit. Once. Pause. Again.

So close now, little girl. Again. You know what I want to hear, my lovely slut. You know I want you to beg me for your release, and to promise me you'll do anything to ensure mine. If ONLY one of your hands were free. It may not be quite as satisfying, but it would surely be enough to get you home at this point. But they're not, and no amount of rubbing your legs together seems to be doing the trick. And you know when you squeeze them tight, you just deny my tongue the access you crave. So, my luscious wench…beg for me. Promise me your submission. Give me the keys to your naughtiest, darkest dreams, your needy body, your greedy, hungry pussy, and I'll take you where you're dying to go.

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