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Don't My Kisses Make it Better

He’d made her cum so many times in the last 12 hours that she’d long ago lost count.

“Spread your legs.”

Instead of answering, she let out a slight whimper.

“Spread your legs, kitten.” His tone was more demanding.

Slowly, her legs fell apart for him, her body tense with anticipation.

He’d fingered her, gone down on her, fucked her. He’d poked, prodded, rubbed, licked, tickled, and swatted almost every inch of her body, but he’d paid particular attention to her sensitive clit and now it felt bruised. Even the slightest gentle touch caused pain. She’d touched herself without permission. She’d cum without following the rules, and now he was going to make sure she knew she belonged to him.

His face lowered between her legs. Gentle touches of his tongue made her squirm, but she didn’t pull away. It hurt, but it felt so good. It was torture. It was exquisite. Pain and pleasure mingled together in ways she couldn’t separate, nor did she want to.

He sucked her abused clit into his mouth, making her gasp. “Hmm. Are you sore, kitten?” 

She nodded her head at his question before remembered to reply properly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t my kisses not make it better?” He asked, knowing full well how tender her pussy must feel.

She closed her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. “Yes, Sir.” She answered.   

“Yes, Sir what?” He wasn’t going to let her off easy. She shifted, letting out a soft groan.

“Yes, Sir. Your kisses make it better.” She managed to get out. He chuckled. Her heart stuttered in her chest. It was never a good sign when he chuckled like that during a scene.

“Good. Then I think it can handle a bit of whipping just so you don’t forget.” She wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. She was already going to feel the ache for days. Anytime she needed to touch herself, she was going to remember that he’d been there, remember she belonged to him. Still, her legs opened wider for him, her back arching slightly causing her wrist restraints to go tight.

“Yes, Sir.” She agreed, waiting eagerly for what was to come.

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