It’s been an excruciatingly long week. Every single work battle was uphill, and I hadn’t had a win all week. I could feel frustration and tension in my belly, a constant course through my bloodstream. The barking of the dog is grating, the thought of cooking dinner completely overwhelming. I have been for a run, had a bubble bath, listened to music- nothing is helping.
I am desperately in need of a hard reset, and there is only one way to get it- I text him.
The room is black through my blindfold. I find myself laying on my bed completely naked, my nipples hard from the air conditioning and the nerves. My legs are spread, arms at my sides. I can hear my heartbeat, making an effort to slow my breathing as the butterflies threaten to take over.
I lay like this for a while, time beginning to slip away as the anticipation consumes me. I feel him before I hear him, the energy of the room shifting as he enters. I am not permitted to speak until spoken to, so I fight the urge to politely greet him or flat out beg him to touch me. I feel his eyes on me as he circles the bed, taking a seat in the chair at my feet. I hear him lean back, taking in the view- saying nothing. I am completely exposed; I ball my hands into fists and then release them, trying to channel the tension before I combust. Christ, he hasn’t even touched me yet and I am already soaking wet.
I first feel his touch on my left foot- an electric shock right through my body, reverberating between my legs. I let in a sharp breath, still not making a sound as I try to relax my body. He grabs my ankle and secures it with a soft cuff, which is secured to the bed. My leg is stretched, and restricted. He then moves to my right ankle, repeating the process. He takes his time, no doubt enjoying the intensity of the tension he is creating. He takes my right hand, stretching and securing it above my head, trailing his fingers softly down the inside of my arm. He stops before he reaches my breast, not yet willing to give me the stimulation I crave. That subtle tease earns him a moan, my body completely covered in goosebumps. He finally cuffs my left wrist, leaving me to squirm against the restraints, testing their narrow limits. If I thought I was exposed before, I am now utterly helpless.
I can smell his soap and feel the heat from his body as he leans over me, moving his lips to my ear. “You are mine,” he says simply, evaporating my whole week and all of its stresses. The deadlines, responsibilities, decisions…none of them matter in this moment- only him- his voice, his hands, his directions. He stands over me, allowing his hands to course over my body- neck, shoulders, arms, belly, legs- skillfully avoiding my most sensitive areas, yet leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches. “You are going to be a good girl and take everything I give you, without complaint or hesitation. I know exactly what you need.”
“Yes Sir,” I breathe, shivering at the combination of his touch and his voice. His hand moves up the inside of my thigh, teasing the soft skin. My body tenses, begging him to dip a finger into the wetness between my legs. Instead, I feel his strong hands squeeze the inside of my thigh, kneading the muscle. I moan again, this time in frustration. “Please, Sir…” I moan, squirming against the restraints in an effort to change the placement of his hand. “Patience, my dear,” he taunts, “you’ll get what you want when I decide it’s time. You are not in control here.”
His hand moves up my other thigh, repeating the kneading. It would feel soothing, were my body not on fire from the anticipation. His hand grazes me between the legs, so lightly that I think I migh’ve imagined it. He massages my smooth lips, moaning himself now. “Mmmm baby you’re so wet,” he marvels, his fingers spreading my lips wider. I feel my clit do a summersault as he blows on it, the pressure almost enough to send me over the edge. He holds me open- blowing, looking, plotting. The air becomes more concentrated on my clit, and I deduce that he has moved his face further between my legs; my body braces for the impact of his tongue. He licks me, just once- impossibly gently, his tongue wide and slow. The sensation is too much, and not nearly enough. “Does that feel good baby?” he asks, damn well knowing the answer. “Yes Sir, please…more,” I ask, having a difficult time stringing words together with all of my attention between my legs. His tongue returns, circling my swollen clit with expert precision; bringing me right to the edge but always backing off before I get there. I am freely moaning, a garbled mixture of “Please,” “Yes,” and incoherent need. I finally pull myself together enough to say, “Please, Sir, may I cum?”
With a final hard flick of my clit with his tongue, he stops. He fucking stops. I asked permission, like I am supposed to, and he stops. I am dumbfounded as he gently removes my blindfold, my eyes blinking and squinting to adjust. “It isn’t time yet, baby,” he smirks, kissing me deeply to allow me to taste myself on his lips. I lean hard into the kiss, my restrained body hungry for stimulation. When he breaks away, I lick my salty sweet wetness off of my lips. I look up at him, my eyes full of question and need. “Sir, I need this. Please, I need the release. I need you to make me cum,” I say, trying to stay calm amid my frayed nerves. “I know baby, and you will eventually, if you’re good. You need to earn your orgasm first,” he says gently, sweeping my hair out of my eyes. “Can you show me that you’re a good girl?”
“Yes Sir, yes- anything,” I breathe, knowing that I will say yes to anything he wants.
“Good,” he replies, “don’t cum until I tell you to…no matter what.”
I see a glint in his eyes that tells me I am not going to like what comes next. He dips two fingers inside me, rubbing my juices on each nipple before he puts them in his mouth. I moan, arching my back to give him better access as his fingers press inside me again. The sensation in my nipples connects to his fingers inside me, and my previous need instantly resurfaces. I grind into his fingers, craving a harder touch. His fingers remain consistent, but his teeth bite into my nipple hard enough to illicit a scream. I was so focused between my legs that I had forgotten where his mouth was. He played with me like this for what felt like forever; his fingers bringing me to the edge, and his teeth pulling me back. I feel frustrated, betrayed, used…and exquisitely, expertly, satisfied.
The pace and intensity of his fingers suddenly changes; he kisses me, biting my lip and pulling it painfully, emitting a low growl as he does so. His fingers find my clit and start to rub quickly; I can hear the wetness in my pussy as he starts his assault. My clit is aching from the constant stimulation (and subsequent lack of release), and I can’t decide if the pressure feels good or if it’s painful. He locks eyes with me, his intensity paralyzing me. “Sir…Sir I’m going to cum!” I say frantically, knitting my brow in a silent plea for mercy. “Don’t you dare cum,” he threatens, his fingers and his gaze completely unrelenting. “You can do it baby, just hold on…you can’t cum until I tell you…be a good girl.”
“Please, Sir, it hurts…please…I need to cum Sir my pussy hurts!” I am all need and desperation, focusing every ounce of my being on not cumming. Spears of pain and pleasure are piercing through my clit, and my usual grounding techniques are not working. I can see the edge in sight but know that there will be harsh consequences for cumming without permission. I try one more desperate plea, tears welling up in my eyes as I try to hold on. He smirks at me, knowing that I am at the end of my ability. “Just a little bit longer baby, you can do it…that’s it, good girl.” I hold on to his praise, trying to ground myself in his eyes. He finally nods, and I barely hear him say “cum for me” before I explode.
Like Mr. Grey’s style? Read more about him here.