Submitted by Rachel Woe (@storyofwoe)
“Crawl to the living room.”
The grain along the floorboards felt cold and rough against my palms. Adrian lead me between the couches and up onto the coffee table, hands and knees firmly planted onto the mahogany. He unclipped the leash, coiled it, and tossed it under the table.
“Not only are we going to test your obedience,” he said. “I’m also going to teach you a lesson in delayed gratification. This will help you appreciate your capacity for pleasure.”
Adrian circled the table and came to stand behind me. I almost turned to look at him, but decided against it. He placed both hands on my rump, squeezing and massaging before sliding down the backs of my thighs and easing my knees further apart.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asked.
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“Do you remember how many times you came?”
“Twelve,” I whispered, my face burning.
“Twelve.” My voice cracked.
“Did you like having your cunt eaten?”
“Yes.” I could sense his grin without even looking.
“Yes, what?” Adrian moved to my left side and reached down to cup my breast.
I trembled. “Yes, I liked—being eaten.”
“Say the word.” He pinched my nipple.
I flinched. A heaviness pooled in the pit of my stomach as I heard myself think and then say the words. “Yes, I liked having my cunt eaten.”
“Would you like me to do it again?”
More blood rushed to my cheeks. “Yes.”
I cried softly as he twisted my nipple and almost lost my balance when I felt his other hand stroke my pubic hair from behind.
“Tell me how it felt the first time you came.”
“It felt—” I paused, distracted. “It felt like I’d lost control, but I didn’t mind. You were a musician and I was an instrument being played.”
Adrian chuckled. “Someone’s a poet.” He parted my labia and tapped his finger against my clitoris. “Did your husband ever provoke such a response?”
Each tap sent a slight vibration ricocheting throughout my entire pelvis. I arched my back. “He, uh—no, never.”
Adrian withdrew his hands, coming to stand in front of me, my face level with his groin. I inhaled sharply at the sight of the obvious bulge in his pants. He unpinned my messy bun and allowed my hair to cascade down around my face, running his fingers through it.
Stepping behind me, he drew his hand from the top of my head, down my back, and then over my hip. His entire palm cupped my sex, squeezing and massaging. I let out a long, low groan, the pressure building in my cunt—
Wait, I paused, did I just use the word “cunt” of my own volition?
I had neither the time nor the attention span to analyze my vocabulary as Adrian went from kneading my flesh to pushing himself against me, letting his erection take the place of his hand as he grasped my hips. The exquisite contrast of the coarse denim against my engorged sex made it all the more difficult for me to keep my balance. As my clitoris rubbed against him, my inner muscles ached to be filled and strained.
Adrian disengaged his groin from mine, lingering just long enough to draw an errant finger along my slit. I bit my lips together and arched my spine even further, raising my hips high.
“Tell me what you want.” He settled his palm onto the small of my back.
“I want you to make me come.” I whimpered.
“With my cock?” He slapped my rump.
“Yes, with your cock.” The word felt leaden in my mouth.
Adrian chuckled. He moved to stand before me once again and I noted the damp spot I’d left on the front of his jeans.
“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not going to fuck you now. In fact, I’m not even going to let you come.” He cradled my chin, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
“Wha— what?” I panicked.
“For the next three hours, you are not allowed to orgasm. If you do, I will punish you for it. And, contrary to what you might be thinking, that is not something you want.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Adrian left the room for a few moments and I tried my best to ignore the soft pangs in my lower body. When he returned, he was holding something in his hands, though I couldn’t get a good enough look. There was the sound of torn cardboard and crumpled plastic. I shuddered when I realized what he’d left to retrieve.
“Keep your back arched and your eyes on the table,” he said.
No, I thought. No, no, no. Please, don’t use that. Not now.
The quiet buzz of the vibrator rang in my ears and all I could think was that there was no way I was going to be able to stop myself from coming. Adrian ran the tip of the device over my slit, his other hand grasping my hip to keep me stable. It pulsated against my clitoris and I shuddered, trying to twist away from it.
“Not a good idea,” he growled.
I resigned myself to the impending torture. From what I could recall, the vibrator was a little over six inches long and featured only one speed, but that was more than enough to have me reeling. Adrian dragged it back and forth across my lips before sliding it between them and holding it firmly against my clitoris.
“Fuck!” I whined.
My clitoris was still sore from the previous night’s antics but it didn’t take long for me to sense that familiar build-up of pressure, the need for release. I stared down at the table, trying to focus on anything besides the vibrations. An orgasm was looming and I bit down hard on my bottom lip as I fought against it. I found that if I angled my clitoris just so, the vibrations became almost too intense, borderline painful. This helped to stave off an orgasm for the moment but caused involuntary spasms in my thighs.
Mercifully, Adrian drew the vibrator away from my clitoris, concentrating its pulsations at the opening to my cunt.
There’s that word again. My face blushed even hotter.
I savored a few seconds of respite before he plunged it inside me. I hadn’t thought it possible that I could groan louder than I had the previous night, but I shocked myself—and possibly, Adrian—by filling the room with my whines and cries as he fucked me with the electronic, substitute cock. It wasn’t thick but what it lacked in girth it made up for in tremors that reverberated throughout my groin.
“You’re doing well, Aubrey.”
About the Author
Rachel Woe is an Erotica and Erotic Romance writer who probably watched too many R-rated movies as a youngster. A long-time lover of racy fiction, she used to bring Story of O and The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy to school, folded inside brown paper bag book covers. When she’s not writing, you can find her camped out in the back row at the cinema, or in the kitchen sporting a cupcake apron and wielding a half-moon whisk. She is a University of Vermont graduate and currently resides in New England.