Little Black Dress

Part 5 of 9

I was still trembling when I took his cock in my mouth. I drew it deep, battling my own body’s resistance, until my tongue grazed the smooth skin of his balls and I felt the head of his beautiful cock touch the back of my throat. I held him there for a moment to show my devotion, and then began to slide my lips back and forth the length of his thick shaft.

How long had it been since I’d cum screaming my surrender to him. The moment was a blur, a flash of blinding heat, the release of a thousand suns between my legs, leaving me gasping for breath afterwards. His fingers lingered inside me, massaging the aftershocks that ripped muted gasps and whimpering from my lips. My voice quivered when I first tried to speak his name. Only a broken sound poured forth into the stillness of the room.

When I blinked, there was only the high heat of their eyes searing me, blinding me. Nothing else. Everyone had seen it, could see it still. Their unwavering gaze as Sir’s hand withdrew and I stayed open for him, legs parted, my trembling pussy bare to their scrutiny.

I felt the tears in my eyes as I held the position, waiting, knowing that there was no way to disobey. This was my gift to him, my surrender — this body belonged to him now, to use as he wished, to display, to direct, to discipline. How long had I waited to feel like this? It was my gift to surrender to his whim, to let go of my own expectations and adopt his. He’d said as much many times, usually at the end of his belt, when my own desires had short-circuited my obedience. I’d begged for punishment then, and I would beg for it now if I dared disobey.

How long I was on the couch I could not know, but slowly, one by one, the crowd went back to their drinks, the buzz of conversation filling the room. Gazes lingered, and I avoided their eyes, my attention, my whole being focused on the man sitting next to me. He spoke in easy tones to what sounded like a friend, his fingers stroking the insides of my thigh. But the words he spoke were nothing to me, sounds that only seemed familiar while I sat quietly, my breathing more ragged as his fingers slipped through the folds of my core, sliding along even stroking my inner lips, always just a breath away from my clit.

There were two ways to train a girl to obey, he’d told me in the restaurant on the night I’d sucked his cock the first time. Edging and denial or edging and orgasms. He’d had success with both, but it always depended on the girl. Would I be edged and denied or edged and allowed orgasms? And if orgasms, how many? How often? By what means? So many questions to answer, and all learned over the course of time through conversation and play. But the first lesson was that I was no longer allowed to decide when I would have an orgasm. Sir owned my orgasms now. He owned my cum.

It was that night I’d begged to suck his cock. The corner of the restaurant was dark, the table small. We’d had only drinks - a scotch for him and a martini for me. He’d ordered without even asking me what I wanted to drink, and I’d been instantly wet. I would always have input, he told me, but decisions would fall to him. When he’d ordered the drinks, he’d turned to me and said, “The decision is not for you, Princess. Sir makes decisions. What do you do?”

I’d swallow, squirmed in my seat. I knew what he wanted me to say. I wanted to say it, too. “I make you cum.”

“Good girl,” he rumbled and leaned in, pushing his chair closer. His fingers slid between my legs with a word, my favorite new word, “Open,” and he found my clit, swollen, aching, needing his touch. “What are you going to do tonight, Princess?”

“Make you cum, Sir. I’m going to make you cum.”

“And am I going to make you cum?”

I swallowed, knowing in my heart then the answer, the answer I wanted then and there. “No. No, Sir,” I breathed, “only you tonight. Please.”

“Good girl,” he said and smiled, the room lighting up around him as he did it. I traced the smile up into his blue eyes, saw how they saw me, felt what they showed me. His passion, his pride in me and his need, the way his eyes narrowed when I began to pant.

And then his hand was gone, the waiter there with our drinks. I dared not look up, but I muttered a word of thanks that may or may not have been more than a series of vowels. Then I reached for my glass, reflecting Sir’s movement, and raised it in cheers. My hand trembled as I pressed the cool glass to my lips and sipped, my eyes on him, watching his every movement, my mind battling between the details of his lips on the rim of the glass and the emptiness between my legs.

Then he turned his eyes back to me, and I saw them narrow, his voice laced with a touch of command. My heart leapt into my throat as he spoke, the aroma of the scotch drifting across the space between while his words intoxicated me. “As I said before, Princess, edging and orgasm control are the key. Edging and denial. Edging and orgasms. You will enjoy the outcome I choose, but you will enjoy the edging in either case.” And then his hand was between my legs again, fingers tenderly caressing my clit.

I moaned then, low and throaty, as his words crossed that short distance between us. He leaned in, his lips so close to mine that I could almost taste the scotch, his schemes spilling from them in hushed but commanding tones. “Tonight it is edging and denial for you, Princess. Tonight we sit here quietly with our drinks, your legs open for me, and I will edge you until you’re right at the brink.” Just at that moment, his fingers began to circle my clit, changing the pace of his attention while I slid my hips forward, desperate for more contact, more attention, to feed the frenzy that was growing in me.

“Slow circles, gentle caresses, just enough stroking of that needy little cunt of yours to take you to the edge over and over and over again. As long as you behave, sit quietly, drink your drink, listen to the music, I will edge you. But you will not cum tonight, Princess. I decide when you cum, and only me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, afraid my voice would betray me and broadcast my desperation, the need that was nearing a crescendo between my legs, fogging my brain.

“Tell me again who owns your orgasms, your cum.”

“You do, Sir. You own my orgasms. You own my cum. I will not cum without permission. I promise.”

“And tonight, you will not cum, nor will you touch your cunt. I will take you home, and you will go to bed, and you will ache for me. And in the morning you will message me that you’ve been a good girl and are aching and not touching. And you will remind me who owns your cum. Is that clear?”

HIs words reverberated through my body, his fingers driving me to the edge, and then they were both gone, his fingers from my clit and his words. My cry was drowned in his kiss. He swallowed it, pushed his tongue into my mouth and silenced any begging, any protest, any pleas that threatened to cut through the fog that was swirling around me.

I sucked his cock in the car that night, driving my mouth down onto him and taking him deep down my throat. The ride was long, and I devoted myself to him, until the ache in my jaw matched the ache between my legs. Just as the car stopped, he pushed me down, until I choked, gasping, silently pleading for air, and then he groaned, his hot cum filling my throat, my mouth. I swallowed it all, savoring his salty sweetness, the way his cock throbbed and pulsed in my mouth, the sounds of his pleasure. And I made a decision then and there, or at least I had a thought as I licked the cum beading on the end of his beautiful cock.

“Please, Sir, when is the party you mentioned?”

“Three weeks, Princess,” he said and kissed me, his lips on mine, his tongue slipping between and playing with my tongue. “Why?”

“Please, Sir, please, don’t let me cum until the party. Please. I want to be ready for the moment. I want to surrender for you. I want to,” and I swallowed, seeing the look of lust in his eyes, thinking how much I wanted him inside me just then, driving his cock into my cunt, my ass, whatever he wanted. “I want to be edged and denied for you. I want to go to sleep aching for you, wake up aching for you, ache all day knowing that only you can make me cum and only when you desire it. Please.”

He looked at me, a hint of a smile curling one side of his lips, his eyes devouring me like his ears devoured every word. “Denial it is then, Princess. You will edge and not cum until I decide it’s time for you to have an orgasm. Now,” he said and kissed me again, “tell me who owns your cum, Princess.”

“You do, Sir. My cum belongs to you.”

Four more episodes to go! Stay tuned if you want to find out more about what happened when she wore that little black dress.