What She Wanted

Part 8 of 8

When I put the car in reverse, I looked back once more and saw her in the doorway, her head turned my way. But it was impossible to tell if she could see me. The rain battered the windshield in what would be perpetual combat with the wipers for the next two hours, leaving me time to think back over the last twenty-four hours. I squirmed in my seat, the clothespin well beyond a thrill now, beyond being a sharp pain that only added to the pleasure. I tried not to look at it, to wish it away before I’d even made it to the main road, knowing that with the rain and the late afternoon Sunday traffic, there would be no way to escape the pain and suffering she’d offered as my final reward.

✾

“You’ve been such a very good girl for me this weekend, princess,” she said when I’d opened my eyes.

I rolled over and smiled, feeling my need, my new normal, and I squeezed my legs together, trying to find some purchase, some way to contact my already throbbing pussy. All night she’d tortured me, keeping me from sleep. Each hour on the hour, she drew out my sighs, making my pussy weep with her fingers and tongue, the tease of her vibrator on and off and on and off again on my clit until my eyes matched my cunt, tears streaming down my cheeks as she seared my everlasting denial into my mind.

With each passing hour, I felt any lingering resistance fading, ebbing, draining out of my body and mind until just as the dawn poured its pink light into her bedroom, I realized I would never cum again. I understood. I accepted it. I thanked her when she finally slipped the gag from my mouth and covered my lips with kisses, words of worship and dedication and commitment to her needs. Her tongue danced with mine, and I tasted my own desperation there, a hint of my own honey on her breath. She released me then, pulling the cuffs free, the blindfold off, and she wrapped me in a warm blanket, her own body heat wrapped up behind me. Gentle kisses along the back of my neck, her fingers stroking my hip, each word of praise a nail in the coffin of my future orgasms.

We slept most of the day away, waking to play. Her fingertips whispered over my belly, circling my nipples, diving down between my legs to stroke my swollen cunt. I woke to my hips bucking, heavy breathing, from a dream of my husband’s cock deep in my ass and Mommy watching him fucking me, her face inches away, her hand on my chin keeping my focus on her. She smiled and guided me down onto my elbows, pulling me closer until my lips pressed against hers, my tongue slipping into her warm, wet flower. I looked up at her when she spoke. “All your cum belongs to Mommy now, princess.”

And then her fingers were gone, the vision of my husband smiling back at her gone, and there was nothing left but her lips on my cheek, kissing away the tears.

It was after lunch already and coffee wasn’t the only thing on the menu. Coffee and Mommy’s perfect pussy. She sipped while pressed my face between her legs, hungry for nothing but her sweet honey, my knees and toes pressed against the bare wooden floor underneath. I knew time was short, and I fucked her with a certain desperation, pushing my fingers deep inside her, my tongue flicking relentlessly across her swollen nub. I wanted her cum, heard my own words in my head begging for her to cum for me, to give me what I couldn’t have, just one last time before I had to go.

When her fingers curled in my hair and I felt her hips begin to shift, I gently sucked on her clit, my own fingers stroking her inner walls until she was humping my face, panting, a long, drawn-out moan falling over me, torn from her lips. We lingered there afterward, she feeding me pieces of chocolate cake, a sip of coffee, her pussy always inches from my face, exactly where I wanted it.

We dozed for a bit, and later she pulled me into the sunroom, more of an observatory for the weekend downpour. Rain battered the thin roof overhead, drowning out the world in every way. We stood there, hand-in-hand in the sparsely furnished room, listening to the summer storm. It wasn’t until she moved, spinning me around, that I saw the easel and the paints next to an old chair, its black leather peeling and faded in spots.

“I’ve wanted to paint something for the longest time,” she said, “but I didn’t know what.” She sat me down in the leather chair and I let her arrange me, pulling my legs up over the arm rests until I was fully open and exposed. Then she stood back eyeing me, and I felt the onslaught of her gaze, the throbbing rush up again, as strong as ever, until my clit practically vibrated. “I know exactly what I’m going to paint now,” she said, and she winked and pulled out tubes of paint and her palette. “Don’t move a muscle, princess. You don’t want to mess up Mommy’s picture.”

Before I realized what was really happening, she’d dropped to her knees in front of me, and the first stroke of her brush grazed my clit. I shuddered, my eyes closing as the wave of pleasure swept through my body. I felt my nipples hardening instantly, and I gripped my ankles in reflex to keep my legs open as I felt the next brush stroke teasing me. It ripped a moan from my throat as my head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut. And on and on, she painted me, the brush strokes soft and smooth on my lips, spreading out from my pussy in every direction across bare skin. My legs trembled, the heavy rain barely covering my panting. I held on, trying hard not to move, to disturb her as she added reds and whites and pinks until a glorious flower bloomed between my thighs. Its delicate petals fell across my panty line, flowing down my inner thighs, its center a glistening, throbbing nub that twitched and brought the blossom to life.

When she sat back, her eyes tracked from her creation to my face, and she smiled. “I think it’s not bad. What do you think, princess.”

“Oh Mommy,” I said breathlessly, on the verge of tears again, “it’s beautiful.”

“It’s perfect. Look how the pistil trembles and twitches, waiting for the bee to buzz nearby and collect its pollen.”

✾

I gazed down at the flower as traffic slowed to a crawl, my eyes trying to be two places at once, my mind on our last moments on the porch, where it all began just a day ago. I shifted again, trying something, anything to satisfy the ache that was building, alleviate the pain that had settled in. I swallowed, knowing the pain was only temporary, but the ache - the ache was forever.

✾

She’d kissed me there on the porch. I stood naked just out of the rain, my dress and heels tucked safely in my bag. She stood there before me in black leggings and a cotton tee, her nipples poking through the fabric, her toes warm against my cold feet. Her face was solemn, her eyes quiet where they’d been fiery before, hard at times and sometimes soft and thoughtful and full of tenderness.

“I have one last reward for you, princess, for being such a good girl for Mommy. I want you to take this home with you and show your husband. He’ll know what to do.”

She stared at me until I nodded. Whatever it was didn’t matter. There was no question I would do it, endure it, accept it. Mommy’s punishments, her pleasures and her rewards were everything I craved. I bit my lip when she slipped down to her knees yet again, coming face to face with my newly painted flower. I immediately recognized the device in her hand - something simple and effective and infinitely cruel when she spread the lips of my pussy and placed the jaws of the clothespin squarely on my throbbing, swollen clit.

✾

I trembled when I climbed out of the little SUV, wincing as the little torture device, still in place after the long drive, quivered and shook with even the slightest movement. I waited for the garage door to close before I moved around the vehicle, still naked, leaving my clothes, my bag, my phone in the car. I didn’t need them now. All I needed was my husband’s touch, his voice, his scent, and his attention.

I reached for the kitchen door, but it opened before I even touched it, and there on the other side stood my beautiful man, a smile on his face. I hesitated, feeling his eyes roaming over me, the way he drank me in, the sudden shift in his stance. His cock was hard, pressing against his khakis, and I felt the sudden need to see it, to taste, to feel it inside me anywhere and everywhere. Everywhere except my pussy, which he already understood and readily accepted. I was his anal whore now, and I would be tonight as he filled my ass with his cum, then plugged me for the night. Maybe, if I was lucky, he’d even tease me, edge me, sending me to sleep whimpering, crying, my dreams filled with the everlasting ache I was already familiar with.

He reached out, taking my hand, and he pulled me in and around, pushing me up against the wall just inside the kitchen. I felt the warmth of the room, the smell of his famous lasagna, bourbon on his breath. He leaned into me, my back pressed against the wall, lips rising to meet him, and just as our mouths came together, I felt his fingers slide across my swollen clit. He swallowed my cry, his tongue silencing me as much as this was possible just as his other hand wrapped around my throat. As dominant as I’d ever seen him, taking possession of his love, his body, his slave. His fingers drifted over my clit again, and I shook under his touch, my whole body trembling from the shock and pain, the heat flashing up from my desperate cunt, threatening to consume me.

And then he broke the kiss off and leaned back, his eyes hard as steel. “Your Mommy wanted me to give you your final reward for being such a good girl, princess,” he said, his smile a little crooked, his voice deep and commanding and ready to melt any resistance he found in me. But there was none. There was only acceptance, understanding, even gratitude. And then he reached out and snatched the clothespin from my clit, and I screamed, my legs giving out, my entire body helplessly pinned against the wall but for his grip around my throat.

A blast of pure pain-pleasure ripped through my body like lightning cascading through each nerve ending, emanating from my clit and spreading in every direction. And following the initial shock wave, aftershocks and tremors, my knees still jelly, arms hanging uselessly by my sides. I stared up into his eyes, my mouth working to form words, but I was unable to make a sound beyond a whimper that seemed to come from far away, not even my own throat.

“It’s called a ruin, my love. Good girls don’t get to cum. They don’t get glorious, earth-shattering orgasms that curl your toes and warm your heart. They get ruins. Soul-rending, mind-breaking ruins that remind them of their deepest, darkest desires, their most twisted needs.”

He leaned in, his hard cock pressed against my throbbing clit. “And know what yours are, don’t we, my beautiful angel? The lasagna will be done in a few minutes. Long enough for me to fill your ass full of cum and for you to tell me all about how you gave away your clit and your cum and became a slave.” And then he spun away, leaving me dropping to my hands and knees, my body still quivering, shaking from the ruin, his words, the thought of his cock in my ass and how happy it all made me.

I lingered there for a moment, blinking away the last of the stars flashing in front of my eyes. There on the floor in front of me was the clothespin, discarded and staring back up at me with its single cruel eye. I swallowed and took a deep breath, then I scooped it up in my hand and began to crawl.

“Thank you, Mommy, that was just what I wanted.”

Author’s Notes: Hope you liked that. I’ve thought about a follow-on serial, and I’ve had the idea in my head for a while about how it would go. What do you think? Want to see more eventually? I’ll have to write it first. But it’s an idea, among so many.

What was your favorite part of Princess’ torture?

Do you want to see more of her and her flight?

What should her husband do now?