The clock chimed from the other room, her lips drifting across my skin again. The weekend would pass swiftly, she’d said, but she promised not to waste a moment of it. Twenty-four hours of play. Twenty-four hours of pleasure and pain, teasing and torture. Her pleasure, my pain. Her teasing, my torture. Both of us locked in a game of mutual satisfaction that I’d longed for since that fateful moment.
When I’d first reached out to her, I’d known everything I’d wanted. I knew exactly where I wanted to go with myself. Long before that fateful moment, I’d taken my husband there with me one night, my fingers playing across my iPad while his fingers danced over my clit, drawing out sighs and moans as I showed him the pictures I’d saved, the websites that had brought me to this place. He wanted to see it, hear it from my own lips, what I wanted, how I wanted it. I could never have explained it myself without the pictures. See how vulnerable she is? See how submissive? How willing? How the clamps bite into her nipples? How it must hurt when he paddles her ass, slaps her tits, covers her cunt in clothespins and tortures her? How glorious the pain must feel…
I took him through my favorite site, my own anonymous profile there, the stream of images, some short movies, some with sound and some accompanied by my moans as he played with my pussy, reading my body as I stumbled through long captions and stories and even my own thoughts there under my reposts. I betrayed myself and my needs, baring everything as I laid there next to him in bed, my legs open, my aching pussy under his complete control for the first time.
“What is it you want, baby?” he’d said, the thumb of his left hand strumming my clit. “Really now. Show me.” He knew. He always knew there was more. I was never one to go half-way into anything, and I wouldn’t for this either.
And then I’d clicked over to my own private folder, to my deepest secrets, my heart thundering in my chest as I revealed those darker photos, my own notes typed from my phone, the links to the erotica I’d written, leading to the final betrayal of my own cunt. It was the first night he’d edged me, the first night he’d made me beg for it, the first night he’d granted my denial. He’d kissed me as I lay there breathless, my eyes locked on his, my clit still dancing from the memory of his melody, and I’d taken his cock in my mouth, pushed my ass in the air and felt the thrilling agony of my empty pussy.
Twelve chimes from a clock far away. A kiss landed lightly on my inner thigh in time with each note. Her fingers stroked the trembling skin of my other thigh, sliding up, closer and closer to my own desperate need.
I’d followed her on my favorite S&M site, commenting little at first, mostly reposts of pictures, cutting off her captions, her comments, her stories, until one day she’d private messaged me. She scolded me for it and asked what was so offensive about what she’d written, or was I simply too proud of a slut to bow my head and accept what I truly wanted.
A single chime in the distance and I moaned into the gag when her tongue flicked my clit. My heartbeat in time with the throb, sync’d to her lapping, her teasing, my cries. All night long, she’d said. She didn’t need a moment’s rest, and I wouldn’t get a moment either.
I’d waited days to respond to her message, afraid to answer, ashamed at what I’d done, dishonoring her own thoughts and desires, her needs. She didn’t present as a Domme, as a woman of power or purpose, but I felt it in her words, and I respected her opinion. She was being open and honest. She was being herself, and it was simply etiquette that I keep the original captions. And didn’t I, she’d wondered in that short missive, want what she was describing?
Two chimes. Or three. I couldn’t tell anymore. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Bound and spread on her bed, the gag still locked deep in my mouth, pushing my tongue down, my jaw aching. I could still feel the tremors in my cunt from the last edge. I felt her weight on the bed, heard the click of her nails on her keyboard. Everytime the clock rung, she paused and her fingers found me, fingered me, fondled my breasts, pulled on my nipples, flicked my clit, until I was writhing, until I was yanking against the cuffs locked around my wrists and ankles, until my hips were humping air, her fingers gone as I teetered on the edge again.
“Always on the edge, princess, but never over.” Her voice was soft, gentle, her lips grazing my earlobe.
When I replied, I’d begged forgiveness, and I promised to be a - I could hardly type it at first, but with trembling fingers and a sudden fire ignited in my pussy as I did - a better slut, a humble slut, the kind of slut she would be proud to see repost her thoughts and desires. I’d signed it ‘a slut seeking more’ and hit send and closed the app. I was terrified of her response, and I thought to try and delete the response multiple times. But I left it and instead found myself checking the site multiple times the next day and the day after, liking her posts, reposting with her original comments, adding some of my own and generally trying to be…a better slut. On the third day, I received a reply, and I felt my pussy come alive when I tapped my phone to open it. ‘Good girl’ was all it said, and my fingers went right to my clit.
Chimes in the distance, my mind coming back to the here and now, the darkness, the enduring ache between my legs, her scent filling my lungs, the click of her fingers on her laptop. “Each hour on the hour, princess,” she’d said. “An edge to keep you focused, needy, aching. Hour after hour. No sleep for either of us. Tonight we play. Tomorrow will be here too soon.”
I moaned when I felt a cool breeze whisper over my clit followed by her lips pressing against my flesh. So close to my clit. So close. The kisses drifted north across my belly as my whole mind found its focus on her tender touch. She pressed her lips between my breasts, her hair falling across my nipples, sending shivers up my spine. The last kiss she left on my chin, and gagged or not, all I wanted was her mouth on mine.
“You live on the edge now, my darling. Do you understand?” And with that she pulled the gag from my mouth, replacing it with not her lips but her hand. “On the edge, princess.” She paused, and I wished for anything that I could see her, that the blindfold wasn’t still in place, that I could look at her beautiful face and let her see my soul. As if she hadn’t seen it for months now, as if she hadn’t read the stream of consciousness flowing from the depths of my being, humbling submitting myself to her desires, to her will, to the perfection of her pussy. My reposts flowed with my need to serve her, to honor her, to surrender to her. And then my own captions, even my own stories, had flowed as much as the wetness that dampened my panties day and night since I’d given up my orgasms.
“And now you say, ‘Yes, Mommy,’,” she said, and suddenly her hand was gone.
My voice trembled when I answered as if I was responding to her first private message. “Y-yes, Mommy.”
I felt her fingers drifting, sliding around my throat, a hint of pressure that accompanied a harder tone in her voice. All I wanted then was to be a better slut for her, her slut, the slut she owned and used and fucked. It’s what I’d felt that first time, and my need now was no different, I realized, than it was then. It was just a certainty now. “Tell me, princess. Who’s going to cum tonight?”
“You are, Mommy. You’re going to cum tonight.”
“And who’s not going to cum?
“Me, Mommy. I’m not going to cum. Only you.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I’ve been mean to you, darling. Maybe I’ve been selfish.” Her voice was close, and I felt her knees pressing against my side. “I mean, look at that pretty pouting pussy.” Suddenly her fingers grazed my cunt, and my hips shifted, rising to her touch. “You should see how wet it is, how full your pretty petals are, and your clit,” she said as she spread me open. “It’s dancing for me, my darling. Do you feel it dancing?”
I swallowed, trying to find my voice, my sore jaw forgotten, sore nipples forgotten, her touch, her voice, her words short-circuiting me in every way. “Y-yes, Mommy. Yes. Oh my god yes.”
“I like how it dances for me. It’s swollen and glistening. And that’s just how we like it, isn’t it, princess.”
“Yes, Mommy, yes.”
“Is that how you like it? Your pretty little clit all swollen and throbbing?”
“Yes, Mommy. It feels so good.”
“And how do Mommy’s fingers feel?” she said and pushed inside, the rush of pleasure crashing over me like a wave. I groaned, words impossible as she fingered me again. “Long, deep strokes in this pretty little pussy, drawing out moans and pleas, cries of pleasure that only Mommy can give you, princess.”
“Never stop. Please, Mommy, never stop.”
“Maybe I’ll just keep you for a while, a few weeks. Tease and torture you. Finger and fuck you, and keep this darling, delicate little pussy pulsing endlessly until you don’t know one day from the next, until it’s just a blur of edge after edge after edge. I’ll let you crawl around after me and lap at my pussy while I write.”
I bucked my hips, trying to fuck her fingers back, but then they were gone, and I was wailing, crying, desperate to pull out of my cuffs.
“Remember how you wrote those pretty little stories for me? Everyone thought you were just writing something sexy, something fun and wild and erotic. But I knew better. We knew better. Your beautiful little love letters to me. Love letters of surrender, of being taken, of living in chastity and giving all your orgasms away and never ever cumming again. Your readers thought it was so hot, but oh, my beautiful darling, it was so much more than a fantasy, wasn’t it? Is that what we’re going to do with you?”
I panted, dragging ragged breaths into my lungs as I bucked and squirmed, trying to fuck her fingers, trying to - I didn’t even know. I was just riding the wave of pleasure, of desperation that I knew was going to be my life. “Yes, Mommy. It’s what I want, what I need. Please don’t stop. Please fuck me, tease me, touch me, anything for as long as you like.”
“And what will you do for me if I do, princess?”
The words echoes in my head, the memory of her messages, her promises, her desires for me sweeping back into focus. She wanted to know what I would do. She knew. I knew. We both knew what I would do. It’s what I’d come to do. It’s what I’d stared in the mirror and told myself I was ready to do. It’s what I knew she wanted me to do. “I won’t cum again, Mommy.”
“That’s what you’ll do? Not cum again? Give Mommy all your cum?”
“All my cum, Mommy. For you. It’s for you. All of it.”
“So when I do this,” she said, and suddenly her fingers were inside me again, fucking, fingering, finding every weakness I had, hammering my cunt until I was thrashing around on the bed, “you won’t cum?”
“No. Please. Please, Mommy, no.”
“Maybe I’ll make you cum, and you’ll fail. You’ll break your promise. Maybe your husband will fuck you and make you cum, and you’ll break your promise. And then what? What do I do with you then?”
“No, please. Please. I won’t. I won’t. I don’t want to cum. Please. I don’t want to cum. Please tell me ‘no’. Please deny me. Please, Mommy, please take all my orgasms away.”
Then suddenly her fingers were gone, her lips pressing against mine, her tongue invading my mouth, dancing with mine while my clit danced untouched in the night.
“Is that what you want, darling? Are you sure? I will take them away, and you will edge for me everyday. And nothing will touch that pretty little pussy without my permission. And nothing will go inside your pretty little pussy except for my tongue, my fingers and my toys from now on. Do you understand, princess?”
“Yes, Mommy, yes. Thank you. Thank you. All of my orgasms are yours now. Please accept them. Please.”
“Good girl,” she said, and she shifted her weight until I felt the petals of her perfect flower against my lips. I inhaled her, then pushed my tongue in between her folds and tasted her honey.
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