“What did I tell you about staying still?” He said, quietly.
She stared up at him, dazed, until he landed another sharp smack on her inner thigh. “I’m s-sorry,” she managed.
He gave her a long, steady look, and slapped her again in the same spot. She gasped, focusing on keeping still. In a low voice, he said, “What do you say?”
“I’m sorry, Oliver” she said. He slapped her thigh twice more, and she repeated the apology. Her skin burned where his hand had landed, and she whimpered as he went back to featherlight touches, brushing over the reddened skin before both hands came up to tease her chest, the pads of his fingers circling the skin of her breasts and grazing lightly over her hard nipples.
“Good girl,” he murmured, as she relaxed again. “That’s right. Look at me.”
She watched him shift back a bit, and then felt two of his fingers gently probing at her entrance. He sank them inside her and she gasped as his thumb found her clit, stroking gently. He pulled out and pushed back into her slowly and deliberately, stretching his fingers apart until she whimpered or moaned, thumb circling and stroking over her clit until it swelled and twitched. Erin found herself panting with the effort of keeping still, fighting her body’s urge to rock her hips into him, to grind down against his hands.
“How’s that feel?” He asked.
“Good. I — oh,” Erin sucked in a breath as his fingers pressed up against a sensitive spot inside her. “Really good.”
He asked if she wanted more. She nodded, gasping again as he pressed a third finger inside her. Erin closed her eyes, and heard the buzzing before she felt it.
He worked the vibrator over her clit in little circles, pulling back on the hood to expose her glans, never leaving it in one place for long as he continued to pump his fingers slowly in and out of her. It was hard for her to think, hard for her to do much of anything but feel, and she lost herself in the sensations again, biting down on her lower lip as her muscles coiled and tightened. A tide of arousal rose in her, higher and higher. Just when she was about to burst, he pulled the vibe and his fingers away, and she whimpered, rocking her hips toward him hopelessly.
It wasn’t long until she felt the crop tap against her breasts, quick and light, then with more force, until she whined and cried out and brought her hands down to stop him. He was quick, grabbing her wrists and dragging them down toward her hips. “What do you say?” He asked her, in the same bored, droning tone a teacher might have used to drill grammar.
“I’m sorry,” she said, between gasps. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so–fuck–”
He’d cropped her nipple once, then again. She jerked, trembling as he dragged the crop’s leather flap over her skin. She expected him to hit her again, had the apology ready on her tongue, but instead he released her wrists and she lifted them up once again above her head, clasping her fingers together and pausing to press her face into the crook of her elbows.
Oliver caressed her skin with the leather, softly trailing it over her nipples and down her stomach. She panted and whined with the want to writhe and thrash. She heard him put down the crop, and a moment later his fingers were spreading her lips again, dipping into her wetness and spreading it up and down her lips and across her stiff, throbbing clit as he shushed and praised her. “There you go, good girl. Stay still. Just like that.”
He built her up in cycles — gentle, barely-there caresses from his fingers, probing and then circling, becoming firmer, faster. She would calm down from the punishments — sensitive and shuddering when he touched the places that had come alight with stinging pain, until it blended in with foggy pleasure and she lost her thoughts, lost where she was, lost everything except the feeling of him touching her, building her up until she felt ready to burst. But he kept pulling away, always managing to cease his touches just before the first clench. And when she inevitably lost herself, whining and whimpering and mewling please under her breath, and forgot she was to keep still, he would chuckle and punish her for it, until it was time to start building her up again.
Erin lost track of the number of times it happened. He had slapped between her legs until she bit her arm to keep from yelling. He had cropped the soles of her feet, and pinched her clit, and worked the slippery, lubed-up plug between her cheeks. She’d balked at that, letting out a high-pitched whine and twisting so frantically he’d had to hold her hips down, her pussy throbbing as he slowly stretched her ass around the plug. He’d tapped its end several times, once it was snug inside of her, and pressed the vibrating egg to its base, before he worked it in and out, making her gasp each time she stretched around its widest part.
He’d also clamped her — pulling her labia between the arcs of the steel contraption while she hissed a breath out between her teeth and whined. It hurt, made worse from the sensitivity he’d brought to her pussy, and as he tightened them she let out a breathy kind of sob and scratched her nails on the floor above her.
“Is this too much?” He asked, slightly mocking as he drew a finger down one of her puffy, clamped lips. “Do you want me to take it off?”
The clamp had also opened her up, exposing and stretching the skin around her clit, making everything feel more intense. He rubbed against her with one knuckle in silent demonstration, and she grated her teeth against the redlining pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her.
“I asked you a question, girl,” he said fondly, seemingly amused at her struggle. “Is this too much for you?”
The deep pain of the clamp fading into numbness, Erin’s nerves were primed for his next attention. It was intense. She considered saying this, considered telling him it was too much. But when she opened her mouth to try, she couldn’t make the words form. She liked it. She liked being breathless, told to keep still, helpless to her own pleasure as it washed away her thoughts and set her up for another round of punishment. She liked the raking, possessive pleasure of being kept so close to climax: the sharp and throbbing pain he kept inflicting to drag her back from the edge, and the soft, insistent touches he used to bring her back. She liked the coiled spring of tension in her body. She even liked his condescension, his mocking, assured collectedness in the face of her fraying self-control.
“N-not too much,” she managed, finally, through gritted teeth. She felt his fingers on the back of her cheek, his other hand still trailing up and down her puffy, hyper-sensitive lips.
“Are you okay?” He breathed quietly into her ear. “Do you need a break?”
“No,” she said, a little frantic, her voice breaking. “No, no, no, please don’t stop. Please.”
She lost track of time again after that, lost track of the number of times he used his fingers and the vibe to bring her close. At some point he took the clamp off and she cried out at the sudden pain, thrashing beneath him and then devolving, begging him not to slap her there again, not now, not like this, not with the added sensitivity.
But he didn’t punish her. Instead she felt him slowly slide out from underneath her, and then his hands were on her, gently turning her over onto her front and pulling her back onto her knees. She heard him rustling, heard the faint tearing of plastic and a zipper being undone as she gasped and tried to catch her breath, her world constricting to the throbbing pain in her pussy.
“Give me your hands,” he said, gently, trailing his down her damp flank. She shivered and shuddered and acquiesced, pressing the side of her face to the floor.
He held her wrists tightly against her lower back, lining himself up with her entrance and slowly sinking into her. He stayed there, letting her adjust to the fullness of her holes, and used his free hand to gently tap and pull on the plug, drizzling more lube over her before working it slowly in and out. He moved his hips in time with the plug, pulling both out and letting her ache to be filled, before pushing both in, rubbing her vaginal wall between them. He worked her until her eyes rolled, until she was a stuttering, sweaty mess. His fingers left the plug, and she felt the little vibrating egg against her clit as he began to fuck her more forcefully, his weight holding down her wrists and hips as he bottomed out, making her with each thrust.
“Fuck, please, fuck. Please can I, please, please –”
“No,” he said. “You can’t.”
“I can’t,” she whined, high-pitched, on the verge of desperation. “Please, I can’t, please, I’m going to –”
“Hold it,” he said, thrusting deep inside her. Erin clenched her teeth, her hands tightening into helpless fists where he held them. She screamed against the building pressure, panting, squeezing every muscle in her body to try to stop it.
She was so close, and he’d been at this for so long. He felt too good inside her, his head rubbing against her g-spot while the vibe took her higher and higher. Any moment she was going to come, she was going to come, she was going to —
He stilled inside her, moving the egg from her clit, and she thrashed, trying to free her hands, desperate to finish herself off as she tried to fuck her hips back against him.
He let her settle, waiting until she stilled before he moved in her again, fucking her deep and hard, his cock bumping up against her cervix in ways that made her gasp and cry out with each thrust. Usually she wasn’t into that — couldn’t handle guys going too deep, felt a certain trepidation when someone was too big. This time, after all the buildup, she could hardly get enough of it. She found herself pushing back on him, trying to get him deeper, pressing her face into the floor to try and muffle her screams and moans, completely lost to everything except his cock and his fingers and the vibe, and her desperate need to come.
When he started tapping the vibe against her clit, she thought she’d fall apart. Over and over he did it, pressing it to her for a moment and pulling it away, holding it just far enough away that she could feel its phantom touch before putting it back, holding her as close as he could to the edge without letting her tip over. On, off, on, off, on, off. She bit back a scream.
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