The toy hums between your legs like a wicked secret—constant, maddening, just enough to make your muscles clench and twitch with every pulse. But it never tips you over.
You try to grind against it. Desperate.
Your hips move without permission, and that's when you feel it—his hand gripping your hair, tugging your head back, forcing you to arch and freeze.
"What did I say about moving?"
His tone is calm. Even. And that's what makes it worse.
"I—I'm sorry, Sir—"
"You're not sorry yet."
The vibration increases. Just slightly. Just enough to make your thighs shake as you sob into the mattress, unable to run from the sensation or chase it properly.
"You're right there, aren't you?" he whispers. "Your whole body begging to come. But you can't.Because I said no."
He circles the bed slowly, watching you from every angle, admiring the wreckage he's creating.
Then... he brings out the blindfold.
"Eyes on me for the first part," he says, slipping it over your head, "Then I want you to feel everything without knowing what's next."
Darkness swallows the room. Your world narrows to sensation and sound.
The next touch is a feather. You think. Soft, cruel. It glides over the backs of your knees, your sides, across your breasts, over your thighs—but never where you need it most.
Then... a slap. Sharp and unexpected on your ass. Then a soothing rub. Then another slap. Rhythm. Chaos. Pleasure laced withcontrol.
You cry out, toes curling, throat raw.
"You want to come, don't you?"
"Say it."
"Yes, Sir. Please—please, I need to—"
"But needing isn't earning."
He lowers the toy's setting again.
You scream in frustration.
He chuckles softly—lovingly, somehow—before leaning down and pressing a slow, firm kiss to the back of your neck.
"You're doing so well, BabyGirl."
"So beautiful when you're desperate."
"But I'll decide when you come. Not your body. Not your need."
And then... silence.
He leaves the toy on. Leaves the blindfold in place.
But he steps away.
You hear him sit back down in the armchair again, legs spread, watching.
And all he says is:
"Let it build. Stay right there. Don't you dare come until I call you."
Time stops meaning anything.
It's just sound now—
The low, constant hum between your thighs.
Your ragged breaths.
The distant, steady click of his lighter.
He's watching you suffer from that chair like a king on his throne.
And you?
You're his favorite form of entertainment.
"Still holding it together?"
His voice floats from across the room—amused, proud, unhurried.
You try to speak, but the words are a sob now.
Your body is quaking.
Thighs soaked.
Arms trembling in the cuffs.
Mouth open, whispering incoherent pleas into the sheets. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.
You just know it has to be him.
"Say it,"he commands gently. "Tell me what you want."
You choke on it the first time. Try again.
"Please... Please let me come, Sir. I—I can't hold it—"
"You can," he says. "But I'm going to make sure you can't help yourself. And then? You'll beg until I believe you deserve it."
He stands.
You hear it—his slow, sure steps across the floor.
The faint clink of his belt being unbuckled.
The snap of his glove being removed.
Your breathing goes shallow, then ragged.
And then—finally—his hand replaces the toy.
Warm, thick fingers press against your slick, swollen folds, spreading you open like a gift he's unwrapping just for himself.
"So wet for me," he growls. "Look at this. You're fucking dripping, sweetheart."
He doesn't enter you. Not yet.
Instead—he circles.
Gentle. Controlled. Teasing in tight, maddening spirals over your clit until your hips jerk wildly in the cuffs.
"Ah ah— no permission yet."
"But gods, you're close, aren't you?"
You scream. "Please, Sir. I need—I need you, please—"
Your voice cracks, raw and broken open now.
"Need what, BabyGirl? My fingers? My cock? Permission?"
"Tell me exactly what you're begging for."
Tears blur behind the blindfold.
"Everything, Sir. Please—I need all of you. Please let me come. I swear I'll be good—I am good—I just—I can't—"
And that's when you feel it.
His mouth.
Hot and perfect, wrapping around your clit like a promise.
His fingers slide in—finally—deep and slow, curling just right, the way only he knows how.
Your whole body arches in the restraints.
You're sobbing now. Shaking violently.
"Come for me."
His voice drops to a growl, commanding and possessive.
"Now."
And you shatter.