"When you are pulling against the restraints… when your back is arched and your hips are writhing… when your mouth is open in a silent scream of tortured rapture… you will know that my work has begun".
“That’s it, good girl. I know you haven’t come in over a week but your master made it clear that if you moan or make any sound from my touch, you’ll have to wait another week before you have another chance for that sweet release. I could do this to you all day. Isn’t it so hot to have him watch you while I do whatever I want to you? You are doing very well to keep quiet.”
“Well you made it, very well done. Still, you aren’t going to get off that easily. You have to hold back your orgasm for another 10 minutes, otherwise, if your master sees you coming, you will spend the next 3 weeks being teased by me without any orgasm. I really want the chance to see you suffer like that, so I’m not going to go easy on you now. Come for me and your master and embrace your punishment, I know you can’t take any more.”
In this room she is his. Like a lion assessing its prey, the teacher’s eyes survey her hungrily. She knows exactly why she is here, yet her feigns of innocence make him even more intent on following through with what he had always implied to her. Her favourite college class was about to get so much better.
So often this student had teased him so subtly during lessons, flirting with him at every opportunity and wearing the skimpiest outfits all for his enjoyment. It wasn’t until he started to whisper things to her during lectures, in the guise of offering help with work, that he came to realise the hold that he had over her. The way her hand always slid under the desk any time he approached, to whisper more things in her ear, telling her just what he’d like to do to her, how he’d love to strip her right there and then. So slender, so full of desire, so delicate, so perfect for him to dominate.
On the night of Christmas, she came to grant his wish, though it would last far beyond merely just the night. Awakened from such a gentle sleep, already fully strapped down and helpless for his dream situation. She said nothing, there was no need, her touches would convey everything needed. Every year she would fulfil a lucky man’s greatest desire.
Just the lightest touch from her felt like an electric shock of sheer ecstasy, so intense that he was almost worried how it would feel once she pressed her entire hand around it, or even her mouth. He’d soon find out though that her sexual power was far beyond what he’d ever have imagined, that there would be no way of coming until she willed it upon him, no matter how much he could take. When he started to beg and shout out for release, the only response he’d continue to be met with was that same lustful gaze. She could keep him safely erect for as long as she desired, that would be enough to communicate her intent.
After the hours passed, in those brief moments when he could think of anything except the agonizing need for the orgasm trapped away, in the spare few seconds not spent hopelessly pleading with her to let him come, he wondered whether to call her an angel… or a demon.
It’s not the feeling of how your pussy clenches around every inch of my length… it’s not how erotic it is to have your gorgeous, sensitive body pressing against me… nor is it the wonderful sounds you make as you moan in pleasure. It is the look on your face that captivates me the most: that look of rapture. How we’ve spent so long slowly building this up, holding back until finally you can’t stall it any more. That expression of pure ecstasy, telling me that every second was worth it, telling me that you don’t want it to stop. That’s why I won’t stop or slow down, no matter how intensely you come.
The need to grip hold of him overwhelms you. To wrap your arms around the force that penetrates you. If not to pull him to you and make him pump into your faster, then at least to wrap around him and feel that masculine frame more intimately, yet still you are confined.
The faster he goes, the more you fight against your bondage, yearning to hold him as tightly as the pleasure holds you to in its grip.