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You take a deep breath as you stand outside what you’ve been told is Lady Dimitrescu’s personal chambers-you hope that’s what this actually is and Daniela wasn’t leading you on a wild goose chase as some sort of prank; she would be the type to find that hilarious. You pull the sheer fabric of your dress tighter around you as though it will somehow protect you. You feel exposed somehow and wish that you had something that covered you a bit better. But of course it made sense that your clothing was specifically picked to “show off the goods” so to speak. You’d been in a far more public place in far less, but for some reason, this feels different.
You take a moment to admire your surroundings; never in your life did you foresee being somewhere like this. Everything from the marble flooring to the strategically-placed vases exudes wealth while somehow avoiding crossing the line into ostentation. The word “regal” comes to your mind, both for the setting and the lady herself. In the time you spent with her before now, you’d definitely picked up on certain word choices and mannerisms that, in addition to her ethereal beauty, gave you insight as to what sort of person she was. You hope you’ll be able to give her what she desires-there isn’t one shred of doubt that her standards are high and you pray to any gods you think will listen that you’re enough.
You have no idea why you’re stalling; maybe there’s a part of your subconscious that knows this is a bad idea. But then again, when have any of your ideas ever been good? You have all the self-preservation instincts of a dodo bird with a traumatic brain injury and you know it.
‘Might as well get this started,’ you think as your knuckles lightly rap on the door. ‘Worst case scenario, what have I got to live for anyway?’
“Come in.” Comes the sultry voice of Lady Dimitrescu. The sound of her voice absolutely paralyzes you and you have to force yourself to turn the doorknob. You can’t believe you’re acting this way; in the short time you’ve been here, she has already managed to obliterate any confidence you had.
You push the door open and step into the room. She’s sitting in front of a huge (to you, perfectly proportional to her) vanity, a white silk robe clinging to her every curve
as she uses a tissue to blot away excess lipstick from her full lips. The robe would have blended perfectly into her skin if not for her silvery undertones. A cigarette lies smoldering, half un-smoked in an ashtray at the far end of the vanity. Slightly off to the side is a large, plush-looking couch that could easily be a bed for you. She turns to you and flashes a quick smile.
“There you are.” She says. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.” You can hear the mocking tone in her voice and you feel a fluttering in the base of your stomach. “Oh, don’t be nervous, pet. I won’t be doing anything untoward just yet; not before I’ve had a proper look at you, that is.” She crooks her finger, beckoning you towards her. You don’t bother to close the door; anyone foolish enough to interrupt you at this moment deserves whatever tragedy befalls them. You stand beside her, hoping you aren’t shaking too hard; you can feel her eyes on you, looking you up and down, her smile widening as she takes in every inch of you. You feel like a piece of meat in the figurative and literal sense as she motions for you to turn around. You slowly spin in place, your heart rate skyrocketing as you turn your back to her. Somehow, it’s even more nerve-wracking to have her behind you.
“Well, you certainly know how to display yourself.” She praises. “Now let’s see if you know what to do with any of it. Go close the door, drăgălaş, and lock it.” Your stomach drops. It hardly even occurs to you to ask what she’d just called you. You feel like you’re at the top of a roller coaster, waiting for the car to drop down the first hill. Before you have time to second-guess yourself, the door is squeaking on its hinges as you gently pull it closed. Your fingertips linger at the lock for a brief moment and it occurs to you that if you’re going to try to run, now’s the time. You wouldn’t get far and you know that, but you would at least be able to say you died with your boots on.
She seems to sense your hesitation and speaks.
“If you’re having doubts,” she warns “This is the only chance you’ll ever have to act on them. This is your only warning, drăgălaş. Once that door is locked, you belong to me.” That’s all you need. You don’t know if she’s bewitched you in some way or if you really are that sick in the head, but either way, you don’t care. Your hesitation has dissolved and feels as though it was never there to begin with. You want this. You want her. You don’t care what the consequences of that might be. As far as deaths go, “rough sex gone wrong” is far from the worst way to die. You stop shaking and your fingers grasp the lock and snap it into place.
You turn back to face her once more and walk to her side before kneeling on the floor. Your legs are spread just enough to show her that you aren’t wearing any underwear. You place you arms slightly behind you and lean back onto your palms in a way that pushes your chest out. You meet her eyes and for the first time since you entered the room, you speak to her directly.
“At your service, mistress.” The phrase rolls off your tongue as though it’s second nature; it isn’t, and you’re in way over your head, but she doesn’t need to know that just yet.
She seems taken aback at your wanton display; clearly, her previous partners had just a bit more fight in them than you did. You wonder if that ruins it for her somewhat; if she found you less appealing now that the thrill of the hunt has been taken away. That worry is short-lived, though, as she leans forward and gives you a perfect view of her ample cleavage.
“Good girl,” she purrs. “It seems I’ve underestimated you; you’re settling into your role quite nicely.”
“I know my place, mistress.” You say, hoping that you aren’t coming off as desperate. She raises an eyebrow at your self-assured tone.
“Do you now? Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we? Stand up, drăgălaş, and take your clothes off. And as you do, why don’t you tell me of your past experiences? Tell me all the wicked little things that you’ve learned excite you.” She sits back on her vanity chair, looking at you with expectant eyes. Your nervousness is back now; this, in your opinion, was the worst part. Not the order to talk about your turn-ons; you were actually grateful for that, but you’re absolutely terrified of showing her your body. You’ll have to woman up and deal with it, though-you had your chance to back out and now, it was too late.
“There have only been two.” You say as you rise to your feet. You bend forward and take your time unlacing your boots. “My…body count, as they call it now, isn’t very high, but I believe in quality over quantity.” You try to sound confident, not arrogant. You and her both know it’s all for show, but you aren’t keen on bowing out of your performance just yet. “I’ve learned that I like a very…specific dynamic, and it’s one that I have a feeling compliments yours.” You step out of your boots and move on to your socks, taking care to bend and twist just enough to make your movements appealing. You look her in the eyes as you place your socks into your boot.
“Mostly, I just like being hurt.” You slowly unbutton the top of what can just barely be called your dress. “Physically and emotionally. But it’s a rarity that I find a woman equally good at both.”
She nods, seeming to understand you.
“Verbal humiliation requires an affinity for language.” She agrees.
“I don’t…I’m not picky, actually. Just as long as I’m suffering in some way, I’m having a good time. There are things I won’t do, but it’s a short list.”
You open the top of your dress and you notice the way her eyes widen at the metal rings through your nipples. “I can be bratty sometimes, but it’s only because I want to be punished for it. I…I don’t know, I guess I’d classify myself as a smart-ass masochist.” You undo the last of the buttons and completely open the front of your dress.
You press your thighs together, suddenly feeling a pang of insecurity as you remember the last time one of your would-be partners shamed you for not “landscaping properly” and calling you disgusting when you said that you never did that. You’re relieved when she doesn’t react-it’s as though she thinks nothing of it and in fact, expects it. You remind yourself that you’re not in the U.S. anymore and other nations aren’t nearly has hung up on the concept of pubic hair as you shrug off the thin fabric and toss it on top of your boots, leaving you bare before her.
“Beautiful.” She compliments. You feel yourself blush at her praise, hoping that she really means it. “Come sit, drăgălaş.” She pats the tops of her thighs and you gulp. You walk to her and yelp as she pulls you onto her lap. You shift slightly and make yourself comfortable, sitting in her lap as though she were the vanity chair and facing the mirror. You look your reflection and bite your lip nervously as you see her smirk at you. She leans forward and you feel her hot breath on your ear. You’re staring at yourself in the mirror and wondering what’s in store for you.
“Place your hands on the vanity,” she says sternly. “And don’t move them.” Your hands shake as you lay them on the top of the vanity. You can’t stand to look at yourself anymore and your eyes search the reflection in desperation, seeking something, anything to use as a focal point. It’s precisely because of your distracted state that you don’t see her hands reach around you; her touch comes as a complete surprise and you can’t help but jump slightly. To your credit, though, your hand stay firmly planted as you feel her soft hands starting at your shoulders and traveling down your clavicles. You close your eyes and practically melt into her touch. Her hands cup your breasts and you hold back a moan as she takes a moment to softly knead them before lightly rubbing her thumbs across your pierced nipple. You do moan then, unable to hold back any more. The piercings made you more sensitive and, in your opinion, that had been the second best thing about them. You open your eyes and find hers in the mirror, wordlessly pleading with her not to stop. As if on cue, her thumbs and forefingers grasp the rings and give them a tug-just a light one- and you squeal in a mixture of pleasure and pain that makes you leap from her lap, your hands moving to cover yourself. A quick check confirms that you haven’t been harmed by the pulling and it’s only then that you realize what you’ve done. Your jaw drops and you raise your head slightly to meet the scowling face staring back at you in the mirror.
“I don’t believe I gave you permission to move.” She says in a voice just gentle enough to be terrifying. “Did I?”
You shake your head.
“No, mistress.” You squeak, hoping that she’ll show just a bit of mercy for this being your first infraction.
“So, my pet, why did you see fit to do as you pleased?” Your mind is racing, wondering what combination of words can save you- it was an involuntary reaction, after all. The body responds to stimuli; you weren’t doing it on purpose! “You claimed to know your place, but I think you need a reminder. I think…you need a good spanking.” Before you have time to react, your entire sense of balance is thrown ass over teakettle and your body is in motion.
In one swift movement, she flips you onto your front. You’re draped across her lap now, your backside in a perfect position for her to absolutely thrash you. You hold onto her thigh, doing your best to steady yourself against her. She seems to know the exact instant you get your bearings and gives you not one moment more to adjust before rearing her hand back and connecting it to the soft flesh of your ass. It hits harder than any paddle you’ve ever experienced and once again, your body reacts before your brain can catch up.
“God dammit!” You shriek, flailing for a moment as you feel a strong forearm press into your back and hold you down. A fistful of your hair is yanked upward and you hear her hiss into your ear.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are “Thank you, mistress. May I please have another?”
“Thank you, mistress.” you say softly. “May I please have another?” The hand across your back is gone, but your hair remains clenched in her fist. You brace yourself for the second strike, but there's no way you could adequately prepare for it. It's even worse than the first and you cry out again before you repeat what you've been ordered to say:
"Thank you, mistress. May I please have another?"
She laughs as she delivers the third swat. Your nails dig into her thigh slightly and you hope that won't earn you any additional punishments. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything about it.
"Thank you, mistress. May I please have another?"
The pattern continues for what seems like an eternity and it isn't long before you feel tears start to stream down your face. You know that you're starting to bruise and you're going to continue to feel this for a minimum of two days. She’s given spankings before and you can tell; she knows exactly how long to wait between strikes so that the pain of the new strikes don’t make you numb to the old. Her steady, firm hand knows exactly where each swat needs to land in order to ensure even distribution of the sensation across your flesh.
“Thank you, mistress. May I please have another?”
Making you ask for it was a nice touch as well. Being given a punishment was one thing, but being told to ask for punishment added a layer of humiliation that made you excited in a way you hadn’t been in a while. Just as you prepare for another brutal strike, something unexpected happens: she reaches between your legs and runs one long finger across your sex, causing you to writhe harder than the smacks.
"So much for a punishment." she laments. "You're enjoying this far too much, you filthy little thing. So much that you've dirtied my robe." The hand that holds your hair pulls up hard and before you can respond, you're standing once again. You stumble backwards, your legs desperately trying to steady themselves as she rises to her full height. You notice the wet spot on her thigh and you can't believe you'd gotten that worked up just from being spanked.
"I-I'm sorry, mistress." You whimper. "I couldn't- I can't-"
"Did I give you permission to speak?"
You shake your head and wait for her next move. Her smug facial expression belies the anger in her voice as she moves to open her robe.
"I'll have to take this off, I suppose." she says, her movements slow and precise- she certainly knows how to tease. “It would be…unbecoming of me to walk about covered in your slick, after all.” She lets the robe slip slightly to reveal the tops of her shoulders. You take note of the lack of bra straps on them and the thought of her being bare under her robe drives you to the point of passion and lust overtaking reason and patience. You don’t even register the feeling of silk in your hands as you do your best to open the robe. It isn’t until you feel a hand around your throat that you come back to reality.
You’ve been choked before, but not like this. You begin kicking before you even understand why-your lizard brain overtaking all higher functioning for the sake of keeping you alive. It’s only when you’re at eye level with her that you understand that she’s lifted you by the throat.
“You ungrateful whore!” She spits as her throat grip on your throat tightens. You claw desperately at her hands as your vision starts to blur and at that moment, you’re convinced that your last seconds on earth will be spent trying desperately to escape the clutches of a woman with whom you had ruined everything.
It’s over as quickly as it began. You scream as you fall onto your freshly-spanked ass, the smell of cigarette smoke slowly bringing you back and when your eyes readjust, you find yourself in front of the vanity once more. You search the reflection for your mistress and it takes you a full minute to see her-she stands behind you, a glowing cigarette between two long, elegant fingers as her eyes glow in a mixture of rage and something else that you can’t quite place. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear it was lust. Her robe is once again over her shoulders, covering her completely. You’re amazed she hasn’t tightened the belt on it.
“You ungrateful whore.” She repeats with a growl. “How dare you put your hands on me without my permission?!”
You try to speak, but only a dry squeak manages to leave your mouth. Your eyes shoot over to the reflection of your neck and you see a perfect handshape already beginning to form in a light purple.
You know that there’s nothing you can say to make it better-you really had fucked the toaster on this one. If she ever let you touch her again, it would be a miracle. If she even let you stay alive long enough to ask, it would be a miracle.
Or so you think.
“Are you truly that desperate for me that you forget yourself at the very idea of my disrobing?” She asks. “Are you that utterly depraved that you can’t help behaving as though you’ve never seen a woman’s body before? Or were you hoping for another punishment?”
You say nothing-you simply stare at her in the mirror, praying that she can forgive you.
“Look at yourself.” She commands. “Really, pet. Look at yourself.”
You stare into the mirror and squeak again as you notice the bruise on your neck darkening by the second.
“Now,” she says with a long exhale, smoke leaving her lips with each word. “This is the second time tonight you’ve behaved so atrociously. You’d do well to keep in mind that second chances with me are rare and third chances are nonexistent.”
You blink rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that you can see gathering in your eyes. You’re going to die here. Or at the very least, she’ll make you wish you had by the time she’s finished with you. Why the fuck did you insist on ruining every single opportunity you’d ever had in-
“However,”
Wait, what?
“I can’t help but admire your pluck…to an extent.”
This is a dream; there’s no way this is real. You’re dreaming or far more likely, she’d already killed you. That has to be it-she choked the life out of you and you’re dead. Heaven is real and you’re there and that is the only explanation for this.
“It’s rare than any of the women I take have the courage to make even the slightest move, let alone take any action; their fear overtakes their lust. I won’t lie to you, I do enjoy it. But there’s something to be said for adding something new now and again.” You find her reflection and see the tell-tale smirk that you’ve come to expect from her.
“I want you to tell me what exactly came over you, pet. And keep in mind that you are out of chances.”
Your sigh of relief gets caught in your wounded throat and you choke and cough for longer than you’d like.
“I-“ you rasp. “I just…I wanted to see you. All of you. I guess I…I just got-got caught up in the moment.” You’re past the point of dignity now; there’s no sense in pretending- you are desperate for her, and you don’t care how much she torments you for it.
“I see.” There’s that mocking tone again. Apparently, you’re breaking just enough rules to spice things up for her. There may be hope for you yet. “Why don’t you show me how much you want me, pet?”
Your brow furrows in confusion. You aren’t sure if you’re still woozy from oxygen deprivation or if you’re actually being asked what you think you are.
“What?”
“Touch yourself.” The clarification comes with another long inhale of her cigarette. “And look yourself in the eye while you do it. I want you to see how beautiful a woman’s desperation can be.”
Oh. Oh. For some reason, you found this even more humiliating than the spanking. To say that you’re reluctant would be an understatement, but your desperation to make up for your transgressions far outweighs your insecurities.
You let out a shaky sigh as you shift on the stool; the thick, plush cushioning does nothing to help the continued stinging on your bruised buttocks. You nervously part your quivering thighs and you can see just how much of your slick is there. You practically glisten in the dim light of the room as your right hand slowly moves to part the delicate lips of your sex; you hold your lips open with your index and ring fingers before slowly stroking yourself with the middle. Your movements are agonizingly slow and teasing-long, sweeping strokes that you imagine are your mistress’s tongue instead. You moan at the thought as your eyes close. You want to visualize her.
“Look at yourself, drăgălaş.”
There’s that word again. You have no idea what it means and honestly, you don’t care at this point. Your eyes snap open and you watch as your left hand moves to your breast to begin playing with the ring in your nipple. This seems to please tour mistress, as she hums in appreciation.
“Tell me what you see.” She commands.
You look at your splayed legs and dripping womanhood and answer honestly:
“A whore.”
Judging by the amused chuckle you receive in response, that certainly wasn’t the wrong answer.
“Go on.”
You understand where she’s going with this- she wants you to degrade yourself while she smokes. She wants to stand back and watch you give yourself the verbal assault that she knows you desire.
“I see a sex object, mistress.” You’ve stopped the long strokes of your finger and have instead moved to tight, rapid circles around your clitoris. You make a point not to touch it directly- you want to torture yourself a bit more.
“I see stupid slut who’s too dumb to know the difference between pain and pleasure, so it’s all the same to her.” The pace of your circles increases and you chance looking away from yourself and to the woman you’d been fantasizing about since you first arrived here. “I see someone who wants you to mistreat her. A pathetic fucktoy who’s so desperate for pain that she’s carved up her own legs for sexual gratification and wants to be controlled and used. And I also see the only woman who could possibly manage the task of doing it correctly.”
You make a move to pinch your clit, knowing that you’ll cum the instant you do. As though she knows exactly what your intentions are, your mistress takes action. She moves quicker than your brain can comprehend-or maybe the length of her legs allow her to close the gap between you in a single step. Before you can give yourself the release you crave, one massive, pale hand shoots forward- the hand reaches down between your legs and, rather than taking over the task as you hoped it would, wraps around your wrist. You’re too close to think about your actions as the hand on your breast moves to finish the job. Apparently, that’s just what was expected as you as you find both hands trapped in hers.
You cry out in a combination of surprise and protest as your hands are lifted up above your head.
You’re so close. You need it.
“Please!” You scream, your hips pathetically thrusting upward as if doing so can bring back the sensation of your fingers. “Please, mistress, let me cum! Please!”
She laughs as though you’d just told her the funniest joke she’s ever heard and your clit throbs at the sound.
“Oh, my pet.” She chastises. “Look at you. You were absolutely correct when you called yourself “pathetic.”
Your hips continue to thrust as you once again find yourself trying not to cry.
“I know how badly you want it, pet. I know it would feel so good to be able to keep going, but make no mistake: you’ll cum when I command and not one moment sooner.”
You scream louder than you ever had in your life. The sound of her talking in such a vulgar way to you made you worried that you’d defy her yet again and cum whether she gave you permission or not just from the auditory stimulation of her voice alone.
“Oh, dear. Do you want it that badly, pet? We’ve only just begun, after all, and you already want to finish? Before your mistress, even? As if I would ever let you off so easily! Not when I’m still thinking about everything I can put you through.” The sound of another inhale lets you know that she’s still smoking. Both of your wrists fit so neatly in just one of her hands. You try desperately to pull your arms down to free them, but they don’t budge from their position. All the while, your mistress is still speaking.
“There are so many things I could do to you right now. I have half a mind to tie your hands behind your back and leave you here.” Your heart stops at her words. The thought of her abandoning you in your current state sends your mind into a panicked frenzy.
“I’ll visit you now and then, of course, and play with you just enough to keep you excited. Would you like that, pet? To spend your days bound, begging, and helpless? Crying for a release that you’ll never get?”
You cry out and twist in her grip, unable to form words as your hips continue to thrust upward into nothing. She ignores you completely and continues her taunt.
“But then, another part of me wants to string you up in my courtyard-put you on full display and let everyone see what a pathetic little whore you are. I can only imagine what they’ll say when they see the bruises on your backside.”
You want to beg her to stop-her words are somehow more powerful than her touch and the burning desperation between your legs is growing stronger and more agonizing with each passing second. You look up at the hand perfectly enclosing both of your wrists and it’s so unfair how loosely she’s holding you. There isn’t the slightest bit of strain in her grasp, yet it’s as strong as a steel manacle. Your peripheral vision just barely registers the slow but steady fall of ashes that land on your torso as she restrains you. Your head snaps forward, back to the mirror and you see your mistress’s sadistic smirk as she takes another long drag of her cigarette.
You look an absolute sight-the mascara and eyeliner that you’d taken such care to apply now nothing but a series of dark grey lines smeared down your cheeks. Your ordinarily pale face flushed a brilliant shade of red that can only come from just the right mixture of arousal, desperation, and a touch of fear.
Your wrists being held above your held results in your arms being stretched upward just enough to engage your pectoral muscles in such a way that lifts your breasts and makes the silver rings in your nipples glint in the light. Your torso sports something of a happy trail of fallen cigarette ash. It’s actually quite amazing how thoroughly she’s managed to break you in such a short amount of time and with such little action; it truly is a testament to her power and it just excites you even more.
You screw your eyes shut and let out a high-pitched whine as you once again let your hips thrust in agony.
“You seem awfully desperate, pet.” Her voice makes your thighs involuntary twitch. “If I were a merciful woman, I’d let you finish yourself.”
Your eyes snap open and your head falls back to look up at her; you just barely manage to see over her breasts, but you meet her eyes and wordlessly plead for your torment to come to an end. You’re so fixated on the mischievous glint in her glowing yellow eyes that you don’t see the hand holding her cigarette gracefully maneuver downward. You don’t notice how she bends forward ever so slightly. It’s only when you feel the hot sting on your thigh that you know what’s happening.
You scream as you re-direct your eyes to the hand pushing the glowing embers into your flesh.
Her hand twists and she lets out a cruel laugh as you thrash and kick.
“I am not a merciful woman, pet.” She yanks the now-extinguished cigarette away from the fresh wound on your thigh as she says it. “Remember that.”
You can only squeak in response; you are literally rendered speechless as she finally releases your hands. You immediately move to hold the fresh burn on your thigh, cradling it as though your entire leg might shatter at any moment as your mistress moves around you to place the extinguished cigarette butt in the ornate ashtray on the vanity. You can hear the slight shuffle of her moving about, but you don’t pay attention to it.
You’ve never been burned before. None of the other women you’d been with had ever done that and you weren’t expecting it. Part of you supposes it was the natural follow-up considering the way she’d “ashed” on you, but you weren’t exactly bracing yourself for it. It was painful, it was degrading, it was…it was so hot. Your clit throbs in time with the wound and you know that you shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you are.
You slowly lift your head and look in the mirror once more; you see her relaxing on the couch-she’s leaning back, one of her arms lazily draped over the back of the piece of furniture. Her long, elegant legs are crossed at the heels, her knees just peeking out of the part in her robe only to remain closed at the meeting of her thighs. Her shoulders are bare again, and at first glance, you might mistake the robe for an off-the-shoulder dress. Her head is turned just enough to meet your gaze through half-closed eyes, her smirk having become a full smile.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how close you came to losing yourself, pet. I meant what I said earlier: you will wait for my permission. I understand I haven’t made it easy on you, but that doesn’t change the matter at hand.” You nod at her, taking several deep breaths, hoping you can at least try to calm the storm that rages in your loins.
“When you’ve collected yourself,” she continues “I want you to crawl to me. I have a question I’d like you to answer and somehow, it seems more appropriate to ask with you kneeling at my feet.”
You nod again and the thought crosses your mind that even if you tried to walk, you doubt you’d be able to. You can’t imagine what she could possibly want to ask you, but you aren’t surprised that she wants you in a position of submission to ask it. You roll off of the vanity stool, not even trying to be graceful about it. What’s the point? You’re already a mess and she knows it. You crawl to her, careful not to bump the still stinging burn on your thigh. Thankfully, it isn’t a long trek and you settle into the position you started in at the beginning of your activities: knees apart, chest out. You look into her eyes and wait. She seems pleased with your position and sits upright, uncrossing her legs and exposing just a bit more of her thighs, staring down at you in the way that only someone in her position could pull off effectively.
“When you were told that you’d been given to me, you displayed none of expected histrionics: you didn’t try to beg, bargain, or threaten your way out. You all but rolled over and exposed your belly to me. And you didn’t even have the wherewithal to be rightly angry about it. You were ready to accept whatever happened to you and didn’t even think twice. Why is that?”
Your mouth drops open and for a moment, you say nothing. You didn’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.
“I guess…I didn’t see the point in picking a fight I knew I wouldn’t win.” You say. It’s the truth-even if she and her daughters had all been only human, you were outnumbered.
“But that isn’t all, is it?” Your mistress challenges. “I could smell the arousal on you the instant we were introduced.” You feel your face turn impossibly redder as you slowly begin closing your thighs as she continues what you can only describe as the most embarrassing callout you’d ever received.
“Furthermore-oh, stop your squirming, you pathetic little thing, if you were trying to hide it, you were doing a poor job of it! Furthermore, you’d told me-directly, I might add-that I was ‘the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.’ Were you this easy for your previous partners, or am I just special?”
You don’t know how to answer, but you suppose you have nothing to gain or lose with the truth.
“I-it’s…you’re special.” The last two words fall out of your mouth so quickly they practically morph into a single word. You look away from her and allow you head to fall forward, looking at the perfect circle of your cigarette burn. You look forward to the scar it will leave, assuming you manage to live to see it.
A firm hand grips the bottom of your jaw and your head is forcefully tilted upward, once again meeting the golden gaze that makes you wish you had been a virgin just so you could have the honor of calling her your first sexual experience.
“Am I, now?” Her mocking tone is momentarily gone and her face is one of seriousness. You could swear that she’s staring straight into your soul, searching for signs of lies as your heart hammers in your chest. “And what makes me special, pet?”
Her grip on your jaw loosens as if to give your muscles room to move so you can speak. You hope you know what you’re doing as you take the opportunity presented to you. You use your legs to push yourself up slightly, giving you the momentum you need to propel yourself forward as your lips meet hers. She freezes, clearly not expecting you to have found this much cheek.
‘Fate favors the bold.’ You tell yourself as you use her split second of shock to stand and gently push her back. You know that she’s letting you do this-if she wanted to stop you, she’d have no trouble at all- but that doesn’t change the fact that even you can’t believe you’re doing it. You settle her back into a relaxed position and swing your unburnt leg over to straddle her.
“You’re special,” you say as you rest your hands on her shoulders “because you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who can actually make me shut up for a second.” She raises a brow at you, but doesn’t respond. Maybe she can tell you’re about to begin a monologue and her sense of etiquette would consider it rude to interrupt, or maybe she knows just as well as you do that “submissive” and “meek” aren’t the same and she wants to see what you have to say now that you’ve finally found your voice.
“You’re special because you make my brain break; I lose all sense of reason around you and I haven’t even known you long. You’re special because I learned that you and your daughters regularly bleed women dry and I can’t bring myself to care. Do you realize that I’m ok with you killing me right now? You’re special because you’re still likeable even though you’re terrifying.” Her eyes widen at that. Clearly, she hadn’t thought of herself that way. It was at that moment you made it your mission to dispel any insecurities she’d ever had about anything and make her feel like the goddess among mortals that you consider her to be. Your hands begin to travel down her front; you slip your hands into her robe and trail your hands past her clavicles and down toward her ample bosom. You stop just before you can reach the swell of her breasts and ask her
“May I touch you, mistress? With my hands and my mouth?”
“I…suppose” she answers in a quiet, but stern voice. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting you to answer her questions the way you did and it’s had an effect on her. You can tell that although she is more than capable of staying in her role for the duration of your time together, the things you’ve said to her won’t be forgotten any time soon.
It’s your turn to smile now and you bend your head forward to kiss her cleavage. Your hands pull her robe further off her shoulders and she leans forward just enough to pull it down completely. The undoubtedly expensive fabric pools at her lower half as you do your best to grab at her breasts- you feel so pathetically small trying despite being an average-sized woman, but what you lack in size you make up for in audacity. You begin on her left side, trailing kisses down her breast until you reach her nipple. She purrs at the sensation as your tongue circles her areola before flicking across the delicate bud a few times, taking note of the way it hardens at the attention. You’d been desperate to get her topless all night and it was well worth the wait. Your right hand finds the nipple on her right breast and you synchronize the motions of licking and rubbing in time.
“Oh!” She cries out and you pause, locking eyes with her and momentarily ceasing.
“Did I tell you to stop?” She snaps. You’re thankful that your lips can conceal your smirk as you continue for a few moments more before switching sides, your tongue now flickering across her right nipple while your her left is gently massaged by your left hand. All the while, she purrs and her hands eventually grasp your shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to let you know that while she doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction of making her cry out again, her resolve is wearing thin. You wonder briefly if your skills are just that damn good or if her breasts had ever been properly given the attention they deserve. You pull your mouth away from her body, earning you a growl.
“Has no one ever paid your chest any attention, mistress?” You ask. Her brow furrows at the question as though she can’t understand why you ask it. “Because if that’s the case…well, I find that hard to believe.”
“You want to make up for lost times, pet?” Her smirk reappears as she says it and that’s all the answer you need to continue.
“I…like big breasts, mistress.” You confess; you’re blushing again and you know it. You’d never said those specific words out loud, but your past partners would be more than willing to attest that it was true. “And I’ll never turn down an opportunity to show a woman how she deserves to be treated.” You kiss the hardened bud of her nipple once more before enveloping it in your mouth completely and giving it a light suck, relishing in the gasping sounds that she tries so hard to hide from you.
“If this is about what I deserve,” she says through clenched teeth “then stop that ridiculous gyrating of your hips.”
You freeze. Had you really been grinding on her without realizing it? What the hell is wrong with you? Why did-
“I am meant to be receiving pleasure at the moment, not you.” Her words snap you back to reality. “Really, pet, at least pretend that you can control yourself.”
Ever the wise-ass, your mouth leaps into action before your brain.
“But I can’t control myself, mistress-that’s why I need you to control me.”
You sheepishly nibble your lip as soon as the words are spoken, hoping that you can manage to convince your mouth to just stop for once in your life. You know you’re still on thin ice and it will take a lot more than what you’ve given to get back into her good graces. You believe you know exactly what you need to do-you know you’ll both get just as much out of it, although you’d never say that; she’s the focus here.
“But if it’s pleasure you’re after, well, I think I have a way to make that happen.”
Your hands trail down her body and eventually rest on the thin piece of cloth that keeps her robe closed.
“May I take this off, mistress?” You look at her with pleading eyes and await her response. You really did want to give her pleasure and the best way to do that was to show her the one skill that you knew you had-the skill you’d been desperate to show her all night and one of the only guaranteed ways to keep you from touching yourself or grinding on her.
She narrows her eyes at you, still unsure if you deserve what you’re asking for. She seems to know that you’ll get just as much out of it as she will. She makes you wait for her answer, making a show of looking pensive and humming with feigned uncertainty before finally giving you the answer she knows you want.
“Yes, pet. You may.”
Your hands tremble as you take the delicate silk into your hands. Your neck throbs as soon as you come into contact with the fabric and you remind yourself that you have permission this time.
You slide down off of her body and back onto the floor. Much like your dismount from the vanity stool, you don’t even try to be graceful about it. You readjust yourself to kneel at her feet once more, holding yourself up on your knees as you slowly open the robe and glance down at the parts of your mistress’s body that you’ve spent an inappropriate amount of time imagining.
Apparently, she didn’t care for “landscaping” either; you would feel slightly validated by that if your mind weren’t otherwise occupied. You lick your lips as you notice the droplets of moisture gathering at the end of the dark curls that lay before you. You lift your head just enough to meet her gaze and you decide that you need to ask now or you’ll lose your nerve.
“Mistress,” it’s the calmest your voice has been all night. “May I pleasure you?”
Her smile says it before her mouth does.
“You may, pet.”
You don’t wait another second- your mouth meets her thigh and you pepper it with a series of soft, slow kisses as you move toward her center.
You can tell by the way she twitches that she can feel your breath on her. The thought of her being just as desperate for you as you’ve been for her makes you pause as you try to focus on the task at hand-the task you literally asked for.
“Something wrong, drăgălaş?” She sounds slightly tense, as if part of her is worried that you had lost your nerve.
You can’t hold back your grin as you respond.
“I’m trying to control myself, mistress. Unless I’m mistaken, I still don’t have your permission just yet.”
Your answer shocks her into silence-a feat you can scarcely believe you’ve accomplished as you plant a delicate kiss on the very top of the course hair. You wanted to drag this out and tease her a bit, but as you’ve demonstrated, self-control isn’t your forte. You sweep your tongue across her in one long, swift motion, moaning at the taste of her; it’s everything you thought it would be and then some.
You hear her sharp inhale and you feel her tense beneath you. Your trace your tongue up her moist slit, allowing it to explore her folds completely. You breathe deeply, taking in her scent as well as her taste and you pray that your body will be able to resist the release that you’ve been on the edge of for some time. You need something to focus on so you don’t lose yourself and you have just the thing in mind.
“I want to play a game with you, mistress.”
You pull away just enough to look up at her. She’s scowling at you now; you can tell she’s infuriated that you’ve stopped before you even really begun.
“What kind of game can you possibly want to play right now?”
You somehow get the feeling that the only thing stopping you from another round of being choked to near-unconsciousness is her curiosity.
“I played it with…someone else,” you explain. “A long time ago. We called it “spelling bee.” She arches her brow at you, but says nothing.
“I’m going to use my tongue as a pen and your body as paper.” You explain. “It’s your job to try to guess what I’m writing just based on how it feels. If you guess right, you get to cum. If you guess wrong, you don’t- you just get edged. You get three guesses for the sake of fairness, but after that, you’re done and…well, then it’s my turn to be the paper.” You pause and let her think about what you’ve just proposed. “No lower case.” You quickly add. “This game works best in all caps-trust me.”
She stares at you for a moment, seemingly taken aback at even the possibility that you’ll be controlling her orgasms. But you can see in her eyes that her competitive nature is shining through and she can’t resist a challenge-especially not one she’s sure she can win.
“Very well, pet.” She smiles as she accepts your suggestion. “I’ll play your little game-but on the condition that if I win, you have to spend the rest of the evening in the position of my choosing. Whether that’s on all fours at my feet, over my knee for another spanking, sitting still and letting me litter those pretty legs with burns, or any other position I can imagine. You’ll accept your position and stay that way until sunup. What do you say to that, pet?”
You gulp nervously at that; there were a lot of things she could make you do and the thought of it was just terrifying enough to make you second-guess whether this was a good idea. But you wanted her. You wanted her so badly; you just wanted to bury your head between her thighs and make your tongue memorize every inch of her. It’s that thought alone that makes you decide that even if you lose, you still win.
“I say game on.” It was such a stupid response and if you’re embarrassed to have said it, but the way your mistress spreads her legs just a bit wider is all you need to forget anything else but her body and your game.
You lean forward and once again settle yourself in front of her mound. Your right hand slides up her thigh and parts her lips.
“Are you ready?” You ask.
“Get on with it, you little devil!” She snaps eagerly. Apparently, she doesn’t handle a tease as well as you do-you make a mental note of that.
You begin at the top-just above the sensitive bud of her clitoris-and drag your tongue down in a slow vertical stroke, earning you a satisfied moan. You add two quick horizontal strokes above and below where you’ve just licked.
I
Your second letter begins near where your first vertical lick ended-so close to her throbbing cavern that you could push your tongue inside with the slightest move and it takes all your willpower not to. You lick a long, diagonal stroke up the length of her sex, once again stopping infuriatingly close to the throbbing bundle of nerves that you’re desperate to suck in the same way you sucked her nipples. You continue to work slowly at first, but progressively faster as you end the letter.
A
“I-ah!” She gasps as you begin your third letter. You briefly wonder if it counts as interrupting her.
M
You feel her large hands grip the sides of your head; you don’t know whether or not she’s done it on purpose, but she’s covered your ears. Not that it matters-you can still hear every growl and gasp coming from her as you continue to run your tongue over her.
“I-I am…” she’s trying to read your “writing” and so far, she’s done it. You suppose the letters have been easy enough to guess so far and she’s a smart woman, so it isn’t a complete shock. You suppose you’ll have to pull out all the stops if you have any hope of winning.
Y
This is one of the harder letters to guess and you aren’t making it any easier for her; you speed or slow your pace at random and you know from experience this makes it so much harder to guess letters and anticipate next moves. That’s your goal, though-it’s not that you want her to lose, it’s that you want to see what happens when she’s the one to lack self-control.
O
This is your favorite letter-your tongue circles the very edges of her; around her lips, above her clit, stopping where you began at the edge of her opening. This is your favorite letter, and you suspect it may grow into one of hers, too, if the claws digging slightly into your head are any indication.
U
“I-I am…oh, pet.” She’ll still only gotten as far as the first two words and you’re still going. You try to resist a smile as you continue.
R
The hardest letter to guess behind Q in your opinion. It’s getting harder to keep your tongue on track-she grows wetter with each lick and it’s become increasingly difficult to keep yourself from slipping. The added mental task is the only thing preventing you from losing yourself and cumming.
S
One of the easier letters and also one of the better ones for the “paper.”
You finish it off with a gentle kiss on her clitoris and wait for her moans to subside before looking up at her. You stop holding her lips apart for the moment and allow your middle and index fingers to slide across either side, slowly stroking her as you smile at her ever-crumbling resolve.
“Well, mistress?” You ask innocently. “Any guesses?”
“I am,” she begins, her legs twitching in desperation as you continue to rub her. You can tell she’s aching for your tongue again, “I am…oh, pet-I…I am…”
“You have the first two words, mistress.”
She glares at you and grips your head tighter; just enough to make you wince.
“Spell it again.” She commands.
That’s not how the game is played. Not usually, anyway. But you decide to give her a break since she’s new to it.
You plunge your tongue into her folds again, spelling it out once more: YOURS.
You take your time with it and it you barely get to the end of “R” before she clenches your head hard.
“I am-I-“
You didn’t think you had it in you to make her come undone like this; it’s enough to make you fully appreciate a dominant’s viewpoint for once.
“I-I-“
You make big, sweeping curls on the “S” and you let your left hand rest on her thigh as you drag this letter out for As soon as you feel her skin beneath your fingertips, one of her hands leaves your head and clasps tightly around yours.
“I-I yield!”
Wow. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. You’re so shocked that you have to make sure you even heard her right.
“What?”
“I yield. I…I don’t know what the last word is.” You look at her disappointed face and almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
“That’s such a shame, mistress. You were so close.” She really was, too. Only one word.
“You have no idea.”
You’re referring to two different contexts of “close.” You’d dwell on it if you weren’t eager to remind her of what this meant-for her and for you.
“Yours.” You state simply. She looks at you as though she has no idea what you’re talking about; and in her lust-filled state, she might not. “The last word. It was “yours.” I am yours.”
She lets out a deep sigh and lightly squeezes your hand.
“You didn’t have to spell it with your tongue, pet. I know that you’re mine.”
You smile as you feel a fluttering sensation in your belly. A woman hadn’t given you butterflies like this in years.
“Well…by the agreed-upon rules, unfortunately, you won’t be cumming tonight, mistress.”
“Don’t look so confident, pet.” She challenges. You frown slightly, not sure where she’s going with this. She agreed to the game and you didn’t take her as someone who would back out on her word. The hand that still rests on your head slides to the back of your skull and clenches into a fist.
“Ah!” You cry out in a mixture of surprise and pain as she yanks you by your hair onto the couch.
“I believe,” she says, looking directly into your eyes “that it’s my turn to be the pen, pet. And I assure you, you won’t be as pleased with yourself when I have finished ‘writing’ on you.”
She releases your head and with a shove on your shoulder, pushes you down onto your back, your head propped up on the armrest of the couch. You adjust yourself so that you’re comfortable and watch as your mistress does the same. She turns to face you and grabs you by the waist. She lifts your hips up and you find yourself in a position similar to a glute bridge exercise.
“Mistress, what-“
“Wrap your legs around my shoulders.”
Oh. Well, this was definitely a new angle for you-you’d never before in your life had a woman hold you up by your lower half and let your top half just…hang there; your mistress certainly knows how to use her size to her advantage and you’re sure she’s done this before.
You let your ankles lock together behind her-it’s not that you don’t trust her to hold you, it’s that you don’t trust yourself not to thrash and accidentally kick her. You wouldn’t hurt her, but you would absolutely piss her off.
“Are you ready, pet?”
You don’t think you’ll ever be completely ready-if you had 109 years to prepare yourself, it still wouldn’t be enough time. But you’ve already been edged so much tonight and you’re desperate for it to stop. And you know there’s only one way for that to happen.
“Yes.”
As soon as the words are out of your mouth, she’s ravaging you with hers.
You knew she’d had more experience than you and thus, would have more than a few tricks up her sleeve when it came to this, but oh gods you had no clue.
You cry out and try to reach for her, groaning in frustration when you don’t even come close.
Her tongue is swirling across you in ways that neither of your previous partners’ ever had. You had been on the edge of release all evening and now, you were closer than ever. You need to win this-you’ll go absolutely insane if you can’t cum tonight. It occurs to you that you have no idea what the letters might be; they don’t even feel like letters at all.
“Wha-are you writing in another language?!” You shriek as her tongue flits rapidly across your clit before dragging down and across.
She stops her motions and peeks above your pelvis to look at you, a wicked grin plastered onto her face. Her mouth visibly glistens with your arousal painted across her lips.
“It’s hardly my fault if you haven’t bothered to learn my mother tongue or recognize my script, pet.”
You scream as you feel her mouth on you again; swirling, flicking, and dragging across you in a way that’s just repetitive enough to tell you that whatever she’s writing, it’s only one word and she’s written it several times over.
Your legs shake uncontrollably as you feel her tongue dance around your sensitive bud again.
You knew you had been cruel during your turn, but this just wasn’t fair.
You couldn’t stand it anymore-you had no hope of guessing what she was writing and you were about to cum, rules be damned. You rapidly slam your hand on the soft cushioning of the couch, literally tapping out as you yell.
“Stop! Stop! I-I give up! I yield! I yield! You win!”
Instantly, her tongue is gone and you feel your body comes crashing down, emotionally as well as physically. You blink several times, trying to focus on anything other than your throbbing nerve endings.
“Well,” you can hear the smirk in her voice as she grabs your wrist and pulls you into a sitting position. You stare blankly at her as she licks her lips. “It seems as though we’ve both lost this evening, drăgălaş.”
You should have known. She’s been calling you that all evening, after all. Your arousal drops ever so slightly as you find yourself being absolutely infuriated that her tongue has the ability to make you complete unable to think.
“Yeah.” You reply. “Looks like it. Shame, that.”
“Hmm. How about we play another round, then? Double or nothing?”
It doesn’t surprise you that she won’t even accept a mutual loss; the only thing stopping you from instantly accepting her offer is the knowledge that you absolutely cannot hold back if she’s going to do that again and now that you know she’s not above using her language against you, you’re even less confident that you can win. But whatever the outcome, it will be well worth it to taste her again.
“Double or nothing.” You agree, sliding back down onto the floor. You aren’t sure what it said about you that you were growing this comfortable spending so much time literally being beneath her, but you’d never questioned your kinks before and you didn’t intend to start now.
As your mistress turns back around and spreads her legs for you once again, you notice that she’s considerably wetter than you’d left her. It seems as though she was just as keen on giving oral pleasure as she was taking it.
You bury your face in her soft, wet curls and moan, just as you did the first time you found yourself in this position. She was absolutely intoxicating; you didn’t care if she edged you mercilessly for the next two months after this-being here, right now, running your tongue along every inch of her moistened quim-this was all you needed.
Your tongue once again begins at the top and slides down; you switch up your speed and pacing-slowing down where you were previously quick and reversing the way you traced certain letter, but you spelled out the exact same message as you did in Round 1.
I AM YOURS.
Your tongue dances over her anatomy again and again as you repeat the message like a mantra. You hear the sound of ripping fabric in addition to her moans and gasps and it hits you-she’s clawing up her couch.
'Well,' you think. 'At least she’s giving my head a break.'
“I-“ she pants as her hips buck toward your mouth just a bit. “I-I am yours.”
It’s barely a whisper and you decide to take this opportunity to be bold.
“What was that, mistress?”
“I am yours.” It’s louder now; a statement of fact spoken in the confident tone you expect from her. The words ring in your ears and although you know she’s just reading your words, hearing her say them makes your heart soar.
She is yours. She is yours just as much as you are hers. You wanted to hear her say the words and it’s the only reason you repeated the same phrase again.
“Yes, mistress.” You say. “You are. Now claim your prize and cum for me.”
You plunge your tongue inside of her; you hope that the size difference between you isn’t so much that she has a difficult time feeling it. Just in case, you splay one of your hands on top of her mound and allow your thumb to circle the hardened nub of her clitoris.
Her hands are back on your head now, her claws digging into your head as your tongue rapidly thrusts in and out of her, reaching in as far as your physical limitations will allow.
“Yes, pet.” You can just barely hear her through her hands. “Yes! Just like that-don’t you dare stop now.”
You couldn’t even if you wanted to-your higher brain functions have all but completely shut down now and the only thing you know how to do is be an instrument of pleasure for her. You bring your index finger down to join your thumb and lightly pinch her clit.
You expected the scream-what you weren’t expecting was to feel her inner walls clench around your tongue as a torrent if her essence flowed from her. You weren’t expecting her to cum that hard that fast.
It seems as though you’ve both been equally desperate. You can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy- she got to cum and you didn’t. You try to lean back only to have your head thrust back into her saturated sheath.
“Don’t think you’re done, pet.” You hear her growl. “I believe I’m owed a second.”
Oh gods- she was right. You shift slightly on your knees, bracing yourself to give her a second orgasm while you still longed for the release of just one. It was painful to be this needy-the irony of it being that the physical ache only made you more excited. This is a feedback loop you’re familiar with, but it somehow feels so much more intense now.
Your moan as you once again run your tongue across your mistress’s sex is one of frustration and pain as much as it is pleasure and joy.
You move your hand away from her clit and trail it down to the succulent canal that had recently housed your tongue. You rub her opening with your index and middle fingers for just a second before you thrust them inside of her. Your mouth, meanwhile, has moved upward to suckle her clit in time with your thrusting fingers.
Her claws dig deeper into your head and for a moment, you fear she’ll crush your skull.
‘What a hell of a way to die.’ You think as you nibble her just hard enough to produce another cry from her.
“Another finger,” she gasps. “Add another finger, drăgălaş. I’m almost there-I just need one more.”
Your eyes widen in shock; you’d never done more than two on anyone. You nervously add your ring finger in with your next thrust and you curl all three fingers inside her as your lips enclose her clit and suck hard.
Her scream rings in your ears as you synchronize your movements. She is close, and so are you. You have no idea how you’ve lasted this long and you don’t know that you can for much longer.
“Mistress,” you beg between love bites to her most sensitive area. “Cum on my face. Cover me in your slick and mark me as yours. Please, mistress, I need it.”
It’s your begging that pushes her over the edge. You feel her thighs spasm as another torrent of her juices hits your mouth. You squeak as you curl your fingers a final time before slowly pulling them out. You straighten your posture and look into the glazed-over eyes of the woman you’ve just pleasured and begin to lick every trace of her off of your fingers. You swirl your tongue around each digit while maintaining eye contact with her and you take particular delight in the way she shudders as she watches you.
Your eyes take in every detail of her- sprawled over her furniture, her trembling legs spread as she struggles to hold her head in just the right position to watch you clean yourself.
“Come here.” It’s a command, but a gentle one; she won’t grab a fistful of your hair and drag you up again, but neither will she ask a second time.
You move just slowly enough to be sensual, or at least try to be. You’d never imagined having to literally climb up a woman's body, but here you were trying to just that. You settle onto her lap, straddling one of her large, muscular thighs. You can feel her continue to twitch as you bring your knee to settle where your head once was and she smiles as she feels your moist heat settle onto her. She can feel how badly you want the very release she’s been given-twice-and knowing that she alone can give it to you at her leisure is exactly the kind of power trips she thrives on.
Your arms settle on either side of her head as you grip the back of the couch and it occurs to you that she’s at just the right angle and position to lean forward and bury her head in your chest if she so chose.
You look into her eyes, the glaze of her bliss slowly fading as she shifts into an upright position and speaks.
“You did very well, pet. Your mistress is pleased.”
You smile at the praise; you were so worried that you wouldn’t be good enough. You lean forward and capture her lips with your own. She leans into the kiss, moaning as her tongue emerges from her mouth and slips into your own. Her hands encircle your waist and pull you closer to her, your chest colliding against her as the momentum pushes her back against her furniture again. Your hands grip the couch tighter as you steady yourself, trying desperately not to fall. Your knee just barely presses into her sex and she nips your bottom lip in response. You squeak as you feel her hands travel up your sides. You break away from the kiss and wriggle at the sensation.
“Stop!” You plead. She pauses, her hands freezing on your ribs as she gives you a confused look.
“Don’t-please, I- you can’t touch me like that.” You stammer. The way her face hardens tells you that was the wrong choice of words.
“Oh? And why not? Since when do you give orders to me, pet?”
Let the backpedaling begin.
“I-it’s I just-my ribs, mistress, you’re…it tickles.”
She softens instantly as she understands what you were trying to say. You momentarily think all is well until you see her trademark smirk settle onto her lips. It takes all of 5 seconds for you to realize you should not have given her that information.
“Does it now?” She asks, prodding her fingers into you just enough to make you yelp at the sensation. “I didn’t know you were ticklish, pet. How adorable. I believe I’ve just decided how you’re going to spend the rest of the night.”
“Wh-what?”
“The rules of the game, pet. Or have you forgotten? You stay in whatever position I choose.”
Fuck. You had forgotten, honestly. And even if you hadn’t, this was one more curveball you did not anticipate.
“I choose,” she continues, her eyes showing the mischievous glint of someone planning an absolutely devious task. “To have you stay just as you are now. You can hold on as hard as you like, but you are to stay just like this.”
“That means you can’t move, either.” You blurt out in a Hail Mary effort to change her mind. “If I have to stay just like this, I have to stay on your thigh, right?”
“Sleepless nights are no stranger to me, pet.” She taps her fingers against you as she says it. “And regardless, you’re going to be suffering far more than I am for it.”
Her nails skitter across your ribs and you scream. You thrash as much as you can while staying in your position as her fingertips dance across your midsection.
This was torture. Actual torture. So far tonight, you’d been spanked, choked, burned, and edged-the last on that list continued to this very second-and somehow this was the worst treatment you’d been given.
“Please,” you beg between fits of laughter as your nails dig into the couch. “Mistress, please stop. I can’t take it! I can’t!”
“You can,” she insists, running her nails over your ribs again. “And you will. Don’t forget who controls you, pet.” She stiffens slightly as your knee presses further between her legs in your thrashing.
“You have such a pretty smile,” she continues; you want to tell her there are other ways to make you smile, but your constant stream of involuntary laughter stops you from being able to form even a single word. “And a precious laugh as well.”
Your laughter turns to screaming as you writhe beneath her agile fingers. This was the most humiliated you’d been in your entire life, bar none. You’d never been more completely helpless than you were in this moment and…and…why did this feel so good? Were you truly writhing, or did you start grinding on her thigh? No, no that’s impossible. You aren’t actually liking this, that’s fucked. You-
“Did you just moan, pet?”
Her fingers stop their movement and you take the opportunity to gasp for air; it’s only when you’ve managed to regulate your breathing again that you realize you might have found a new kink to add to your ever-growing list and it is absolutely mortifying.
“I-“ you stammer shakily. “I don’t-“
“You did.” It’s a simple statement. Just simple enough to get under your skin. “You moaned. And I can feel your excitement dripping down my thigh. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” You know with your whole heart that your face is the reddest it’s ever been.
“I didn’t think that would happen, mistress. I-I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Oh, pet.” Her fingers leave your sides and her arms envelope you and pull you flush against her. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” You breathe deeply, trying to center yourself as your arms limply hang onto the couch. You’re still holding your position; it’s a task that’s been hard enough to do that you can’t help but think you deserve some recognition for actually being able to do it.
“You’ve been so good this evening, pet. There are a few things I’ll need to train out of you, of course, but overall, you’ve managed to impress me.” She pushes away from you just enough to make sure you’re face to face with her. “And since you’ve done so well, I’m willing to reconsider one of the rules of our game.”
Reconsider? Reconsider how? Is she-
“It seems you’ve managed to make me feel just a bit merciful. I’ll allow you to cum.”
Your eyes widen in shock. Once again, you’re thrown for a loop. You don’t have time for shock, though, and you know it. Your mistress can take away as easily as she can give and you need to act before she changes her mind. Your right hand trembles as it leaves the couch; your sex throbs as you anticipate the feeling of your finger on-
“What do you think you’re doing?” Your wrist is caught in her hand again and you tug pathetically at it. Was she changing her mind? Were you doomed to even more edging and she just wanted to instill false hope in you only to yank it away at the last second and laugh in your face about how she would never actually permit you to cum? That sort of thing was very much up her alley.
“You said-“ you whimper. “You told me-“
“I told you that you could cum, not that you could touch yourself.” She smirks. There’s the loophole. Well, she did specify that she was feeling just a bit merciful. “If you want it, you’ll have to manage without the use of your hands. You’re a clever little minx-I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
You don’t have to think very long-you’ve been grinding on her on and off all evening, after all.
She releases your wrist and lets you reposition your hand on the couch as you press yourself into her thigh. She hums as she feels you throb against her and gasp as your clit pushes against her skin. You begin to rock your hips-slowly at first; you’ve finally been given permission to cum and you want to savor it.
“I think,” you pant as you increase the pace of your movements “that you want this as much as I do.” She quirks a brow at you.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“For the same reason you made me say all those things to myself this evening-because humiliating me is so much more fun when you can make me do it to myself.” Your movements are even faster now; you won’t last much longer. “And you know I’ll gladly hump your leg like a bitch in heat if it means I’ll get to cum.”
Your nerve endings are on fire now; your nails dig into the couch and you shriek like a banshee as the climax you’d been longing for crashes over you like an ocean wave. Your arms give out and although you don’t move them, they aren’t capable of holding you anymore and you collapse into your mistress.
“Good girl.” She praises. You feel your walls clench around nothing as you ride out the most intense orgasm you’d had in a long time.
You lay against her body, panting and shivering as your heartbeat begins to steady.
“Thank you, mistress.”
You barely feel the soft lips against your head.
“Thank you, pet.”
That was a new one-you’d always thanked your partners when they gave you a good time-you don’t know why, it just seemed like something you should do-but this is the first time it’s ever been said back.
You use your abdominal muscles to lift your torso and you meet her gaze once more.
“You’re amazing, mistress.” And you meant it. Even though your body was in no shape to do anything else tonight-and possibly even for the next two nights-you want to experience her more. You want to taste her again and make her cry out and moan. You want to feel her from the inside as she climaxes and your scalp is hungry for the feeling of her claws again. You want to hear her cruel laughter and vicious taunts-you want the burn of her cigarettes and the sting of her hands on your ass. You want more tears and more burning aches of desperation.
“Hmm. And what makes you say that?”
‘She’s fishing for compliments,’ you think. ‘Well, she’s caught ‘em.’
“You’re beautiful.” You say. “Your body and your voice and your-your everything. You seem to know instinctively exactly how brutal to be with me. I want to sustain myself on the taste of you alone, mistress. You make me feel so good.”
She strokes a hand down your hair, stopping at the tip to allow her fingers to entangle themselves in the fiery strands, twisting the locks lazily. “And what made you feel best, drăgălaş?”
Oh. Oh. She wanted feedback, did she?
“I liked it all, really. But you’re gonna twist my arm and make me pick a standout moment-“
“Would you like me to twist your arm?” She interrupts with a devilish grin.
“No.” You say a little too rapidly. “Maybe. I mean-ask me when I can feel my legs again. Anyway, if I had to pick one thing, I have to say…I really liked being your ashtray.”
“Oh? And here, I thought being tickled was what did it.” You recoil just a bit, hunching your shoulders as if to curl in on yourself.
“That’s a new one-I’m still unsure how to feel about that. I don’t-I can’t really admit it just yet. That one’s…weird.”
“And wanting to be an ashtray isn’t?”
“…fair enough, I guess. But seriously, though, please burn me again in the future.”
She chuckles as she releases your hair and pushes your head forward to rest against her shoulder. You can faintly hear the sound of her beating heart over her voice.
“As you wish. drăgălaş.” She coos as she lazily resumes petting your hair. You should ask her now-this is as good a time as any, isn’t it?
“What’s that word?” You try to make it sound casual, but you can’t hide the eagerness in the question.
“Pardon?” Her voice has enough of a drawl to it to let you know that she’s dozing off.
“That word-the one you spelled on me, the one you’ve been calling me all night. What does it mean?”
“Lovely. Drăgălaş means lovely.”
“…oh.” You didn’t expect that. You’d been called many things by many people, but that…that was new.
“If you don’t like it, I can stop calling you that.“ She seems to sense your uncertainty.
“No, I do like it. I just… do you really think it applies?”
“Are you questioning my judgment, pet?”
“Never.” You chuckle, snuggling against her and cherishing the sensation of her skin against yours. “I’m just-I don’t…like…me. So it doesn’t make sense whenever someone else suggests that they might.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose I’ll have to like you for both of us, then.” Your heart skips a beat as she says it. Your eyes open and you see the room glow a vibrant orange as the first rays of morning light creep into the room. “You can move your arms now, if you wish.”
You don’t hesitate to do just that-you ignore the pins and needles that come from moving them too soon as you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her impossibly closer against you.
You have no idea what the future holds for you-you don’t know if you’ve just become some sort of concubine for her or what, but you can’t help but look forward to whatever life has in store for you from here.