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Teased and Denied?

Category: BDMS
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I lay on the bed, naked, spread, bound at three corners. Only my right arm is free, holding in a numb hand my vibrator, waiting.

Finally you come to me, and sitting down, your weight dips the bed, creating a well of gravity that I can feel, pulling my helpless body towards you.

I can’t bear to meet your eyes, even for a moment, but I can feel them on me like heavy hands. My breath speeds even more and I can barely keep the whine out of it.


I jump at your voice, but remain frozen, not unwilling but feeling completely unable to move, to do what I must.

A moment passes and you hand moves before I can see it, landing against my cheek, thudding my skull, my body, my spirit. It doesn’t really hurt, but nonetheless my eyes fill with tears. Ungagged I would be stammering apologies, but with the rubber ball between my jaws all I can do is nod frantically, flick the button on with my thumb and begin applying the insistently buzzing device to my already swollen nub.

As I begin pressing it rhythmically to my clit, your hard right hand goes to my hair, stroking, pulling gently, so much more gently than normal. I think you must be saving that insanely erotic grip till later, maybe till I need it, or possibly you just don’t want to distract me. It only tightens as I try to turn my face away from you; there will be no privacy allowed me for this and you keep me facing towards you.

I can feel the tension growing inside me, inside my cunt, jolts of pleasure sparking every few seconds, coming more and more quickly. My breath is ragged – held, released, gasping, small moans. Your left hand touches my cheek and needlessly I flinch as it is a gentle touch, delicate even. It sweeps down my jaw, my throat, my chest. It pauses at a nipple, which you play with, less gentle, twisting, rolling my nipple between thumb and forefinger. A last hard squeeze to my breast, pinching, maybe bruising and then on, down my belly till your long hand is over mine.

At this I groan, a thick feeling of lust washing through me, and I lift my hips, pushing against the vibe, my hand, your hand. Closer every second I can feel the shaking begin, extremities first, hands and thighs, then traveling towards my core. No easy ride to climax for me – it never is – it’s always a straining, pushing, frustrating road to get there, my entire body working to force me to and occasionally over the edge.

And then it’s there, within my grasp, if only I would take it and I relax, not completely, but most of the shaking has diminished to a less violent quiver. The hard work is over, now it’s delicacy, timing, fluttering almost without physical effort back and forth on the edge. You can feel the change, and you recline next to me, pressing to me, surrounding me with your body.

“Good girl, good slut. There you are. Mmmm. That’s it, stay right there.”

I can feel you hard and thick against my thigh and it goads me on, nearer to the sweet spot of perfect balance between cumming and not cumming. Without thought my hand is twitching the vibe on and off my clit, 2 seconds on, almost there, a second off, 2 seconds on, almost there, a second off. Over and over. A dozen times a minute, faster, one and a half on, one off, unending rhythm of self torture.

Zoning out, lost in the decadence of the edging, I almost forget you are there, my brain awash in pure arousal. Then you pull your hand from mine and I cry out at the loss. But it is short, because now your fingers are at my pussy, on my pussy, playing with my rings, my lips, spreading and feeling my wetness.

Moaning and writhing I lose the rhythm, but none of the arousal, as you roughly push two fingers deep inside me. No pain. I’m too wet, too hot, too turned on to do anything but arch my back and urge you with my whole body to give me more. You do, at first fucking me with your long fingers, then doing it, that thing only you have done before. Working the spot that I couldn’t find for years, but you found so easily. And oh god, it’s so good. Not very fast, but deep and hard. And I don’t really know what it is that you are doing, I just know that I don’t want you to stop.

The pace I had been maintaining for many minutes is not possible any more. With your fingers in me I can only use the tool for a split second at a time, a butterfly wing brush that gets me so close I’m worried every time that I’ll loose it, that it will start spilling over and I’ll fall uncontrollably into a forbidden orgasm. But slowly, painstakingly I find a new rhythm, a closer rhythm and just as I’m getting comfortable there, feeling safe, you take a firm hold of my wrist and pull my hand away.

I thrash, frantically fighting my bonds at this way too sudden loss. Although there is no way that I could escape, I can feel the bed frame groan as I pull with sudden strength, my whole body resisting the situation violently. A whimpering howl pours out around the ball gag and I can feel tears running down the side of my face and into my ears, but I don’t care.

Then a sharp crack of pain, audio and tactile, to the inside of one thigh. Then to the other thigh. I freeze and see that you are kneeling over me, actually on the one free wrist and I notice that pain for the first time.

One large hand grips my thigh and squeezes bruisingly, making me gasp, but you have my attention now.

“Chill the fuck out slut. We aren’t done.”

My gaze is locked on your face as I lay frozen, the tension, the need, the pain, the anticipation each pulling my will in different directions, inhibiting me from moving in any direction. Slowly, as with a frightened animal, avoiding startling me, you release my wrist and position yourself between my legs. You eyes never leave mine as you lean over and press a kiss to my most sensitive spot.

A groan is ripped from me. Not by this relatively chaste kiss, but by the idea of what is going to happen. This is new, different, we haven’t done this before and I have to fight the old anxiety that rises up. A part of me wants to tell you to stop, to make you stop, but of course I can’t; gagged and bound what could I do?

I turn my head away, flushed and far too self aware, as you continue kissing, up and down my lips, over the hood, right over the hole, but not on my clit, not in me yet.

As wonderful as it feels, even as flustered as I am, it isn’t as intense, and I experience a slow ebbing away from the edge. Disappointment and relief. With the ebbing comes a certain amount of relaxation, mentally and physically, and I can feel myself soften under the tender onslaught.

Then it stops. My eyes fly open. As I see that you have retreated a few inches, your hand takes mine and you bring the vibrator back to my pussy. “Again pet.”

And so you create a new rhythm for me. The exhausting few minutes climbing to the peak, hovering there for a few seconds, then your fingers, your lips, your tongue. I can feel my hips thrusting up to your tongue on my clit, your fingers causing me to clench, the wetness oozing from me, dripping over your hand, down my ass, onto the bed. As I start to come down, your have me take over again, and again, and again. But each time it’s a little faster to the edge, the ebbing slower as your mouth learns my pussy, what makes me hot, wet, pulsing.

Time passes, I don’t know how long, and the point comes where under your touch there is no ebbing. Something, not an orgasm of course, explodes within me, a wall breaking down, a final barrier demolished and what has been intermittent moaning and gasping turns into a full throated pleading, only slightly muffled by the gag. There are no words, but in my mind, “Please, God please make me cum. You can, you can do it. Please, Please PLEASE make me cum like this Sir!”

You don’t. Over and over you don’t. The pleasure becomes painful in its duration, intensity. I would push myself over if I could, without permission, so desperate to cum this way. But I can’t. You can feel to the millisecond, through my thigh muscles, my clit, my breath, exactly how close I am and you play with that edge. Pushing me closer and closer, pulling me back, but ever hanging.

I start to cry. I know you won’t let me, even if you can. Nobody ever could and now you won’t. It seems a horribly beautiful irony to me that I can just barely appreciate in my mad, frantic state.

Then you are face to face with me. It seems sudden. Your eyes are staring into mine, your cock is now hard at my pussy and I can smell myelf on you. All I can do is lay there and shake. You unbuckle the ball gag but I remain wordless. There isn’t a word now that I could articulate, not even “please.” With your hands gripping my hair, I feel you enter me. Slow, but not teasing. Matter of fact, inescapable, implicable.

You work your cock in me, pleasing yourself, feeling my cunt grasp and pull at you. So tight from the teasing, but so very wet. Perfect. The edge slowly retreats, but I don’t cry anymore. I’m watching your face, absorbed in your pleasure.

Speeding up, you begin whispering in my ear, letting me hear your arousal mount through the small catches in your voice, the little gasps, sub vocal groans.

“Ah slut… poor slut. You aren’t going to cum tonight. Oh yeah. So close. I could taste how close. Fuck yeah. You feel so good; you’re going to make me cum. … Do you want my cum slut? … ah. Do you want it now?”

I push up to you, as much as possible, bearing down as hard as I can with my pussy, milking you, trying to suck you with my cunt. “Y-Yes Sir. Please cum for me,” I shudder.

With a last, deep push you begin to finish. I can feel your cock so hard, spasming inside me. Your body tense, almost completely still, just the smallest thrusts, as deep as you can go, pushing yourself against my cervix. I listen, enspelled by your groans and inarticulate words that last so long. Moving still slightly inside me, you relax on me, heavy but good. Comforting.

My pussy continues to twitch and pulse. My clit is tingling, so hard it’s painful. I can feel my juices leaking out around your cock and I know that next time… it will feel even better.

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