Loading...I step into the room, excited, barely able to catch my breath with the anticipation. I stand for a moment in the doorway, both to give to you the chance of taking in my appearance, and so compose myself. I want to present a cool, calm, controlled front, not to betray how excited I am. I am dressed in a leather jacket with leather trousers and tight, thick leather gloves.
Big black boots complete the appearance and add to my height, making me seem like a somewhat more impressive figure. Composed and ready, I step into the chamber, lit only by a single bulb overhead.
You stand there in the middle of the room, looking as nervous and at the same time as excited as I am. Your hair is done up nicely, and you’re wearing a beautiful black dress. You smile nervously as I enter and lock the door.
“Are you ready?” I ask,
You nod. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice betraying your excitement.
“You’re sure?”
You nod again.
“Oh yes.”
I step slowly over to you until I am standing about a foot in front of you, looking down at you.
“You look pretty,” I comment.
“Thank you.”
I place a hand on your shoulder, the cool leather making you tremble slightly at the touch.
“Very pretty”.
I slide my hand along and brush the dress strap from your shoulder. I place my other hand on your other shoulder and do the same, afterwards giving the dress a little tug. It falls to the ground around your bare feet, leaving you standing there, still shivering but more through anticipation than cold as the room is quite warm, wearing only lacy white thong and bra.
“Nice choice,” I admire approvingly.
“Thank you,” you say again. “I… I wanted to look my best.”
I say nothing, but reach around and unclip your bra, which falls to the ground also. I lean forward and kiss you lightly on the cheek, running my mouth down around your neck and onto the soft, firm flesh of your breasts, which I kiss and gently lick and tease with my tongue in turn. A small sigh escapes your lips and you lean forward gently into me, closing your eyes.
“No!” I snap, standing back, making you shudder slightly with the sudden cessation of feeling.
“What did I do?” you ask.
“Keep your eyes open unless I tell you to do otherwise,” I instruct.
“I’m sorry.”
“You will be.”
An air of menace and darkness has come down on the room. Just the way I like it. I step forward again, standing right in front of you so you can feel my breath against your cheek as I lean down to whisper into your ear.
“I’m going to make you suffer,” I whisper. “And beg. You understand?”
“Yes,” you whisper back, excitedly, but afraid also. Suddenly, you feel one leather-clad finger rubbing gently against the thin material of your thong, stroking repeatedly just to get you gently warmed up. You half-close your eyes and I stop stroking.
“No,” I whisper firmly. You open your eyes full again and I resume stroking, a little harder and faster this time, the thin material gently becoming damp as your excitement increases.
“Do you like that?” I ask. You moan slightly and start to speak, but I shush you. “You do, I can tell. You want more?”
You nod. I stop and pull back.
“Well what makes you think you’re going to be getting anything you want tonight, Miss Molly?” I laugh. You gasp slightly, but stand still in the same spot, waiting, itching, aching for more but at the same time not wanting to provoke me.
“N-nothing,” you reply.
“Who’s in charge this time?”
“You are.”
“Good.”
I use one of your old tricks, walking around you slowly in a wide circle, looking at you, not saying or doing anything, keeping you waiting, anticipating, wondering. Eventually I come closer and, from one of the pockets in my jacket, produce a soft velvet blindfold, which I bind tightly around your eyes. You do not protest, but I can feel you tense slightly. I smile to myself. This is beginning to become very enjoyable, it’s all I can do to pace myself and work you over slowly, rather than ravish you where you stand.
“Now we can begin,” I say.
“I thought we’d pretty much started…” you mumble.
“What was that?”
“Nothing?”
“Really? I’m sure I heard something… Just to be on the safe side, perhaps we should make sure it’s only me doing the talking.”
Before you can say anything in reply I have covered your mouth with a leather gag that covers most of your face as well, restricting your breathing. No safe words now, no pleas, no begs, just you under my control. My plaything, to do with as I will.
“I’m going to enjoy this…”
I take you firmly by the arms and guide you back onto a long metal table, which I push you down onto, laying you flat on your back. I spread-eagle your limbs, which you surrender to my control, you tie you tightly down to four rings on each corner of the table. The metal is cold against your back making you tense against your bonds – I hear your breath increase as I walk around and place my hand between your open, defenceless legs. I begin to stroke you gently again through your flimsy thong, this time harder and firmer with two fingers. You moan gently.
“A little more?” I ask. I push deeper and make the strokes last longer, feeling you try pointlessly to push yourself down onto my fingers, to satisfy the burning desire growing inside you, which I am stoking the flames of without satisfying, bringing you closer to the edge.
Then I stop again, enjoying watching you jerk against the bonds that hold you in surprise and cry out in unsatisfied longing.
“You still think I’d make it that easy?” I laugh. I reach down and, pulling tightly, rip your thong away, leaving you completely bare and even more helpless than you were before.
There is silence for a few moments as I stand there, watching, waiting, keeping you in suspense, a tactic you have always used to such great effect I wonder if you have the same sensations now as I have done when writing helplessly, in glorious torment, under your control in the past.
You feel dampness, warm water, I’m gently rubbing a wet cloth against you, making sure I rub it just enough to bring you to simmer again but not nearly enough to bring you to the edge. I think you can guess what I’m doing, can’t you? Even if you can’t, you realise soon enough as the cloth comes away to be replaced a few moments later by the icy steel touch of a razor blade.
“Have to make sure you’re nice and smooth and presentable… Not to mention easily accessible.” Perhaps you whimper a little for the first time as I slide the razor down across your hair in long, careful strokes, shaving you smooth and bare.
“Like a porn star,” I laugh, although I doubt that makes you feel any better about it. The cloth comes back again as I wipe you clean and smooth, then there is silence as I stop again and leave you there to think, fear and wonder.
After a few minutes, I come back towards you. You’ve had time to cool down, to calm yourself. You think you’re ready to take anything I’ve got to throw at you, but at the same time you’re wondering what I could have thought of to try and make you suffer more than you have done already. Well, what’s already done has been child’s play compared to what’s about to come.
“I once read about this,” I explain coolly. “I’ve always been quite interested to see if it works.” You can’t see what I’m doing, but you hear me setting something up over the edge of the table. I walk around to your head and stroke your hair gently, letting a finger trail tenderly down the side of your face.
“Quite an exciting idea, I thought,” I tell you. I reach forward and turn a control. Nothing happens for a few moments, then you feel a drip of water splash onto the inside of your thigh and trickle slowly downwards.
“Oops, a little off-target,” I mutter. I reach forward and adjust the nozzle of the tall, thin tap that is arcing over the gap between your legs.
“That should do it I think.”
There is another drip. That one hits the spot. Your back arches as the drip splashes over your most sensitive of spots, setting you going for just a second before it trickles down to the table top, leaving you aching and unfulfilled.
“Oh yes, that’s definitely it,” I smirk.
Ten seconds pass.
Drip.
The same effect, a moment splash of sensation that leaves you craving, needing, aching for more and not getting it. You moan desperately and strain at your bonds harder than ever before, but I’ve tied you down very, very tightly.
Drip.
It’s only been three drips, and already you’re on the edge of madness from it. I laugh.
“I thought you could take more than that,” I mock, adding just a splash of verbal humiliation to compliment the physical torment.
Drip.
“What was that?”
You’re trying to say something through the gag, but of course I can’t make it out. Perhaps you want me to stop, to let you go. Perhaps you want more. Of course, I can’t tell. If I took the gag off I’d know, but I don’t think I shall.
Drip.
Oh how good it is to see you squirm, struggle, do anything to try and get some release, some satisfaction, something to complete the urge building up inside you, the desperate, aching want for something to push you over the edge. I wonder how long you can stand it, laying there, the drips coming every ten seconds, keeping you bubbling hot but not letting you go.
Drip.
I think I shall leave you there for a little while, as I prepare for what’s to come next. I do hope you enjoy yourself…
Drip.
How long has it been? Twenty minutes? I can see you’ve been trying to keep yourself out of the way with some of the give in your bonds, but it seems to find its spot more often than not. My my, but you do look so hot and flustered. Is that a tear or two I see escaping from your blindfold.
Drip.
More moisture, hot fitting. Tears of anger, of fear? No, of frustration. I can tell. How hot are you?
Drip.
I put a still gloved finger to you and you buck and jerk wildly, trying to push yourself down onto it, but I take it away before you get the chance.
Drip.
Oh you’re hot all right, hot and wet. You’re shivering again, this time with the outstretched thrill of it. I stop the tap and unclip it from the side of the table. You sigh in relief, but you won’t be so thankful for long. Suddenly, from nowhere I slide an ice cube against you. You almost scream at the cold of it as it hits the brakes very firmly on your arousal, bringing you slamming back down to Earth from the almost maddened state you were in. I push it gently until it slips almost inside you and begins to melt gently against your warmth.
“Better?” I laugh.
You do nothing but give a slight moan of submission.
“Ah, now you realise,” I whisper, leaning over the table to flick my tongue gently against you, then up over your belly back to your breasts. “Now you realise how pointless it is to struggle. You’re all mine, and you don’t get release until I say so.”
I walk down to the end of the table where your feet are. You hear me opening and closing a box and connecting something, although you have no idea what it is. Suddenly my hands are at your bound ankles and I slip two small plastic suckers, one on each side just above where the rope ties you, onto each ankle. The suckers are connected to thin electrical cables.
“Do you remember reading about these?” I ask as I flick a switch and you feel a warm glow of arousal and excitement suddenly spread all the way through you. You strain against the ropes again as you try to find something to press against to relieve the longing but can find nothing.
“I thought it might perhaps be fun to try them out,” I tell you. “In theory they can keep you teetering on the edge for as long as they’re switched on, passing a low electrical current through you that keeps you turned on, ready and waiting and only needing one slight touch in the right place to set you off…” I hover a finger millimetres away from the spot, so close you can feel it just about you even if you cannot see it.
“The question is, of course, will you get the touch…?”
I have with me a small feather – another one of your favourites, as I recall – which I run gently up the inside of your left thing, before skipping across and running it equally lightly down the inside of your other thigh. You squirm, both in avoidance and an attempt to find some satisfaction from somewhere, anywhere, now you’ve been driven half to madness by this constant pushing to the edge, but you cannot find it. I run the feather down your legs and brush it along the soles of your feet, making you shriek as it tickles and torments you, but I’m in no mood to let up. I dance it all over your body, your stomach, your breasts, your arms, legs, everywhere but that one spot where you need it, where the slightest touch would send you on a cascade of pleasure.
I carry this on for quite some time, provoking more tears of frustration and desire, until suddenly I stop. You tense, thinking perhaps that this time will be the one, I will finally show you some mercy and allow you to reach orgasm.
But oh no, there’s still more.
I switch the machine off and disconnect it. Then I climb onto the table, kneeling over you, you can feel me holding myself just a few centimetres above you, looking down at your poor tormented, pleasured form waiting, hoping for some kind of release.
You hear a zip gently being opened, and you gasp with excitement.
I lean down and forward so I am almost but not quite ready to slide into you, to begin to satisfy that burning, that longing.
“This is going to be the best bit…” I whisper.
You moan gently as I slide into you, pushing yourself forward as much as you can to take me in as quickly as possible. I slide in and out in a slow rhythm, gently getting harder and faster, feeling the sweat breaking out all over your body and your breaths becoming quicker and quicker and we buck and move together, I can feel how hot, how desperate you are and how much you want it, need it, I feel a stirring within myself as I reach the edge too.
We become quicker, and moan loudly.
“Is this what you want?” I ask.
You nod and try and scream yes through the gag.
“Almost there…”
I feel you tense as you reach the point, and I too am getting there.
Then I pull out and leap from the table.
It was not easy for me, but worth it, simply to see the reaction in you. You almost spasm with the sudden shock of final pleasure denied and your moan of agony is clear and sharp even through the gag that covers your face. I cannot stop myself from laughing.
“You’re far too trusting,” I tell you. “You let yourself go, let yourself get really into it thinking I was just going to let it happen. You were of course wrong.”
You’re sobbing now, openly sobbing with the rage and the frustration of it as you lay there, a quivering, turned-on, desperate woman, taken to the edge and held back for longer than she can remember, her mind buzzing with the energy of it. I leave you there for a few moments, then I come forward and gently, slowly, walk around the table untying you. I take your hand and help you to stand – you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but you manage it.
The blindfold comes next, followed by the gag. You stand there, naked, free, but disbelieving.
“Is that it?” you ask.
“Yes,” I tell you. “That’s it.”
“But… But…”
“But what?”
“But I never even… You know…”
I laugh.
“You expected me to let you?”
“I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” I tell you, laughing still. “That was quite magnificent.”
“I can’t believe it,” you say. “I cannot believe it. I can’t believe you did that too me!”
“And you loved every minute of it.”
“Yes, I did, but…”
“That’s all, I believe, Miss Molly.”
“But…”
“That’s all.”
I unlock the chamber and leave. You stand there, not quite yet comprehending all that’s just happened to you, your mind still a daze, still aching, still burning, still unsatisfied…
THE END