tagBDSMFighting Instinct

Fighting Instinct


As soon as I had opened the front door, I could softly hear her cries of lust and need. That was good, for I wanted My slave to be truly ready for Me, dripping, her wetness copious and sullying the covers, her mind practically delirious as she fought her natural instinct to climax.

It was a Friday evening. she was finished with work for the week, and while I had work to do, it could wait until the following afternoon. I had ordered her to eat a massive lunch, and I had done the same when taking a client out for a late lunch, so hunger would not attempt to cut short the carnal indulgence.

I was purposely as loud as possible in closing and locking the front door, in setting My things down. I wanted her to definitely know that I had returned from the office at last. By this time, she should have been torturing herself with the vibrators for some forty-five minutes.

she screamed, very clearly on the edge of orgasm. I was thankful the neighbors on either side of the house had already left town, the Hendricks traveling to Florida for the weekend and the Pattersons chaperoning their daughter's band trip to Washington. Hearing My slave scream yet again brought a grin to My face and helped speed up the growth of the erection forming within the slacks I was about to remove.

Listening attentively, I undressed in the living room. her cries were impressive, punctuated by an occasional scream as the vibrators brought her all too close to the edge of orgasm. she knew the punishment for succumbing to orgasm without My explicit permission: ten lashes of the bullwhip while vaginal and anal electrodes allowed her body to be shocked violently - while she liked the bullwhip and the electricity as solo activities, she detested them being used simultaneously, as the pain was then nearly too much for her body to handle.

Naked at last, I made My way to the back of the small house, her precious sounds appropriately louder as I approached the bedroom. I stood outside the closed wooden door, stroking Myself, enjoying how she screamed yet again, briefly able to hear the insistent buzzing of the vibrators when her lungs forced her to inhale rapidly before another outburst assaulted My ears. I knew she was using the small, thin, ultra-powerful white vibrator on her clitoris, as I had specifically given her such an instruction, but I had allowed her to choose the other vibrator to use for the plundering of her body.

I knocked once upon the door, planning to shock her a little and see if her control over instinct was so fragile that she would succumb from hearing the sound, but she screamed yet again as I knocked, so she probably did not consciously hear it. Instead of knocking again, I simply opened the door, and I was immediately impressed by the lewd scenario before Me.

she was wearing the partial hood, the one with the mouth opening and the two straps which buckled behind her head, as well as the requisite collar and her favorite small golden hoop earrings. she was twisting uncontrollably upon the bed, holding the thin white vibrator to her clitoris while plunging what I recognized as the rotating-head vibrator inside her repeatedly. Because of the partial hood, I was invisible to My slave, and she did not seem to sense that I was with her in the bedroom.

Then again, her mind was almost certainly focused only on one thing: fighting instinct.

Leaving the bedroom door open, since the only living being to possibly see her in such a predicament would be the cat, I moved slowly across the bedroom to the cushioned chair next to her dresser. As always, there was a small bottle of lube atop the dresser, and I utilized that to coat My length and begin to stroke Myself in earnest.

Still seemingly unaware of My presence, she put on quite a show for Me. her body kept twisting, her hips moving as if she was fucking thin air. While she was trying to stay on her back, she kept rolling onto her side, then returning to her back upon the large bed. Very faintly, I could hear the bed's protest, but mostly I heard her voice: sharp, high in pitch, deep in desperation.

Eventually, I glanced upward and to My left, and according to the clock on the wall, she had been in this predicament for nearly an hour. That certainly explained the heavy scent of sexuality which filled the bedroom and seemed to permeate everything within those four walls. That also explained the sheen of sweat which glistened in the fading natural light of the day. That also explained the hoarseness creeping into her voice.

Standing, I walked into the adjoining bathroom to wipe My hands on a towel, then returned to the bed, watching for a moment as her hips were thrust forcefully toward the ceiling, her shaking hands still holding the smaller vibrator to her clitoris and once again plunging the thicker vibrator into her desperate body. I then seized both of her wrists, pulling them away from her groin, which inherently retracted the thick vibrator from within her, its drenched head rotating obscenely. her voice was just as shaky as her body, but she was able to precisely ask one thing:

"Please, Sir!"

I still held her wrists back. her body was still twisting, still fucking the air. her chest was still heaving, her hard-tipped nipples seemingly more prominent because of her rapid breathing.

"Cum!" I commanded loudly, and even with nothing touching her clitoris, even with nothing inside her, the hour of constant stimulation which had threatened to overwhelm her came to a glorious end with a piercing, extended scream accompanied by the most frenzied contortions I have ever seen from her limber body. It was hard to maintain My grasp on her wrists as they attempted to flail just as much as her legs. Not surprisingly, she dropped both vibrators, the head of the thick semi-transparent pink vibrator still rotating lewdly.

As her powerful climax began to subside at last, I released her wrists and mounted the bed, kneeling beside her, stroking Myself. While her body continued to twitch involuntarily from the residual effects of the past hour's stimulation, I brought Myself to orgasm, groaning aloud as My seed created multiple lines across her heaving breasts and her lower ribs. Only after I had emptied Myself onto her body did I reach for and finally turn off the vibrators, so that the only sounds were of a helicopter flying low over the neighborhood and her post-climactic moans and whimpers.

Still kneeling beside My slave, I gently caressed her face through the partial hood. Nothing was said as she basked in the afterglow of her first climax in four months.

In time, I went into the bathroom to wipe My hands again and to turn on the shower to a comfortable temperature, then returned to My slave to help her sit up. Once I had removed the partial hood, I gathered her in My arms and carried her to the shower, knowing she would be extremely dehydrated, knowing that simply standing under the spray while I stood behind her and held her close would help her body and her mind.

That night, as she cuddled with Me in the very same bed, I praised her for enduring the lack of orgasms in the previous four months so well. It had taken several years of training to allow her to endure such denial for months at a time, but there was still a long way to go before she could possibly reach her ultimate goal: an annual orgasm, permitted only on her birthday.

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