Forced reset

I giggled. "Send you pictures."

He moved the arm that was squeezing me against him to caress a nipple. I moaned as heat flooded me again.

"Good girl," he whispered, then kissed my ear. I just about melted.

"Would you like a reward?" He was still hard and thick and long inside me.

"Yes, please!" My hands squeezed his buttocks demandingly.

He stroked my nipple again, caressing then squeezing, making me moan.

"Are you a good girl?" he asked, voice deep and husky and vibrating against my ear so I had to bite my lip as a shiver racked me before I could answer.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Because if you're not, I'll stop doing this," he said as he massaged my nipple, "and start doing this."

For half a second, he savagely pinched and wrenched at my nipple, causing me a moment of blinding pain that made me start to shriek before the absence of the pain left me gasping, while the lingering throb left in its passage made my cunt shiver and get wetter.

"Do you understand?"

I could barely speak from the effect his voice on my ear had on my whole body. "Yes!" I moaned, almost panting with how helplessly horny he had made me.

"Good," he purred in my ear, his grip on my neck tightening just a little to remind me to not collapse. "You're going to take your right hand and do to your clit exactly what I do to your nipple, do you understand?"

My eyes flew open in shock.

When we're wrestling but he gets his fingers in me and I can't get them out, I'm doomed to come and I love the feeling of defeat but I still desperately try to get away and call him every name I can think of. When I relinquish choice and he pins me down and fucks me with fingers, cock or dildo, I'm helpless not to explode and I'm loving the fact I don't have a choice and I can relish in how utterly under his control I am. But when I relinquish choice and then he makes me complicit in my own defeat -- if he orders me to be the one fucking myself into a screaming orgasm I couldn't stop if I was crying and begging and on fire -- then I may as well have a remote control wired straight to my brain.

Force me, and I'll try to resist while every part of me that isn't conscious is spreading my legs and begging. Take away that final, vanishingly small possibility that I can resist and make me make myself come, and there is absolutely nothing he could not do to me or with me -- preferably with me, but I'd take to. He could order me to stop and I would cry and beg to be ordered to make myself come. He could order me to keep going until every orgasm was painful and I was getting dizzy and begging him, and I would still obey him and keep going. He could make me beg him to do things I hate, like put pins through my nipples, or whip my breasts, or put a clamp on my clit, and I would do it and I would come while sobbing with pain.

And the reason I am still with Merle, and confided all this in him, and gave him the keys to my sexuality along with an open invitation and a request to take full advantage of me, is that he has never, not once, abused that trust and made me do anything -- or done anything to me -- that I later regretted.

My eyes drooped shut again. "Yes, Lord," I whispered, as my right hand moved to my hips, to my crotch, stroked his cock still hard and thick inside me, trailed up to my labia stretched around him, stroked the edges of my vulva, then touched the little nub of my clit.

"Good girl," he purred into my ear, making me go all gooey inside and, somehow, making my clit swell slightly under my fingers.

His fingers lightly stroked my nipple and I moaned helplessly as my fingers, without my conscious effort to imitate him, moved over the smaller but equally hard nub at my groin.

I can, under very special circumstances, have a nipple orgasm. It's small but oh-so-sweet compared to any sort of genital orgasm, but it's definitely worth it. Merle knows how to do that to me. He needs to work on both of my nipples to do that, with mouth as well as fingers, and I need to be in the exact right mood, but he can do it.

I tell you this to let you know just how good his fingers are. So, even with one hand at my throat, he could still get me properly worked up.

With my fingers copying him on my clit -- I was whimpering within seconds.

He stroked, caressed, squeezed, rolled, pinched, stretched and stroked again, and every action was copied by my fingers on the very much more sensitive, very much more eager but smaller nub at the top of my vulva.

"Oh! Hf, hf, oh!"

I would have squirmed, but he was holding me firmly against him by my neck and his cock was still thick and hard inside me and every faint movement from me sent a shock wave through me as I moved over it, so I tried so hard to hold still.

"Oh, god!"

But holding still quickly became impossible, and the jerking of my hips as the pleasure became too great made me fuck myself upon him in short, sharp thrusts.

"Oh, god! Please! Please!"

"Please what?" he purred in my ear, his hand tight around my throat.

"Please make me come!"

"It's you doing this," he murmured. "You doing this to yourself."

That was cruel.

And devastatingly effective.

"Oh, God!" I wailed, as my belly spasmed, my hips moved and I gave up on trying to keep still and began fucking myself on him demandingly.

I wasn't fucking him. I wasn't even simply fucking. I know the difference, and I know when I'm fucking myself.

"If you want to come, just submit," he murmured, and pinched my nipple hard.

I screamed as my fingers pinched my clit in obedient imitation, but the scream all too quickly became "OH, GOD!"

I came, exploding, shaking against him.

At the last moment, as my head was spinning, he pulled me sideways and we fell onto the bed, destroying my sense of space and making my recovery take about five times longer.

When I was finally aware again, his arms were tightly around me but he was still, incredibly, hard inside me.

"How are you doing?" he whispered tenderly behind me.

"... Good," I managed to say.

"Do I need to spank you some more?"

"Hibiscus!"

"Good," he whispered. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm sorry, honey," I whispered.

He squeezed me a little tighter for a second. He did not say, "that's OK," because it wasn't OK that I had done that to myself and, therefore, him. But he understood.

After a second, my thoughts gathered enough for me to frown.

"You haven't come?" I asked.

He moved one hand just enough to stroke my breast lightly. "No, I didn't want you to have to clean up."

I grabbed his hand and put it full on my breast, while squeezing his cock with my cunt as hard as I could. "No, make me! Make me!"

He merely chuckled. "I'm OK."

"Then I'll go down on you. Come in my throat," I said, struggling to get away from him and turn around.

He squeezed me hard enough to make me gasp.

"Later," he murmured when I had stopped struggling. "I have to shower. But, when we go to bed tonight, we'll see."

I giggled. "Are you going to want to take me? Because if not, I'm going to have some repayments to start making."

He chuckled. "We'll see."

He kissed my ear, dipping his tongue in, then, as I was yelping and still reacting, slipped out of me, leaving me empty and crying "No! Come back!"

He slapped my arse, but lightly and lovingly, as he dodged away from my flailing arms and stood up. "I need a shower."

I sighed dramatically. "OK. I'll go and do something for dinner. But later on, I'm making you my bitch unless you want to fight me for it."

His chuckle sounded down the hall. "We'll see!"