tagNonConsent/ReluctanceIn the Mind of a Sadist Ch. 01

In the Mind of a Sadist Ch. 01


I loved to keep her tied up at night. It was so fun to listen to her tormented breathing as she tried to fall asleep, unsatisfied, aching, her clit so swollen I could almost pick it like a ripe strawberry. I was a sadistic bastard, but she was different. Sometimes giving her pleasure was almost as enjoyable as giving her pain; her orgasms were so intense, when I finally let her have one, that even in her sexual ecstasy, I could tell it was almost excruciating for her.

I had her wrists bound with rope that I then kept tied to the bed posts above her head, tautly, until she would calm down a bit. Then I would loosen the tautness so that she could draw her arms down when she finally succumbed to sleep. She was able to move her body to find a comfortable position, usually curled up on her side in a suffering, fetal position, arms closed in by her chest. I loved knowing that in the morning, as soon as she woke, I would have her at my mercy again, begging me to let her come, to use the bathroom, to be untied. I kept my box of goodies beside the bed. Tickling her, using a feather, was my favorite torture device in the morning. Watching her squirm and beg never got old for me.

As I watched her lying there, after I had teased her for over an hour, bringing her to the edge six or seven times, my satisfaction evident all over her tits and stomach, she bore a hole through me with her huge, brown eyes. They begged me, full of lust and longing, as her body heaved with pants, erratic breathing. Her breasts were so engorged, they almost looked silly. She was petite, slender, tiny, except for her breasts and ass. Her breasts were extremely large for her body, her waist that of a child's. She often talked about getting a breast reduction, but if she knew how turned on she made me, how much lust I felt for her because of them, she would have vanquished the thought from her mind.

After she had sucked me to orgasm, I had played with my cum across those beautiful tits as she continued to wriggle and squirm. Her nipples were so sensitive that just a few touches, especially if I touched them ever-so-lightly, soaked her pussy so thoroughly that I could keep her in a state of arousal pretty much whenever I wanted, which was a lot. And the poor thing loved me. And not only did I revel in torturing her body, but I reveled in torturing her mind. Mind games had always been a favorite of mine, but with Emily, it was becoming a necessity. Much to my disappointment, I was falling for her as well, and this was very new to me.

"Time for sleep, Emily," I teased, as I pushed her long, dark waves away from her damp face. I was sadistic, but I also didn't want to see her choking on her beautiful strands.

"Oh, Jonathan," she groaned. "Please."

"Good night, Emily." I closed my eyes and loosened the rope. I pretended to fall asleep, so she would be forced to give up.

Even when I was exhausted, I would force myself to stay awake, feigning sleep. I loved to hear her whimpers, feel her trembling, unfulfilled body next to mine. She didn't know this, but she almost always fell asleep before I did. Sometimes it would take her up to two hours before she could calm down, as I lie with my back to her, smiling, trying to hold in my laughter. Her thrashing would go on and on some nights, then she'd still and the moans and whimpers would start, and finally her breathing would come back, and she'd find fitful sleep. Only then could I really sleep, dreaming of playing with her all over again.

The weekends were my favorite, because I could keep her in bed with me for as long as I wanted. She was a college professor in their art department, and I owned my own computer business. No one, our friends, our coworkers, our family, no one knew about our sick and passionate love life. This we kept a great secret, which could also be really fun, especially in public when I had a vibrator taped inside of her that I controlled by remote.

When I woke the next morning, I watched her. God, she was beautiful, naked, tangled in her dark locks. Sometimes I let her sleep before I began my torture again. But it was difficult to lie there staring at the rise and fall of her breasts, and I was never good at holding off my own pleasure the way I forced her to do. I kneeled over her on the bed to tighten the rope so that her arms stretched far above her head, just slightly uncomfortable. She was on her side, arms stretched, and she started to move a bit, feeling the strain, as it forced her awake.

I got off the bed to get my favorite toys, some feathers, the paintbrushes I often used to tickle her clit and pussy lips. I needed to replace these items quite often, I used them so frequently. Tickling her was a great show for me to watch, especially when I tied her legs spread eagle as well, so helpless that her eyes would well up with tears almost immediately. Light teasing and tickles turned her on the most. It was so easy to get her to the edge. Many of the women I had been with took time to rile up, a slow build. Not Emily. One touch, just over her belly and she writhed. She made it too easy for me. A sadist's dream really.

As I could feel her gradually waking, I pulled the covers off her body. I loved the chilly morning air to torture her. Her nipples perked to attention, as her body began to realize its discomfort. I loved to watch her shiver, whether it was nature's fault or my own. Her unease was my pleasure. Goosebumps began to travel up her body, as she lied there completely naked, extended, helpless.

She opened her eyes slowly and immediately began to try to move her hands down to search for the covers, and then, just as quickly, realized her predicament. She found my smirking eyes immediately, and shivered at a heightened level.

She looked up to me with those doe eyes of hers (it took a lot of strength for me not to cave when I saw her like that) and trembled, asking "Is it cold in here?"

"I imagine it is," I replied, all too knowingly. Of course it was cold. It was in the dead of New England winter. I purposely hadn't turned back up the heat, and we had been under several blankets and a goose down comforter overnight. And I was fully clothed, while she lay there vulnerable and naked. I loved to watch her nipples become stiff and erect, playing with them like that was worse for her, and she and I both knew it. If the weather itself couldn't produce those shivers I liked to watch, ice cubes usually did the trick.

"Jonathan," she moaned, starting to struggle a bit more when she saw the feather I held in my hand.

I couldn't help it anymore, and I had to let out a chuckle. Maybe I was being a bit too cruel. I saw breath escape her lips, but I also knew that the pipes couldn't freeze; I did have it on 56. She'd be sweating soon enough anyway. My cock was already on its ascent, watching her like this. Any chance she may have had was now null and void. My penis and my brain were one in the same. The more misery she was in, the harder my cock. Simple fact.

I licked first one nipple then the other, extremely lightly. She tried to arch her back as her full breasts seemed to grow bigger, if that was even possible. I took her chin in my hands. "How'd you sleep?" I teased. "Did you have nice dreams?" I lightly stroked her chin, then her collarbone, working down through the valley of her tits, watching her eyes already glaze over with desire. I stopped so she could answer and waited.

"I did not sleep well," she admitted, and I continued with my light touches, driving her breathing to a distressed speed. So quick, so easy.

"No?" I taunted, tickling her lower belly, that almost painful erogenous zone for her. "How come?" I exaggerated the final word.

"Jonathan," she squeezed her legs. "Please."

"Hmmm," I was deciding whether to tie her legs apart to fully torture her, knowing soon she'd need to use the bathroom. I loved making her wait to piss. When I let her orgasm that way, it intensified it for her so much that she once told me she saw colors in her head. But today, I wasn't sure if I was going to let her come. At least not right away. I decided to keep her legs untied, for the time being, and instead fuck with her mind instead.

"Spread your legs for me, Emily." I knew she was hopeful. Sometimes I dove into her for a good, hearty fuck when I asked her to do that. Not just yet, but she didn't need to know that.

"Yes," she said, eyes wide, excited, begging, with that hope I was about to crush.

I pulled out the feather and I watched her tremble and try to take a huge breath. I loved watching her torment. My cock grew larger and larger the more she struggled. Not good for her. She couldn't control her reactions like some women I had been with. She tried, oh did she try, but she simply couldn't. She was a real passionate type, very emotional. What did I expect from an art teacher?

"Do not put your legs back together, Emily," I warned. She just closed her eyes and let out a shaky, long exhale, which made me smile so hard I almost started to laugh.

I tickled her with the feather, starting on her collarbone, but I stopped just to see if she was wet and ran a finger up her slit. She was more than wet, she was actually dripping. The sudden, unexpected touch of my finger made her start to close her legs to squeeze some pressure away.

"Naughty," I warned again. I thought I should let her go to the bathroom, so I could make this a tortuously long lesson. I knew right then I was definitely not going to let her come. This was way more fun, and once I had her suck my cock to pleasure, teasing her would be a breeze for me. Every time after I came, it took me at least an hour or two to get hard again. Lots of time to pleasure torture my little, squirming doe. She sensed her fate, because her breathing picked up unsteadily.

"Jonathan," she was already begging. "I have to use the bathroom."

"Not yet," I teased. There had been one time I went too far and she pissed herself. I had to get a new mattress, not cheap, and I didn't want a repeat of that, but I loved bringing her as close as I could to pissing herself. It took a lot of concentration on her part, especially if she had a throbbing clit, which was already well on its way to becoming painfully unpleasant. I continued, "God, Emily, I haven't even done anything yet."

I ignored her pleas, she could hold her piss for a while I had learned, and brought the feather down and around her nipples, never touching them, even though I wanted to. She wriggled under it and I continued, down the sides of her body, slowly, methodically, then down her belly around her belly button and right near the start of her pubic hair.

"Aaah!" she groaned, trying to arch her back up and squirmed to push her legs together.

"Emily, Emily, Emily," I tsked. "I am going to have to tie your legs down and you might end up pissing yourself. Is that what you really want?"

"No, no, it isn't, please Jonathan," she was becoming a little breathless. It was just crazy how easily I could get her going. What a long, painful day she had in store for her.

"Then calm down, spread your legs, and relax," I coaxed, knowing full well, my voice only deepened her longing. She was full-out shivering now, but perspiration was building up on her body.

I used the feather for about 20 minutes on her squirming body, forcing her to keep her legs spread. I tickled it down the outside and inside of legs, ignoring her pussy, back up to her stomach, lingering there until she actually screamed out, and then I relented a little, bringing the feather back up under her tits, around them, back up to her collarbone, and then did it all over again and again. I never once touched her nipples or her pussy in any way. I had more devious plans for those, and I smiled.

"Jonathan, please!!"

"Please what?" I sat right down on her pelvis and starting to tickle her under her arms. She couldn't move, though she tried, and I knew she was on the verge of pissing. I noticed a slight rash forming around her wrists, which almost made me feel bad for her, except my cock wouldn't let me. Later, I would pamper her. I loved that part, sexually tormenting her to no end, and then pampering her and taking loving care of her. It kept her in such a state of confusion. Mind fucking I called it, and I had a lot of it in store for her.

"Bathroom or . . . let me come?" The last part she said with such embarrassment, so shyly, I really wanted to cave. I wanted to see that orgasm she loved, the one that felt so good that it actually hurt, as she held back pissing everywhere. But the day was young, and I couldn't do it for her today. I was in too much of a sadistic mood to give her over to her pleasure just yet. She was so fucking sexy, so absolutely gorgeous; I needed to make her want to crawl into me. But I knew I still could get a few more minutes out of her before I let her go to the bathroom.

"Not yet," I said again, and rolled her onto her side. I had a hook above her head that I loved to use when she was on her side. I would tie one leg straight up to it, while she lay on her side, arms pulled tight above her head, the other leg still forced on the bed, under the weight of my leg. I would tickle her brutally this way, especially in and around her stomach and inner thighs, with both of my hands, mercilessly, brushing her pussy and clit occasionally.

It was so fun to do. Her nipples, so fucking sensitive, would also be tickled. One time, I did this to her for an entire football game that went into overtime. She was screaming out so fucking loud, I had to gag her. I told her if my team won, I would let her come, but if they didn't, I would leave her tied like that for the night. They won, and she lucked out, but I still kept her tied to my bed for the entire night, laughing at her the whole time. I loved lying to her like that. If I weren't so goddamn concerned about my mattress, I'd have done it right then.

She looked up at the ceiling and shuddered. I knew she knew I was thinking about it. I loved to keep her on edge, guessing what I might do to her next.

I let her legs stay though, for the time being, together, and I lightly stroked her pubic hair, touching the very tip of where her pussy started. Right underneath her clit waited, but she was getting no relief right then. "Stay still," I ordered, knowing she wouldn't be able to and that would seal her fate, and I wouldn't let her come.

"Please," she said, garbled, and I almost didn't even understand her.

I removed my hands from the top of her pussy V and went up to her nipples. She could come this way and had the few times I let her. Squeezing her legs together on her side while I fondled her nipples, delicately, painstakingly, she could find release. I decided to give her false hope.

I breathed into the back her neck, sending more chills through her body. "How do you like this?" I asked, lightly feathering her nipples with all my fingers on each hand, pulling them gently into peaks, stopping for a couple seconds, and then doing it again. I pushed my cock into her back harder, and I felt her legs tightening, muscles trying to release an orgasm.

"I like it very much," I could hear her lust and relief in her voice. I loved pulling the rug out from underneath her like that. She was so gullible and in many ways so sweet and innocent. Putty, really, in my hands.

"Good, I'm glad," I sounded sincere.

She moaned, and I continued, and again, if I weren't me, I would have actually felt bad, knowing I was about to shatter her hopes.

"Oh, Jonathan, yes," she purred. She was getting really close, and I needed to be careful. I needed to be sure I didn't accidentally make her come, so I stopped for a minute, and just kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back, and she whimpered.

Her breathing was erratic, so I waited for her to come down a bit, and then I started again. She was close, a little too close, and then I knew she was right there. "You wanna come, baby?" I asked again, complete duplicitous sincerity in my voice.

"Oh, yes, Jonathan, yes, thank you," I could feel her smile on the other side of me. Poor thing. I had put her in such a confused state, sometimes really letting her come, that she still trusted me to fulfill a promise.

"Yes," I breathed again, ensuring she was right there on the edge, trusting me, letting herself go. I really wanted to slam my cock in her dripping pussy, so I had some waiting to do myself, which was making me want to be crueler to her than usual. But I knew I would get my pleasure in just a bit. That I was certain of.

"Oh, yes!" And she tensed and I stopped, flipped her over, spread her legs brutally wide, and grabbed her face between my hands. I wished I had thought to get a bowl of ice cubes to cool her off. Next time, I reminded myself.

"Oh no you don't," I laughed, and she welled up. This part killed me. Her tears. I loved to watch them roll down her red, blotchy face. I stuffed my cock into her mouth, so she couldn't beg or guilt me. I had made the mistake once of that and she won out. She really was hard to resist. God it felt good, and I just smiled and groaned and knew it was going to take me mere seconds to come. I thrust it deep into her open mouth until I exploded, making her swallow every last drop, as she tried not to gag.

She whined as I untied her wrists. They were red, nothing that wouldn't disappear by work Monday. "Go pee," and I slapped her ass as hard as I could as she scooted away into the bathroom.

I thought about the rest of our morning, and the paintbrushes, and the new agony I would bring to her. I also knew that my timetable told me my mental fucking was supposed to shift into high gear today. Today was the day I would break up with her, and let her suffer without me for a few weeks. The only problem was that I actually didn't know if I could live without her. First time in my life. She was different, as I said. Beyond gorgeous (all my woman were, though no one had a body like hers), she was sweet, truly sweet. She was a kind soul and so fucking smart. She was a brilliant artist, so finely respected in her field. If they only knew! But they would never. We both cared too much about our professions.

But I had to go through with it. I liked how it made me feel, and I liked my women to suffer. So by the end of the day, I would give her a memorable orgasm, pamper the shit right out of her, and then break her heart . . . I would know it was temporary, but she wouldn't. I could almost feel my cock hardening under the thought of her mental stress.

She anxiously shut the light off in the bathroom and walked back over to the bed, tentatively. I had finally turned on the heat now. She was drying her eyes, and I wanted to console her a little bit, but no yet. Not my style.

"Come here," I said sweetly.

She sighed and pouted and stood in place, but I knew she wanted to come to me. Her eyes told me everything.

"Come here," I said again, playfully. "I will satisfy you by the end of the day, I promise." Of course my promises meant absolutely nothing, and the fact that she didn't get that was astonishing, considering how bright she was. It was her flaw though, her sweetness, she took people at face value, and it's what I loved about her. And I was realizing, much to my dislike, I did love her. It was new to me, and it seemed to make me want to torture her more.

She came over and snuggled in next to me, the sucker, and I stroked her hair and rubbed her wrists. She had fully calmed down, and I needed to get her to simmer again. Wouldn't take much, I knew, but I was starving. "Hungry?" I asked.

"Yes," she responded, eyes telling me the double meaning of her answer.

"Even after all that cum?" I joked.

Again, she just sighed, as I left her there on the bed.

I didn't really have to worry much about her touching herself. She wasn't into that, said it made her feel "dirty." So I left her there untied, for the time being. Soon I'd have her tied up, struggling again. I wanted to paint her body with food and dip fruit into her dripping, wet hole and make her eat it.

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