Miss

"When I went back to the table after taking that picture for you," she says, "I tucked my underwear in his jacket pocket and I sat down next to him instead of across the table. He had two fingers in me before we got the check. In the taxi on the way back to his place he kept touching me and it was so hard to be quiet. The whole back of the car smelled like sex by the time we got out and I'm sure the driver noticed.

"I was kissing him as soon as we got in the door and he pushed me down on my knees and unbuttoned his pants. I knew it was going to be big but I didn't know how big until it was there in front of me. I could barely reach my fingers around it, sweetest. And he was already rock hard and ready and he took the back of my head and pressed himself into my mouth."

At this her big toe brushes back and forth across my lips and then pushes, insistently, between them.

"Just ... like ... that," she says, sliding it in and then back out on each word. "Do you remember from the other night what my mouth felt like? Do you remember how you wanted more when I took it away? I gave it to him instead. Suck on it," she instructs me, and she pushes her toe deeper into my mouth. "And don't stop rubbing my foot."

She leans back and I do as I'm told. "I got him right to the edge before he stopped me and stood me up and helped me out of my dress. He sat on his sofa and made me . . . display myself for him, show him every part of my body. Now that I think of it, you still haven't seen me naked, have you?"

I am massaging the sole of her foot with my thumbs and I shake my head.

"I have to say I didn't think I was going to enjoy this—enjoy keeping you locked up—as much as I am. It made everything so much more intense last night to know you were here, that you couldn't come, that you couldn't even touch yourself. When he saw the keys he knew exactly what they were and he said he thought he was going to have a better night than whoever those belonged to. I told him I was going to make sure of it.

"He put the cuffs on me after that and he strung me up against one of the posts on his bed—isn't that bed amazing?—and he put nipple clamps on and ran the chain around the post so that every time I moved it tugged on them, hard. And then he worked me over, pet He started with his hand on my ass, slowly, almost softly at first, but pretty soon he was really spanking me hard. He made me count them. It was really hot, and it was getting me so wet.

"After that he used some other stuff—I'm not really sure what. I wasn't really thinking straight by then. You know what that's like? When you're in that space between blows and everything is wrapped up in when the next one is going to land and you're dreading it, the sting, but you also want it so much? More than anything? And then it lands and it burns and it's like every nerve ending is on fire, like there's a direct line from where his hand or the whip or the cane hit right to the most sensitive places of your body." She lowers her foot and makes circles with her big toe, wet with my saliva, on the head of my cock and I gasp. Then she gives me her other foot.

"By the time he finished I was dripping down my leg. He made me come the first time then, just with one finger on my clit for about ten seconds, while I was still tied up to the post. I was that worked up. He was still basically dressed and I could feel his clothes rough on the places where he'd worked me over, and his cock resting along my ass and my lower back.

"He finally, finally got undressed and I spent some time kissing him all over. We took a couple of pictures and then he wanted me in a different position, open, so he could get to anywhere on my body he wanted, and so he tied me up spread eagled to the posts. He ran something, I don't know, a feather or a scarf or something, over my back and on my sides and on my arms and in my armpits and on the backs of my legs. It was driving me crazy and I was breathing hard and I'm pretty sure I wasn't making any sense, just saying 'Please, please, please' over and over again. You know, kind of like you a little while ago.

"And then he got up on the bed behind me and pressed himself against me and I looked down and I could see his cock peeking out between my legs. That's how big it was." She gives mine a dismissive flick with her toe.

"And then he made me beg. He made me tell him in very specific terms what I wanted—'your cock in my pussy, your hard cock in my wet pussy, please, your huge, hard cock in my dripping wet pussy, please, I'll do anything, Sir.' And then when he finally pushed it inside of me he made me beg him some more, made me beg him to fuck me, to fuck me harder, to touch my clit, to let me come."

Her hand has stolen inside her panties and she is touching herself intently and the smell of her is in the air and I want her. I need her. I need to bury my face in her and somehow make her mine again, if only for a little while.

She gets up then, helps me to my feet, and hooking a finger through the chastity cage's base ring she leads me into the bedroom. "It was a really, really good night," she says, and then she leans in and kisses me. "And having you locked up made it so much better. Knowing that no matter how much he owned me, I still owned you. I still own you." She makes her point explicit with one hand on my cock and another on my nipple, working both of them as she kisses me thoroughly, until I am shaking with my need for her.

When she has positioned me on the bed, on my back, to her liking, she shimmies out of her underwear and undoes her bra and for the first time I see her in her full and lovely nudity. The marks from last night are mostly faded, except a few that have turned a startling purple. She knee-walks up the bed, straddling me, and briefly settles herself so that my cock rests between the lips of her warm and slippery sex, the head pulsing against her clit. She moves her hips in a languorous circle, rubbing her clit over my frenum piercing, and I moan aloud, the sensation of heat and wetness and pressure and soft skin unbearably intense after four days of nothing but hard plastic. And then she lifts herself and tells me that she was a good girl last night, and I need to be a very, very good boy now if I want any more of that.

She settles herself on my face and I am breathing her in, the smell and feel of her unmistakable arousal, finally, up close and personal and I devour her, tongue and lips and nibbling teeth and she moves herself back and forth, directing me, guiding me, first here and then here and then here and here again, at one point telling me to put my tongue inside her as far as it will go, at another sliding forward so I am buried between her cheeks, my nose in her pussy, and telling me I have to lick her there too, that it's all part of the deal tonight if I want any relief at all. She reaches back and toys with my nipples and I tug with my wrists against the chain, wanting to touch myself as she revels in her ownership, her utter and absolute possession of me.

She tells me when she is coming, that I am making her come, and it happens again and again and I lose count. It is a clockless forever there feeling the tremors in her thighs against my cheeks and my neck and I am nothing but a few thrusting and stroking and licking parts, a wanting, a needing.

It is some time later, her curled next to me, dozing, a leg drawn up across my hips and pressing against my still-hard cock. It keeps wanting to thrust, to contract, to move, and it is half involuntary but I do my best to stop it—I want her to rest and the feel of her body pressing against me is like being home after a long journey.

She makes a muzzy noise and nuzzles against my neck and I stroke her cheek with the back of my still-bound hand.

Her hand steals down my body, fingertips playing an arpeggio over ribs and stomach to the head of my cock and she begins making small insistent circles with her forefinger, tracing it all over the head. It is intense—too intense—and I move my hips and she redoubles her efforts, moving her leg and grasping me now, rising from her lying-down position and licking the palm of her other hand and then rubbing it in those same circles over the head as she begins to stroke me, squeezing, tugging, pulling, driving me quickly toward an orgasm and then pausing, holding me there before beginning again. I can breathe only in gasps and she is still all over my face and every breath smells like her. I can speak only in whimpers as she expertly drives me insane by centimeters. Every time I feel myself about to tip over into orgasm she slows, or stops, or changes tactics and it recedes again. And she is watching me, a small, satisfied smile on her mouth, her eyebrows rising each time I am close and then shaking her head as she brings me down again. This can't last for more than ten or fifteen minutes but it feels like days.

"Would you like to come, little one?" she asks me, finally.

"Yes, please. Please, Miss. Please let me."

"Do you remember how I said we were going to do this my way? Are you starting to understand what I meant now?"

"Yes! Yes. Please. We can do anything the way you want it."

"Anything?" Her hands are moving again, stopping again.

"Yes, Miss."

"Anything at all?" So close to the edge.

"Yes!"

"So you'll come the way I want you to? And then you'll swallow everything for me?"

"Yes, Miss. Anything."

She grips me firmly with one hand, pulling the skin taut, and then the other, saliva-wet, strokes me firmly and this time I am going over the giddy edge and just as that happens she takes away her hands, stopping all stimulation and leaving my hips and cock to thrust involuntarily in the air.

A few seconds later I come, four days' worth spurting out across my stomach but it is the difference between a sneeze and suppressing one and I groan "Please," and she crosses her hands primly in her lap and tells me she's been doing a little research on the internet these last few days and wanted to see what all the fuss about "ruined orgasms" was.

She scoops up the come from my stomach with her fingers and pushes them into my mouth, making sure I clean them completely. "I'm sure you'd like a real one now, but it's getting pretty late and we should probably get some sleep, don't you think?" she says. "Let's get you locked back up and then I'll undo your hands so you can get ready for bed."