Zoe

"Not yet, little one. Not yet. Do you understand?" He shook my head softly.

I groaned, nodded my head. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

He retrieved my phone and knelt in front of me.

"I want your permission to film you cumming," he said. "Something for us to share later."

I could barely hear him over what seemed to be a thunderous buzzing from inside me. It wasn't the vibrator -- it was pretty silent. It had to be my system reacting to the whole situation.

I nodded.

"Good on ya!" he beamed before placing a large ottoman in the middle of the rug. About a metre square and chair-high, it was covered in brown leather.

"Take off your heels, Zoe," he commanded. "I don't want holes in the leather."

At his direction, I knelt on the box, my knees spread wide.

"Put your hands behind your head, Zoe," he directed. "Show off those beautiful cans. And smile."

Putting my hands back was easy enough and my boobs were indeed pushed forward. Smiling was harder as the almost-breaking orgasm bedevilled me. I tried however and, when I did so, he began filming me, walking in a slow circle around the perimeter of the rug.

After he had made a complete rotation around me, he stopped and squatted down in front of me.

"Play with them, Zoe. Show the audience how fine-looking they are, what magnificent things of beauty and pleasure. Let the camera see how proud of them you are and how much pleasure they can give you."

My hands came down to cup and lift their weight. The fading-but-still-present rope marks in my soft flesh felt very odd.

"Play with your nipples, Zoe, but I remind you not to cum until I give you permission."

With thumbs and forefingers, I pulled them, stretched them, rolled them.

I was too close. Raising my eyes, I looked into the camera lens. "Please, sir, may I cum?"

"I didn't quite catch that, Zoe."

I continued to work my boobs as I repeated myself, my groin pulsing with desire. "Please, sir, may I cum?"

He looked at me, frowned. "No, not yet. But soon."

"Reach down with your fingers, Zoe. Spread your lips for me, for the camera."

I did so and he leaned forward, capturing my exposed pussy in closeup.

"You beauty!" he exclaimed. "Now, holding your lips apart, I want you to gently stroke yourself, up and down. Keep doing that until I tell you to stop."

I traced the length of my pussy with a forefinger, working around the plastic cord from the vibe. Fire sirens were going off inside me. I was pretty sure my eyes were crossed.

"Stop." His voice was sharp, commanding.

A tear of sheer frustration leaked from my eye. I looked up at him to see both pleasure on his face -- and, I thought, admiration.

Meanwhile, the damned vibrator would simply not let me focus. It took all my concentration to not explode in front of him.

"I don't think I can do this much longer, Gideon. Please, please let me cum!"

"Not yet. If I can endure watching you naked in front of me, you can wait, too."

"Please?"

"No." The refusal was flat.

My inner Zoe was shrieking with delight. It was this I had been dreaming of, of being dominated, controlled, used for somebody else's pleasure and as an instrument of their sexual will -- and whim. My body protested the torment of overwhelming sensations, my captive mind purred in happy contentment.

After a minute -- an endless minute -- Gideon told me to start playing with my clit.

"Softly, gently, round and round, Zoe. And you are not allowed to cum. This is not for your pleasure, but for mine and the camera's."

My world was comprised of nothing more than sensation now. With a well-lubricated fingertip, I teased, stimulated and circled as much of my love bud as I could reach around that damned vibrator.

I also tried everything I could dream of to hold off against a steadily-building storm of responsiveness. I think my eyes were crossing.

Finally, Gideon smiled from behind the camera. "All right, Zoe, cum for me."

A second later, waves of lightning burst from my clit, rippling out across and along my entire body. My nipples felt like they were on fire. I was exploding, melting, falling into a cloud of incandescent butterflies. It was an ongoing explosion of pleasure - endless, timeless, limitless.

It went on and on and on. Throughout it, Gideon encouraged me, praised me. His words stoked the fires and pushed me higher than I could ever have possibly imagined. I sobbed as his fingers roved over my breasts and inner thighs, encouraging and fanning my delight.

This was it. It was precisely this I had been dreaming of all these years -- being controlled, used by a loving, knowledgeable man. The ongoing, onrushing orgasm was amazing, but the mental satisfaction was even better.

I wanted this. I wanted him doing this. It felt right, exactly how I imagined it would be to be dominated. I wanted his hands on me, I wanted to feel owned, I wanted his merciless, uncompromising love.

Eventually, it slowed down to the point where I could gingerly pull out the vibrator and, with trembling fingers, turn it off.

Gideon picked me up tenderly and carried me to the nearby sofa. He sat down with me on his lap and hugged me lovingly, patting my head, stroking my shoulders and back.

"You were amazing, Zoe," he said softly. "I'm very proud of you."

I had never felt so loved, so cherished, so complete. Never had I felt such purpose in my life.

I noticed a hardness between us, gradually softening. On impulse, I wiggled my bum against it.

"Stop it, Zoe," he said gently. "There'll be lots of time for that another day. Assuming..."

I was pretty sure what he meant.

I was willing to make that assumption.

Oh, yes.

"When, Gideon?" I asked.

He thought for a long while before handing me my phone.

"When you are willing to share those photos, Zoe."

In response, I leaned my head on his shoulder. It was enough.