I wanted Jane to ache for me. I wanted her to be constantly reminded that the cunt between her legs, belonged solely to me. She no longer had control over her pleasure. That was mine too. There are many ways for me to remind Jane of this.
Lately, I had realised I had been too generous with her pleasure. I had granted her orgasms aplenty. I didnât want her to mistakenly believe that she would always get her rewards, to assume sweet release was a given. So, I had set her a schedule.
For the next month, she would edge for me. She was to bring herself to the precipice of an orgasm, without stumbling over the edge. This was to be undertaken twice daily, as a minimum.
As each day rolled into the next, Janeâs desire multiplied. A permanent state of hunger. That throbbing, sodden, ache, between her legs, now an ever-present reassurance that I owned her.
By the end of the month, she was ravenous. She wanted nothing more, she craved nothing as deeply, as the sweet release from her denial. âVery well, Princessâ, I had remarked that evening, âAs you have been such a good girl for me, you may now have an orgasm. In fact you are going to lay on our bed, and bring yourself off until I tell you to stop!â. Graciously, she replied, âThank you, Sirâ.
I took my seat in the comfy chair by the bed, salivating, I watched her wring orgasm after orgasm from her my needy cunt. After her fifth, I commanded, âStop!â. She lay there, consumed by bliss, her eyes pinched tightly closed, her breathing was sharp, her heart was pounding. But above all, orgasms or not, she again found the cunt I own, throbbing for its Master.
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