No touch, one month - that's what we agreed. You want to break that? Okay, okay, I just want to make sure... You're sure?
'Yes, yes please. Please touch me.' you beg, a hopeful glimmer in your eyes.
'Okay, there is no changing your mind now. Sit back on your heels, legs apart, arms on your head.' I direct, smiling to myself.
'Thank you, thank you mistress, thank you.' You're crying, so grateful, so desperate for pleasure.
I return with the key to your chastity belt and a tube in my hand, wiping a tear from your cheek. I chuckle, 'Don't thank me yet.'
Your face drops as you study the tube, labelled "Good girl cream" (ginger paste).
I begin to unlock your belt, 'mistress-' you whine. 'I- I-'
'Uh uhhh... You wanted this. You asked for this.'
'Please, no. No, that's not what I wan-'
'I made this cream to help remind you, how to be a good girl. Good girls honour their agreements.' I chastise, taking the belt off your body. 'Not another word, unless you want me to get out the electric clamps as well? Hmmh?'
'No. No thank you, mistress.'
'The cream alone will suffice, will it?' I ask, laying a trap.
You pause, taking a deep, thoughtful breath. 'whatever you deem necessary, mistress.'
'Good girl,' I coo as I lather the cream over the dildo attached to the belt. I can taste your fear in the air between us as I squeeze more out onto my finger. Liberally applying it over your swollen sensitive clit and folds.
I hear your sharp inhale as the tingling starts. I help you put the belt back on, the dildo fitting snugly inside your dripping cunt.
Locking the belt I leave the room to wash my hands. By the time I come back, the uncomfortable, blooming warmth starts. You shift your hips nails digging in, leaving crescent indents on your thighs. More tears fall down your cheeks, you whine. Trying your best to stay, mostly in the position I put you in.
'I have work to do,' I state, feeling almost bored. 'Your sobs will be my podcast, come cry under my desk.'
You crawl behind me into my study, stopping every few metres to try to adjust your belt. The searing intensity makes you hot. I can hear your meagre attempt at concealing your whimpers, your strained breaths that soon turn to quiet high pitched groans. That desperation you felt earlier only increasing. You're dripping through your belt, down your thighs.
I smile to myself as I begin to work my way though all my emails. Your groans slowly turning to muffled sobs coiling in my lower stomach, I can't wait to touch myself later. Maybe I'll do it in front of you. While you sit and watch~
theartofmadeline
amandla
titsay
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
