I came home, and I knew what I’d find in the living room. I’d sent her a text, after all.
She didn’t disappoint. She squatted on the table, balancing on her toes, back straight, knees as wide as she could get them. She faced away from me, so I took some time to admire the tension in her butt and thighs. It was a bit of a stress position, and I hadn’t told her exactly when I’d be home, so she was probably feeling it by now. She’s had lots of practice though.
I walked around the table to check out her other side. She was nude, of course. That wasn’t something I needed to specify anymore. When I told her to pose it meant nude. When I told her to wear socks, or earrings, it meant everything else had to go. Today it was sheer white stockings and nipple rouge.
I ran my hand through her hair, touched her lips. Her eyes were closed. I stroked her arm, lightly, from her shoulder down to her wrist. Her hands were at her crotch, holding herself wide open for me. Her cunt looked inviting that way, soft and blushing and swollen. Wetness glistened at the entrance, and there was a small puddle of slime on the table between her legs. The humiliation of posing so brazenly usually gets her going. The shame of exposing herself to an empty room, eyes closed, just waiting for me to come home, that turns some twisted little knob in her head.
My hand traveled further down, along her slit, and I slipped my middle finger inside. Warm.
“Wider,” I said.
She pulled her cunt lips harder, further apart. She forced her knees further out. I could feel the shifting tension with my finger inside her cunt.
“Show me,” I said.
Careful to keep the stretch steady, she moved her index fingers to pull her clit hood up, exposing the swollen little nub to my gaze. This was one red and horny cunt.
“Slut,” I said.
Amazingly, she blushed. I don’t really understand how she can still blush, after all we’ve done. All I’ve made her do. And yet she does. I don’t have to understand it to enjoy it.
I pulled my finger out of her cunt, wiped it clean on her face.
“Are you ready for a bit of pain?”
She nodded.
“Are you ready for a lot of pain?”
Hesitation. Then she nodded.
I took a small glass jar out of my jacket pocket. I held it straight up while I unscrewed the cap carefully. Wouldn’t do to get any of this stuff on my skin. I’d considered putting on gloves, but I only have latex ones and they’d be useless for this.
I took a paintbrush, and dipped it in the bright red oily liquid in the jar. I made sure it wouldn’t drip, then brought the tip to the superbly sensitive flesh exposed helplessly between her legs. Her eyes were still closed; she didn’t know what I was doing or what to expect.
“Here it comes, baby,” I said, as I painted her slit from her hole to her clit in one smooth stroke. I turned the brush before pulling it away, making sure to bathe her clit in the red liquid on all sides. It happened so fast that I had the little jar capped again before it really hit her; before her eyes flew open and she drew breath with an unsteady moan.
“No sound,” I warned her.
She closed her eyes tight, bit back her scream. She whimpered a bit but I could tell she was trying hard not to. She was shaking, though, and her grip on her cunt had slipped a little.
“Don’t move,” I warned her.
She was a good girl. She kept her position, unsteadily, twitching and spasming and trembling but holding her pose. She was rapidly shaking her head, her breathing was ragged, and she’d started sniffling.
“No tears,” I warned her.
She forced her eyes open and looked up as best she could, trying not to let anything leak from her eyes.
I pulled up a chair, crossed my legs and leaned back to just watch, enjoying the contortions of her face, the twitching of her hands and thighs, her whole-body flush, the tortured moans she couldn’t help but make.
It was an entertaining afternoon. The little jar was great value for money. There was still so much left.
Last night I was slapped across the face repeatedly until I was uncontrollably crying and I feel like it was the sort of sexual experience I have been trying to reach for years without fully achieving, I cannot stop thinking about it and blushing ☺️
You're mine. I own your edges, your orgasms, your right to touch your cunt for pleasure. I keep you desperate so you entertain me sexually. Be proud of being my desperate slut, you earned this privilege and this pleasure.
absolutely need for someone to tie me up and edge me until i’m completely broken. stroke my body with the lightest touch, until my brain is leaking out before even coming close to my pussy. and then after i’ve already been begging for hours to be touched properly, you finally do… with the brush so soft that i can barely feel it.
that’s when i’d start crying to please just touch me, at which you’ll laugh at me and tell me that’s all i’m getting. and if there’s anything i want it’s to be a good girl for you.
when i finally come close, you pull your hand away and watch me try to chase the high while i whine and beg, so desperate and needy. that goes on for hours… just bringing me to the brink of an orgasm as i lose my mind. the word ‘please’ being all i know.
finally you tell me i can come. i’ve been a good girl after all, taking hours of the sweet torture so well for you. right as i start cumming, you remove the brush i barley felt in the first place, completely ruining my orgasm as my hips helplessly grind against nothing, trying to find stimulation. then you keep ruining and ruining my orgasms because… was i really so silly to think you would let me come? how could i forget that good girls don’t get to cum? now i need to get punished.
