Please... Words By Gia #4
The city lights come into focus after a blurry disoriented moment; the confused look on your face is clear even in the dark of the room. You start to move, startled suddenly by the restraint, and you remember instantly. The smell and feel of what’s around you dawns on your sleepy senses, the plush king size bed, the thick soft feel of the hotel room, the tangy-sweet aroma of wine and sticky lubricant. You yank again, both wrists this time, twisting your body with the effort. You’re naked before me, unaware, and so beautiful. I want to sink my teeth into that ticklish spot on your inner thigh, breathe in the scent of your savagery, brush my nipples against the hairs that raise in goosebumps on your skin while I watch the spectacle of your sudden predicament.
“This was supposed to be lunchtime fun,” you say evenly into the dark. I can hear your cold analytical mind. It isn’t my friend. I don’t respond. You’re thinking it through, the way the afternoon had begun. You’re thinking about my hands on your body. I know you are because I can see this new stirring in your limbs, the slight undulating motion of a human remembering great pleasure. I’m delighted that I’ve distracted you, even in memory. I think you might be a little panicked. I let you wait in a strange stirring of confusion and anxiety and arousal. Are you wondering if I’m there?
Perhaps you curse. Perhaps you’re angry, or perhaps just bemused. The seconds tick past. I deliberately sip my wine, feeling that you must somehow hear the pounding of my heart from across the room. I know you could hear the sip, and you respond, listening intently. It almost makes me giggle, the way you are, the way you think so hard about things. I wait another long minute or two, forcing myself to wait until I want to absolutely tear you apart.
When I rise, slowly, you look for me, waiting for me to emerge. I bask in the rare drama of the moment before approaching you. I deny myself the immediate pleasure of touching you, instead raping your vulnerable naked body with my eyes, letting myself feel the perfect power of owning someone for a split second. I can see that you’re nervous, that you’re a little afraid. My steps are soundless on the carpet, and I press against the bed closer to you than you expect. You pull away a tiny bit, knowing me but unsure of everything, and I thread my fingers through your longer-than-you-meant hair and turn your face away from me.
For a moment, I just breathe you, pressing my mouth against the soft place where your neck meets your shoulder and feeling the dizzying sense of power and delight and erotic electricity in my veins. “Everything’s taken care of,” I whisper to you, the only moment I’ll break this role, and you must be satisfied with that, a single perfect breaking of all that you control because at the next moment I cannot make myself walk away again. You are too marvelously vulnerable, such a fresh expanse of playground. Within moments, I lose myself in the delight of kissing and biting and licking your skin, forgetting for a while that you are bound, that you are confused. I want only to make you feel.
It isn’t easy to avoid your cock. You’re struggling with your angry self, wanting to get out of this situation and regain control back in your confident world and the positive tingles and surges of interest and desire coursing under my curious mouth. I’m not going to fucking let you get lost. I wait even though I want to pounce, I wait. I wait for your frustration to slip just a little. I wait for you to forget it for just a second or two and close your eyes with the feeling. You’re stubborn; I’m patient.
I feel you, finally. I feel the air change, the admission of desire in a growly sigh that you utter toward me. I don’t know if you make it intentionally to tell me, or if it just comes from you in a moment of frustration. I giggle in the quiet, and my fingers begin a tickly spider-walk from your ankles to your knees and higher, slower, my fingernails scraping lightly. I can feel you holding your breath. My fingertips feel like they’re shooting sparks by the time I reach the underside of your balls, pausing a moment there too and then slowly moving on to your grudging dick, swelling unwillingly. I don’t allow it such attitude and demand attention, leaning forward, breathing softly as my fingers draw a trail for my tongue to follow. I start at the very base, wiggling my tongue between your balls and then sliding up to the head, one long slow slurp. Then again, and a long pause to let you wait it out… when I feel your impatience start to grow I nibble instead, kissing the tip lightly and repeatedly. I’m intent on making you squirm.
You’re no stranger to edging. You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re resisting me. You can’t stop from being aroused but you don’t want to give me that control. When I get up from the bed, you sigh impatiently and I’m amused and feeling obstinate. You’re not going to win this fight. I return to you with a bottle of oil in my hand and smooth it over your skin without any dramatic flourish. I can feel the intensity of things starting to take over, the demand filling my veins. I slide my body on yours, my breasts pressed against your chest and approaching your hips, letting your cock slide between them before I sit up, slipping my hands down your thighs and shins and scooting up to share the oil with my smooth legs. Soon we are a slick mess of oil, and my body settles and slides over yours with ease. You don’t squirm, silently letting it happen. When I stretch upward to kiss you, I can feel your jaw clenched with inescapable sensation.
I lift off of you, let your skin cool. My hands are still slippery. I slide my strong fingers down your chest, arriving at your cock, and with a confident tug I begin to give a slow and firm massage, pushing you much more intently now. You can feel in my hands that I’m not playing anymore.
You’re not resisting so forcibly anymore, but I know you won’t let yourself get too close. I’m determined to push you there. I stroke you to edge quickly and purposely keep you there, sliding my thumb just beneath the swelling head when I stop my fist. Each time, I push a little further, testing you, waiting for your edge. Sometimes I don’t stop completely, just providing enough pause to frustrate while I switch hands or add a bit more lube to the attending hand. I’m focused, coaxing you. “Are you still holding out?” I smirk at you. “Where do you think this is going to go?” I can tell you don’t like that I’m laughing at you. I can tell how much this is turning you on. These edges are ones you’ve visited many times. You don’t like me questioning your experience, do you?
You can’t deny where it’s going, not in a million years. Many minutes tick by on the masterful clock faces all over the world, but I own these hours. I don’t want half edges. I don’t want this to be easy. When I push you sufficiently, when I feel your limbs strain against their binding, I raise my head and look intently into your eyes. “I’m not going to stop,” I say simply. I’m not whispering. You’re not being coaxed. I am going to make you go to this place whether you think you will or not. Nothing else will please me.
The edges come more quickly now. My fingers have done this a thousand times. I know just how to make you drip, just how much pressure to tease but not please. Hours of conversations have pushed me beyond a point of any mercy or consideration. You don’t get the gentle treatment of a new convert. I expect you work for it, and you do. I trust you not to let yourself cum. You trust me to ruin it if you do. There is a perfect line here, expecting your self control and pushing it further. You want these edges as much as I do, and you know it. This is the revelry stage, and we relish our roles finally. Your concentration, my ministration, and the inevitable ache in your balls. It will be awhile, but I will make you want more.
I wait for your hips to buck against my hands, wait for you to gesture your intense arousal in this way, and you can’t keep still for very long… not when you know that there is no end in sight. If you’re angry with yourself, you don’t show it. My fingers pull your balls lightly away from your body, untucking them as they tighten in protest and need and I leave you twitching. You know very well that now you are lost to me. The next edge is a vicious one, and I ignore your body’s signals to push you as close to the edge as I can. You groan and squirm a little, determined to hold back. One tiny drip of cum slides out, a better tease in that second than I could give in hours. I savor the silence, watching the shiny drop roll down to your balls and knowing you’re mine. That drop won’t let you forget the need to release. I raise slowly from my relaxed position and straddle you, leaning forward with my face close to yours, my hands resting on your bound arms. “Does that mean you want to cum?” I ask sweetly, nestling your cock against my pussy. “Or does it mean you’re done cumming for the night?” I let you feel how wet you’ve made me. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel me. I slide my hips up and down a few times, rubbing myself on your cock.
Your obvious pleasure and desire fuels me. It’s hard not to ride you in the lustful frenzy I’m so fond of describing. I make myself move slowly now, rubbing my clit with the head of your cock, my wet slit sliding on the underside. There’s no pause, just this slow and smooth movement. “I know what you want,” I smile down at you. I’m watching your face intently, moving slower and slower. “I’m going to make you writhe…” I draw out the last word for dramatic effect but cannot stop the laugh that follows. You feel so delicious and throbbing. It’s too much of my favourite thing to stop, and I have to tell myself to. At the last second, I raise up away from your now-eagerly twitching dick. “Clearly you’re not done,” I feign annoyance and settle back on you. You’re not happy with the short break. I can tell. I move faster this time, pressing my fingers onto the top side of your cock to make the underside grant my clit more needed pressure. “Your cockhead is going to make me cum… “ I say on a gasp, and then pull myself away once more because I can see from your face that you can’t take a second more. “That’s where I want you,” I say gently, sitting back and still for a moment. My fingers slide up and down your stomach and sides. “This is what I want you to feel.” You spend many long edges desperately hoping to slide in just a bit further.
My pussy is so incredibly wet on you. Your balls and cock are covered with my juices. I don’t stop talking to you, don’t let myself lose that much focus, though it’s hard sometimes. I brace myself with my palms on your chest or arms, watching you with a hungry gaze. Now that I have you, I’m not going to let you go easily. Soon your hips thrust for me when I pull away. The sudden cool air of lost contact is too much to hide. I ignore your wordless request and settle on my knees between your legs again, leaning forward to lick myself off of your tightly swollen shaft. When you respond to the pleasure of the stimulation, I lean back a little, letting you feel my breath on you. Letting you want. “Just a little more,” you groan after these maddening licks and pauses have pulled you so far from the edge that you want so much. I give you more, stroking your cock suddenly–my fingers are firm and strong and slippery. “One… two… three… four…” I count into the quiet. I pause at thirty, listen to you breathing hard. “Count with me,” I demand. You begin hesitantly as I stroke you again, pacing your numbers to mine. I can feel you strain to speak evenly. I’m not being merciful. My hand glides over your cock again and again, smooth and quick, my thumb pressing into just the right spot now and then to remind you who’s boss. Thirty seconds becomes a half an hour. I vary your breaks in between, taunting you. “Can you handle it, darling?” I ask innocently as I hit another count of thirty. “How long is all night long?”
The dim light reveals me on my knees between your legs, one hand fingering my pussy while the other teases you. My words become more strained as I count softly. At this count of thirty, I don’t stop. I count instead to forty. Your aching cock expected the break and you groan in an explosive sound of frustration and trickery. I do it again. Nothing could make my pussy wetter. I take my hand away. “Now you have to watch,” I explain, and you crane your neck to watch me better, staring at me as I lean back for a clearer view. My fingers make wet little slap noises when I fuck myself harder, but you like it better when you watch me making circles over my clit, knowing I’m pushing toward the edge. You squirm, your hips thrust when I pause. You can hear me, and I know it’s your favourite thing. I make you listen without touching. I make you laying aching wait. I want you to feel your helplessness. “Taste my fingers,” I whisper, kissing you, slipping my fingers into your mouth. You suck on them willingly. I delight in this small submission and the tickly feeling of your tongue on my sticky little naughty fingers.
I finally give in to wanting you. I straddle you once more, but I push further than you expected to go, make you wait when you feel my tight opening squeeze over your cockhead. Slowly I start to ride you, rubbing my clit with fingers wet from your mouth, pausing imperiously when you dare to thrust. I lean forward, still rolling my hips against you, and my fingers close around your throat in a possessive gesture. “Don’t you dare cum,” I growl, pushing against your hips and feeling you deep inside. I pause there, pushing my own edge, and start again. I don’t know how many times I edge here, listening to you, watching you as you watch me while my pussy spasms around you in its need. You want so much to move, but you won’t. I can see that naked expression on your face, the desire and need to please me in this state. Endeared and satisfied, I ride you until I explode on your cock. You’re moaning audibly, feeding off my lust, desperate to fuck me. Your limbs tremble, but you stay still. I collapse forward, catching my breath from the crashing waves of orgasm as I listen to your heart trampling frantic beats in your chest.
I raise up once more. Are you expecting more of a break? I can feel your cock throbbing inside my pussy and I slide up and down on you. The wet sound is so audible from the gush of orgasm so recently pouring over your cock and balls. Leaning back, resting my palms on your thighs behind me, I ride you once more, waiting for your edge to return. When I feel it’s vicious grip, feel you arching against me, I raise from my position, slide my hand around your twitching, desperate cock and squeeze. Your hips move against me ineffectually. I giggle at you and let go, sliding back down onto you. You forget your manners in your desire. You’re growling and me, moaning. Again I pull away, squeezing. You can see in my face that I’m not going to stop. I push you inside me once more. You look up at me and whisper, “Please…”
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