My heart hammers. “May I…cum now?”
He smirks, dark and slow. “Not yet.”
A fresh ache blooms in my core. But I can’t look away.
Then, with a final drop of sadistic grace, he tilts his head. “If you can look me in the eye while I cum again—without begging, without tears—I’ll let you have one orgasm.”
I nod, breath stuttering.
He grips my chin, forces my gaze to his cock. He strokes harder. I watch his muscles tense, his Adam’s apple bob. The room falls silent but for flesh sliding on flesh.
He groans, eyes blazing. Then he spills again—hot and fast—covering me in worship and punishment both. My lashes flutter once; I don’t look away.
He exhales into my hair. “You didn’t break.”
I nod, trembling. “May I cum now?”
His smile is a razor. He steps back, brushing a final smear of his come across my lips. “Clean it up,” he commands, voice low and hungry.
I rise on trembling elbows, tongue sliding over his mark. Salty and sweet, sticky against my skin.
He watches, dark delight in every line of his body. Then, when I lift my head, chest heaving, he leans down and whispers in my ear: “So well…you get to start again.”
And I would crawl through hell for one more taste of that cruel, commanding mercy.
I don’t dare breathe. My limbs have turned to stone, trapped by the promise of what “start again” means: fresh pleas, fresh refusals, my slick pooling between my thighs as his words scrape along my nerves and crack my soul. He prowls around me, silent as a shadow, each slow footfall a calculation. I’m already his, collapsed at his feet.
His voice slides through the darkness, low and greasy. “You’d let me spit in your mouth while I fuck your throat raw just to come, wouldn’t you?”
My throat goes dry. I can only nod, chest heaving, eyes wide with want and terror.
He appears behind me, cold steel grazing my spine—half crop, half promise. “Say it.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Say what you’d let me do to you just to taste release.”
I close my eyes, swallow the shame. “Anything.”
He growls, then cracks the rod against my ass. Pain flares, shooting through me like fire. I jolt forward. “Not enough,” he snarls. Another strike, sharper. I moan, wetting my thighs.
“Tell me how pathetic you are.”
My voice is a thread of wet need. “I’m pathetic.”
He snaps the rod again. “Tell me what your cunt’s for.”
“For you.”
His breath brushes my ear. “For what?”
My pulse drags my words out. “For edging. For ruining. For keeping you hard and never letting me come.”
He pauses, satisfied. One hand presses the plug deeper, stretching me open, while the other tugs my hair until my head falls forward. My throat, my mouth, my battered will lie exposed.
“Now beg. The filthiest prayer you have, and I’ll make you whimper harder than ever.”
His grip anchors me; the rod still throbs warmth against my skin. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “What does your little spider brain fantasise when you’re soaking and alone?”
