“Shh,” he hushes, planting one knee at the foot of the bed. “Give me a little fucking trust, Mira. I said pain wasn’t my trade; I meant it. If it was, it would be in my interest to tell you about it up front and try to seduce you into enjoying it, but it isn’t.”
My breaths quicken as he makes his way up the bed, until he’s kneeling between my knees. He grasps one of my shins in a warm, firm grip, squeezing my flesh. “Close your eyes,” he says.
I shake my head.
“Close your eyes, Mira,” he repeats. “Looking at it is frightening you. Instead, I want you tofeel.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, and brace for a painful blow.
It never comes.
Instead, what I feel is smooth, slightly cold leather running up my leg, teasing the crease where my thigh meets my pussy, and ghosting over the top of my mound before slowly dragging up my navel. A noise of surprise escapes me; the brush of the crop is feather-light, and while the danger it represents of a potentially painful blow is there, it instead feels… good. The contact of cool, firm leather brushing over my soft, prone skin is intriguing. A low moan makes its way past my lips when the crop circles my left nipple, brushing over it until I feel the peak stiffen. Then comes the gentlest of taps, with barely any force behind it. It’s not a slap or even a smack; more like a caress with minimum downward pressure. It feels oddly arousing.
“There we go,” Dorian murmurs, giving me another tap. My eyes open and my gaze meets his; he’s watching me with intense focus, eyes swimming with desire. My stare travels over his face and then traces a path farther down, taking in his body. He’s still fully clothed in a black button-down and beige slacks; he looks ready to go into a business meeting, and the stark difference between him being fully clothed and me being naked and vulnerable is an intense turn-on.
“See what I mean?” he asks, giving me another, slightly stronger tap. This one has more of an impact, but still no pain. Just stimulation.
I nod. “Yes.”
“You need to learn to trust me,” he admonishes with another tap. “When I say I’m going to do something, that’s what I’ll do. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know. I won’t fuck either of us over by lying to you, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree.
“Good girl.” The words send a rush of warmth coursing through my body. Iloveit when he calls me a good girl; I love it even more when he calls me beautiful and praises my body, but nothing compares to when he admires my mind and the parts of me I find weird.
He spends several moments tapping away at my nipple, and after a while, the skin grows sensitive. It becomes an intense erogenous zone that feels like it has a direct connection to my pussy. The pressure of his hits remain steady—sometimes going softer, but never hard enough to hurt. Soon, the impact morphs. It doesn’t become painful, but it gets intense. He pauses, brushing his thumb over my nipple, and it feels surprisingly sensitive. I arch into his touch, moaning, and he smiles,circling the bud with his finger. He turns his attention to my other breast, giving it the same treatment.
There’s patience in each of his movements, focus and precision but also serenity. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so in his element, so relaxed. He might be good at giving off the impression of being constantly at ease, but his energy rarely matches his demeanor. Right now, even his energy is peaceful. Titillated, aroused, but also calm and satisfied. It’s bizarre and fascinating.
After several moments, he sets aside the crop again, and lifts both of his hands to my breasts, massaging them. His fingers periodically circle over my nipples, the touches ranging from gentle to intense, all of them ridiculously erotic.
When he leans down and runs his tongue over one of them, I can’t contain my moan of abandon. I'm almost painfully sensitive, and the heat of his tongue is nearly too much to bear, but it feels insanely good. The arousal pooling in my core magnifies tenfold, until I’m embarrassed that I’ll leave a wet spot on his sheets.
“There’s my good girl,” he coos, pulling back. He settles himself in the cradle of my thighs, and his warm palm cups my pussy. A harsh breath hisses out of him when he finds out just how wet I am, and my cheeks heat.
“Jesus, Mira,” he says lowly. “I think you might’ve liked that as much as I did.”
Two fingers run through my slit repeatedly, almost like a massage. His fingers move up to my clit, rubbing the bud up and down, side to side, and in circles. Noises of pleasure escape me—whimpers, gasps, moans. It doesn’t take long before I feel myself building to an orgasm, and my back arches as my hips buck. Dorian smiles faintly, amusement evident in his expression and his energy, but he doesn’t change his pace or intensity. Just continues in that same, steady,maddeningrhythm.
“Dorian,” I gasp. “I—I think I’m going to…” My voice cuts off as my body stiffens. Dorian pulls his hand away, and I release a whine as my impending orgasm dies as fast as it came.
“Not yet,” he says patiently.
I shake my head. “Wait—I was so close!”
“I know,” he says, amused. “I’m not ready for you to come yet. Trust me when I say, you’ll wish I were still edging you once I really get started. For now…” he picks up the crop, running the flat end through my slit, and I nearly choke on my gasp. The cool leather against my heated skin is too intense to bear, and when he delivers his first tap, I nearly come. It’s agonizing, invigorating and so,sofrustrating.
“Settle in, Mira,” he says. “We’re just getting warmed up. You’ll come when I’m ready for you to come, and once I’m ready, you’ll come as many times asIwant you to come. You don’t get a say here. You don’t have any control here. Sit back, relax, and let me work.”
I turn my head away, whimpering into my arm. He starts to gently tap my clit and pussy at a quick, staccato pace. Every few taps, he gives a slightly harder smack that jolts and shocks me, making me cry out. Perversely and completely out of the blue, I start to feel myself building to an orgasm again, just from him tapping my pussy. It’s taboo, wrong, and unreasonably hot.
My cries take on a higher pitch as I start to climb—just as I reach my crest and my stomach muscles tense, Dorian stops. He sets aside the crop and refocuses his attention on my breasts, returning to playing with my nipples. He pinches them and rubs his thumbs over them with firm pressure, all while I toss my head from side to side, panting harshly and begging, willing to doanythingfor him to make me come already.
I never thought foreplay or any sexual play could be like this; I’d always assumed that guys were wired to do the bare minimum beforegetting to the main event so they could get their orgasm. This here feels freakingamazing,yet the denial is so frustrating I’m tempted to scream insults at Dorian.
After a while, he starts massaging my pussy again. I’m much closer to the edge now, my orgasm isjustwithin reach—he barely has to rub me for thirty seconds before I’m there. The bastard pulls awayagain.
“You aresuchan asshole,” I whine. “Why won’t you let me come?”
