The hot pink dildo slowly prods at my entrance and gently slides inside of me. Its passage is eased by how obscenely wet I am, and as it slides over my g-spot, my eyes roll into the back of my head. Dorian twists it around a little bit, lips quirking when I squirm and yank at my bindings.
“Take a deep breath for me,” he murmurs. “Things are only about to get more difficult for you, and a hell of a lot more entertaining for me.”
He presses a button on the handle of the vibrator, and I jerk as a low buzz fills the bedroom. Dorian presses it to the inside of my thigh, letting me feel the rumbling intensity of the vibrations, chuckling at my whimper. My channel clenches around the dildo, and I squeeze my eyes shut, at once terrified and titillated. His mouth was insanelygood; the crop felt like heaven and torture against my overstimulated pussy; I can’t imagine what a vibrator will feel like when he’s already spent what feels like an eternity playing with me.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I shake my head. He smiles, eyes dancing with glee. “I think you are.”
He presses the smooth, rounded head of the device against my clit, and I nearly black out. It is so fucking intense, so overwhelming that I can’t help the scream that tears out of my throat. It takes less than a second for me to start coming again. Dorian rumbles out what a good girl I am, then reminds me to count.
Eight…
Nine…
Ten…
By the eleventh, I feel like I’m fighting for my life. I can barely breathe through the pleasure, and the numbers scramble in my mind; I can’t remember how many times I’ve come, I can barely remember my own name.
“Count,” Dorian reminds me, swirling the vibrator along my swollen clit.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “I… I don’t know.”
He shrugs. “You skip a number, I’ll take that as an invitation to start over.Eleven, Mira. Count and thank me.”
“Thank you,” I whimper. “E—eleven.”
“Very good.” His voice is filled with pleasure. I think he might give me reprieve, but instead, heturns the setting up. Reality becomes warped as renewed, powerful vibrations assault my entire body. My vision dims and blurs, potent heat slicks my skin with sweat. I yank at my restraints so convulsively I feel the strain in my burning muscles.My stomach contracts with such intensity it cramps and aches, and I squeeze around the dildo so hard I think I might snap it in half.
I can barely think, but I know what I need to say. The number I have to utter to please and satisfy Dorian. My lips form around the word, but my brain doesn’t have the capacity to actually make any noise aside from a loud, consuming cry. Dimly, I hear Dorian reminding me to count again. I clench my teeth to cut off my endless cry, and with all my focus I manage to breathe, “Twelve.”
It's barely audible, but he hears it. He turns off the vibrator, tossing it to the side, and slowly, gently pulls the dildo out of me. Every inch of me feels hypersensitized and overstimulated; not just my pussy, but my entire body. I can’t seem to stop whimperingorcrying tears of pleasure-pain, and even though I haven’t uttered either of my safe words, Dorian begins to release my bindings, all the while quietly praising me for being such a good girl, taking what he wanted to give so well, following his instructions perfectly and coming so beautifully. He wraps my body in his arms, not seeming to care about my sweat-coated skin, or the way I can’t stop trembling in the aftermath oftwelve fucking orgasms. He spoons me, holding me close, and while I feel his erection pressing against my ass, he doesn’t do anything about it. Doesn’t make any moves to take care of it. He just holds me tight, fluttering kisses along my neck and shoulder.
“Easy,” he murmurs as I sob softly. I don’t knowwhyI’m crying or why I’m emotional—I’m free, he’s no longer playing with my body as if it’s a toy, yet I can’t seem to get control of myself. My hormones are completely out of whack, and I’m uncharacteristically needy and clingy.
I turn around so we’re chest to chest, cuddling up to him and crying into his shirt. He murmurs soothing words of praise, telling me howwell I did, how proud of me he is while stroking my hair with one hand and spine with the other.
“I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whimper as the tears start to slow.
“Sub-drop,” he says calmly. “After the scene, when reality sets in, things start to feel weird and sometimes unpleasant. Overwhelming. Emotions get a bit twisted up, and most submissives are left with an intense feeling of vulnerability. Tears are pretty common. This is perfectly normal.”
He sounds so confident, so in control, soexperiencedthat I trust him. I trust him to hold me, take care of me, and give me what I need. I lay the side of my cheek on his chest, not caring that I’m getting his shirt wet, and let him console me and murmur to me.
“I can see why you called that a punishment,” I say once my tears have slowed. “I feel thoroughly punished and sore.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Good. In the future, you willnotsneakily try to get away from me. If you have a problem, youwillcome to me. Or that bit of edging and dozen orgasms you just got will seem like child’s play. Got it?”
I nod with a whimper, cuddling closer to him. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he soothes. “I’m not angry anymore.”
He’s… not? I know he liked what he just did to me, but was his form of punishing me really enough to negate any anger he might’ve been feeling?
“You’re not still mad?” I ask, dubious.
“No,” he replies simply. “We settled it physically. We talked, I delivered a pretty clear message. I’m over it. As long as you don’t do it again, we won’t have a problem, Mira.”
I frown, trying to concentrate on him, on his energy. I don’t get any negative vibes, don’t feel any residual anger—merely contentmentand satisfaction. I sense that he likes holding me like this, and he likes the way we got past our conflict. It helped him channel his anger and upset through a physical punishment, and I think he feels it sort of… put me in my place. Not in a demeaning way, but in a way that forces me to understand where we are.
