"How many more?" I begged, barely able to form words through the desperation. "Please, how many—"
"Five more," he said, and his voice sounded as wrecked as I felt. "Five more, and then you can let go. Can you do that for me? Can you be good?"
"Yes," I sobbed, though I had no idea if it was true. "Yes, Daddy."
His hand lifted, and I held my breath, every muscle tensed with the effort of holding back the orgasm that wanted to tear through me.
The next strike nearly undid me completely.
I was grinding against him frantically now, my body seeking relief he wouldn't let me have. The friction of his pants against my soaked underwear was torture and bliss, too much and not enough.
"Twenty-seven—oh god—thank you—"
My words were barely coherent, broken by sobs and moans. I was coming apart, dissolving, turning into nothing but nerve endings and need.
"Twenty-eight!"
The number tore from my throat. I was so close, so impossibly close, my entire body wound tight as a spring. One more touch, one more anything, and I would shatter.
"Twenty-nine—please—Daddy—I can't—I can't—"
"One more," he said, and his voice broke on the words. "One more, little bird. You've been so good. So perfect. Give me one more."
I was crying freely now, tears soaking the bedspread, my whole body shaking with the effort of holding back. Every cell screamed for release. Every nerve begged for permission to let go.
His hand lifted for the final time, and I knew—somehow knew—that this one would destroy me completely.
The final strike landed exactly where he'd promised—not harder than the others, but perfectly placed where my thigh met my ass, fingers curving to catch that sensitive crease that made everything inside me light up like struck flint.
"Thirty!" I screamed, and then time stopped.
For one impossible moment, I hung suspended—balanced on the edge of something vast and terrifying and absolutely inevitable. I could feel every point of contact between us: his thigh hard between my legs, his hand pressed against my lower back, the heat radiating from my punished skin. Could hear my own ragged breathing, his rougher exhale, the thundering of my pulse in my ears.
Then I shattered.
The orgasm hit like a freight train, like falling off a cliff, like dying and being reborn in the same instant. My vision went white at the edges, then dark, then bright again as waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain crashed through me.
"Kostya—Daddy—please—"
Words tumbled from my lips without thought or intention, broken sounds that might have been his name, might have been prayers, might have been nonsense. I was crying out with each wave, the sounds raw and desperate and completely beyond my control.
My body convulsed across his lap, hips jerking, seeking more even as I drowned in too much. My fingers clawed at the bedsheets, needing something to anchor me while everything I thought I knew about my body, about pleasure, about what I was capable of feeling, reformed itself around this moment.
"That's it." His voice cut through the chaos, low and rough and devastatingly proud. "That's my good girl. Let go. I've got you."
His hand pressed firmer against my back, holding me steady while I flew apart, keeping me safe while I shattered into a million pieces. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, each wavetriggering another, my body wringing itself out across his thighs while I sobbed and shook and came harder than I'd ever come in my life.
"Beautiful," he murmured, and I could hear the awe in his voice, the satisfaction, the barely controlled want. "So fucking beautiful when you let go."
Another wave crashed through me at his words, making me cry out again. I was beyond shame, beyond thought, beyond anything but sensation. My clit throbbed against his thigh, oversensitized and still pulsing. My inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled. Every nerve ending sang with release and demanded more simultaneously.
"Please," I gasped, though I had no idea what I was begging for. "Please, I can't—it's too much—"
"Shh." His hand moved from my back to my hair, stroking gently, grounding me. "Breathe, little bird. Just breathe. Let it happen. All of it."
And I did. I let my body take what it needed, ride out wave after wave of pleasure that made my toes curl and my back arch and sounds escape that I didn't know I was capable of making. His thigh between my legs, the pressure and friction that had driven me to this point, now became the anchor that kept me from floating away entirely.
The waves began to diminish gradually—from tsunamis to breakers to ripples. Each aftershock made me twitch, made me whimper, made me press closer to the solid warmth of his body. I was aware, distantly, that I was still crying. That my face was wet with tears and probably worse. That I'd completely soaked through not just my underwear but his pants where I'd been grinding against him.
