Oh god, he is so close to touching me right where I want him.So close, and yet the jerk won’t do it. I try to say his name through my improvised gag, but it comes out garbled.
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll have to be patient, Sunny. I’m not ready to touch you there yet. Remember, your orgasms are mine now.”
They are?
“It’s what being a Pleasure Dom is about. You heard of it before?”
At my headshake, he goes on, one hand lazily trailing the skin of my back and butt.
“It means that your pleasure is my entire wheelhouse. I want to control your orgasms.”
Wow.Wow. Okay.
“Sometimes it’s easy.” He leans in to whisper, “Like in the kitchen. Remember how you gave me that climax? Mm, so fucking good.”
At my gasp, he says, “Other times, I use tools. To build you up…” His knuckles rasp over my hip, down to my thigh, around to where they meet again. Close, so close to where I’m needy and aching for his touch. “… and up and up, building it so high that there’s nothing left but want.”
I whimper, my eyes blurring as I concentrate on that touch.
“And sometimes? That means withholding.”
When I whine, he chuckles, comes around the side of the desk, where he squats, and tilts my face so I’m looking right at him.
I don’t know what I thought I’d see in his expression. Excitement, maybe, to match what I’m feeling inside. Instead, he looks almost… I don’t know, peaceful? It’s both unexpected and sort of comforting.
“But here’s the thing: When I make you wait for that climax, like the good girl you are, and you’re stretched out at my mercy, wanting it so bad you’ll cry, then…”
I’m waiting, breath bated… suspended on his words like they’re the only thing in the world.
“When I let you have it, finally? You’ll come so hard you won’t know who you are. You want that, Sunny? Huh?”
I nod, embarrassingly eager for whatever he wants to do.
My mouth’s dry, and while some small part of me acknowledges that making me hydrate wasn’t a bad idea, the rest of me is gone already, a spinning top, lost to entropy. In it to the end.
His attention shifts back up to my ass as he mutters, “As I was saying, you deserve this spanking, sweetheart. The way you flaunted yourself today? Sorry to say it, but you do.”
The feminist inside me wants to scream that I can wear what I want, dammit. It’s not teasing. It’s living my darn life, and if a man can’t control himself, then he’s the problem, not the woman.
Given that I wore the dress for the very specific purpose of riling this man up, I decide to let it slide. We’re both playing this game, and right now, the rules say that I get punished for looking sexy. I want the rules, I want the game, and I really, really want the punishment.
He clicks his teeth together and moves to the back of my body slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, while I’m bent here, soaking wet and straining, straining for contact. I want it. Now. Now, now, now.
“You deserve a flogging, quite frankly, but I’ll go easy on this perfect ass. This time.” A pause while he skates lightly—so lightly—over the place he smacked a moment ago, and then—
Another smack. I grunt.
Was that harder? I don’t know because, by the time the sound’s passed and the sensation reaches my brain, I want to beg for more. So hungry and aching, I’d let him do me right here. I’d let him do anything he wants.
“Shhhhhhh,” he says, easing that hand over my sore butt. “Good. Good.”
A pause. There’s sound, like he’s shifting, but nothing more.
I strain back to get a look but see only a slice of his wide frame before he spanks me again.
Oh god. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is quiet, but the feel of this one’s a sharp sting that brings tears to my eyes and makes my hips press to the desk in search of some sort of friction.
“Oh, sweet girl, trying to get off before I’m done.No. I told you, Sunny, the orgasms… aremine.” His hand lands on my lower back and presses down, and at the same time, he moves in and pushes his hips to mine, and he is hard and…
