“Please, Sir.”
“Please what?”
“Please touch me. Use me. Anything.”
“Patience.” I finished with the oil and picked up the candle. The wax had pooled nicely, ready to be used. “Do you trust me, Cami?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then watch.”
I tilted the candle and let a small stream of wax fall onto her stomach. She gasped at the heat, her body jerking against the restraints. The wax cooled quickly, hardening on her oiled skin.
“That’s barely warm compared to what’s coming,” I told her, dripping more wax across her ribs, between her breasts, careful to avoid her clamped nipples.
Each drop made her gasp and writhe. The combination of heat and restraint and the constant pressure of the clamps was clearly overwhelming her. Exactly as I intended.
I moved lower, dripping wax along her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she was soaking wet and desperate. When I dripped wax just above her mound, she cried out.
“Please, not there. Please, Sir, I can’t.”
“You can.” I tilted the candle, letting wax pool in the curve, getting closer. “And you will.”
I let a single drop fall directly onto her clit.
She screamed. Her whole body went rigid, pulling against every restraint. But after the initial shock, I watched her expression change. The panic faded, replaced by confused arousal.
“It’s hot,” she gasped. “But it’s not burning. It’s not...”
“No, it’s not.” I used my thumb to swipe away the cooled wax, and she moaned at the contact. “The oil protects you. But your body doesn’t know that at first. It just feels the heat.”
“Do it again,” she begged. “Please, Sir. Do it again.”
I smiled darkly and complied, letting more wax drip onto her clit. This time she didn’t scream. She moaned, long and desperate, her hips trying to lift even though the restraints kept her pinned.
I let the wax pool there, building layer after layer while she writhed and begged. Her words became incoherent, just pleading sounds and broken syllables.
“Look how desperate you are,” I said, setting down the candle and swiping away the wax. “Begging for more. Crying for it.”
“Please,” she sobbed. “Please, Sir, I need you. I need you so much.”
“Good, baby.” I lowered my mouth to her pussy and licked a long stripe through her wetness. She tasted like oil, arousal, and pure need.
I focused on her clit, sucking it into my mouth, working it with my tongue until she was shaking. I felt her start to climb toward orgasm and immediately pulled back.
“No!” she cried. “Please don’t stop!”
“I decide when you come.” I picked up the candle again and resumed dripping wax on her sensitive flesh. “You come when I allow it. Not before.”
She was writhing now, saying things that didn’t make sense, lost in sensation and need. I alternated between wax and my mouth, building her up and denying her over and over until tears streamed down her face and she was begging in a constant stream.
“Please, please, please, Sir, I’ll do anything, please let me come, I need it so much, please.”
I set down the candle and finally freed my dick from my boxer briefs. I was achingly hard, had been since I’d first bound her to the table. Watching her like this, completely at my mercy, desperate and beautiful and mine, was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced.
I positioned myself at her entrance and pushed inside in one smooth thrust. She screamed, her pussy clenching around me like a vise. She was so wet, so ready, that I slid in easily despite how tight she was.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “You feel incredible.”
