I withdraw my fingers slowly. Deliberately. Dragging them through her folds one last time before pulling out entirely.
Her reaction is immediate. A broken whimper, that turns into a moan, that turns into frantic writhing against the beam. Her restrained wrist pulls at the cuff. Her secured ankle strains against the leather.
"No—wait—please don't?—"
I wipe my hand on her ass. Marking her with her own wetness.
"Are you leaving?" Her voice cracks. "Please don't leave me like this?—"
I stand, step back, and watch her try to twist around to see me despite the restraints keeping her bent and exposed.
"Master, please?—"
The panic in her voice makes my cock throb.
She genuinely thinks I might just walk away. Leave her edged, and desperate, and tied to this beam sixty feet off the ground.
I'm not that cruel.
Well. Not yet.
"I need—you can't just—" She's gasping now. "Please, I'm sorry, whatever I did wrong I'm sorry?—"
"You didn't do anything wrong."
I crouch beside her. Run my hand down her spine.
She arches into the touch like she's starving for it.
"Then why?—"
"Because you don't come until I decide you've earned it." I lean closer. "And you haven't earned it yet."
Her breath hitches.
"But I did everything—I climbed up here, I put the cuffs on, I took the spanking, I didn't come even though?—"
"I know."
My fingers trace idle, wandering patterns on her lower back—slow circles, figure eights, random swirls that make her muscles flutter and twitch beneath my touch. Light enough to tease every nerve ending still screaming for release. Not nearly enough pressure to satisfy the desperate ache I've built inside her.
Each stroke deliberate. Calculated to keep her simmering right at the edge of madness.
"You've been very good," I murmur, letting genuine approval color my tone. "Better than I expected, honestly."
I let my hand hover there above the reddened skin of her ass for a long, suspended moment. Let her feel the radiant heatof my palm lingering just millimeters away from contact. The anticipation alone makes her tremble beneath me.
Then slowly—so slowly she could stop me if she wanted—I slide my hand lower. Down between her legs where she's been silently begging for attention since the first strike landed.
Her hips buck up immediately, instinctive and desperate. Chasing any friction I might offer. Looking for more contact, more pressure, anything to ease the unbearable ache I've built inside her.
I don't give it to her.
Instead I spread her open with both hands. Gently pull her cheeks apart so I can see everything. Her pussy gleaming wet in the late afternoon light filtering through the trees. Her tight little asshole clenching reflexively under my scrutiny. Both holes on display, vulnerable, and exposed, and mine.
My cock throbs so hard against my zipper it borders on actual pain.
Christ. She's soaked. Absolutely dripping. The evidence of her arousal has literally run down her inner thighs, leaving glistening trails on her skin.
