Every time she got close, he eased the pressure or shifted the angle just enough to pull her back.
Until finally he didn’t.
“Come for me, my desperate little painslut.”
The orgasm crashed over her like a massive breaking wave. Her entire body seized, back bowing as much as the ropes allowed, and raw, shattered cries ripped from deep in her chest.
Her clit pulsed and her ass clamped hard around the plug, and her legs gave out completely, leaving her hanging by her wrists while wave after wave rolled through her.
Only when the last tremor finally faded did he turn the vibrator off and immediately cut her free from the spreader bar. He released the twine from around her big toe and then lifted her into his arms with one hand while he released her wrists from the overhead chain.
He carried her to the bed, settled her on her side, and then released her wrists from each other before rolling her to her back. She screamed in pain as her arms came to her side, and he said, “Sshhhh. I know it hurts. Breathe through it. Take it for me. Accept it. Coming out of it is as important as surviving it.”
She tried to breathe through it, but it was too much.
“Touch your palms to each other in front of you.” It was an order, but she wasn’t sure she could.
She tried. Her hands barely lifted before the pain exploded through her shoulders, chest, and back. She dropped them with a broken cry.
He shook his head a single time. “I’m disappointed. What kind of painslut are you?” He made atskingsound, and then both alligator clamps were suddenly off her nipples, and the hot rush of blood roared back into the crushed flesh. Shescreamed, body arching hard, and his cruel fingers were on them — squeezing, rolling, pinching, pulling.
“That’s it, bad girl,” he said. “Scream for me. Let me hear how much it hurts.”
He removed his fingers after several long minutes of agony, and her screams fractured into raw, gasping sobs.
“Let’s try it again,” he said, his voice calm, and then repeated his earlier order. “Touch your palms to each other in front of you.”
This time she forced it, hands shaking violently, fresh tears spilling down her face. The effort tore broken whimpers from her throat.
“There we go,” he said, approval rough in his voice. “Now use those pretty hands to remove your gag. The buckle is at the back of your head. Chop-chop, or your clit feels your failure.”
Moving her arms up and back was excruciating, but she managed it by holding her breath and forcing her shoulders and elbows to go far past pain, then willing her numb fingers to work after being asleep so long.
And then realized she’d need to sit up.
The plug shifted inside her, drawing more yelps from her, but she managed to get vertical enough to work the buckle.
She was slowly opening and closing her jaw when he walked to her with a large domed plate, and she caught the scents all over again. Butterscotch, caramel, sugar, and something she couldn’t place. Sweet and decadent though. Rich.
“Good girl,” he told her. “No words tonight. You can speak tomorrow.” He settled himself on the bed in front of her, put the plate between them, and lifted the dome.
Cake, with a thick glaze instead of icing. Layers of it.
He sliced into it with a fork, lifted it to her mouth, and she accepted it.
The rich caramel sweetness mixed with the unexpected exotic edge of…
Hazelnut. He’d made the glaze with Frangelico.
Clever man.
The caramel-rich butterscotch along with the other flavors melted together on her tongue. The cake was decadent and perfect, and so disparate to everything that’d come before, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
He gave her another bite before he fed himself, and then gave her a warm smile.
“I made it Sunday night. No boxes…” A smirk. “Unless we count the baking powder. I’ve never actually made a glaze before, and it was surprisingly easy. Confectioners’ sugar and Frangelico with a little melted butter.”
He fed her another bite. “The cake, however, was not easy.” He took a bite. “Totally worth it, though.”
