Page 192 of Made Better Together

Like during the test, my clit takes over my focus at first. It feels so good…but I recenter myself after a few seconds. The pleasure is there, but I let myself experience it absent the goal of an orgasm.

“…Two. One.”

Tap. He withdraws his hand holding the vibrator.

I sink into the couch, echoes of the stimulation from the toy still reverberating through my clit. Connor’s studying me, a broad grin on his face.

“You did so well. I can’t even tell you how much I enjoyed that.”

I glow at how pleased he is. My Sir.

“We’ll take thirty seconds off before the next one.”

I need every bit of those thirty seconds for the pleasant ache to fade…but the seconds go fast. Before I know it, he says, “Next round coming.”

Tap. The sucking feeling returns right on my nub, intense and so good. This time I inch closer to an orgasm, but it’s not a fight yet to stay out of danger.

Connor counts down out loud again. “Three. Two. One.” Tap. I slouch again into the couch as the vibrator stops.

I turn toward him, and warm at the beaming look I receive. “Proud of you, Rosy.”

“Thank you, Sir. I can do it.”

“I know you can. It’s going to get harder, the more we do. Remember, I own your pleasure, beauty.” A thrill passes through me at those words.

We go quiet, and the thirty-second break passes fast before…tap.

The waves of suction start again, reigniting the sweet rapture that had barely faded by the start of this fourth time. I empty my mind, though, of chasing something. That seems to be helping. My only goal is to not come until midnight.

“…Two. One.” Tap.

“You’re being such a good girl.”

And again:

“Remember, beauty—you may not come. Not yet.”

Tap. “Ten. Nine…” Do not come. It’s getting harder now, but I stave off the intensity. Tap.

By the time he brings me through the cycle next, the seventh time, my body is reaching for my peak with more urgency. The vibrator tugs on my already aching clit, and it burns a little when he stops it.

I’m nervous about whether I can last…but I resist the urge to look over at the clock on the TV.

Sir has you. He tells you what you want to do.

Can I make it? I must.

When he starts the vibrator again, the count feels slowed down. Or maybe it’s the increased intensity of my need.

I register every number, the pull on my sensitive nerves unyielding, the pleasure/pain constant.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.