She has little capacity to spare more than a whisper. A husk of "please."
"Please what?"
His fingers stroke the length of her spine, testing the reaction, teasing a nerve here, relaxing a muscle there. As one pores over her scalp and the other pinches her nipples, her body submerges and she thinks she will cum whether she tries to stop it or not.
"Please." She begs. "I'm going to cum. Please stop." She's shaking with the effort and despite even the tears welling up inside her she feels the twitching of her thighs.
It's a blissful relief and utter agony when he pulls his hands off her. "Please what?"
"Please fuck me until I cum. Please shove your cock in me and let me cum."
"How do you want it?" Sometimes he lets her have a choice of positions. It's his way of distracting her. Both making her think of all the ways she wants him and to have the foreknowledge of how she will cum. If she's good.
"Please fuck me with my ass in the air. Fuck me until I cum."
His fingers close around her scalp again and gently push her head over his hard and throbbing member. She tongues it as best she can as he presses it steadily in. Another lash on her red, hot and sore bottom. She greedily slurps at him. She can't help it. She wants it all and always.
The shivering starts to build again and he removes his rod. She's been tied all this time. Tied with her hands together in front and her ass in the air over pillows holding it up. He takes the straps from her ankles and kneads her mounds. Smooths them and lightly squeezes. It reminds her of the whippings as it flares the pains along lines. His fingers move in longitudes while his thumbs press circles and she gasps with pleasure and ache and hurt and longing.
He flips her easily onto her back and shoves his pole straight to her heart. She loses all her breath and will. The orgasm is back, running through every sliver of flesh it can melt together.
"Please!" It's not a cry, nor is it a whimper, but a keening. She wants to cum. She wants the sweet anguish of liberation. She wants her muscles to burst in on themselves the way they do when he finally lets her go. The sting of the lash is nothing to the hurt and ache of her body turning inside out. She's already chosen how she will cum, knows she's not allowed to the way he's fucking her now, but she can't help it. Can't stop it.
She's never disobeyed him on this before. Whatever it costs her to keep from climax, she has always done. He's told her the punishment for letting loose before he says and, for her, it's unthinkable. He'll stop there, he's said. He'll stop while she half cums, masturbate across her ass and leave to come back and finish with her another day. The more she nears her ultimate bliss, the more she needs him there. The tears start again as the feeling overwhelms her. She can't help but orgasm, needs it so bad, wants it more, but wants -- no needs -- to hold off. It just keeps building.
He stopped. She's shaking so hard, she can feel droplets of sweat rolling into her eyes. She can't even moan, just chant in a hoarse stage whisper "please. Please. Please. Fuck me. Please. Fuck me. Til. I. Cum."
He presents the gleaming purpled head to her lips and she licks at it with delight. Tears are flowing even as the shivering has yet to subside. He kisses her lips after rubbing his cock across them once more, moves to her legs and flips her again.
"You can cum now." He says as he pierces her soul. She doesn't immediately. It's such a relief she's not ready for, but she feels the ache build with four, five, six thrusts. Her hands are squeezing the covers they've grabbed. Her muscles are completely tensed, all of them. And the orgasm forces its way past the numbed nerve endings like a brick shattering a plate glass window. She has no idea of sounds she makes (animal grunts and squeals, cries of surprise and moans torn from her mouth). She only knows the feeling of bliss or pain or both and of not knowing the difference. And it goes on forever. At least until sleep.
