"P- please! Please please please I'm so close," I begged you. At least, I did in my mind, and would have out loud if I hadn't decided to be such a fucking brat tonight. But I was committed now. I didn't let out so much as a whimper and focused on keeping my breathing even.
It started innocently enough. We'd just gotten home from being out, and as soon as we got in the door, you pinned me to the wall and started kissing my neck. As your hands wandered down to my nipples, then between my legs, I let out a low moan. You whispered in my ear, "It drives me fucking wild when you whimper and moan for me."
And that was it. Maybe it was the silliness of the date we'd just been on (coming up with wild backstories for people who lived in the houses as we walked through the rich part of town), maybe it was a sugar high from the ice cream we'd shared, who knows? But I sure took it as a challenge, and neither one of us is one to back down from a challenge. I looked you in the eyes, grinned, pressed my lips together in a somewhat exaggerated fashion, and fell silent.
You, of course, knew exactly what game I was playing and decided you were going to win. This is, after all, a game we've played before (and one I never win, at that). The "rules" of the game, as much as there are rules, are that once I relent and start begging, I lose. Sometimes you refuse to play by my rules and simply say, "Well, if you're not enjoying this then I guess I should just stop," which usually has me begging to continue.
Tonight, however, you indulged me and took the teasing-me-mercilessly-until-my-resolve-comes-crumbling-down-to-nothing route. Which is how I wound up with my wrists cuffed to either side of the bed and you teasing and edging me for hours. Well, okay, it felt like hours, but it was probably closer to about 30 minutes.
I had been very successful so far! No whimper, moan, or any other sound had passed through my lips. My breath caught a few times, but I'd been able to keep panting and writhing to a minimum, even as you stimulated my most sensitive parts and my mind screamed at me to let it out.
"Hmmm," you said in a slightly mocking tone. "I had been hoping to be able to please you tonight, but I don't seem to be having much luck. I suppose I could try stroking here..."
My breath caught in my throat, but I managed to hold in the squeak that tried to escape. My hips thrust involuntarily underneath you, and you gave me a smirk and said "Ah, seems I'm getting closer. Or is that you getting closer?" Was it a bit cheesy? Yes. But in my wildly aroused state, the mockery was hitting the spot.
As you continued stroking in just the right place, I focused as hard as I could on keeping my breaths even. Then, suddenly, I felt you pinch my nipple and I let out a gasp. My eyes widened as I realized a moan had escaped along with it. Part of me stayed indignant at your self-satisfied smile, but the part of me that was already plummeting into subspace was relieved that we had moved on to the begging portion of the evening and I could just surrender to the torturously pleasurable sensations you had been inflicting upon me.
Now that the dam had broken, I started babbling the word "please" over and over. "Please, what?" you smirked. "You're going to need to use more words than that if you want me to know what you're asking for."
"Please please please, I'm so close, please, I need to cum, please may I have permission, please?"
I started whimpering, babbling incoherently, and helplessly pulling at my bonds as you withdrew your fingers and started to get up off of me. You let me go on like this as you walked to the other side of the room, where I saw you pick up the magic wand vibrator and stilled. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you," I sobbed.
"I wouldn't thank me just yet," you chuckled, turning on the vibrator. You then started to torturously edge me approximately fifty thousand more times (how the fuck was I supposed to keep track of how many?), applying and withdrawing the vibrator to my most sensitive places, turning the wand up and down, as I whimpered, moaned, begged, and pleaded for release.
When I was a complete puddle of mush, you turned off and withdrew the vibrator. You turned to look me right in the eye and said, "You know, you keep asking for release, but I don't think that's what you really want." I eyed you warily. "Weren't you telling me just the other day how much you like edging and denial? How with release, the pleasure just goes away, but denial is the 'pleasurable gift that keeps on giving,' I believe you put it?"
I let out a tiny whine and looked away while blushing a deep shade of red. As much as my body was begging me for release and I was passing that begging along to you, I loved the delicious frustration you were inflicting upon my protesting body. I wanted to ride this wave of pleasure and arousal as long as I possibly could, and as much as I was begging for an orgasm, you were right. What I really wanted was to be denied. Which was why I'd instigated our little game in the first place. But that didn't mean I wanted to admit it, and it certainly didn't mean I wasn't going to blush furiously in pleasurable humiliation over it.
"So?" you asked amusedly. I let out a small squeak in response. "Now, now, use your words."
