Sir didn't give me permission to cum, but I did it anyways.
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The emptiness of the air feels like needles against my skin, from the soles of my feet to the peaks of my nipples, standing at full attention, to my palms as they struggle to grip the silk restraints.
A single drip travels over the curve of my thighs and to the inside of my knee. The air chills it, chilling me, tightening my core, and perking my nipples even further.
After the first smack in response to my orgasm, taken without permission, the room went silent. Was it the silk straps holding me in place or the fear of where your cane would land next? Would I move if I weren't completely at your mercy? Run?
We both knew I wouldn't get far even if the ropes were gone.
I flinch at the next impact, but it's soft, almost tenderly. Hardly makes me move.
A cheeky reply sits on my tongue, but I swallow it back.
You're playing at some game, wanting me to relax into the protective grip you place on my hip. You're waiting for me to sway into you, feel the brush of your chest against my back and the curve of your cock against my rear.
I resist the urge to bend into you. Resist the urge to fully give myself, the last shred of control I have over my movements, by stilling my legs into the ground. My knees protest at the stretch, stomach groans, arms quiver.
Do you see how much I'm struggling? How badly I ache, for release and for you?
Your hand trails, smoothing out the goosebumps, over my waistline and then down my spine. I'm sensitive, you know that. My knees buckle, back arches, teeth grind.
I sway, right into you, before reclaiming the small control I have over my legs. You smirk, knowing this can't last long. We're both amazed I've held on this long, that I haven't begged you to lower my arms just enough to put my feet flat against the ground.
I want to. The plea is on the tip of my tongue as I press onto my toes to relieve the ache in my wrists. I switch between them, pressing onto my toes and allowing my weight to swing my from wrists until the pain is too great, my pussy too wet, my core so tight I fear you'll only have to simply breath in my direction to have me unraveling once again.
Tears gather in my eyes beneath the blindfold. A few traitorous tears leak down my cheeks.
"Please sir."
That smirk fills your voice as you flick away the tear reaching my chin. "Please what, slut?"
"Please can you let me down, sir?"
Another smack of the cane, this time against my left thigh. I sway to my right, my ankle buckling beneath my weight. Your hand steadies me, but only for a breath. Then my movements are my own again. Wild, uncontrolled.
"Why do you want to be let down? You look so pretty, hanging from the ceiling like my own little doll. And you're doing such a great job of holding yourself up."
"Please sir, I can't hold on any longer."
Your finger drags from my left hip, down to my clit where you pinch for only a breath, and to the right hip, a ghost of a touch that has me biting my lip to prevent the moan threatening to alert the neighbors to our activities. Then it goes up, right to my breast. You hold your finger a hair under my erect nipple.
I try to press my chest into your touch only to feel you retreat.
"You came without permission, slut."
I should apologize. I don't. "You were too good, sir." My left knee screams under the weight of my body as the cane cracks against my left thigh. I scream with it. I swing too far and shoulders scream as my full weight pulls at them.
A rapid round of three hits from the cane lights my thigh on fire. I'm gasping as you step back, my legs no longer able to hold.
Are we both wondering if I've hit my limit? How long have I been tied, dangling from the ceiling like useless rag doll?
Your hand rubs over the tingling skin where the cane no doubt left a few marks. "Would you like to rephrase that?"
I swallow down the anticipation as if it were a rock lodged in my throat. If he'd have called me a name, I'd swing towards him, try to entice him to touch me. His tone, as hard as his cock has been against my ass, leaves no room for attitude. And yet I want to. So badly.
To push, see what I can earn with my sharp tongue.
Still, I try to settle my breathing and calm the emotions raging beneath my goosebumps covered skin. "I'm sorry I came without permission, sir."
"You're a greedy little whore." Avoiding my nipple, your hand walks up my breast, over my collar bone, and onto my neck.
"Yes sir."
"Why can't you cum without permission?"
Your fingers dance across the hallow of my throat. I stretch into your touch with a soft whimper. "Because I need to learn control, sir."
Your palm flattens against my throat but fingers flay outwards. "And?"
I can't steady my breath or my heart. Can you heart my heart thundering in my chest.
The crack of the cane against my thigh feels like lightning striking up my core. I try to hold the scream, but it comes unadulterated and loud.
You chuckle.
Our neighbors definitely know that is it not just another relaxing night.
"And?" You repeat, voice hoarse and deepened with the same lust pooling between my legs. "Why else can't you cum without permission, slut?"
Straightening my neck, I cock my head as if I can stare through the blindfold into your stare. As if I could meet your eyes, as if I ever would. Your fingers press into the side of my neck. A warning.
A promise.
"Because it's your pussy, sir."
I hear the cane hit the floor, the hallow sound echoing off the wooden floor before it rolls away. Your hand dances across the marks left by the cane, soothing them with the faintest of touches and alighting the tingles running straight to my core.
I gasp as your hand tightens around my throat, fingers pressed into the sides. A little whimper follows, encouraging your fingers as they keep the nerves on my thigh alive.
"Are you going to be a good girl if I let you down?"
"Yes sir."
