He ran his fingers through her sweaty, messy hair, listening to the constant whimpering beneath him. She couldn't help it, he knew that, unable to control herself while she was teased, edged, and denied. All evening she moaned into her gag, a pleading expression thrown up at him, a silent begging for the release she so desperately craved. But he knew better, knew what she truly wanted, what she truly needed, what made her happy.
Once more he turned the vibrator to low, watching as she squirmed in protest, a tiny tantrum thrown in bondage, glaring up at him. He smiled, simply waiting, replacing the vibrator with his fingers, running through her needy, wet, and aching pussy. Watching those big, angry eyes of hers, he slowly rubbed, fingers glistening with the denial she craved to be freed from. Her anger, protests, and complaints subsided, replaced once more with those large, pleading, submissive eyes. Once more brought back to being his good girl, unable to help herself fall into the role she desired more than any.
The collar around her neck, a beautiful light pink, silver metal heart at its center, was the reason he knew how to control her. The limitations he could push her to, the brink of a breaking point they'd never cross. Ruthless within those parameters, he kept her right where she wanted to be, in the headspace she craved, that she fought to be free from. Freed from the nagging notion that this time, surely this time, she would be allowed to cum. A dangerous hope, always left just out of arm's reach, a tantalising impossibility.
Legs spread wide, exposed for his amusement and enjoyment, coming to the realisation that she had so many times before. That she could stop him at any moment, halt their dynamic with a shake of her head, or one simple word. That she could demand to be freed, forcing the release from her body that she so desperately craved and desired. Yet, as she whimpered up at him, big eyes unable to comprehend her own frustration, once more that terrifying realisation washed over her.
She wanted his control...more than she wanted to cum.
It was a simple truth, really, one he had discovered far earlier than her. Seeing the look in her eyes, the inner turmoil she dealt with as he played and teased his new toy. Seeing the tension in her movements, hands always rubbing together in anticipation, drawn to the pulsing need she felt between her legs. But the desire to submit, to serve, to be his good girl, always winning in the end. Night after night he watched her leave his company, his embrace, each step out of his door harder than the last, knowing she once more left behind her chance to orgasm.
After a year together she had broken down, crying in his arms, admitting that she could no longer make herself cum. Futile nights of playing with herself led to more frustration, as her mind and pussy blocked her from what she sought. Needing his touch, his control, his binds, his deep voice as he talked her through what he would do to her. He simply held her, praising how far she'd come, what a perfect toy she turned out to be.
He stared into those big, beautiful, submissive eyes, seeing the change wash over his good girl. The acceptance once more of a decision that was no longer hers, a choice given to another: Him. Master. Leaning down, he gently brushed her lips with his, listening to the tiny moans emitted from their tender kiss. Stretched around the red ball, straps across her face ensuring it remained in place, he brushed them with his thumb, coated with the dripping saliva from her opened mouth. One of his favourite views of his good girl.
Arms and chest wrapped in rope, he freed her legs as she sighed, massaging life back into them. Carried in his arms, he laid her against his chest on the bed, softly kissing her neck as his fingers explored her exposed nipples. She moaned, sinking into him, head leaning back as he played, pinching and rolling. Always enjoying the effect this had on her, knowing they were almost as sensitive as her aching pussy.
Almost...
A constant stream of noises emitted from his toy, watching as she squirmed against him. Slowly he brought one hand up to hold her hair, firmly keeping her in place, while the other made its way once more to run up and down the glistening wet pussy below. Her pleading returned, not quite as desperately as before, the fight stolen from her this night. But it remained, a subtle protest, the tiniest glimmer of hope, unable to help herself thinking this time...this time just maybe...this time will be different.
He smiled, using this tiny sliver of hope against her, like a leash connected to that beautiful collar she wore for him, pulled in any direction he chose. His finger circled on her clit, coating it in her own desperation, a constant leaking pussy that offered no shortage of lubricant. He listened carefully as her breath quieted, her mind holding her captive, only allowing air in short, excited bursts. All the signs he had witnessed in his time of controlling her, owning her, using her. The telltale signs he used to pull her as close to the edge as he dared, left lingering on the precipice of an orgasm.
Her nipples hardened further, chest blushing slightly, pussy pulsing and quivering as he circled, never faltering in speed or pressure. With just a touch more pressure, or a slight increase of speed, she would without a doubt cum in his arms, straining against the rope, legs shaking wildly as she finally rode through the release that had been teased from her for over a year. One sudden movement, and she would be freed from her torment, mind exploding in euphoric ecstasy. One...little...touch...
But it never came. He knew it wouldn't. She knew it wouldn't. Yet the lie that it might continued between them, the hinted promise that someday, someday she would feel that release once more. Someday she would cry in his arms, cumming her little heart out against his fingers, or on his cock. Someday.
But not today.
He stared down at her, drinking in the frustration in those beautiful eyes, the energy radiating off her body. They sat in silence together, holding her in his arms, watching at the battle surging inside of her, the war he had created and maintained. Slowly he removed her gag, once more gently kissing those lips, jaw sore from being opened for so long. She moaned into his mouth, her mind still trapped in the eagerness to cum, tormented by that longing, desperate hope.
But she remained in that mindset as he untied her, as he washed her sweaty and aching body in the shower, running a sponge up and down them both. Still in a daze, she sat still while he dried her off, combing her hair to sit comfortably on her shoulders, blow dried to be held back by a white strip of cloth, turned into a beautiful bow by his skilled hands. He smiled at her in the mirror, planting one tiny, tender kiss on her neck, flaring up once more the need she had hoped was squandered for the evening.
Following, she stepped into the white dress offered to her, incredibly thin straps holding it against her. No bra, no panties, no covering except the cotton fabric she now felt loosely clinging to her naked frame. Leaving her by the mirror to admire the outfit chosen for her, he dressed himself, watching as she ran her hands over the hem of her dress, legs pressed together.
Returning, staring at her through the mirror, he removed the pink collar she wore, now clashing with her new outfit. In its stead went a white choker, latticed and thin, hugging her slender neck perfectly. She blushed, fingers tracing over it after he placed it on her, once more marked as his. Stepping into some strappy heeled sandals, she followed him downstairs, her body betraying with each step her own growing excitement.
He held a hand on the small of her back, feeling the trepidation building inside of her, the cool evening air moving around them both as he opened the door. She looked back at him, those eyes filled with excitement and fear, receiving a warm smile and nod, giving her the confidence and push she needed to walk out of the door. With a final tiny, adorable whimper, she held onto his arm desperately as they left the comfort of his home, strolling down the street towards people. Towards life.
He felt her grip tighten around his arm as they walked, offering the occasional comforting pat to her hand, distracting her slightly with conversation. But he knew her mind would be gripped by the aching returned to her pussy, the need inside of her flaring up once more, feeling as if she was out on display. Most gave her nothing more than a passing glance, nothing obvious about her outfit, the folded fabric around her breasts hiding her hardened, erected, and excited nipples.
But to her...each step, legs rubbing together, feeling more exposed than she had ever before. He smirked watching the effect their little walk was having on her, ensuring it was a healthy mix of excitement and fear on her face. As they made it to the end of the busy street, he even saw a slight smile make it to her face, blushing with embarrassment. He laughed, giving her butt a quick, teasing squeeze, turning them to the woods.
