I knelt down before my Master and Mistress as any submissive should. My head bowed and eyes down towards at the floor, hands behind my back and knees shoulder-width apart. My body begged to be touched; my whole self craved their attentions. And yet, they continued their every day conversation about work, projects, and vacations. No, they weren't ignoring me, I was as involved in their discussion as either of them, but still, it wasn't what I wanted, what I thought I needed so bad. I begged to differ. I groveled and pleaded and presented myself. I was theirs to do anything they pleased with. I belonged to them, and they knew they could use and abuse me any way their sadistic little hearts took pleasure in. But not like this, please not like this.
I watched as their hands roamed each others' bodies while they spoke. Oh, how I wanted them to touch me, to tease me, to play with me, too. How I needed and wanted and begged to be touched, played with, and used. I was theirs. And they knew it. They knew the control they held over me. They knew how much I wanted them, needed them, and they knew exactly what they were doing. I watched as he reached out and gently played with her pointy nipples. How I wished they could have been my nipples that he was caressing, pulling on, and bringing to his open mouth as she spoke.
Damn, how I wished that could have been me running my nails up and down his long cock, where her fingers were touching the most sensitive of places. But I knelt there with my arms cuffed behind my back, bound in leather gloves. I was dying to get touched, anywhere. They watched me writhe and beg with my eyes, but still they continued. It seemed as if it had been days since anything touched my skin other than the cold of the kitchen floor. I hadn't worn clothing in over a week - by their command I was deprived of even that sensation. The lack of sensation was torturous; feeling nothing, touching nothing was pure hell, especially as I watched them engulf each other with warm caresses and watched their bodies respond.
Tonight was the last day of my deprivation, though, I had been punished enough in that manner, they said. The way they accented the 'in that manner' made me wonder what else they had in store. It seems I had not been punished enough; I had only been punished enough 'in that manner'. My mind constantly wandered over the possibilities. What else did they have in mind?
But that was not what was on my mind at that moment as I watched Mistress cum again. I could have sworn she made her moans and cries extra loud and extra long just to tease me. This was her third orgasm that night, all just during the conversation. I had watched his hands as he gracefully played with her sensitive nipples and as his fingers caressed her engorged clit. I had watched him slowly slide his agile fingers in and out of her depths, savoring the taste. And just before she came he had his lips locked on her hard clit, flicking the hood with his nimble tongue; he had three fingers driving in and out of her slit as he circled her anus with another finger. Her hips bucked violently as it built up, and then she let out a low moan.
As I watched her orgasms come in waves, one after another, my body began to rock, forward and back along the cold floor. I tried to find some way, anyway, that my throbbing clit and my aching pussy could get some stimulation. But in the manner I was kneeling, even that slightest bit of pleasure was denied to me. And I knew they had seen me. They had watched me trying in vain to stimulate myself and they had laughed at my pitiful attempts at stimulation. Ah, yes, they knew I had been trying to find a way to get some pleasure, some relief, from my deprivation of sensation. But they knew, too, I was only making it worse for myself. By trying to stimulate myself I was getting hornier and hornier and needing more and more of the satisfaction and stimulation that I wasn't getting.
What a cruel cycle it was.
Finally, after they were done with dinner. Mistress told my Master to clear the table of dishes while she prepared some things. Then she left the room with a rather sadistic smile. I wondered what kinds of things needed preparation and what they had planned for me this evening. When the table was clear, Master commanded me to stand. He reached out to me and stopped just close enough to my body that if I moved even half an inch, his fingers would be running along the length of my skin. He commanded me to stay absolutely still though; else I would regret it later.
Master was 'caressing' the air just above my skin. With my eyes, I begged and pleaded for him to come closer, to touch me, to play with me. "Please Master!" my eyes screamed my desire. Then, without touching my skin, he removed the gloves and cuffs and commanded me to lie on the table. Spread-eagled, he bound me to the kitchen table, tying my wrists and ankles to the legs. Then, he looked me right in the eyes and asked me what I wanted most. "To be touched, to be played with." I answered him, my hips thrusting outward, begging for attention.
