Tell Me Why

"I know this is all you can ever think about, whore," he said. His hands were holding her wrists, keeping them pressed above her head against the shower wall, and he gave them a squeeze to emphasize the final word. "I know how much you want to be constantly full of my cock."

"Yes Sir!"

He was fucking her fast and deep and the feeling was so overwhelming it was all she could do to keep standing. The hot water streaming over their bodies intensified the feelings of pleasure. She had always associated showers with sex, going all the way back to her earliest masturbation experiences being with a removable showerhead in the house where she grew up, and there was always something so exciting about being taken by him there.

But at the same time that she loved the feeling of his cock slamming into her, part of her was struggling with what she knew would come next. She knew he was going to have an orgasm and she wasn't. He'd already told her that her next orgasm wasn't coming any sooner than a year after her previous one, and she still had a month to go. The feeling of almost unbearable frustration that she knew would well up within her when he filled her pussy with his cum but left her aching was something she both craved and dreaded.

When he came in her mouth it was different. When he came in her mouth she floated off into the magical realm of subspace, blissful and calm and beautifully sated. Having her own orgasm was of no importance whatsoever when he came in her mouth. She was perfectly happy already.

But when he came in her pussy, she was all revved up with no possible release, and it was brutal. She would do anything in the world for an orgasm in those moments. But she simultaneously was more turned on by knowing she wouldn't have one than she was by anything else. For all her struggling against it, nothing made her feel better than her denial. The fact that she could both love and hate her denial in equal measure was a paradox she'd never quite managed to wrap her head around.

He kept fucking her. She tried to focus on the pleasure she was feeling and, more importantly, the pleasure she was making

him

feel, rather than getting preoccupied with the fact that she wouldn't be getting the

ultimate

form of pleasure. Most of the time she didn't have very much trouble with that, but for some reason today it was much more difficult. Orgasms filled her head. Maybe it was knowing the one she'd been waiting for so long would be finally happening without too much more waiting that had the idea of having one on her mind so much.

He moved his hands from her wrists to her tits and started squeezing them so roughly that it was painful. She guessed that this meant he was about to cum. He loved hurting her as he came.

Sure enough, a moment later he was cumming, digging his nails deeply into her tits at the exact moment he shot his load into her. Her head was swimming with all the intense emotions she was feeling-the deep pleasure and pride at having pleased her Master, the pain, her own frustration. It was all completely overwhelming. She was just grateful that now that it was over she would have some time to calm down. Right now she wanted to cum

desperately

, and it would take her awhile to get past that feeling, but she knew she would be able to manage it eventually.

She was shocked by the feeling of her Master suddenly putting his right hand between her legs and beginning to rub. His left remained on her tits, which he started squeezing again.

She moaned and closed her eyes, lost in the pleasure. He

never

touched her after he'd fucked her. His cock inside her felt so good, but his hand gave her something his cock couldn't, which was attention to her clit. He knew

exactly

how she liked to be touched, and it felt

incredible

.

But only half of her brain was overcome with the feeling of pleasure. The other half was in full-on panic mode. She already knew for sure he wasn't going to let her cum, because he'd told her she would have to wait at least a year. And there was only one thing he ever made her do with his hand besides cum: edge.

She hated edging, absolutely

hated

it, and was grateful that he hardly ever made her do it. There had been times she'd

cried

when he'd made her edge because the level of frustration went past her ability to handle it. It was hard enough dealing with having her pussy being touched at all when it wasn't going to end in an orgasm. But actually getting right up to the precipice, getting so close that another

second

would bring her to the orgasm she wanted so badly, was too much. She couldn't do it without losing her mind. But she

was

going to do it, because it was what her Master wanted her to do.

His fingers felt so good on her, much too good. He kept alternating between squeezing her tits and digging his nails into them with her other hand, which just made the pleasure even more intense.

With how good she'd already been feeling from having him fuck her, it was only a matter of minutes before she was getting close.

"Your slut is getting really close to cumming, Sir," she said, secretly hopeful that knowing she was close would be enough for him and he would stop before she was actually right on the edge.

"Very good. But I'm not going to stop until you're just on the very edge," he said.

"Yes Sir," she replied, resigned to her fate.

It only took another minute. She felt the orgasm filling her up, felt it

right there

, ready to wash over her in just another second. She felt a tiny impulse to lie and tell him it had come on so fast she hadn't been able to tell him to stop in time, but she knew if she did that she'd feel so guilty she wouldn't even be able to enjoy the orgasm. So instead she just said

"Stop!"

He did. She took some deep breaths and tried to steady herself. She felt sure that there must be a section of Hell that consisted of this particular sort of torture. The orgasm had been

so fucking close

, and getting that close and then stopping made her feel ready to punch a hole through the wall.

She felt an unexpected emotion filling her then: anger. She felt a very unsubmissive urge to tell her Master he was a son of a bitch. He

knew

how hard edging was on her. So why the

fuck

had he made her do it? It wasn't

fair

.

She sat down on the floor of the shower, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was scared by how angry she was at him and wanted to feel small somehow because it made her feel safe.

"Do you want to cum, slave?" he asked.

"Very much, Sir," she said, managing to hold herself back from the "What the fuck do you think?" response she wanted to give.

"I want you to tell me why I'm not letting you," he said.

"Because you're a son of a bitch" was her imagined reply, but she knew she could most definitely

not

say that. She struggled to overcome the anger and find the part of her mind where the right answers he was looking for were.

"Because it makes you happy, and pleasing you is the most important thing your slut can do, more important than getting pleasure herself. Because it reminds your slut of her place. Because your slut is a dirty slut and needs her pleasure kept under strict control. Because it helps your slut be more obedient and submissive for you." She paused. Somehow saying these things out loud to him calmed her down. She knew everything she was saying was true, and being reminded of all the reasons, suddenly it seemed as if having him make her edge was just the right thing for him to have done. So she had to give him one final reason. "Because it's exactly what your slut

needs."

"That is exactly why," he said. "I know edging is hard for you, and I'm glad to hear you can still remember why things need to be this way even now. I'm proud of you." She nuzzled her head against his knee. He was proud of her! No orgasm in the world could compare to the feeling of hearing those simple words.