What Good Girls Do

I'm suspended in that quiet moment before everything begins, when anticipation manages to both tingle throughout your extremities and pool within your core.

I kneel on the ground, reveling in the dueling sensations, in the center of your office, where you told me to go just moments before. I'd complied immediately, because a good girl always listens. The first time. While I wait for you to finish your preparations, I attempt to ground myself by focusing on every detail of my current situation.

Everything I can ascertain, that is, despite the blindfold you carefully tied over my eyes, and the cool, steel bite of the cuffs that bind my wrists together behind my back, both of which you added once I found my place on your floor. I can feel the soft, thick threads that combine to create an especially comfortable rug beneath us... the slight heaviness of cool, rain-soaked early spring air wafting in through an open window... the soft cotton embrace of the pale yellow romper I wore for sleeping, loose enough to still grant you unfettered access to every inch of me you could possibly desire...

While I mentally chronicle the particulars, I hear you walking and working around me. Soft, patient footfalls that fuel my eagerness as you prepare, as you gather -- as you give my rather vivid imagination ample opportunity to run away with itself, despite my mental attempts to remain in the here and now. "What do you need to get?" I ask myself. "What will you do with those things?"

"What will you do with me?"

My heart starts to truly pound as you finally come back to me. I hear you kneel in front of me, feel your warmth as you lean in close. I pull against my cuffs somewhat as I instinctively attempt to touch you; longing and desire for the sensation of you under my fingertips surge through me. Being held back from getting to touch and tease you the way I want might turn me on even more than my many ideas of what you'll do while I'm fully unable to stop you.

You bring your lips so close to mine that I can almost taste the scent of your toothpaste. "You have one job tonight," you tell me: "Listen." I respond the only way I can or should: "Yes, sir." I sigh a little as well, the way I do every time I get to call you "sir." It makes me feel so wonderfully claimed -- so perfectly yours. For whatever you might need.

And tonight, you lay your desires out for me plainly: You're going to get me dripping wet and agonizingly close while I kneel and take it, before bending me over your desk and repeatedly driving your rock-hard dick into my hot, sweet pussy until you explode inside me. I consider the notion of your hot cum unloaded deep within, and slightly lose my balance as my level of arousal causes my head to spin... I actually swoon.

I can almost hear your smirk as you reach forward and hold me up, as the senses I can still readily access are heightened by the relative losses of the other two. Once I've steadied myself, you keep me in my arms as you whisper, so softly, in my ear: "If you move out of turn again, I will edge, then spank you until it's impossible to tell whether your pussy or your ass is more sore, or a deeper shade of pink."

If I were less aroused, perhaps I'd be embarrassed by the need-filled moan that escapes me in response. "Yes, sir," I breathe excitedly in response.

Then, you move yourself behind me and set to work, as I start to sort out the items you secured from around the room. A hair tie, to pull my long, wavy locks up and back into a ponytail; and my favorite apple-scented lotion, which you massage into my neck and shoulders in a teasingly slow but satisfyingly deep kneading motion... before you move lower, pulling the top of my romper down to expose my tits to the open air, my nipples stiffening under the slight nighttime breeze blowing into the room. You grope me in smooth, solid motions while carefully teasing and pinching my pink peaks. I want so badly to arch my back into your touch... But I remain still. I remain good. "Excellent job," you purr.

You then move your hands away from my breasts, leaving me wanting so much more as you switch to softly gliding your fingertips over my now-exposed arms and back. The light, teasing touch thrills me in its own way, sending tingles of delight rippling throughout my being. All I can do is breathe through it -- shallow little gasps that do nothing to calm me, and everything to excite you. Hearing me struggle to stay put makes your dick harder still. You lean forward to tell me how positively rigid you're becoming as you expose and explore my body, before grabbing my hair suddenly and adding: "You're going to cry with need tonight, and it absolutely won't be satisfied." The notion of being intensely tortured by you almost causes me to break, to wriggle my hips in growing frustration. But I remain still. I remain good. "Yes, sir," I reply shakily.

Impressed by my fortitude, you decide it's time for my teasing. "Place your knees further apart, and lean against me. Then, go back to not moving a muscle." I sigh a little in relief at getting to shift, then hum happily as I lean myself flush against you. The height difference between us results in my head resting, in the most soothing way, against your shoulder. A comforting bit of warmth, even as I feel myself burning up. You bring your arms in around me -- despite the erotic torture I'm about to endure, I can't help taking a moment for the warmth and safety I feel in your embrace. One arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me closer, still. The other hand glides down my waist, out around my hips, to the hem of my romper and under. It's your turn to gasp when you first make contact with my pussy, in genuine shock that I'm already dripping so profusely for you. I want so badly to squirm at your arousal. But I remain still. I remain good.

You take advantage of the lubrication, starting in on me with more force and speed than I expect. It's heaven -- and with nothing to focus on besides the sensations, I quickly get lost in them. I don't even realize how loudly I'm moaning at first, or even that I'm moaning at all -- I'm so overwhelmed by the way you're working me over. You permit these outbursts, mainly because the sounds of my desire turn you on so desperately. I keep my body where and how it belongs, though, despite how badly I want to grind my hips into your hand. The frantic, yet focused way you touch my clit, combined with the feeling of being completely bound by your arm and your handcuffs... my mind spins once more at the overwhelming onslaught. But I remain still. I remain good.

"Tell me when you're close," you groan in my ear. "Sir, I'm close," I reply instantly -- because it's the truth. Your ministrations are so well-placed, and so wonderfully rough, that I find myself approaching the pinnacle in no time. Of course, that's when you stop, resting your dripping fingers on my thigh. I cry out in protest; you simply tighten your other arm around me, to remind me of what I'm supposed to do, how I'm supposed to act. I rally my mental strength. The moment my breathing appears to slow to something resembling normalcy, you start again. I'm so worked up already that I find myself nearing the edge within a minute's time. "Sir, I'm close," I whisper once more. And once more, you stop.

A minute passes, and you begin once more. A minute passes, and I'm on the brink. Again, you pull away. A hellish, heavenly cycle that we repeat until I lose count of the edges, the minutes, of everything. As promised, tears of pure frustration and need eventually leak past the blindfold and down my cheeks.

But I remain still. I remain good.

Even if it takes everything in me.

By this point, you, too, feel driven almost mad by lust. And since you aren't the one among us being denied tonight, you decide it's time to seek out what you need. Moving us from the floor to your desk provides another sweet little respite -- a transition full of gentle guidance and touches, as you keep me blindfolded and cuffed throughout. When I move, I can really feel how much my clear, sweet wetness has soaked through my romper, more than I could before; the damp fabric clings to my thighs with every shift and step.

Once at your desk, you bend me over, as promised. But before diving into me, you take a moment to look me over -- my long, shining ponytail, perfect for pulling on if the urge arises... my smooth, clear skin, turned a slight, appealing pink by my excited blush... my upper body still fully exposed to you, my hands still held at the small of my back... my round, ample ass lifted in the air by my position... the way arousal drips down my inner thighs... "You look perfect," you tell me, as you step forward to grope my ass and grind your bulge into me. Then, I'm left exposed and waiting once more -- far more briefly though, as you take your sweatpants off.

You shift my romper to the side, fully exposing my entrance. With my heightened senses, I swear I can feel you staring intently at my needy pussy. I'm not sure I've ever felt more deliciously exposed, and I'm not sure I ever want the moment to end. But then, we're both too eager for you to wait any longer, and you dive in -- and we both moan as you sink fully into me. My pussy is all of your dreams come true: impossibly slick, hot and tight. I grip every inch you submerge inside. Your intent had been to build up to a driving pace, but you find yourself unable to take it slow. I simply feel too good, and we both simply want it too much.

"Let me hear you," you bark at me. It's all the permission I need -- having a true, unencumbered vocal outlet for my maddening levels of arousal is so cathartic. I whimper and beg in the most pathetic ways. I know it's useless to do so, but I can't help myself all the same. And anyway, my desperation only urges you on.

You begin to feel your balls tensing as your orgasm nears, and you know exactly what you need to do to tip yourself over the edge: Deny me one last time, after granting me a bit of false hope. "Beg for it, for me, right now," you grunt, while reaching around to tease my clit again, in tandem with your thrusts. I'm so excited by the added attention that I can't help but comply. Your head swims in the soul-deep need you hear in my voice -- I promise you anything and everything for just one orgasm. I drip down your length, to your balls, as I approach cumming once more.

But you're reaching the point of no return, and you were quite clear that I wouldn't be finding release tonight... So, you shift to gripping both of my hips and fucking me at a punishing pace. I almost wail as I'm left hanging once more -- you moan especially loudly at the sound. Meanwhile, my bound hands bounce against my back as you fuck me -- it's this reminder of my utter helplessness before you that sends you hurtling toward the finish line. Well, that and my incessant begging -- the last moments before your orgasm are filled with my desperate pleas. The idea of my unmet, burning need, and my inability to do anything about it, sends you over the edge at last.

As you fly into the abyss, you announce that you're cumming, and we both go still for a moment as you begin to empty pump after pump of hot cum deep into the center of me. We can both feel your dick tensing inside -- my walls continue to hold you tight through each perfect pulse. Then, I simply can't help myself -- I break at last to grind into you and help you ride out this perfect moment. You gasp at the feeling and respond in kind, each of us pushing into the other. Each of us needing that much more of the other, until you've ridden out every last morsel of your especially strong climax.

After a few cleansing breaths, you pull out of me, then set about freeing me -- but not before warning me of how much longer my denial period will last if I try to satisfy myself this evening. Once the cuffs and blindfold are removed, I take a moment to stretch, and to reassume some control of my body. For a moment, at least. "We need a shower," you declare, before sliding my soaked, haphazard romper off of my body and onto the ground, then tossing your t-shirt atop it.

"Yes, sir." I take your hand as you lead the way. Though, the guidance really isn't necessary -- a good girl always listens. The first time.