His hand continues to lazily slide down your body, all five of His fingers raking your flesh now to leave what feels like icy, burning lines in their wake. At last, His hand returns to your throbbing, leaking centre. He cups your mound, palm just at the start of your slit, two fingers to the side of either outer labia, His middle finger resting atop where they part. "You want me to take you, don't you Snackling?" He whispers inside of your mind as His finger starts to lazily toy with the piercing through your clit. He rolls it back and forth, each touch a jolt of pleasure that borders on the painful. "You want me to stop toying, and to stretch you around my cock, don't you?" You catch yourself almost nodding, delirious at this point. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.
"Gooooood," He trills inside of you, finger moving down to finally part your lips fully. The thick digit slides smoothly inside of you, the constant leaking of your juices providing Him with a slick entry inside of you. He gives you the entire length of His finger to the knuckle, a slow, languid penetration that stops when He can go no further. His finger curls upward, as if beckoning you, and He starts to stroke it against the rough flesh of the roof of your tunnel. Each firm stroke is a brilliant nova of pleasure with how he's manipulated your senses. Your vision tunnels, black creeping in around your peripheral vision as all you can do is make one long sound that transitions from moan to whimper to scream to gasp in the span of seconds and then repeats. You want, oh so badly, to buck your thighs against His finger, drive Him deeper, faster, harder. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.
His hand at your throat suddenly comes to life as He continues to slide His finger deep within you. He pulls back against your throat, the tight grip increasing until suddenly, you can't breathe. No sound manages to escape from you as He keeps up with finger fucking your sodden cunt. Unable to give voice to the torture of pleasure that he's visiting upon your body, you start to grow desperate. The urge to move on Him is powerful, it consumes you. Just one finger, moved to rub your clit and take you over the edge. A desperate grab at His wrist, either doesn't matter, to grant yourself a momentary reprieve. Flexing on His lap and arching your back to gasp your thanks to him. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.
"Good girl...good, my love. I'm so proud of you, my little Snackling," comes the whisper from inside of you, your Master's words penetrating the haze of pleasure he's planted within you. His hands both stop, relax slightly, His finger slipping from inside of you to instead tap gently at your cleft. "Just a little longer," comes the second whisper as He removes His hands from you, sliding His thumbs under His waistband to lower His pants, cock springing free to glisten with His precum in the low light of the room. His hand guides the thick, leaking head to your entrance then rests it there, waiting. Both arms move now, hooking His forearms under your calves, pulling your legs back until your knees touch your shoulders and His hands both rest at your throat. He takes it in His hands, tenderly, lovingly, thumbs stroking the line of your jaw before they interlace with the rest of His fingers around your neck. His hips move as He pushes you down and He easily thrusts into you, your body forced down until your nether lips are split around the base of His shaft, parted as if kissing His groin and leaking all over. He pauses, and you can just sense Him waiting for any sign of movement, flexing of muscle or the like. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.
He throbs inside of you, thickening further, growing even longer, the thought that the control of one's blood being rather useful winding through your mind before flitting away as He pulls you off of him, just leaving His crown inside. A harder thrust this time, the globes of your ass shaking with the impact against His thighs. His hands tighten around your neck, a handle that He uses to drive you up and down His shaft again and again, the wet slap of your flesh against His providing a percussive beat in the room. You moan, whine in the back of your throat, scream as your orgasm takes you, that dam inside finally bursting to send you plunging into the very depths of your being in pleasure. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.
Riding that wave of pleasure sends you to greater and greater heights, His hands gripping tighter and tighter around your throat until once again you're forced to be silent, nothing able to escape as He drives you down on Him again and again. A second, and then a third climax rip through you, forced from you when His strokes in and out find just the right spot inside. His hands relax a moment, allowing you to draw a deep, gasping breath before they lock again and He thrusts into you with a single minded frenzy. With a growling moan, He explodes inside of you, throbbing shaft and crown flooding you with His cool seed. You start to leak around His shaft, your fluids mixed with His trickling down His sac and puddling on the couch. A long sigh escapes Him as He settles you down on His lap again, still inside of you, pressing deep. He releases your throat, unhooks your legs, and gently guides them down to sprawl outside of his. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.
And, right now, in this moment, you can't move. You don't want to move. You mustn't move.
