The Adult Story Hub

Date Published: February 23rd, 2007 Dedication: To the beautiful woman who has taken me to my fantasies and back again by force of will and love.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!! WARNING - ADULTS ONLY !!
!! !!
!! This story contains sexually explicit !!
!! depictions of BDSM activities. If it is not !!
!! legally permitted in your area for you to !!
!! read such material due to your age or any !!
!! other reason, you should stop reading now. !!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License, accessible at the following web site: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/ You may redistribute and modify this story freely under the condition that this prologue until following the first line of asterisks remains intact and unchanged with the exception of the ASSTR Story Code values.

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Foreword:
This short story has pretty much no plot at all, but I'm actually really proud of it as a piece of erotic writing. I don't often manage to create something I like, so this is kind of special in that regard. I also feel that it has the potential to become a smaller piece in a larger tale, should I choose to do that one day.
Please feel free to email me your comments and suggestions. I'd welcome additions to the story as well as mail just to let me know what you thought.
I hope you enjoy it,
"maymay" <bitetheappleback@gmail.com>
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"Please, Mistress!" I begged, sobbing. I screamed it again, "Please!" My cries didn't fall on deaf ears, they fell on hedonic ones. It was the sadistic, ever so slight smile that begun to grace her lips that told me so. She raised her arms again, the heavy, solid metal curtain rod held firmly in both fists, and swung it down with all her might on my bare ass. I screamed yet again and my throat burned hoarsely.

It had already been a good ten minutes since the bruises on my ass and thighs were so dark and prolific that they seemed to merely be the color of my skin. My face was soaked in salt water, tears continuing to stream down my cheeks and pool on the floor beneath me, mixing with my sweat. The liquid made the cold marble floors slick and slippery, making it that much harder for my hobbled, bound form to escape from the brutal beating I was being forced to endure.

The ropes she had tied me with were rough hemp. They had felt like sandpaper when she first bound me in them, and I said as much when she asked how they felt. I was told that she'd get my mind off that feeling soon enough.

She had pushed me to my knees, tied my ankles, calfs and thighs together, and next pulled my wrists behind my back and tied them tightly, too. Then she bent me forward, pressing my face into the ground. She lifted my wrists by pulling on the standing end of the rope and tied them above my head. I suspected it was to be a caning when she carefully pressed my testicles forward between my legs and tightened the ropes on my thighs to ensure that my cock and balls weren't inadvertently struck. Her thoughtfulness sent a shiver of anticipation through me but also frightened me to my core.

The last time she had caned me it had been with an acrylic rod an inch in circumference after tying me in a similar position. I had never cried so hard in my life or screamed so continuously before, but the experience had given me confidence. Afterwards, I had felt accomplished and proud of myself, and for the rest of the week, even though I avoided hard chairs like the plague, I beamed knowing that she was proud of me, too.

Yet none of that confidence made me any less afraid of what was about to happen to me now. After securing my arms, she tied off the rope binding my ankles and then reviewed every knot, every length of rope wrapped around my body, one more time. Then she spent a few moments caressing my skin, my arms, my shoulders, my back, my ass. Her touch was electrifying, and I couldn't help but wriggle in my bonds, enjoying the attention and care she was obviously putting into this experience. Her hands wandered for a few more minutes, finding my growing penis and lingering there for too short a while. I moaned when she moved her hand away.

She left me breathing heavily for a few moments. Bound as I was I couldn't crane my neck enough to see where she went. When she returned she held the steel rod as if it were a short walking stick, planting one end firmly on the ground directly in front of my face. The sudden proximity of the thing and the clang it made as the metal hit the marble floor startled me, and I jumped helplessly in the ropes. She chuckled briefly at this, and then walked out of view as she positioned herself behind me.

Then the beating began. It was almost gentle at first, light and slow for a few strokes. Then the strokes came faster, and eventually grew harder, and before very long I was wailing despite myself, thrashing as much as I could and pleading with her to stop. She didn't speak but she was listening to every sound that came out of my mouth, delighting in my screams of pain. She gets off on the sounds I make when I'm suffering, and the more I implore her to stop, the more unable I become to articulate my cries of pain in anything but long howls, the better.

Thankfully, the caning didn't last too much longer. I couldn't tell at that point what had caused her to stop, but whether it was the weight of the curtain rod or enough satisfaction from making me weep I didn't care. My legs and ass were hot to the touch, throbbing in tandem with my heartbeat, and had turned a deep shade of purple except where the taught ropes cut into my swelling flesh and made my skin turn a searing white color. I started to ease a little when I realized it was over, panting and catching my breath between plainly audible whimpers. My entire body was slick with sweat, strands of my curly hair clung to my forehead and my cheeks, glued on to my face with the combination of spit, mucus and tears that had escaped my mouth and nose.

I didn't dare to move--it hurt too much--though I couldn't help but shake a little bit. I knew she was putting the rod away. She came back a few moments later and kneeled down beside me. I gasped as I felt her hand caressing my body as it did before. I was unprepared for how much the gentle caress hurt, as well as for the gentleness itself. Her fingers lightly traced the outline of my thigh, dipped into the crevice where my leg meets my ass, up my back and onto the base of my neck. As her hand continued to meander into my hair and my body calmed somewhat, she twisted herself so she was crouching on one knee in front of me.

Lest I think she was done with me, she then grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head upwards. I winced in pain, still panting, my mouth agape. "You're a mess," she said evenly, locking her eyes with mine. She had that look in her eye, the one that tells me I'm hers, that she knows it, and that she's going to make use of me because of it. Quickly, she tightened her grip on my hair and slapped me squarely across the cheek, filling the room with the percussive sound. She waited, holding my hair through the few moments it took for me to register the impact and for it to drive home the reality of her power to me. Only after she saw my eyes flutter closed weakly did she release my head, so I let it drop to the
floor.

I heard her getting up and shortly thereafter returning again. She mussed my hair almost playfully, enticing me to open my eyes. Before me on the floor I saw a bottle of KY lube, the curved dildo, and her strap on harness. Oh no, I thought, she's going to fuck me! My eyes widened at the realization and darted upwards, seeking her eyes. I must have looked extremely anxious, because for the first time since she began to tie me up she smiled. Her smile was anything but comforting, however, and as she unceremoniously squeezed a good-sized dollop of lube on to the center of my ass I began to groan and whimper incessantly knowing full well that there was nothing I could do to stop her.

The KY jelly felt extremely cold, almost refreshing against my burning and bruised flesh. After removing her jeans and her t-shirt, and donning the harness and the dildo over her panties, she squeezed another sizable chunk of the lube out of the bottle and on to the tip of her latex-encased silicone member. Then, mounting me from behind as though I were an animal, she began to press the thing in between my ass cheeks, bringing my fears to fruition. The once pearly-white and now darkly-colored orbs of my ass were sensitive and swollen larger than I could remember them ever feeling, which was barring the dildo's intrusive advance. I felt every motion she made as a deeply painful and throbbing ache, yet she grabbed my ass and forced the dildo through my tightly bound thighs.

She was having some trouble finding my sphincter and with every mistaken thrust I gasped and groaned with pain. Instinctively weighing my options, I lifted my ass further up in the air in the vain hope of helping her find her target faster. This made her laugh out loud.

"Oh, yes, good boy!" she exclaimed. "I know you want it. It's coming, it's coming," she cooed sardonically.

Finally she did land the dildo directly against my asshole. I jerked involuntarily in my bonds, and she thrust herself into me without any mercy. "Unngghh!" I groaned loudly through my teeth, the pain of the caning coming to the forefront of my mind again. I tried shifting my weight to get into a more comfortable position, but immediately realized this was a mistake.

She laughed out loud a second time. "You're such a horny slut," she told me, "I'm just getting started and you're already pushing back against me! All right then, my little boy whore, you're obviously asking for it. And so is your bright red ass!" With that, she immediately started thrusting the dildo faster and harder into me. I wailed unintelligibly. She took long, deep strokes, slamming her hips against my swollen legs and ass at an increasing intensity while digging her nails into my sides and using my waist and back for leverage.

Soon, the pain from the onslaught she was giving me started mixing with the pleasure of the ass fucking I was getting. It was only half way her through her assault that I realized she had purposely flipped the dildo upside down so that its bulbous curve would press firmly into my prostate on each stroke. Somewhere between the groans of agony when she thrust into me and the moans of pleasure when she withdrew, my body had begun reacting to the prostate stimulation and my penis was growing hard. It was at that point that I lost control of myself and began to cry again, though softer and in a much more subdued manner than while she was caning me earlier. This was the proof that I was owned; I was her plaything, her toy, subject to the whims of whatever sensation she chose to bestow upon me. My body already knew it and it had surrendered.

Eventually she slowed, tiring, or so I hoped. I was mostly hard by then and leaking pre-cum steadily. Everything was a haze of pain with streaks of pleasure that were frustratingly too transparent to grab on to. I could hear us both breathing deeply.

"Now, fuck me," she commanded, loosening her grip on my hips. I hesitated. "Come on, work that ass of yours on my cock like the good sex slave you are." Still I hesitated as I tried to muffle my crying and waited for the throbbing in my ass and thighs to subside. But she would have none of that. She spanked me hard, eliciting a shriek from me. "Push your ass down my cock!" she yelled at me, spanking me again and again, until I started moving of my own accord in the limited ways that I could.

She knew this was torturous, knew it was hurting me, but even though she was tiring she wasn't done seeing me suffer and so she was making me inflict the pain upon myself. "That's it, thatta boy," she coached, "push further, go deeper, take it all the way in and all the way out."

"It's hard," I whimpered, "it hurts."

"Nonsense," She reached around my waist to take hold of my semi-erect penis in one hand. "I think you're liking this, and you're not even that hard yet," she joked. Her fingers flicked across the head of my cock. "You're dripping, slut, you <em>are</em> liking this!" This discovery seemed to energize her somewhat, because her thrusts became stronger then and she started stroking my cock using some of the KY Jelly and some of my pre-cum as a sticky lubricant.

"Tell me how much you like this," she said in a goading tone. "Beg me to make you cum by fucking your bruised ass. I know you must want to cum," she said deliberately in time with the strokes she was giving my cock, and watching my body begin to tense and twitch closely. "It's been over two weeks now, hasn't it?"

"Almost...three...tw-twenty...days, M-mistress," I stammered, my penis hard now, painful in its own right.

"Oh, well, that's not too bad. Maybe it's too soon for you, maybe you don't want to cum yet." She was still stroking my penis, though lighter now, as if her fingers were feathers.

"No, no, please...!" I said quickly.

"Please what?" She punctuated her question with a simultaneous slap on my ass and a harsh thrust of her strap-on dildo.

"Please make me cum..." I said softly, wincing.

"Why?" She asked me. When I said nothing, she prompted me again, this time in a near whisper. "Why should you <em>ever</em> cum again?"

She was stroking my cock harder now, pumping it, and she was fucking me with that curved dildo slowly, in shorter thrusts, consciously trying to keep it rubbing against my prostate. It was a maddening feeling; the throbbing hot pain in my ass cheeks, the boiling hot need being stirred deep within me, and those amazing, hard pumps up and down the full length of my shaft. I wanted to cum so badly right then and there.

The past twenty days had been full of various kinds of sex as well as masturbation sessions, which were not only encouraged but often required of me. They were always supervised by her, of course. In the few days immediately following a release (and it was always only one), she would often make me come to the brink of orgasm repeatedly in quick succession one or more times a day as foreplay for her own multiple daily climaxes. This helped maintain my general state of arousal and effectively minimized the amount of time I ever felt truly sexually satisfied. She would take extra precautions to ensure I didn't ejaculate during these sexual sessions because I had the messy, nasty habit of doing so accidently while edging if I had just experienced an orgasm recently, and this was expressly forbidden.

Sometimes, I was not allowed to touch myself sexually at all for five days to a week or more after an orgasm unless she granted permission or commanded for me to engage in a masturbation session. I was then almost always bound in some way; she frequently attached a lead to my wrist so that she could pull my hands away from my penis at her will. If she thought I were too weak to go without for any reason, she wouldn't think twice about making use of the chastity devices so that I'd be good for her. There were even times when I hoped for the chastity devices to be locked on to my genitals so that the maddening temptation would at least be eased. Naturally, it was usually those times when she refused to use them unless I begged her extra nicely for "the relief." On a few occasions, she used these opportunities to suggest a spiked device such as a Kali's Teeth Bracelet in a joking fashion and to this day I fear (and hope) that she may not be entirely joking.

Of course, she had full rights to touch me in any way she desired whenever she desired. In the beginning, she used this time period to practice "playing and tuning" my body, in much the same way as she described learning how to knit or how to paint, and similarly to how many people describe playing an instrument. Over time, she learned my body just about as well as I know it--arguably even better--and could read my reactions as if there was a big red timer counting down to my orgasm where only she could see.

She was playing me that way now, her hand enclosed strongly around my cock, squeezing and pumping the length of the shaft in slow, careful motions. She would squeeze the frenulum firmly and stroke it sideways with her thumb as her arm pushed her hand down and then back up over it. Her other hand found its way to my perineum and she was pressing gently, rubbing my prostate even more with her index and middle fingers. Despite the pain in my backside, I was gasping and drawing near a heavenly orgasm, and she knew it.

"Why should I ever let you feel the pleasure of release ever again, hmm?" she continued. She knew the effect her words had on me and was using them solely to add to the torturous frustration and cacophony of sensations and emotions I was feeling. "You want me to let that warm, bubbling pressure deep inside of you boil over, don't you? All the hot cum is inside you bursting to get out. You just want to explode and orgasm again, and again. It'd feel sooo gooooood," she drawled.

"Yes, yes...!" I gasped, practically delirious as she pulled me inch by inch closer to that climax she was describing. "Oh, please, oh please god...please let me cum!" I was getting there, I was so close now.

"So what possible reason is there for you to ever feel that again?"

"Because...!"

"Becaaauuuse...?" she insisted, her tone of voice the exact opposite of my frenetic urgency.

My mouth was open, wanting to scream something, anything, so that she'd push me over the edge and let me cum. All thoughts of pain were gone and had now mingled seamlessly with this unbelievably complex mass of desire, lust, and helplessness I was feeling. Nothing felt singular anymore; the dildo buried deep in my ass, the scratches from her nails on my sides and back, the stress on my shoulders from the bound position of my wrists and arms, the pleasure in my cock, they were all part of the same sensation.

God, that pleasure was so tangible I could feel it in every part of my body and soul, and it invaded every thought I had without cause or concern. She was working me so expertly, and yet watching me so carefully, that I forgot to breathe. As she brought me to that brink, right on the razor's edge of orgasm, she loosened her grip on my penis and stopped her slow, methodical thrusts with the strap-on. She stopped stroking my penis from the head to the base and only continued to do so from the base to the head, knowing that it's the downward stroke that invokes that magical release.

I was desperate, hovering just out of reach of orgasm, but I knew that this moment was a crucial one, and that my answer was part of the key I needed to earn my orgasm.

"Becuase," I said, breathing again for the first time in what felt like an hour, "Because it pleases you."

"And what if it doesn't?"

I knew what she wanted to hear: "If it doesn't please you that..." I gasped...god, I was so close! "...that I cum, then..." it was torture just to say it, "then please don't let me cum."
She was silent. I couldn't hear anything because my focus was entirely on the pleasurable sensations within me and on my cock, and I couldn't see anything because my eyes were jammed shut. She just kept me there, on that edge of total bliss. Was she going to let me cum after all? Suddenly worried, I reiterated.

"I should only ever cum if...if it pleases you that I cum...I should never cum for my own pleasure, but only for yours...only ever for yours, to please you...." It was my mantra, my prayer, and as I was saying it I wasn't sure if I was saying it for her or for myself.

After a few more moments, she finally spoke. "Beg me," she began, "not to let you orgasm ever again."

"Oh, no, please no!" I was shaking. It was unfair of her to do this to me, to pit my body's needs against her orders, to make me beg for something that would be difficult, even torturous for me. I couldn't do it now, I was too close, too overcome by the temptation of that pleasure. It wasn't fair that she was making me do that, not now, not when I needed it so badly!

"Beg me for it," she said again, sternly.

"Please," I said, barely audibly, wanting not to say it but wanting to at the same time, "please don't let me orgasm again."

"You'd like to feel this way forever, wouldn't you, my slave? Always turned on, horny, seconds away from exploding, hungry for an orgasm that you'll never get. You'd love that, wouldn't you, my horny little slave boy?"

"Yes!" I screamed the word as I focused all my willpower and attention on the one single hair-width's distance I was from what I could only have imagined as being the most pleasurable sensations anyone could ever feel. I was so close, and she was still keeping me there with her hands and with her words and that dildo in my ass, and it was driving me mad. How long had she kept me this close? Half a minute? A minute? Five minutes? I had no idea.

"Ahhhh!" I screamed, shaking violently now, crying again and sweating profusely. "Please! Please! PLEASE!" I sobbed, knowing I had to say it, "Please stop! Please don't let me cum!"

And then she stopped, slowly, first removing her hand from my perineum, and then slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling the dildo out of my ass and dismounting me. For a moment, as the dildo popped out of me, I was truly afraid I was going to cum because her hand was still wrapped around my waist and was stroking my cock ever so lightly. At that point, I didn't need more than a puff of air on the right spot to send me over the edge. But I didn't orgasm, and when she finally removed her hand from my cock I collapsed against my bonds, bawling loudly, gasping and panting at my unsatisfied craving.

As I lay there slumped against the floor and in the hemp rope ties, she put away the toys and brought back some paper towels and a full-length bath towel. She let my wrists down from their tie point above me but kept them tied together behind my back. Carefully, she held my arms as she helped me lower them to my back. They hurt from the stress of the position and from the amount of pulling I had done against my bonds. She told me to lay down flat on my stomach and so I did, shivering at the cold spots on the stone floor that I had not yet touched. Methodically, she wiped me down a bit with a few of the paper towels.

She unfolded the bath towel on the ground in front of me and wiped most of my tears and mucus from my face. When I glanced at her, she was looking at me plainly. She wasn't smiling or cross, just looking at me in the same way she looks at the canvas she paints. She was still working on me, and she wasn't done yet.

She slipped out of her panties and tossed them aside, then sat down in front of me on the towel she had laid out, her legs at either side of my body. Her pussy filled my view. I could smell her scent with each breath I took even though my nose was stuffed from crying; her aroma was that strong. She was visibly wet, her pubic hair closest to her labia were moist and matted down flat. My penis stiffened and twitched insistently at the messages my senses were sending me, and I needed no verbal instruction to accompany the gesture of her hand reaching for the back of my head and pulling my mouth to her sex.

My mouth found her clit easily as I pressed my face firmly against her. I buried my nose in the thick brush of her pubic hair and my chin slipped into place against the wetness at the bottom of her vagina. I felt an immediate and incredible desire to take her clit into my mouth with a forceful suction, but I wanted to pleasure her wholly, help her build the pleasurable sensations into a gigantic tidal wave of bliss and then let it crash, recede, and crash again as waves do. So instead I extended my tongue, flattened it strongly at the entrance to her opening, and then licked upwards on her labia, snaking between them until my tongue found her clit and pushed it up against her pubic bone.

"Ohhhh, yessssssss," she hissed breathily to herself. She tightened the grip on my hair with one hand, pulling herself up to a seated position. Her other hand targeted my back like a claw, and she dug her nails into the flesh on the backs of my shoulders. I licked her again and again in this way. With each stroke of my tongue on her sex her fists grew tighter and her nails dug deeper into me, hurting me slightly. I was briefly afraid she would gouge a cut in my skin, but the fear from the thought was quickly replaced by the excitement of what such a wanton act would mean. I hoped then that she would cut me, that I could bring her pleasure with my mouth such that she would not even notice she had cut me with her nails, and so I dove my tongue harder onto her, deep into her vagina, making long, hard passes over her labia and her clit as best I could.

She moaned again, louder this time. She shifted her weight and grabbed my head with both her hands by my temples, pulled me even harder against her body and brought her legs together so they were at my sides. She was breathing faster now. "Good boy, keep going, yes...," she trailed off. I knew I was building the pleasure within her, that it was growing with each stroke of my tongue over her clit, and that she was ready for more now.

I nestled my nose above her dripping sex and with it I parted her labia, moving my mouth up to surround her entire clitoris. I sealed my lips around it and took the whole of it into my mouth quickly. She gasped. With my teeth, I very gingerly bit down at the flesh surrounding her clitoral hood, pushed my face into her until I felt my nose bumping against her pubic bone, and started to nod my head in rapid, short motions up and down. With my tongue, I started lashing her exposed clit from left to right and back again, putting as much pressure on it as I could. She yelled a short moan of delight, and I smiled inwardly as I felt the muscles in her hips and legs begin to tense.

Her legs were now wrapped completely around my head, pushing my head onto her along with her hands, immobilizing my upper body. She rested her ankles on my butt, clearly unaware that the weight of her feet pressed painfully on my bruised ass, and I felt her thighs begin to tighten across my cheeks. I was having trouble breathing but doing my best to keep up the pace anyway.

"Oh my g-...oh m--, oh--! Don't stop...don't st--" she was saying, obviously getting nearer to her orgasm. Her arms pulled me closer, her legs pressed in on my face further, her heels pressed into my ass harder, and despite all the trouble I had breathing--or perhaps because of it--I felt that insistent, powerful tingle in my cock again, drawing my attention back to my sexual cravings. The very same cravings my Mistress was enjoying denying me, and the ones I was fulfilling for her with my oral ministrations as I thought about them.

She let out a loud groan of annoyance, "Mmmph!" and had suddenly pulled my hair to lift my face up from out of her crotch. "Stop thinking about your own pleasure! I told you not to stop!" She slapped me hard across my cheek as she said it. I didn't even blink. I didn't see it coming. I must have been slowing down, distracted by my own arousal or trying to breathe. Probably both. "Your purpose is to pleasure <em>me</em>, and you'd better or I'll cane your ass as if I hadn't yet done so today!" With that she thrust my face back down onto her sopping pussy giving me barely enough time to take a gulp of air. "Now don't stop this time," she warned me.

I struggled for a few moments to regain the position my mouth had had over her clit, but I got it back before too long. Quickly, she was building toward that orgasm again as I lolled my tongue over her most sensitive spot and shook my head as vigorously as I could. She was forcefully grinding against me now, too, writhing in time with my motions, or I with hers.

"Yes! Yes! Y--!" I heard her screaming soon. I did my best to focus on nothing save the motions I was making. I was a toy, her sex toy, and just like a sex toy, I was property she owned whose purpose it was to pleasure her. I pushed the discomfort of the cramping in my shoulders and neck and tongue, the searing scratches from her nails on my back, the battering my ass had taken, and the pain growing in my chest from my lack of oxygen as far out of my mind as I could. None of that mattered: I simply had to keep pleasuring her.

"YES!" She screamed again. One of her hands left my head and flew to her breast to squeeze it, and then her whole body went stiff and silent. I kept sucking her clit. I didn't even think to stop, much less did I dare to stop. Then I felt her spasm, tensely, tightly, pulling my head slightly to one side as her whole torso twisted in utter delight, tensing again and then thrashing back the other way. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" she screamed, a long, deep, guttural bellow again and again, spasming almost uncontrollably as she clutched my head and my hair with her other hand and her powerful thighs.

Finally, she began to relax. Her legs dropped open to either side of my face and her hands released their grip on my head. I held my chin slightly off the floor, panting. She was still spasming a little bit, and I watched her relishing the sensational aftershocks for a few moments. Eventually her hand found the top of my head and she gave me an approving pat.

"Good boy," she said quietly, patting my head more, "good boy." I was instantly filled with a calm, joyful feeling, and I could not help but smile sheepishly. She lay there for a minute or two with her eyes closed, breathing deeply, recovering. She was smiling. After a short respite, however, she placed her index finger under my chin and lifted my head. Scooting herself downwards enough for my mouth to reach her pussy again, she told me, "Do that again, and I'll give you a treat."

I smiled back at her and at the incentive. Still panting, I lowered my head down to her sex to nuzzle her lips open and begin to pleasure her again. I tried with all my energy, but I could tell from the way she was petting my head and stroking my hair out of my face that I was not able to continue in the way she wanted.

"Mmm," she mused, "perhaps I should keep your orgasm from you until you build the stamina to do this for me for as long as I like. You're getting a lot better, but a really good slave boy should have a tongue that doesn't get tired after a single cum." I whimpered in response as an animal might, and though I attempted again to double my efforts, my muscles had already given out on me. Soon she grew tired of my efforts and placed her palm on the bridge of my nose--my signal to stop--so I lowered my head to the ground once more. Barely moving back, she began to masturbate, rubbing her clitoris vigorously with her fingers and using my back and my head as a footrest for her outstretched legs.

She gave herself another screaming orgasm, then another, and then another, building my own excitement with each one. I was doused in the scent and the fluid of her pleasure. I began to fantasize during my reprieve, imagining what it would be like to feel her orgasm clenching down on my straining shaft, having that powerful gripping sensation be the catalyst that sets off an orgasm of my own. She had occasionally let me penetrate her, when I'd been good and she'd been feeling generous, but never have I experienced her orgasm during intercourse.

When she was finally satiated, she forced her fingers into my mouth to have me suck them clean. Then she tapped my lips--my signal to lick her clean--and I lovingly caressed her soaked pussy and inner thighs with my tongue, licking her juices off her body. I had to be delicate while I was cleaning her because my face was drenched in her cum and sweat. Still bound with my hands behind my back, it was difficult to achieve the angles I sometimes needed to keep my skin from touching hers without the leverage of my arms and still pick up all the fluids with my outstretched tongue.
"You're such a good boy, my pet," she praised me. "Tonight I'll put you in the kennel with the other puppies. You know it's been a while for them as well, so they'll be randy. But that's okay. You're such a good little fuck toy that I'm sure you'll be able to handle all three of them."