Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“But then I wouldn’t get to play with the paddle.”
The softest fur rubs up my calf. It feels impossibly good.
“There are so many implements in here. I could try them all.”
I whimper with fear, drowning in happiness.
“But I don’t want to keep you in cuffs too long. And again, I wonder. . .” He pats something firm against me, and it’s no longer the paddle. Or it’s not the soft, fur-covered one. He swats me with the smooth, hard edge, and pain blooms through me. Another strike to the sensitive crease under the ample curve of my bottom smacks the breath out of me.
Then he does something new. He rubs the paddle between my legs. Lights flash behind my eyes.
“I wonder if I could make you cum like this?”
“Yes, please.” I rock my hips forward, wishing there was something between my legs I could rub against.
“An orgasm wasn’t a part of your scene requests. Some submissives separate kink from sex. I thought you might be one. But now, I wonder if you’ve never thought it was possible.”
He’s talking too much. I can’t think. Shut up and make me come!
“Your rules say no touching, and I agreed to follow the rules tonight. Unless you want me to break them. . .”
“Yes.” The word is out of me before I can stop it.
“But no,” he continues with that godsdamned patient and amused tone. He knows what he’s doing to me. “We’re in the scene now, and you’re not in the right mental state to consent.”
“I want it.” I press myself to the cross. My breasts are swollen, sensitive, and filled with heat. I need someone to touch them with gentle, skilled fingers or the punishing strands of the flogger or even the sadistic flat of the paddle—please, anything.
“Shhhh, little bird.”
I’m making little desperate noises in my throat. “I need it.”
“Can you come like this?” He smacks my sit spots again, hard enough to jolt me forward. I whimper at the flare of pain, which is followed by the intense pressure in my sex. “From just pain? Just the paddle?”
“No. I need more. I can’t come from just that.”
“Oh, I think you can.” He strikes me again, and the fist of delicious tension in my sex pulses outward. “If I can make you come without touch, will you scene with me again?”
“Yes.” Anything.
He chuckles. “You can’t consent, so I won’t hold you to it.” Another tap of the paddle. My middle is filled with golden heat, ready to spill over. I’m so close. One brush of my clit will set me off.
The handcuff chains clink as I writhe, desperate.
“Shhhh, little bird. Calm yourself. I’ll give you what you want.”
The paddle smacks dead on the globe of my right rear cheek, then the other. Then something smooth rubs between my legs. I look down as if I could see it, but the blindfold still has me caught in this dark world. My guess is he’s using the narrow handle of the paddle. I bear down. I need more. . .
He taps the firm surface between my legs. Little sparks fly up from the contact.
Another tap between my legs and then a harder pat. Another and another as he works up to a hard swat. Each blow sends shockwaves through my sex.
It’s too much. It’s just enough. My inner muscles cramp.
He rubs the smooth paddle handle between my legs. At first, it’s just through the lingerie, the gossamer fabric rubbing against my swollen sex, rough and slippery with my essence. But then the handle itself pushes against my clit, angled right where I need it. I rock my hips forward, and he holds the handle still.
He’s still right behind me. So close, if I push backward as far as my binds will allow, I’d be leaning against him. Instead, I press against the cross and chase my orgasm, grinding down on the paddle.
I’m so close. . . just a little more. . .
He gently taps the handle on my sex. The blow makes me try to jerk my legs together, but I can’t move them. He rubs lightly and then taps again. I’m teetering on the edge now, and he’s applying the perfect amount of pressure with the paddle.
It’s like he’s reading my mind. Or my body. He’s taking note of every sigh, every cry, every flinch, and every shiver.
I go over the edge, keening. He keeps rubbing me, pushing it further, driving me on. I strain against my ankle cuffs, trying to close my legs around the pressure. His touch lessens immediately, leaving me to shake in unbearable ecstasy against the cross.
My chest heaves, rubbing my breasts against the apex of the X.
I’m boneless against the cross. Completely undone. He’s cracked me open with this scene in a way that no one has before. He’s flayed and lain me out before him, poking and prodding at my insides. My heart’s a black and poisoned thing, an oozing, open wound. The only way I can bear it is to make my outsides hurt as much as my insides. Let the pain bleed through to my skin.