Sometimes, I write captions. And, sometimes, those captions get responses. And then, on rare occasions, those responses are so spot on to how I would actually react… Well. Y’all should just read this.
“What happens when I do this, hm?”
She lets out a whimper, her mouth opening wide, faltering along the way.
“I want an answer, pet. Now.”
She bites down on her lip, pausing to try and take a deep breath. “I feel it down there, Sir. I… I know I’m getting wet.”
He raises an eyebrow, unable to keep from smiling at her predicament. “And if I twist a little bit, what then?”
She moans, her back arching from the bed. “Please, please touch my pussy, Sir!”
“Oh, not a chance, little one. I’m having fun with this. I love when you squirm for me, so I’ll enjoy it for as long as I see fit.”
He tugs until she’s tight, stiff and trembling, then runs the backs of his nails down the sides of her breasts. The skin prickles all the way from her ribs to her collarbone: she jerks and gasps when he finds her nipple again and flicks.
All five fingertips circle the peak and slowly spread apart: stroking her, soothing her, letting the skin slowly start to relax. She feels a tiny bit of relief, thinking maybe he’s about to move on, but disappointment too. All that focus and attention on one place is powerful: she never thought she could be controlled so effectively with just one hand, and nowhere near her pussy.
Then his hand slides up to her throat.
"S-sir," the word comes frantically, but he’s not gripping tight, just… holding. His palm molds to her and his thumb and finger rest just behind the corners of her jaw, soft but undeniable.
"Tell me again what’s happening to your pussy, girl," he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.
It’s fucking gushing, that’s what’s happening. “Uh. Sir. It’s wet because y-y-youOH!” He’s finally taken his mouth to her breast, rolling her nipple between lip and tongue, pulling back to puff a little air and watch it tighten up again so fast it aches.
"It’s wet because I’m playing with my property," he finishes for her, his lips brushing again and again against her as he speaks. "Just one tiny piece of my property, albeit a flawless one. Do you like it when I play with the things I own, pet?"
"YES, Sir," she says, arching to try to get her breast into his warm mouth again, but he chuckles as he pulls back and gives her another flick.
"What did you want me to do with that pussy again?"
It’s a trap, of course it’s a trap, but what is she going to do? “Please touch it. Please!”
"What will you do for me if I agree to touch your wet, warm, needy, throbbing pussy right now, girl?"
It pours out of her: promises, bargains, pleading and cajoling. She won’t touch for a week. She’ll touch every hour for a week. He can fuck her in any hole, use her, punish her, rent her out and watch. She’ll use her body in any way he pleases, go naked, go belted, go collared, go anywhere he orders her if he’ll please just touch…
The tiniest fraction of tightness on her throat, and she understands. Her mouth clicks shut.
"I’m going to touch you now—because I choose to, not because you are particularly convincing—but rest assured I will hold you to each and every one of those, pet. One at a time, thoroughly, and at length. Understand?"
"Always, Sir," she whispers.
When his hand finally slides up each side of her velvety, bare lips, touching her pussy without a hint of penetration or pressure on her clit, the noises that come from her throat are kittenish and desperate. He takes his fingers up and down, again and again, drawing closer and closer to her inner lips, and then withdraws—
Only to land flat with a sharp, wet smack.
Convulsing, clenching, edging, crying out from the shock more than the pain, she wonders if he was taking notes or what.