Waiting for Him to cum

I wake up with a start, my nightmare of being buried alive still frighteningly real. The muscles in my shoulders and thighs ache and my nipples sting. I try to close my legs and sit up but I can’t move! I panic, fighting the tight restraints on my wrists and ankles until I realize where I am. The hot, sweat-soaked leather of the rack beneath me is familiar, reassuring. My body is stretched to the limit, arms pulled straight out above my head, legs spread as far apart as the “wings” holding them can go, exposing me, leaving me totally vulnerable. I try to guess how long I’ve been in restraint but I can’t. It could be a few hours or much longer. The room is so well sealed that no sound or light penetrates it. The nearly complete lack of sensory stimulation sharpens my senses. I listen to the sound of my breathing and savor the smells permeating the warm, moist air; leather, wood, sweat and musk. I flex my muscles and tug against the restraints to work out the cramps and wait. My desire burns like a low-banked flame. I fantasize about Him lying on me, holding my wrists above my head, our bodies moving together until the flame grows uncomfortably high and I have to force myself to stop thinking about it. I may have a long wait and time stands still when He’s not with me.

The door opens. Bright light dazzles my eyes. He stands silently in the doorway, watching me. I look at Him over my sweat- shiny breasts, tortured into sharp cones by leather thongs attached to my rings, pulling them toward the ceiling. An alligator clip bites relentlessly into the stretched flesh just below each ring. He holds up a glass, smiles, takes a sip and walks slowly to my side. I watch sparkling beads of moisture run down it and suddenly realize how thirsty I am. I wish I could lick my lips. I press my tongue helplessly against the ball gag and stare longingly at the glass.

“Is My little bitch getting thirsty?” He takes another drink, swishes the amber liquid and ice around and smiles.

I nod and mumble “Yes, Master” unintelligibly against the gag. He removes an ice cube and rubs it over my parched lips. Most of the water trickles down my cheeks and chin but a few drops seep around the gag straps and into the corners of my mouth. I plead with my eyes for Him to free my mouth and give me a sip. He places the glass next to my cheek on the rack, teasing me with its cold wetness and pops the ice into His mouth. He glances nonchalantly at his watch and smiles.

“No, it hasn’t been very long. You aren’t really thirsty yet.” He rubs his finger tips over my distended breasts, then presses down on them, stretching my nipples still farther. I groan and fight to raise myself a bit. He lets me struggle for a while, then takes pity on me. I nod gratefully, acknowledging His mercy when He removes the thongs. He leaves the alligator clamps on to bite my nipples. He doesn’t want to spoil me. He fishes out another cube and slowly traces it over my lower lip and chin, down the hollow of my neck and between my breasts. It leaves a trail of cold flame behind. My nipples harden. The little teeth in the clamps bite deeper. He moves the ice slowly around my breast, circling closer to my nipple until He finally touches it. The clamp suddenly feels like it’s electrically charged, sending little shocks into my nipple wherever the ice touches. He pulls my ring upward, stretching my breast into a sharp cone again, setting it on fire.

I struggle to raise myself off the rack to ease the pain. He just pulls harder until I settle back to accept my torture. He holds the ice against my nipple. It melts quickly, sending a little rivulet of cold down over my breast and ribs. He does the same things to my other breast. The tingling radiates from them into my stomach, then lower. He removes the clips, bends over me and takes my nipples alternately into his mouth, sucking gently, rubbing his tongue over their tips above the rings. My arousal and thirst burn with equal intensity in my consciousness. I tilt my hips, begging Him to caress me and rub my cheek against the cold, wet glass. He places the nearly melted cube in my navel and takes another from the glass. He squeezes this one just above my mouth, letting it drip slowly onto the ball. I finally collect a little moisture in my mouth and struggle against the gag to swallow.

He spreads me with His finger tips, presses the cube against me and slides it, a second, then a third inside me. The ice burns wherever it touches. He forces them deep with His fingers. I tighten around His knuckles, trying to hold Him inside me. He withdraws them slowly, then runs His cold, wet finger tip lightly up and down the insides of my thighs, not quite touching my labia. I can feel each beat of my heart in my nipples, womb and clit. I can’t lie still. I thrust upward and try to rub against His fingers. He touches my clit for an instant. I continue to move helplessly, searching desperately for His hand. I need to come so badly I don’t care how severely He’ll punish me afterward. I can’t help myself and He knows it.

“You don’t learn, do you?” He demands. “You’re always trying to come without permission.” He plays with the strap securing my wrist. Maybe He’ll free my hand and allow me to masturbate. He loves to watch me make myself come, always in tight restraint, so I have to struggle to do it. It humiliates me to have Him watch me do what no one else has seen, to expose my most intimate secrets. I hate myself but I beg with my eyes for Him to let me do it. I’m suffocating with desire.

He frees my right hand. I hold it away from my body, obediently waiting for Him to give me permission to touch myself. He pulls my labia apart, exposes my clit and moves the tiny ring in it back and forth with a finger tip. The need to have His hand inside me is more than I can bear.

I touch the back of it with my finger tips. He pushes my hand away and slaps my swollen mound.

“Never touch Me without permission,” He snarls. “Put your hand back over your head, bitch! You don’t deserve to have Me finger you!” He restrains my wrist and laughs as I tug desperately against the restraint. He blindfolds me. I’m glad because it hides the tears of frustration which threaten to flow at any moment. I don’t want Him see me cry. It proves my inner weakness.

He opens the door and speaks to someone! Their footsteps approach my bound, naked body. No one could imagine how I’ve degraded myself in the month we’ve lived together or the things I let Him do to me! I struggle futilely and shake my head, pleading with Him not to let a stranger see my humiliation. He binds my chest to the rack with a wide leather strap just below my breasts. It’s so tight across my ribs I can barely inhale. He fumbles in the wet hair at the back of my neck and unbuckles the gag. I try to force it out of my mouth with my tongue but the ball is too large. He lets me struggle with it for a while, then He tugs on the straps. Pain flares through my jaw and cheeks as I force my mouth open wide enough to allow Him to pull the ball past my teeth. I close my mouth gingerly. The pain slowly subsides. It won’t help to plead with Him to make the other person go away. My secret isn’t a secret any longer. I resign myself to the unwanted presence. I suddenly feel like I’m dying of thirst. I lick the condensation from the side of the glass.

“She’s lovely spread out like this,” a woman’s voice says from the darkness. I feel incredibly vulnerable. Who is she? How much does she know about me? Her presence makes me feel even more naked and compromised.

“I can’t work with these clamps in my way. I have to take them off.” Each one sends a sudden burst of intense pain through my nipple as the little teeth pull free of the tormented flesh. Soft fingers massage my nipples, replacing the ache of the clamps with an ache of a different kind. She cups and molds my breasts. “Nice and firm,” she comments as she fondles me. “Her nipples nice and big and pale.” Something cold splashes over my chest. The pungent stench of alcohol fills my nose. I’m suddenly a little girl again, sitting in the doctor’s office, awaiting a dreaded injection. The fear it calls forth is deep rooted, instinctive. For me, it is the smell of pain without pleasure.

“Such lovely white skin.” Her voice is different now; softer and lower. A pointed fingernail traces lines on the outer edges of my breasts. “I’m going to do it from here to here.”

“Yes, cover them,” He agrees. An angry buzzing sound is quickly followed by a series of sharp needle pricks in the outer curve of my left breast. I panic and scream, squirming helplessly against the unyielding leather straps. “Make another sound and I’ll put the ball back in,” He warns coolly. I bite my tongue and suppress the urge to scream. They make small talk as she works. They obviously know each other well. I’m suddenly struck by how little I know about this man to whom I’ve surrendered my life. I wonder whether He used to fuck her, or if He still does. I become aware of her sweet, musky perfume through the smell of the alcohol. I wonder whether they’re nude, fresh from His bed. I can’t see anything so my imagination runs wild. Does she let Him do to her what He does to me; things I couldn’t have imagined a few weeks ago which I now not only accept but crave? I try to put it out of my mind. I’ve surrendered myself to Him completely. He can do whatever He wants to.

The pricking advances slowly over my entire breast, except for my nipple which she saves for last. The pain is much more intense as she works on it. I dig my nails into my palms and bite the inside of my cheek. She stops and asks Him to rub her shoulders. I silently pray “please, God, let it be over.”

She purrs “thanks, Hon. That feels wonderful!” Then she giggles and says “Oh! Don’t get me started if you expect me to be able to finish this!” She sighs deeply and begins again, working slowly through my cleavage and across my right breast. Once again, she saves the nipple for last, letting me anticipate the pain. This time it stings so badly I moan. He rubs the ball gag against my lips, reminding me to keep silent. The humming and needle pricks finally stop. She swabs me with alcohol. My chest feels like it’s covered with red hot steel wool. “That’s it!” Isn’t it beautiful?”

She pats my stomach and says approvingly “A perfect subject. Her belly is so nice and flat,” she emphasizes the last word “and smooth and her skin is just like satin.” She toys with my pubic hair and comments “nice and soft.” I feel like a dog being judged at a show. She acts like she owns me! Why is He letting her? I almost say something, then think better of it. I’m in no position to object. She touches the inside of my left knee and traces a line from just above it to the same place on my right one, spreading me as she draws her nail across my labia. I gasp and squirm as her finger tip penetrates me before moving slowly and deliberately on. She pinches my labia tightly together. “I want to ring her now.” What is she talking about? I’m on the verge of screaming again!

“Later,” He replies. “I’m not ready. I’ll need her until you’re back to normal.”

She sighs. “Yes, I know how You are! You need a toy! I’ll put up with it and make do. It won’t be that long now.” She cups my chin and presses her lips to mine. I try to turn away but she holds me more tightly, digs her nails into my cheeks and whispers “this is just the beginning, Emily! Enjoy it while you can!” against my mouth. Her tongue slides between my teeth and brushes mine, then she releases me. “It’s hard on a bitch to be in heat and not get enough, isn’t it?” She drops something on my stomach, pats me between my legs then packs up her instruments. The door opens. Her footsteps recede.

He calls out “Relax and make yourself at home, Linda.”

She laughs and answers “I intend to! My back and legs are killing me! I’m so tired of it. I can’t wait for it to be over. I’m going to soak in the hot tub for a while, then take a nap. Wake me up when you’re ready. And David,” she adds in a husky whisper, “It’s been a long time. Save some for me Don’t keep me waiting too long.” I try to visualize a woman to go with the name and low, sexy voice. Is she younger than I? Older? More beautiful?

“It won’t be long now and you’ll look and feel better than ever after you have it,” He says and closes the door. She’s pregnant! Is it His? Oh, God how I wish I could at least see her. It won’t do any good to ask Him what’s going on. If He wanted me to know, He’d tell me. He frees my right wrist. I want to tear the blindfold off to see what she’s done to me but I don’t dare. I gingerly touch the thing lying on my stomach. It’s an open ring about a quarter inch thick and an inch in diameter. It’s halves are hinged at one end. One free end is sharply pointed. The other is hollow.

He lets me hold it for a minute, then takes it away and says “you’ll have plenty of time to play with this later.” I can’t imagine what He’s talking about. He seems to read my mind and laughs. “Don’t worry about it now. You’ll understand soon enough!” He frees my hand and puts it between my legs. I press it tightly against my pubis. The moist hair is slippery under my palm. He hasn’t given me permission to masturbate so I hold my fingers obediently away from myself. The ice has long since melted away inside me, leaving white heat in its place. I want to put my fingers inside and rub my swollen G-spot but I can’t without His approval. I ask permission to stimulate myself. He ignores my request and stretches my labia. A mixture of water from the melted ice and my lubricant trickles out over my anus. His hands brush my outstretched fingers as He attaches clamps and tightens them until they pinch. I fight the urge to grasp His hand and move against it.

I don’t because He would only make me wait longer for being so impudent. He pulls the clamps outward and ties their thongs to rings in the sides of the rack, stretching me, holding me open. He’s never done this before. The warm air feels cool against the wet, burning tissue. My gaping openness makes me feel incredibly vulnerable and hot.

“You may rub your clit until I tell you to stop,” He commands, then adds offhandedly “but leave your cunt alone. You’re getting too loose.” He’s responsible for that but He blames me. He fists me so hard that He’s stretched me. He uses both hands sometimes, up to His wrists. When He makes love to me now, He’s rough, not gentle like He was at first. I miss the tenderness but I need satisfaction even more and the more I get, the more I need. Maybe He’s saving the tenderness for Linda. I rub the hard point of flesh in little circles that my hips soon mimic. “That’s it, you cock teasing bitch,” He snarls. “Show Me how you did it after driving Me crazy on a date and telling Me ‘No!'”

Damn it! I wish I hadn’t told Him about that! I think back to the times I couldn’t even wait to get my clothes off before I started, skirt pulled up around my waist, rubbing myself through my panty hose and praying my room mate wouldn’t come in and catch me. I didn’t tell Him that I often did it before our dates as well to keep myself under control. I finally agreed to move in with Him when I couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Being a virgin at 27 (I never thought oral sex affected virginity) was a strain before I met Him; He made it unbearable.

I rub harder. The feeling intensifies. “That’s it, bitch!” He says as He strokes Himself. “Show Me how you did without cock for so long!” I loathe myself while I’m doing it but I can’t help myself. I have to come so badly I can’t think of anything else! I dig my heels into the rack and pull as hard as I can against the unyielding ankle restraints in a vain attempt to pull my knees up a little. It’s so hard to come with my legs stretched straight out like this!

He finally pulls my face toward Him. I open my mouth. He fills it with His hardness. I close my lips around Him, sucking gently, swirling my tongue around. She’s probably much tighter than I am (although not for long, I think gleefully, picturing her with her knees high, feet in the stirrups, screaming, stretching and straining to deliver a hopefully large headed infant) but I know I can do this better than anyone He’ll ever be with. He’s so hot He can’t wait for me to bring Him to a climax gradually the way I usually do. He grabs Himself and pumps His cock rapidly, carelessly hitting my chin with each stroke. His first jet splashes my cheek and fills my eye with thick, stinging come. He places himself in my open mouth and coats my tongue and the back of my throat. I suck hard and swallow greedily, trying to quench my thirst with His salty, spent passion. He commands me to stop playing with myself. We both know I can’t. I’m so close! My need is overpowering! The clamps hold me open, gaping, exposing my engorged inner lips. I touch them. The need to have something inside me is suddenly overwhelming. I finger myself frantically until He pulls His still-hard cock from my mouth and pins my hand over my head. I plead and cry while He restrains it. He ignores my frantic pleas and the pelvic thrusts I am powerless to control.

“Your disobedience and lack of will power are unbelievable.”

I nod my head and whisper “I’m sorry, Master. Please make love to me.”

“You want more stimulation? Very well!”

I do my best to hold still as He presses the skin around my clit, exposing it. I feel cold metal against it, then the clamp closes in a burst of excruciating pain. I bite down on my lip until I taste blood to keep from screaming in the hope that He won’t use the ball gag again. He only leaves the clamp on for a moment but it seems like eternity. The pain is quickly replaced by even stronger desire. I almost come from the sensation when He puts the clamps back on my nipples! Almost, but not quite. If He’d only enter me now, I’d come immediately.

“I suppose you’re anxious to take a look…?” He removes the blindfold. I blink away my tears and stare at my reflection. Ornate black script covers my breasts, defiling their whiteness, nearly obliterating the delicate pinkness of my nipples: Linda’s Slave Bitch. I stare at it until He turns off the light and closes the door, plunging the room into total darkness. The image of my ruined beauty burns brightly in the blackness. Despite everything, my need is undiminished. He lit a fire the first time He restrained and made love to me that nothing can extinguish. Just the thought of having sex in restraint is enough to make me wet. I lie open and empty, waiting for Him to fill me. He won’t return until he’s ready for another orgasm, hopefully inside me. The clamps on my labia are driving me crazy. I know I’ll be able to come when He makes love to me. I always do, over and over, even as He commands me to hold back. His salty come makes me even thirstier than before. I try to lick the glass again. It tips over, falls and breaks, spilling its precious contents on the floor. I imagine her mocking laughter in the shattering glass. Damn her! She’s keeping Him from me! Is He holding her, kissing her soft lips, pressing Himself against the hard roundness of her (their?) pregnancy? Or lying next to her, sweating against her back, taking her from behind to avoid her bloated belly? I picture Him moving in her, rubbing her clit, massaging her milk- heavy breasts and start to cry in rage and frustration. Mine are on fire. The clamps bite down relentlessly, focusing my attention on my ever-mounting desire. My clit feels like it’s twitching! I can’t stand it! I scream and buck my hips and fight the restraints until I’m too exhausted to do anything but cry. Oh, God! How long is He going to make me wait?