Chapter 1 #2
“Now you’re going to shut your mouth and do as I tell you. You’re not going to speak unless I ask you a question. You’re not going to move unless I command it. Nod if you understand.”
I nod, and I can feel my panties getting damp. No man has ever made my body react like this.
“Good, pet,” he says, hitting the T. “Since we only have one session, I will focus on solving that problem you’re having. Now tell me, pet, is there anything else I need to know, other than your aversion to touch?”
I preen at the nickname, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the overachiever in me, desperate to capture my teacher’s attention? “It’s not an aversion. I want to be touched, but for some reason, my body rejects it.”
“If you don’t like how I’m touching you, use your safe word.”
“That’s if I don’t punch you first.”
“You won’t lay a finger on me.”
“How do you know?” I ask curiously.
“Because you’ll be restrained,” he says, and I inhale a sharp breath as something flutters in my stomach.
“I will prove to you that you want to be touched. That you need it. And then I’m going to make you come.
” He grabs my wrist, securing it so I’m facing the cross, and then repeats the process with my other hand and feet.
“You said we weren’t going to do it.”
“I said I don’t fuck subs, but there are other ways to make you come. I also told you not to speak unless spoken to. If you disobey again, you’ll be spanked. Do I make myself clear?” he says, pinching my chin between his thick, calloused fingers.
Desire courses through me at his naughty words, and I nod my head, unsure if I should respond verbally.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘Yes, sir,’” he says, his voice menacing along the shell of my ear as I feel his hard body behind me.
“Yes, sir,” I croak out.
“I knew you were a good girl. So good, you didn’t notice my hands traveling up your skin.”
My eyes close, and I realize his large hands are covering my stomach over my shirt. Normally, I’d be slapping or punching by now, but instead my body relaxes, and I fight the urge to lean into his touch. How is he doing this? Is it because his identity is a mystery?
His pinkie moves down to the hem of my shirt and glides along the bare flesh of my abdomen as I suck in a breath.
“You like that,” he says, sounding slightly surprised, and I nod, unsure if that was an invitation to answer or move.
He bunches the fabric, allowing his warm skin to hover over my flesh.
The heat coming off his hand has me wound up in anticipation, and I arch toward his palm.
“Don’t move,” he says as he pulls his hand away from my skin.
He steps back, and my disappointment is palpable.
This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to someone’s touch instead of dreading it.
Normally, if a guy tries to touch me, I’m too in my head, worried about my reaction.
But being restrained, giving over control to this man, has me craving his touch.
There’s movement behind me, and it sounds like he’s opening a cabinet, but I dare not look. When he approaches me seconds later, I hear the thwack of what sounds like a whip, and I try to relax my shoulders. Is he going to hurt me?
“This is a riding crop,” he says close to my neck.
Moments later, I feel something hard traveling up the outside of my thigh and along my backside.
It takes everything in me not to react, not to move, but I can feel my panties growing wetter.
I try to clench my thighs together, but it’s impossible with my bindings.
I have this overwhelming need to please him, to obey and make him proud.
“You’re wet. I bet you’re soaking your little white cotton panties just thinking about what it would feel like if I touched you there. My fingers teasing your opening while my tongue flicks at your clit until you’re begging me to stretch you with my cock.”
A small whimper escapes my throat at his dirty words. No one has ever talked to me this way, and I can feel my arousal pooling between my legs.
The tip of the riding crop moves slowly up my inner thigh.
When it reaches my crotch, he rubs it back and forth, using the stiff handle to separate my lips through my panties, and the friction against my center feels illicit.
A wave of arousal courses through me, causing my hips to rock against the implement.
“How bad does this good little girl want to come? Tell me.”
“I… I need to… I need it. Please… Please, sir.”
He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and then the riding crop is gone, and I’m thrusting my hips against nothing but air.
Is this my punishment? Is he going to keep teasing me, making me yearn for his touch before denying me the very thing I’ve rejected from every guy I’ve been with, yet somehow crave from him?
Is it the teasing? Normally guys rush right in, trying to grab every part of me they can, but he’s drawing this out.
Only focusing on me, not his pleasure. Is that why it’s different?
Is it because I don’t know who he is? I can’t see the way he reacts, can’t read his emotions, and yet for some reason I’ve never wanted to please a person more.
Fingers glide up the outsides of my legs as he slips his hands under my skirt before wrapping them around my hips, pressing me back until my butt pushes against his front. Is he… hard? Oh, sweet cheese and rice, he is hard, and it’s impressive.
The hard plastic of his mask grazes my ear as he speaks. “If I untie you, are you going to hit me?”
“No.” My voice is husky with desire.
He bends down to loosen the cuffs on my ankles, allowing me to step out.
My hands are still secured to the cross when I feel his fingers travel up the backs of my thighs before he reaches up and pulls my skirt and panties down in one quick motion.
Kneeling on the floor, he nudges my legs apart again and secures my ankles back to the cross.
Everything happens so quickly, I barely have time to process it.
His hands wrap around my waist, his fingers easily touching as he encircles my back and stomach. Gosh, he has big hands. But I don’t have time to dwell on that thought as he continues stroking his fingers up my stomach, under my shirt, until they’re pushing under the cups of my bra.
I should be embarrassed at the moan that escapes me, but surprisingly I’m not. This is easily the most sensual thing that has ever happened to me, and I cannot contain my lust as he cups my breasts over my bra, squeezing them, pulling the cups down before he pauses.
“You’re pierced?”
“Is that a question?” I ask, my voice breathy and unsure.
“You surprise me, pet. Who did you let touch you here?” He delicately traces a nipple as he tortuously moves the barbell back and forth.
“I… uh… oh frick…” I moan as he continues teasing me, making it hard to concentrate.
“Answer me, pet.”
“I went to a tattoo parlor hoping that I could trick my body into letting someone touch me there. Since it was a professional piercer, not someone trying to get in my pants, I was hoping that I’d have a different reaction.
And it worked, he made it through unharmed.
” He continues playing with my nipples. When he dips one hand between my thighs, I gasp.
“So fucking ready for me. So fucking needy for me. Once I uncuff your wrists, raise your hands over your head and keep them there. No matter what I do, you don’t move. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fuck, I love it when you call me that. Are you going to be a good little pet and do as you're told?”
“Yes, sir.”
He moves quickly, uncuffing one wrist and then the other. I lift my hands above my head and inhale a shaky breath as his hands trail over as much of my skin as possible as he pulls my shirt up and off painfully slowly.
“So obedient for me, pet.” He unhooks the front clasp of my bra, and my breasts spill out, and then he’s cupping them in his hands, kneading and pinching as my head falls back against his hard chest. “Already craving my touch, I see, but I didn’t tell you to move.”
My head lifts off his chest, and I immediately miss the comfort it provided. “Sorry, sir.”
With my hands still in the air, he finishes removing my bra, leaving me completely bare as he refastens my wrists to the cross.
Once I’m secure, he extends his pointer finger, making a show of tracing each of my fingers with it, slowly swiping between each one, leaving no inch of my hand untouched by his.
With the same single finger, he continues down my forearm, moving in lines up and down my arm, careful to cover every bit of flesh, before circling my elbow and then stroking my upper arm.
After he repeats the same motions on my other arm, his finger trails up to my shoulder and collarbone, mapping every divot and groove as my breathing picks up.
His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier gruffness.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes, sir.” I moan as his finger moves down to my chest. “Frick.”
I can hear his soft chuckles near my left ear, the modulator slightly distorting the sound.
His finger makes slow circles around the outside of my breast, and I inhale a sharp breath, forcing my chest up and out in a feeble attempt to get him to hurry the process along. I might die if he doesn’t touch more of me soon, the anticipation making me sweat like a sinner in church.
“Patience, pet. You’re doing so well, I’d hate to punish you now.”
“What would my punishment be?” I ask eagerly as he removes his finger from my body.
“I warned you about speaking without permission,” he says as his voice gets softer.
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder and curse myself for disobeying his command, worried he’s done with me.
I’ve spent years having physical reactions to men touching me, and this man was not only able to touch me but also make me crave him within minutes.