Lola #2
He drops to his knees by the bed, leans in, fingers digging into my hips like he wants to snap the bone. My body jerks. I can’t control the twitch or the whimper. One hot breath. A single stripe of tongue. I almost black out.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
He eats me like he’s starving. Mouth wide, lips dragging everywhere, tongue rough and greedy.
Always in control. Never letting up, not for a second.
It’s torture. My brain fuzzes out. The whole world is my helpless, shuddering body, pinned to a mattress, fingers scrabbling for a hold.
I can’t even cover my face, can’t hide the way I arch and tremble and beg with every silent little sound.
He laughs, low, dark, against my skin. “Don’t cum.” The words are a lash. “Not unless I say.”
I nod, frantic. My hands are useless, tied above me.
Every second he pushes harder. Sucks my clit into his mouth, bites down.
I see stars and feel myself getting close, building so fast I want to sob.
I almost say his name, but I bite my tongue, shake my head.
I want to obey. I don’t want to be punished again.
But my body doesn’t listen. My hips grind hungry against his mouth.
He pulls back, lips shining. Cold air hits me.
I gasp. He slaps my thigh, hard enough to sting.
“Too close,” he says. “Didn’t I tell you not to cum?
Are you that stupid, Bambi?” My whole body throbs.
Need, humiliation, rage. I shake my head, desperate, wanting to explain, but he climbs up and grabs my chin.
“You keep trying to run,” he says. Words soft and venomous.
“Even your pussy can’t behave. Maybe I should leave you tied up, dripping and desperate, until you learn how to listen. ”
I try to speak. Only shudders come out.
He shoves two fingers deep inside. Slow, wicked.
His eyes never leave mine. I squirm, the friction is perfect.
I can’t stop. I can’t stop. My whole body is vibrating, desperate, clawing for the edge, begging for permission to cross it.
He knows, too. It’s in the way he breathes when my thighs jerk and spasm.
The way his nails dig so deep into my hips, I think he wants to hang me up by them. It hurts. I love it. I hate it.
Brody tortures me. His tongue is everywhere, mouth hot and wet, lapping up every filthy drip. He talks to me with his mouth on my skin. Don’t cum. Don’t you fucking dare, Bambi. His lips are smiling against me when I whimper and arch, mindless.
My cunt pulses. I am leaking down the inside of my legs, splattered on his cheeks, filthy. He wants it. He makes a noise in his chest. I almost black out.
try to squirm away, but he just slams my ass against the mattress harder. He groans. “Look at this. You’re so wet, I could drown.”
I can’t breathe. My head lolls back, and I let out a sound. Not human. Nothing left of me except frantic, shaking bones and this sick hunger. My wrists burn from the rope. My tits shake with every tortured breath. I want to scream. I am going crazy.
Brody loves it. He studies me. He knows what he’s doing to me. He wants me to suffer for him.
This is what he wanted. This is what I wanted.
Even now, even after all the hate. I want him to eat me alive. I want it to hurt. I want him to ruin orgasms for me forever, so I never forget who put me back together.
He drags two fingers up my slit, slides them inside. I clench so hard around them I almost sob. I’m fucking close. I can’t help it. My legs spasm. My hips buck. I start to sob.
Brody’s mouth moves up to my clit, and he sucks it in, hard, like he wants to rip it off and keep it as a trophy. My eyes roll back. I can’t see, I can’t talk, I can’t think. He feels it. He pulls away, just before I go. The world crashes down.
“No,” I croak, desperate.
He slaps my inner thigh. “Did I say you could cum?” Cold. Controlled. He wants to see me beg.
I can’t breathe. I would do anything. I would sell my fucking soul for it.
He does it again. Licks me, sucks, drives me right to the edge, then rips it away. Again. And again.
I am shaking, not even human, just a mess for him to use. Wet, pathetic. My wrists are purple with bruises. Brody’s voice. Dark as the void. Reminding me of what I can’t reach.
Suddenly, he sits up, and yanks his pants down. His cock springs free. I want to look away but I can’t. My cunt clenches, dripping, and I hate that he sees it.
My wrists burn. Rope bites deep. My tits bounce with every shudder-breath. I am splayed out and he knows it. He makes sure I know it. He crawls over me. Knees on either side of my hips, the mattress caving. His hands plant on my thighs, pushing them so wide I worry I’ll rip apart.
My body trembles. Every inch of me is jelly and fire. He strokes his cock, letting the precum bead and drip onto my stomach. He wants to make me watch. Make me beg.
He drags the thick head up and down my pussy. I’m already leaking. He paints it on my clit, up and down, not giving me relief. Every time the head of his cock rubs my clit, I jerk, toes curling. But he pulls away before I can get there.
Brody watches my face. He watches the way my whole body arches like I’m starving for it. I am. Shame swells in my throat. All the words I want to say fail in my mouth. His cock is arousing. The way he taunts me with it.
“You’re not going to cum,” Brody says, his voice like a fist under my jaw. “You don’t get to cum. Not tonight.”
I blink. Tears burn, but I bite them back. “Please.”
He smirks. The kind of look that says he’d rather break me than fuck me. “Not after you tried to run. You get what I give and nothing else.”
He grinds against my cunt. Slowly. I feel every inch of it. The head rolling against my clit, the shaft sliding along my cunt. It’s torture. My body begs, hips lifting, mindless.
He slaps my thigh. “Lay. Still.”
I freeze. My whole body is on fire. He likes how pathetic I am like this, legs shaking, wrists useless and bound above my head.
My cunt aches from the sick frustration that never stops building.
He slides the head along my pussy again, but doesn’t push inside.
Just teases, over and over, until I feel like I could scream from the pressure alone.
He grins down at me, pride and hunger and hatred all tangled up. “Look at you. Fucking mess. So greedy for cock and you haven’t earned it.”
He leans in. Grinds harder. Rubs the swollen head against my clit, slow circles, tight, relentless. He watches the way my hips twitch, my lips part, my eyes roll back. He drinks it in.
I am nothing but ache. Every touch is a pulse of lightning.
But he never lets me have it. Never lets me finish.
He pulls away, leaving me empty, useless.
The air goes cold instantly, his weight gone, the mattress groaning as he stands.
My legs fall shut, trembling, desperate for friction, for anything.
I whimper, a small, broken sound, but he doesn’t look at me.
Brody wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, fixes his pants, tucks himself away like nothing happened. I’m left spread open, thighs wet and shameful. He watches for a moment, just to make sure I see the finality in his eyes.
“You don’t get to cum,” he repeats. “Not until you remember who you belong to.”
He grabs the rope, unties my wrists only to re-tie them in front—rough, fast, so I can’t fight back. I’m shaking so hard I might fall off the bed, but he just drags me to my feet, half-carrying, half-hauling me across the room. The cold bites at my skin.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I stumble down the stairs, feet numb, heart pounding wildly. He shoves me back into the basement, into the dark that’s colder than any snowdrift. He finally takes the rope off, then leaves again. The door slams and the lock clicks.
For a long moment, I just stand there, legs still shaking, cunt throbbing with need and humiliation. My skin burns with the memory of his mouth, his hands, the ache he left behind.
I crawl to the mattress, and curl up tight. The darkness presses in, silent and wide. My body aches for something. Release, comfort, anything. But Brody’s gone, and he took the last scraps of warmth with him.
I bite my lip and choke on the emptiness, the want, the humiliation. Alone, again. Alone with the ache he built in my bones, with nothing to do but shake and wait and hope the dark swallows what’s left.
And in the silence, there’s no escape. Just the drip of need, the gnaw of shame, and the echo of his voice. But, he must still have a heart, because I awake from sleep to see a fresh pair of clothes folded beside me.
That is enough to give me a tiny bit of hope.