Chapter Twenty-Two
Dorian shrugs. “According to some, yes. This is barely scratching the surface of my sadism, though. If you think a bit of edging is sadistic, I’m interested to find out what you’ll call me when I ignore your pleas for me to stop or ease up.
” He lands an open palm slap on my pussy; my back arches and a loud cry escapes me.
“Enough talking for now, beautiful. I think I’m almost ready for you to come.
” He gives me another slap, and I choke on a yelp.
“How close are you?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“I’m right there,” I moan. “I can’t take it.”
He rubs his thumb up and down my labia. “You don’t have a choice, baby. You’ll take whatever I feel like giving you. Won’t you?”
I nod emphatically.
He smiles. “Good girl. You can come now. I’ve been dying to taste you again; holding myself back while you’re laid out beneath me, bound and helpless like the most beautiful sacrifice, has been torture.
” He leans down between my legs, spreads my pussy open with his thumbs, and gives me a long, slow lick along my slit.
Tension threads through every bit of me, stiffening my muscles as I reach the crest once again.
This time, Dorian doesn’t pull back to try to delay it or edge me.
Two of his fingers slide easily into my channel, curving upwards and hitting a spot that make tingles explode across my skin while he lavishes my clit with attention.
The orgasm that’s eluded me slams into me with the impact of a freight train.
My back arches and I yank at my wrists, unable to control my body’s reaction as I come loudly.
So loudly I’m afraid my cries will be heard through the entire house, but I’m too lost in abandon to really care.
My stomach contracts, my thighs tremble, and Dorian makes a growling noise that damn near drives me out of my mind.
His fingers set a slow, patient pace of sliding in and out of me, hooking over that magical spot inside me. He continues eating me through my orgasm, prolonging it and making little noises of enjoyment that drive me wild. “Too much,” I whimper after an eternity. “Dorian, please, it’s too much.”
He pulls his mouth away and stills his fingers, meeting my eyes. His have a wicked gleam that makes me genuinely anxious, because I understand that he completely meant it when he said he was just getting started. I already feel spent, and yet he’s barely begun.
“That was one,” he murmurs. “I want you to count for me, Mira.” He places a kiss on my stomach. “Each time you come, count. If you really want to please me, thank me for making you come.”
“One,” I whimper. “Thank you.”
“For?” he questions, lips tilting at the corners.
“Making me come,” I rush out.
His hint of a smile turns into a full blown one.
“You’re very welcome.” His mouth returns to lavishing me with attention before I’ve truly come down from my first orgasm, sending me careening straight into a second one.
Somehow, I manage to remember to count and thank him, even though my mind becomes fogged and dazed.
Another orgasm follows, and then another, and by the time I’ve thanked him for my sixth orgasm, the attention to my pussy really becomes too much.
I’m hypersensitive, too aroused to handle it, which doesn’t bother him the slightest bit.
I start to struggle to come from his mouth—after a few minutes, he pulls away and pulls his fingers out of me.
He takes a moment to kiss me, letting me taste myself on his lips, then picks up the crop again.
My eyes widen. “No—”
“That word has zero relevance to me right now,” he says, trailing it down my navel.
“You know what you have to say to make things slow or stop. Unless I hear those words, I won’t stop.
I won’t change what I’m doing. I don’t give much of a shit what you say right now, baby, because I am enjoying myself far too much to ease up. ”
A tear sneaks out of my eye, and I consider using one of my safe words.
Consider making him stop altogether, but something holds me back.
I can see and feel how much he’s enjoying this scene.
I don’t want to interrupt that unless I’m really done and genuinely can’t do any more.
I’m not at that point yet; I’m still somewhat coherent, just painfully sensitive.
When I don’t say anything, he spreads my pussy with one hand and taps the crop right against my clit.
My back arches and I suck in an agonized breath, eyes watering at the pulse-pounding sensation.
He taps me once, twice. On the third time, the impact makes me come.
It’s a different sort of orgasm; shorter, quicker, yet no less intense than the others.
Surprise flares in Dorian’s eyes as he looks at me.
His gaze darkens, and he growls, “Fuck, that was hot.”
I whine in response.
He smacks my clit more intensely, and reminds, “I didn’t hear you count or thank me. That’s displeasing.”
“Seven,” I manage to say. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
He nods. “Good girl. I think I’m ready to test the toys out on you now. You’re primed and prepared for them, aren’t you?”
Although he phrases the words as a question, I know he’s not actually asking for my opinion.
In this moment, unless I safe word, my opinions are completely irrelevant to him.
He’s doing what feels good to him, and what feels good to him is watching my reactions, witnessing my pleasure, knowing that he’s the one reducing me to a puddle of need and sensitivity.
He retrieves two of the other toys he brought; a vibrator that suddenly looks deeply intimidating, and a slim, long dildo. “God, I want to fuck you right now,” he says wistfully.
“Please do,” I respond eagerly. I want to feel him inside me; I want to get him off the way he’s getting me off.
He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Soon, I hope, but not now. This is a punishment, Mira, remember? I think I’ve been very nice to you and pretty lenient, easing you into this scene.
” The desire in his eyes darkens, and I sense the exact moment that the true sadist in him rears its head.
It’s not out for blood or pain; it’s out for complete surrender and obeisance to its wishes.
The hot pink dildo slowly prods at my entrance and gently slides inside of me. Its passage is eased by how obscenely wet I am, and as it slides over my g-spot, my eyes roll into the back of my head. Dorian twists it around a little bit, lips quirking when I squirm and yank at my bindings.
“Take a deep breath for me,” he murmurs. “Things are only about to get more difficult for you, and a hell of a lot more entertaining for me.”
He presses a button on the handle of the vibrator, and I jerk as a low buzz fills the bedroom.
Dorian presses it to the inside of my thigh, letting me feel the rumbling intensity of the vibrations, chuckling at my whimper.
My channel clenches around the dildo, and I squeeze my eyes shut, at once terrified and titillated.
His mouth was insanely good; the crop felt like heaven and torture against my overstimulated pussy; I can’t imagine what a vibrator will feel like when he’s already spent what feels like an eternity playing with me.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I shake my head. He smiles, eyes dancing with glee. “I think you are.”
He presses the smooth, rounded head of the device against my clit, and I nearly black out.
It is so fucking intense, so overwhelming that I can’t help the scream that tears out of my throat.
It takes less than a second for me to start coming again.
Dorian rumbles out what a good girl I am, then reminds me to count.
Eight…
Nine…
Ten…
By the eleventh, I feel like I’m fighting for my life. I can barely breathe through the pleasure, and the numbers scramble in my mind; I can’t remember how many times I’ve come, I can barely remember my own name.
“Count,” Dorian reminds me, swirling the vibrator along my swollen clit.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “I… I don’t know.”
He shrugs. “You skip a number, I’ll take that as an invitation to start over. Eleven, Mira. Count and thank me.”
“Thank you,” I whimper. “E—eleven.”
“Very good.” His voice is filled with pleasure.
I think he might give me reprieve, but instead, he turns the setting up.
Reality becomes warped as renewed, powerful vibrations assault my entire body.
My vision dims and blurs, potent heat slicks my skin with sweat.
I yank at my restraints so convulsively I feel the strain in my burning muscles.
My stomach contracts with such intensity it cramps and aches, and I squeeze around the dildo so hard I think I might snap it in half.
I can barely think, but I know what I need to say.
The number I have to utter to please and satisfy Dorian.
My lips form around the word, but my brain doesn’t have the capacity to actually make any noise aside from a loud, consuming cry.
Dimly, I hear Dorian reminding me to count again.
I clench my teeth to cut off my endless cry, and with all my focus I manage to breathe, “Twelve.”