20. Seven
CHAPTER 20
I’ve never felt excitement like this, of being filthier than I’ve ever been with my innocent doll.
When I met her, I’d already done every kinky thing imaginable, so I never felt like I missed out on anything when I “settled down” and married her. I’d gotten it all out of my system by then, and it felt completely natural to tame my dominance back to a level suited for the only woman I’d ever fallen in love with. Absolutely no regrets. None. Not a single one.
But tonight feels like a whole new existence of its own. It feels like discovering this incredible alternative world all over again. Getting to show my wife a side of me and a higher tier of pleasure that I never even dreamed she’d be open to—it feels like I’ve gotten close to enlightenment. Like the whole fucking meaning of life has been whispered in my ear.
My arousal grows to a fever pitch, to a point that I don’t care about her birthday plans any longer. I need to be inside her. I need to consume her.
She’s giving me more than just her complete submission with no more limits of her own.
She’s giving me a part of myself back that I truly didn’t miss until the moment I got to experience a taste of it with her. Yet it feels like a whole new world, and I only want to share this one with her.
I reach behind me and grab the remote, clicking the green button. “Right now, I have no use for the orange button. You can show me what you had planned for the auto-fuck part of the scene some other time. Because at the moment, seeing how fucking blissed out you are after relinquishing all control to my will, all I want to do is see if I can continue to put that look on your face with my cock in Pleasure Sleeve 2.”
She smiles drunkenly, and I stand, pulling her with me, not stopping until I pick her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist. I step over to the playtable once again, setting her naked ass on the very end, and the image of her earlier in the same spot—how beautiful she was, sprawled out and helpless, trusting me to only follow the instructions of the scene she laid out—fills my head.
But now, with the green button pushed, and a new song playing over the speakers, there are no rules. She’s giving me free rein to do whatever I want to her with the specific instruction to push her past all her limits.
Yet… with the way I feel right now, more aroused than I’ve ever been in my entire life, if I were to slip my cock into her sopping-wet heat, I would once again turn into that young man receiving his first lap dance. Only I’d be that same young man feeling the most exquisite pussy to ever exist, resulting in me filling her with my cum before I even got my tip fully inside.
Plus, I need to prepare her for the rough fucking she’ll soon be taking. A roughness I know for a fact that she’s never experienced before, because I’m the only man who’s ever had the pleasure of fucking her—gently or otherwise.
With my hand pressed to the center of her chest, I push her down until she’s lying flat on the padded table, her thigh-high-covered legs and naughty Mary Janes dangling off the end on either side of me. I step from between them, keeping my palm on her chest as I walk around the table to the opposite end, spotting my phone I’d left here earlier and moving it out of the way. Then, I take hold of her biceps in both my hands, and I pull, sliding her quickly up the playtable until her legs are stretched out and her feet rest atop the other end.
I take both her wrists and tug her arms straight above her head, commanding her to “stay” when I let go and walk over to the wall of leather cuffs and restraints. Choosing the ones I know fit her delicate wrists, I slide them off their hooks and take them back over to her. I make quick work of binding her arms together, then attaching them to the metal loop on the underside of the table with a leather strap.
“Color?” I ask when she doesn’t make a move to test her restraints, hoping she isn’t already frozen in fear.
“Green, Master,” she says dreamily, and I feel my lips pull into a secret smile. Never has my doll sounded so relaxed when she’s first been bound. She’s always, always been apprehensive and required time to settle into the position, ever since that one traumatic night from our past. But tonight has been special in a way we haven’t even begun to dissect yet, and I’m sure when we look back, it will be this birthday we attribute to a lot of healing and new beginnings.
I walk over to the wall once again and open a cabinet, finding a bottle of the lube I know works best for my sub’s body—water based and scentless, perfect for her sensitive skin and chemistry. Every Dom should remember details such as this; it’s part of the proper care and keeping of a submissive, to ensure they stay healthy and safe.
Sure, they can order their sub to keep such things supplied for their use. But what if their sub accidently grabs the wrong thing, or something gets swapped without their knowledge? It would be just as much the Dom’s fault for not knowing it was wrong, or knowing and not double checking it was correct.
Hence another reason why being a Dominant is a huge responsibility and nothing at all like what the fuckboys on dating sites think it is. It’s not all spankings and furry handcuffs while telling your one-night stand to call you Daddy. It’s a relationship based on more trust than even a solid marriage requires and not meant for anyone who won’t take it seriously and give it the respect it deserves.
There are deliciously selfish parts of a Dominant’s role, but above all else are the needs of his submissive.
I’ll soon be taking selfish pleasure from my doll’s perfect pussy, but before I do, her body needs to be readied, or I could hurt her and ruin the trust between us that allows me to do whatever the fuck I want to her.
With the rolling tray table nearby and me back at her side, I transfer my phone there for easy access and open the brand-new bottle, this particular lube that doubles as a massage oil, and pour the liquid into my hand, setting it within reach for whenever I need more. I rub my palms together to warm the lubricant, knowing she detests when anything chilly touches her skin while she’s naked. An example of something I can use as an actual punishment if need be.
My oiled hands go straight for her tits, and she sighs, melting into the padded table as I begin to massage the mounds that don’t quite fill my big hands but are worthy of worship all the same. I take my time, squeezing and rubbing each breast before focusing on the hard peak in the center of one, then the other. Feeling her boobs is stimulating enough as it is, but watching her face contort with pleasure and then her hips as they start to subtly grind would be too much for a lesser man to handle.
My hands move lower, smearing the oil beneath her tits to her ribs, and I massage there, back up over her breasts, then down again, being careful not to inch too far toward her sides, where I know she’s ticklish. Where some might find the feeling of being tickled fun and playful, my doll finds it irritating and torturous, and I avoid it as not to ruin her pleasure.
More punishment fodder for future use.
I squeeze more lube into my hand, warm it between my palms, and press them to her stomach, leaning over the table to slide them up her body evenly from this angle, then righting my arms so that I play her body as I would a piano. Up her left side and down the right, then back up the center between her breasts. And all the while, her hips work in an instinctive dance meant to coerce a mate into filling her up to bring her relief between those lovely thighs.
Thighs that give me a filthy idea for my first scene with no limits.
Quickly, I step over to the wall of various restraints and snatch off the wide Velcro cuffs adorned with silver D-rings, along with two adjustable straps with spring hooks on both ends. I’m by her side before the oil has even had a chance to cool on her skin, a prickle of sadistic pleasure running up my neck when I see her jump a little at the sudden sound of the Velcro pulling apart.
I loop it around the middle of her soft thigh, making sure it’s tight but not enough to cut off circulation, and then clip one end of the strap to the D-ring I’ve positioned to be on the outside of her leg. I move around the foot of the table, then do the exact same thing to her right leg, tossing the other end of the strap under the table toward the head of it.
I circle back to where I began, pick up the silver spring hook off the floor that’s attached to the strap leading to her left leg, and walk with it to the head of the playtable with a mischievous smirk taking over my entire face—as if it’s a leash and her lush thigh is a pet being led somewhere to do something naughty.
Up until this moment, her legs have remained only slightly bent, just enough for me to encircle her limbs with the nylon cuffs. Now though, after squatting to take hold of her right leg’s strap I tossed within reach a few seconds ago, I move back enough that I can watch with wicked delight as I begin to pull both ends toward me. With the straps together, hand over hand, I tug her legs up and back slowly, watching as her chest starts to move up and down with each breath getting deeper and faster. The farther I pull her legs back, the wider her bent knees spread apart, and I keep going until the stripes at the top of her high socks are at her armpits.
She whimpers at the utterly vulnerable position she’s now in, and when I stand, my hand holding the straps down low to keep her where I want her, I lean over to ask in her ear, “Color?”
And for the first time tonight, she doesn’t answer.
I move to look down into her face from above, asking again, “Color, doll?”
But again, no answer.
Her eyes are closed tightly, her breaths still coming quick and heavy, and before tonight, I would’ve immediately unhooked her wrists, headed to the other end of the playtable, unstrapped the Velcro from around her thighs, then pulled her into the safe cocoon of my arms. The scene would’ve ended right then, my painfully erect cock be damned. Not even the threat of a severe case of blue balls would’ve allowed me to continue playing with my sweet little doll while her fear instinct had her frozen.
But now, even with the loving and homicidally protective husband part of me raging just beneath the surface, it’s the words in the birthday card she gave me tonight that are loudest in my mind. And it’s my submissive’s voice I hear them in.
I trust you with my body, mind, and soul even more than I trust my own instincts.
I trust you to push me past where my mind and fears tell me to stop.
I trust you to take my body’s natural reaction to freeze the same way you would if a submissive called Yellow, not Red—pause to check in, assess what’s going on, and then continue the way you see fit.
I trust in your judgement, to move past that boundary without going too far, but also to take me far enough I’ll learn to conquer my mind’s control over my body.
I want to be brave.
Decision made, I quickly attach the spring hooks to the metal loop beneath the table and adjust the straps so that they’re taut.
I stand back up to my full height, fill my hand with oil that I heat up between my palms, then calmly, I reach over her to place one right in the center of her chest. I stare down into her face, her expression pained, but I know this position isn’t physically hurting her. I could tell by the ease in which I pulled her legs back that her muscles aren’t strained and her joints aren’t aching. It’s purely mental, or possibly partly emotional. This position is one of the most vulnerable, her most intimate parts not only totally exposed but spread open, and her hands being bound above her head means she has absolutely no way of covering herself. She’s completely at my mercy.
“Doll, look at me,” I order, my hand moving up and down from the power behind each of her breaths. When she doesn’t do as I command, I get close to her ear and lower my voice to a purr. If she wants to be able to hear what I say, she’ll have to take control of her breathing. It’s the technique I’ve always used when she’s frozen in fear, only it’s the first time she’s not swaddled in my lap with my entire body acting as the blanket.
“Breathe, my pretty toy. You’re safe with me. Come out of your head and feel my hand on your heart. It’s only me—the man you’ve entrusted to bring you pleasure. You know I’d never do anything to truly hurt you.”
I see, hear, and feel her take a purposefully deeper breath before it stutters on its way back out.
“That’s my strong girl. My brave little doll. Look at you. You make your Dom so fucking proud, my perfect sub. Do it again for me. Deep and slow,” I murmur, and she does, this breath not as choppy on the exhale. “Good girl.”
But as proud as I am that she’s gaining control over this moment of fear, I don’t want her to slip all the way back into the completely surrendered state she was in before quite yet. I needed her responsive now for what I have planned for the rest of our scene.
So instead of continuing to lull her with soft praise, I stand back up as she keeps working on smoothing out her breaths and move my hand from the center of her chest to massage her breast. I reach the other one farther down her body to rub up and down the inside of one lifted thigh, then switch and continue on with the relaxing but arousing manipulation.
When her breathing is back to normal, I look up to see her right foot make a circle in the air. A sign of discomfort she might not even realize she made. Without a word, I head to the opposite end of the table, my nostrils flaring as I force myself to focus on the task at hand instead of the incredible sight before me.
I undo the buckle of one chunky-heeled Mary Jane, then slip it off her pink-sock-covered foot, hearing her sigh. And it’s no wonder—the shoe is heavy as shit. The pressure on her ankles with them weighing her feet down as they were forced to hover in the air would definitely be uncomfortable. I undo the other shoe, watching her face this time as I reverse the infamous Cinderella moment, yet her expression shows the same as the princess’s when her foot slipped into her perfect-fitting glass slipper.
Pure relief.
“Better, pretty dolly?”
“Yes, Master,” she says on an exhale, rolling her feet, and her ankles crack loudly.
I quirk an eyebrow as I watch for what I know is coming, smiling to myself when I see the blush steal across her cheeks.
Fuck, I love her.
I carry the heavy-ass shoes over to the trunk and set them on the floor in front of it, then return to the foot of the table. And I finally allow myself to take in the fantasy come to life that’s bound before me.
Bent legs open wide and all the way back so that her knees reach the outer sides of her breasts, the position is in stark contrast to the implied innocence of the pink socks that stretch from her pointed toes to where they now stop just above the bend. And farther up, the added visual of her arms stretched high above her head, bound together by black leather cuffs around those fragile little wrists…
“If only you could see yourself through my eyes, pretty toy. You’d never again worry that you’re not enough,” I say, reaching over to grab my phone and hoping she doesn’t open her eyes before I have a chance to snap a photo. She looks utterly vulnerable but so at peace about that predicament, and the juxtaposition, the vision she makes, is something I don’t think will ever be topped for the rest of my life. My flash off, I capture what will now be my most prized inanimate possession. I glance at the photo, seeing it’s perfectly lit thanks to the auto adjust feature, and I already know I’ll be printing it small enough for my wallet and large enough to fill an entire wall of our playroom at home.
“You’d see the fucking dream you are,” I add, replacing my phone on the tray. With her arms attached to the head of the playtable and her bottom half pulled up, there’s too much space between me and my sub’s pussy for my liking. So, squatting to look beneath the table, I find the hinge releases, and like magic, the boundary between us disappears when that part of the table drops away. I stand back up and try to contain my rising sadistic giddiness as I refill my hand with lube.
I’m proud of my-damn-self when I manage not to go straight for her pussy that’s right there for the taking. Instead, I stroke up and down her inner thighs, moving my hands to the outside of her legs to her hips and underneath to squeeze her ass. For long minutes, I treat her to a pampering massage that covers every inch of her skin I can reach in oil while she’s bound this way—other than the small stretch of dark pink flesh right in the center of it all.
She’s making those instinctive grinding motions again, begging me without words to touch where I’ve refused to graze even a finger this entire time I’ve had her on my table. Pitiful little whimpers fall from her lips, her face a mask of need so strong it borders on pain, and still, my oiled hands run up her belly, over her heaving tits, then down her sternum, only to cut to the sides right before I get to her mound to rub up her inner thighs.
It's not until a sob releases from her chest and out her mouth that I pretend that I just now noticed her desperation. “Aw… what is it, doll? You don’t like your massage?”
“Yes, Master,” she whines, and I smirk.
“Yes, you don’t like your massage?”
“N-No, Master,” she stutters, clearly unable to think straight enough to understand it’s a trick question.
“No, you don’t like your massage?”
“N-n—” She sucks in a breath as I come within an inch of where we both want me to touch, but my hand reverses once again. “I… I… I….”
“What’s that, little toy? Your instructions don’t say anything about a response beginning with ‘I’. Maybe I should press the red button. Your card did say that I should push the emergency stop if something seems wrong.”
“No, Master!” she begs forcefully, and I grin wickedly. Her eyes are clamped shut, but the expression takes over my face regardless. This is just too fucking sweet.
“Uh oh…” My hands stroke so close to her pussy I can feel the texture of the lube change slightly as it mixes with her natural wetness that’s seeping from her slit. “I really think I might need to press that emergency stop. Your voice response is sounding rather bossy for a fuck doll meant only for me to use for my pleasure.”
Her teeth snap shut and her jaw clenches at that, and I chuckle darkly. But when I pull my eyes from her face to look down at her pussy that’s already much darker and swollen from how aroused she is without even being touched, I know I can’t torture her any longer.
Finally, on the next downward stroke, I use my whole hand to glide over her center, and she jolts and cries out like she’s been electrocuted. My movements never stopping, the heel of my palm presses harder on the upstroke, and I watch fascinated as her spread slit clenches when her clit gets attention.
I repeat the move with my flattened hand over and over again, my fingers pressed tightly together to make one smooth surface as I run it over her pubic bone, down her slit, then back up. I’m careful not to get too close to her asshole, because I don’t want to risk giving her an infection by mixing things that should never be mixed inside a sweet little pussy. A fact that a disturbing number of men and women don’t know. If I decide to add anal play to the festivities, it will be done with something—a finger or a toy—that won’t go anywhere near her slit after it touches her tightest hole.
Her hips are gyrating against my hand, trying to ride it even as the straps won’t allow her to. She’s panting ferociously with her arousal, and I swear I’ve never seen her more turned on and needy. It’s fucking intoxicating.
My next strokes are done with both oily hands, the pressure concentrated on her outer lips, then move more toward the center to massage between her inner and outer labia. She cries out in pleasure, and I glance up her body, realizing I was staring, mesmerized, my mouth damn near hanging open as I watched her pussy take on different shapes while I gave her a yoni massage I only ever dreamed about.
Not because I didn’t want to before now, but because my little doll would’ve been mortified by the idea of being so utterly exposed.
“Yellow, Master,” she suddenly calls out, and my eyes shoot to her face as she tilts her head up to look down her body at me, my motions stopping but my hands remaining on her pussy.
“What is it, doll? Fuck the role playing. Tell your Master what you need,” I order, taking in her expression, which looks like she’s about to burst into tears.
“Please, Seven. I can’t take any more. It… hurts I need you so badly. Please.”
The last word comes out on a sob, and I swear to God, it would’ve been my undoing if she hadn’t given me that card.
Instead, keeping my eyes locked on hers as she begs me with them down the length of her body, I only slip one finger inside her sopping heat.
Her eyes roll back in relief for only a second before they change, growing wide with worry and in their depths as she realizes I’m not going to give her exactly what I know she’d been begging for. I pull the one finger out before gently sliding it back into her tight channel, a sweet kind of torture when she needs something thick and more stimulating to soothe the ache inside her. I feel her muscles clamp around it, trying to seek pleasure from the single digit.
This would’ve been actual torture for me just yesterday, when the sadist in me was still muzzled and kenneled, seeing my girl so anguished. But now that he’s been set free and even encouraged to play, it’s nothing but glee that I feel as her desperation grows.
It’s not until she starts to chant, “Please… please… please… please… please, Master… please,” that I finally slip in a second finger, and she lets out a moan sexier than any porn star’s in existence, and there’s no denying that it’s one hundred percent real.
I pull my fingers out, and instead of thrusting them right back in, I spread them into a V and run them up between her pillowy pussy lips and dark folds, circling her clit at the top before backtracking. And then I finally thrust back inside. With my other hand, I add even more stimulation by pulling back the hood over her hard little nub, and I repeat the path I made before, hearing her precious moan in response.
I do this over and over and over again, creating a rhythm she catches onto, anticipating each time I’m going to insert them inside her juicy core, because she now tilts her hips as much as she can on every plunge to meet them, in an attempt to create more friction.
But the next time I pull them out, stroke up her lips, circle her exposed little clit, then make my descent, her naughty little trick gets her in trouble, because it’s not two but three of my thick fingers that she shoves herself down on.
Her head flies up from the table, her mouth an O of silent surprise, her breath ceasing to exist. Even though she is slippery as fuck with lube and her own wetness, three of my flattened fingers is a lot for her tight little pussy. It’s not the girth, since my cock is much more filling than my middle three digits, but the shape and angle as I slide them inside that feels so different. I keep my fingers side by side and stroke them along the top of her channel, and her thighs quiver at the direct contact with her G-spot.
She’s still holding her breath as she stares at our connection, and like flicking a switch inside her, I make a “come here” motion with all three fingers, and she gasps, then calls out, “Oh… God! Thank you, Master!”
The unrestrained volume from my normally soft-spoken sub and the words she released send my hips forward in a thrust that’s purely instinctual, as I made no conscious effort to hump the air like a dog in heat. And the involuntary reaction that once would’ve pissed me off, as it was a show of lack of control, has the opposite effect with my little doll. It makes me horny as fuck. It makes me fucking proud. Her newfound confidence, of not giving a fuck, so sexy it made even me—a Dom with the highest level of self-control—loosen my grip on the reins. My girl letting go of her shyness and restraint and allowing her body to do whatever it wants.
Well, as much as it can while bound and at my mercy.
I do it all over again, pulling out, smoothing up her folds, circling her swollen clit, running down her slit, thrusting in along the top wall, then adding that extra-special stroke on the way back out to start the pattern all over again.
Once more, I get into the rhythm, my toy discovering that when she turns her hands inward, she can grasp the strap clipped to her wrist cuffs, and she can use it to pull her body up and release to fuck herself on my fingers on the intake. I allow it, since she hasn’t been told to hold still and it doesn’t disrupt what I’m doing to her. Plus, it’s arousing as hell, watching my desperate girl try to find relief in any way she can.
She’s never been edged like this before. I normally try to get her off as many times as physically possible, never denying her orgasms, since collecting hers gives me a sense of pride. But this?
This could be my new favorite pastime.
It’s brought out a whole new side of her neither of us thought we’d ever meet.
Too needy to be embarrassed.
Too deliriously aroused to be self-conscious.
Too fraught with desire to worry about anything other than chasing a more intense pleasure.
She’s so beautiful in this state that I now can’t choose which turns me on more—my doll who flushes and cringes, or this uninhibited one.
Thankfully, I don’t have to decide between one or the other.
Because this beautiful creature is all mine.
Watching her face, and just like before, I give her no warning the next time I enter her pussy, this time adding my pinky. But it’s not the small addition of my little finger that makes her suck in a gasp of shock and then whine at the intrusion. It’s the depth, which causes the knuckles along the top of my palm to slide in too.
Her eyes widen at the vulgarity of the scene between her legs, and she begins shaking her head and wiggling to dislodge my hand or get away. In a soft tone, I doubt she even realizes it when she starts to beg quickly, “No, no, no, no, no…,” even as her pussy clenches around me with her movement. “Nonononononono…” her mouth is saying, but that’s not the magic word to get me to stop, and her body is demanding me to do anything but quit when she starts to grind.
And then her head falls back to the padded table, pressing into it until her back arches, forcing her hips into an angle the gives her even more of my hand.
“Fuck yeah, my needy girl. Taking it all like a good little slut doll. Look at how much those pretty pussy lips stretch. And I can feel your cunt sucking on my fingers. Are you trying to pull even more inside?” I prompt, but she’s back to the gloriously mindless state from earlier when I was feeding her mouth my cock, so I give her what her body is begging for.
I start to pump all four fingers in and out of her, gentle but faster, then use the thumb of my other hand to start rubbing her clit in incessant circles that makes the muscles of her inner thighs start to shake. That hand serves another purpose as well, holding her still as I press her to the table. As I speed up, any movement on her part could end up with me going in at an angle that would hurt, and the last thing I want to do in this moment is bring her out of this level of bliss I don’t believe she’s ever reached before.
Her mouth is open in the silent O once again as she holds her breath, seems to recognize she’s doing it, so she releases the oxygen from her lungs quickly before sucking in more to hold… over and over, until…
“Master…?” Her voice is music. A cross between confusion, not understanding the new intensity of sensations, and a plea—for more, for permission, for everything I’ll allow her to feel.
“Yes, pretty toy. You can come. Give it to your user, the one who owns you,” I growl, my left hand pressing her steady, my thumb making constant circles on her clit, and my entire right hand sans my thumb disappearing over and over into her little pussy as I watch with rapt attention.
Her labia are stretched obscenely. Her entire center from mound to tailbone and hip to hip is drenched in lube and her own juices, shiny and downright delicious-looking beneath the playroom lights. And when she screams just as I feel her walls start to milk my hand, I tilt it at an angle while I keep pistoning, my fingertips pressing up toward her stomach and my knuckles to her perineum. And like I know will happen but she’s never experienced, a geyser of her wetness shoots out of her pussy and splashes up my whole arm and across my abs.
“Fuck yeah!” I whisper to myself, feeling like the king of the fucking world, my queen blessing me with her own holy water.
“Oh… God!” she cries, and another stream of liquid erupts on a second wave of her orgasm.
Each time her pussy pulses while she continues to come, she squirts, the release and relief and the pleasure prolonging the monumental event.
And before those pulses have a chance to wane, I pull my hand out of her cunt and grip her thighs. I yank her back down to the very end of the table from where her tugs on her wrist restraints moved her upward, and while her pussy is fluttering like it’s trying to suck the cum right out of a cock, I line up my dick and bury myself to the hilt in one thrust.
“Fuck!” she screams, a word rarely used by my doll, which makes it hit different, and it’s like NOS to my system, my speed and roughness picking up as I pump my hips.
An endless string of nonsensical murmured words come from the head of the table as I fuck her at a punishing pace, the flutters inside her gripping heat never-ending while she completely surrenders.
But as primal as I’ve gone in the last few minutes, I remain zeroed-in on my submissive’s every behavior and her safety. Her mind may have given over completely to her pleasure, but I know she shouldn’t remain bound this way for much longer, or her joints will ache for days. And I’d rather use up her pain tolerance in much more adventurous ways during that time.
As I keep up my thrusts to the tune of her sweet nothings, I easily release the Velcro around her thighs, hearing her groan of relief as her legs come down to frame my hips. I lean forward and brace myself on one arm, still fucking into her as I reach and release the spring hook clipped to her cuffs. And then I put both elbows to the table to encircle each of her shoulders with one of my hands, squeezing and massaging them for a minute before taking hold of her linked wrists, pulling them with me as I stand back up.
The contrast between the black leather cuffs and the baby-pink thigh-high socks makes too debaucherous a picture to ruin by freeing her completely, so they remain in their bindings as I take hold of her thighs, gripping her right where they meet her hips.
“Get ready, little doll. I’m about to test just how much my mindless fuck toy can take before danger of damaging Pleasure Sleeve 2 is detected,” I quip, hearing a sound escape her that’s between a giggle and a nervous “eep.” And that’s the last thing I say before I tighten my grip and use it as leverage to start giving her thrusts she’s never felt before.
I don’t jackhammer into her with abandon like some tool who relies merely on his size instead of learning how to use it to really make a woman feel good. Each surge forward is done with purpose, coming to a stop with a collision of our sexes that reverberates pleasure throughout both our systems, before I steal my cock from her needy cunt, then do it all over again. I get rougher and rougher with every stroke until I notice a hum filling the room, and it’s not until my lungs are painfully empty that I realize the sound was a growl coming from deep within my chest.
Yet again, she’s so intoxicating I lost track of my own body and keeping it under rigid control. The primal part of me is the strongest it’s ever been, my natural instincts wanting to take over our lovemaking, but it’s my responsibility to keep my head on straight enough she won’t get hurt, so I fight it back.
Until I look up from where my cock slides in and out of her now dark-red cunt and meet the pretty eyes filled with nothing but trust and love, and my little sub whispers, “Let go, Master.”