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He tortured me with pleasure.

May 17th, 2015

“Are you just enjoying your fingers on your clit more than anything tonight?”

He was watching me masturbate. Asking me questions. Making me crack open my skull and lay my fantasies bare for him.

Twice, he’d told me to put something in my cunt. Twice, I did as I was told. And twice, I’d eventually taken that something out, and gone back to massaging my clitoris.

“Well,” I said, stuffing down the mounting pleasure between my legs long enough to formulate a response. “Your fingers more than mine, but yes.”

My appetites go through phases. What kinds of stimulation I enjoy changes with the wind. One day, I won’t be able to get enough things inside of me fast enough or with enough force. The next, I don’t really want anything touching me that isn’t flesh. Right now, I’m all about fingers and lips and tongues and cocks. Silicone can’t compare. So thrusting my beloved Tantus in and out of my vagina was getting on my nerves.

Except when his fingers were working my clit.

Master teaches me new things about my pussy every day. Each sexual experience with him buds an epiphany into the inner workings of my sexuality.

That sounds like a whole lot of ooey-gooey hooey, but it’s the truth, so help me Bob.

That night, without knowing it, he’d taught me that if I bear down just so on the O2 Cush while he worked miracles on my clit, resisting orgasm would be nigh to impossible, requiring me to attempt to close my legs to him and pull away…futilely, I might add.

I only managed to resist because he asked, “What’s wrong, little girl?” and when I told him he was going to make me cum, he stopped and replied, “You only cum when a man tells you you can.”

It was his fingers that brought me off.

We’d moved to the bedroom, and I was kissing and licking his neck and chest. He was telling nasty secrets directly in my ear. He had me pinned with his legs and arms. And when he finally gave me permission to cum, I exploded, teeny little pieces of me floating off into the ether.

“I own this.” he growled. “It’s mine. Forever.”

He didn’t let up. I must’ve came for ten minutes, pinned beneath him, my body racked with convulsions, my feet kicking involuntarily, my fists alternately slapping and grabbing the sheets.

He shushed me repeatedly. I didn’t even realize I was screaming.

My mind begged over and over for me to ask him to stop, but my lips refused to move. My body jerked to move away from his touch, but he knows me too well. He’s learned my personal passion dance. Each twitch. Each jerk. Each thrust. Everywhere my hips moved, his hand followed. I felt my mind breaking, my heart screaming. My body tingled and burned with pleasure and exhaustion. And still, he kept on, as I fell apart from pleasure, until I laid limp in his arms, twitching and whimpering.

Then he pressed his dick against my cunt and thrusted until he came hard, and hot, and long, his sticky sweetness covering my stomach and thighs.

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