A weekend day, just like any other. The day spent together, just like any other weekend day. Something’s there though. Something between us. A feeling. An unspoken message.
Ankle and wrist cuffs. Cuffs bound together. Wrist to writs. Ankle to ankle.
“Bend your legs. Spread.”
It starts with his hand on my clitoris, briefly. His fingers enter my cunt, moving in and out, curling up, rubbing my G-spot. Soon an orgasm is building, but it eludes me. The first one always does. The moment his fingers move back to my clitoris, the moment he touches my clitoris, I beg for an orgasm. The first orgasm is wet, but not a squirt. But soon it will be. His fingers rub against my tender inside spot again. This time I squirt when he rubs my clitoris, almost before he gives me permission for the orgasm. Fingers back inside, and this time the orgasm happens with his fingers inside me. I ask for permission and feel the fluid pooling up inside and running out of me when he pulls his fingers out.
“Please sir, please bind my ankles to my wrists?”
Without a words he makes me come once more before he clips ankle cuffs to wrist cuffs. My legs are spread wide now. There’s this feeling in me. I let go of all inhibitions. I hold back nothing. I surrender to the touch of his fingers, to the lust and need inside me. He sees it in my eyes.
“What are you?” he asks, fingering me.
“A whore, Sir,” I answer as his fingers move to my clit.
“Who’s whore are you?” he asks, rubbing my clit.
“Your whore, Sir,” I moan as I squirt.
Below me everything is getting wetter. The rhythm continues. Rubbing my G-spot. Waiting for the orgasm to build. Rubbing my clit. Squirt. The squirts are getting stronger, reaching half a meter between my legs at times. I am delirious with lust. I exist because I climax. I yearn for his fingers inside me. I need his fingers on my clit. My orgasms burns inside me. Permission is begged for and granted. Squirt. Fingers inside. Fingers on clit.
“Come for me!”
“What are you?”
“Your whore, sir.”
The more I climax and the wetter everything becomes, the more I want. It’s like my entire body builds up to something bigger. No matter how many times I squirt, each squirt only helps to build a deeper need in me, to make me crave a release. Sometimes when I feel like this I ask for the clamps (stupid, I know) and sometimes I beg him for something in my ass. Other times I move my hand to my clitoris while his fingers are in me. I will squirt until I have to drink liters to replenish the fluids I have lost, but will always need that something extra for the big O.
“The whore needs something in her ass, sir.
Somewhere in it all I start referring to myself in the third person.
“I will decide whether the whore get something there,” he says, still continuing to rub my G-spot, then my clitoris and telling me to come for him.
“Please, Sir, the whore is needy,” I beg.
He slips his fingers back into my cunt, back to my clitoris.
My eyes wide open.
Three fingers in my ass. Pain. Lust. Hurt. So good. More.
I manage to get a couple of fingers on my clit and while watching him, while allowing his eyes to keep mine prisoner, a huge climax washes through me.
The bed is a mess.
I am quiet.
© Rebel’s Notes