Torture

My Belle is getting very good at torturing me. Not in the tied up with rope and dripping hot wax kind of torture, the making me so horny my vision clouds and the device feels like it’s chewing the penis off kind of torture.

The other night started innocently enough. She wanted to sit on my face and come and I really wanted her to. Along the way, though, she got sidetracked by my usual nipple sucking and clit fingering. Her hand wandered over and mixed with mine so we were both flicking and caressing her pussy but then she told me to stop and go sit between her legs and watch.

Ungh. OK.

I had my face right in there. The room was dark, but there was enough light leaking in the window for me to make out her finger dipping and diving and rubbing. I could hear her wetness while I tried to absorb her feminine bouquet through my very pores. The penis was as hard as it could be. It felt even harder than it does during the morning wood sessions and that’s pretty fucking hard. I moaned, both in agony of what I was sensing (but not being allowed to participate in) and the hard metal bite of the German steel.

I moved closer and tried to nuzzle my nose against her soft, wet folds.

“Get back,” she said, softly but sharply.

Torture.

Again, like a doomed moth, I was drawn in and again I was put back. Pain or no pain, the months of denial and days since the last time I was allowed to enjoy her body were causing me to grind the device into the bed. It was killing me, but my head was full of buzzing and the only thing in the entire world was her pussy. I was losing my mind from it all. Then she pulled her finger out and let me suck it off before taking it away again.

“Please!”

“No.”

More fingering. More hips gyrating. More finger sucking. More abject suffering. I may have been moaning freely. Whining. My inner emotional narrative turned to physical sound. Her hips were picking up speed. I could sense her orgasm coming and I wasn’t going to be part of it. Then…

“Go ahead,” she said as she removed her hand.

I devoured her. I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her snatch into full contact with as much of my face as possible. The trapped penis meat screamed at being pressed against the bed, but I knew nothing but her pussy.

Then she told me it was time for the face-sitting. I leapt up, panting and probably a little wild-eyed. My hand shot instinctively to her wetness, not wanting for a moment it to go unattended  She was so wet. So slick with her own fluids and my spit. The penis ached for that feeling. Hot, wet and home. More moaning.

She liked how it felt. She wouldn’t let me stop. She came, clutching my wrist in her hand and pressing her legs together. I reached for her G-spot and could feel her muscles clamping down with each wave of orgasm. Then she was done. And I was dizzy with sensations of her proximity.

After a few moments, I slowly climbed on top of her.

“Please,” I croaked, “Please, can I fuck you?”

Pause. Hopefulness.

“No.”

Crushing disappointment. Then, a building of…of…what? Some kind of emotion. Not anger. Nothing directed at her. Just pure frustration. Hot and sweet desperation. I could feel my soul inflate with it.

“PLEASE,” I said, pushing. I knew I was. But I couldn’t stop myself. I could not keep myself from saying what I was thinking.

“NO,” firmly. Then, more gently, “Not yet.”

I clutched her. Held her firmly. I could feel my muscles knotting with the building tension I was feeling. Building…building…then, release. I was broken. The tension ebbed away with every heartbeat. My body relaxed, accepting my position. The sweat on my body turned chill.

Then I babbled. All kinds of declarations of love and commitment and gratitude. I was desperately, desperately frustrated. The penis throbbed in its prison. And I accepted it. All of it.