Afterwards, kneeling before him as he sat on the sofa, with one glow on my bottom and another in my heart, I wanted him. I wanted his hands on me, touching me, stroking me, petting me, pinching me, hurting me... I wanted his hands to reinforce to me that I was his, that I belong to him, that he has free access to any part of my body he wishes, whenever he wishes. The stabs of erotic pain as he rhythmically squeezed my nipples was enough to start me moaning as my eyes drifted shut and I swayed slightly, glad that I was already on my knees. Our kisses just added to this, my mouth making demands of him that chattel have no right to make.
He moved things a notch higher, making me stand facing away from him, legs spread wide, bottom thrust back, flushing at the thought of everything being so displayed for him. And there I stayed, panting and whimpering, while his fingers explored, invaded and fondled me. It was humiliating - and his fingers on my clitoris were arousing and arousing and arousing me, but there was no way I'd be able to orgasm in that position. I was getting desperate, the need to come beginning to override everything else. And then he stopped.
I stayed in position until his order (very glad that he hadn't furthered the humiliation with an inspection), then followed him to the bedroom and obediently took his cock into my mouth. That's an interesting adverb to use, isn't it - obediently. I was glad to go down on him, but knowing that in doing so I'm being an obedient slave gives me a deep and quiet satisfaction, as well as fuelling my arousal.
He wound up ordering my hands behind my back as I lay on the bed and he fucked my mouth, pounding my head into the mattress, making me grunt. I love it when he takes me like that, takes his pleasure from me and I can imagine that he cares not one whit about me except as a masturbation device. Afterwards, his hand wrapped around my neck. "Swallow." And I did. "Good girl"
I didn't get an orgasm. He let me writhe around, grind myself against his leg, whimper, tremble, and generally show him just how very turned on and desperate I was. And then he sent me to get dressed and boot up my laptop for work.
I have not seen him since, and in all there will be four nights when we will sleep apart. For those four nights, I have instructions: I am to read something arousing and masturbate, every night, and I'm not allowed to come.
Because I am overly obedient I am following the spirit of his instructions; I know that he wants me hungry for him, so I am masturbating to the brink of orgasm and then stopping. Two nights of this, on top of Friday morning's desperate and helpless arousal, is making me miss him and yearn for him even more, but at the same time it gives me something to focus on that's quite different and separate from hospitals and sickness. So I am grateful for his care even while I groan to myself, late at night and quivering, over his cruelty.
Tuesday night can not come quickly enough. I will not want to spend a quiet evening relaxing, I have to hope that he won't either. I will want his hands on me, touching, stroking, pinching, hurting, petting, soothing, making me writhe and gasp, my voice abject and helpless, "oh please, oh please..." while his hands touch me all over and reclaim me as his own.
And if I'm very good, he might even let me come.