The Dare

“Oh, no, no, we can’t have that.”

Suddenly he was straddling me, the knife set aside so he could pull my hands away from between my legs. I fought him all the while, begging and cursing. It surprised me, at first, when he produced a small key from his pocket and unlocked one of my wrists - but my surprise turned to horror when instead of releasing both my wrists, he used the cuff to secure my arm to the bed frame.

“No, no, no, Manson, please, please, please!”

He secured one wrist, and then the other - producing another pair of handcuffs from his bedside table. My arms were spread wide, touching myself made utterly impossible. I just wanted to touch - him, myself, anything! It was sheer torture that I couldn’t. My lust-filled frustration felt like a vibrating, screaming alarm in my chest. I couldn’t take the teasing, the waiting, the torment, I couldn’t!

“I told you I’d make you cry,” Manson said, sitting back to look at me and shaking his head. “Little angels need to learn not to touch themselves without permission, don’t they?” He forced my legs apart, slapping my thighs sharply so I’d spread them wider as I yelped and shrieked. With my pussy fully exposed, spread and lewd for his eyes to feast upon, he said, “Now I have to punish you. You’ll still get your reward, but first you need a reminder about obedience.” His voice was slow and gentle, as if he were speaking to someone small and insignificant. A sob escaped me, although my tears had yet to fall.

“Please, Manson, please, I’m sorry, please just...just...ahhh…” I thrust my hips up demandingly. My brain was flooded with thoughts of his fingers pressing into me, spreading me...thoughts of his mouth closing over me, suckling me, his tongue exploring inside. I was going to lose my mind. I was going to scream, cry, anything to convince him to give me the pleasure I so desperately craved. But I was bound, and although tugging at my shackles relieved some of my tension, it did absolutely nothing to convince him to give me what I wanted.

“Naughty girl,” he said. “You look so cute when you try to get away. What a little masochist you are.” He looked down at my cunt, dampening the sheets beneath me, a needy, swollen mess. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he reached over to his bedside table and picked up one of the candles.

“See all this lovely, hot wax?” He tipped the candle slightly, so the wax accumulating inside its walls glistened and rolled. “I’m going to spread you apart, hold you open, and let this drip right onto your clit, since you want to touch so badly.” I shuddered, whimpering at the thought, and he smiled sympathetically. “I don’t blame you. I know it’s so hard to be good when you want it so badly. But that’s what punishment is for: so you can learn to be a good girl.”

“Yes, Master,” I sniffled, hands clenched into fists as I prepared for the burning pain.

“That’s good, accepting your punishment so sweetly.” He touched my face gently, and I leaned into his hand. But the gentleness couldn’t last long. His hand left my face, tracing down my chest and stomach. He tugged up the edge of my skirt, tucking it into the waistband so he had better access. He watched my face and his fingers stroked down, ever lower - then between my lips. I gasped sharply. He rubbed over my clit - lightly, barely touching, so light I wanted to scream.

“Please, Master, please…” I groaned, panting. He laughed at my pleas and spread his fingers, pushing apart my labia and exposing me. He hovered the candle closer, watching my expression go from frustration to terror.

“Fuck! Please...please...fuck…” I sucked in my breath, uncertain how much pain I should prepare myself for. How badly would it burn? How long would it last?

“You look so cute when you’re scared,” he murmured. “Try not to scream too loud, angel. Although I don’t think anyone will hear you anyway.”

He tipped the candle, and two tiny droplets of wax fell. They clung to my skin, and for a moment it was like fire: a split-second of burning, terrifying, enough to make me shriek. Then it was gone, and only the swiftly hardening wax droplets remained, black against my skin.

Manson tipped the candle again, and more droplets fell. I groaned from between my clenched teeth. I was so tense with anticipation that when the burn hit my skin, it took all my self-control not to scream. Manson paused his torture for a moment to rub his fingers over my clit. His touch was rougher this time, the wax sliding off my skin as he massaged me in a circular motion. Pleasure radiated through me, so intense that I tried to squeeze my legs together, but he slapped my thighs again, scolding, “Don’t try to get away, Jess. Take your punishment like a good girl.”

I shook as I forced my legs to stay open. Instead of spreading me again, Manson held the candle over my thigh and dripped the hot wax onto my stinging skin. The pain was less frightening, but I still whimpered at every drop, biting my lip. Soon my skin was spotted with wax, drips and splatters covering me.

Manson set aside the candle, looking over his handiwork like an artist surveying his canvas. His fingers traced along my inner thighs, making my breath catch. “Remember that from now on: no touching without my permission.”

“I’ll remember, Master,” I said, then held my breath as he spread me again. With two fingers holding me open, he used his middle finger to rub me, focusing his attention on my clit. “How does that feel, angel? Do you want it faster? Harder?”

“Yes, please!” I gasped. He increased his speed, and my pleasure became a knot within me, growing tighter and tighter, spreading. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, letting myself sink into the ecstasy, letting it consume me. I would cum if he kept it up for only a minute more...just moments more…

I squirmed up against his hand, whining desperately. I was so close...so close…

“Not yet.” He pulled his hand away, and I shrieked in fury.

“Fuck! No, Manson, please!” I strained against the cuffs, the growl that came out of my chest absolutely beastly. But Manson just laughed in disbelief.

“What a spoiled little thing. You shouldn’t curse at me, Jess.” He reached forward, roughly grabbing my chin. “You shouldn’t have done that. It was very bad. Do you know what happens to bad girls?”

My temper was still high. I wanted to snap at his hand, but thought better of it. “Stop teasing me!” I growled, ignoring his question. “Please! I just to cum, dammit, please!”

“You seem to be under the impression that you deserve it: that it’s not something I’ll deny you in a moment if you don’t keep up your good behavior.” He grinned. “Bad girls get spanked, Jess.”

The blood drained out of my face. He’d spanked me already, and the sting had been intense enough that I didn’t particularly want to experience it again. Perhaps some small, masochistic part of me did - but it was a part I was trying very hard to ignore.

“I’m sorry,” I said tensely. Then, a little more repentantly, “I’m sorry, Master. I’m...I’m not good at waiting.”

“I can tell,” he said. “And you’re not sorry, not yet. But you will be.”

I had never imagined that I could be kept on the edge for so long. Could I even remember what it was like not to be horny?

Manson repositioned himself, pressing one knee upon my thigh to hold it spread, and used his left hand to press down on my other leg. My pussy was held open too, except now I had no option to even attempt to close my legs. My breathing quickened, shuddering through my chest, as I suddenly realized that he hadn’t meant he was going to spank my ass.