Taunt Me (Rough Love 2)

I whipped my head back and forth, voiceless, breathless, humiliated by his demonstration of my hypocrisy, but too worked up to care. He returned to torturing me, delivering fleeting, electrifying caresses and pinches to my swollen clit, chuckling when I bucked helplessly against his hand. I knew he’d only give me what he was willing to give me, and he was punishing me at the moment, so it wasn’t very much.

Why had I chosen this? Why was I subjecting myself to his whimsical sadism, his torturous scenes? Just to feel his power and have his cock, and earn those magical orgasms if he deemed me worthy?

Yes. Good God above, yes, that was why. I held my pussy lips open for him like an obedient masochistic slut, dreaming of sex and kisses and poetry. I forgave him for everything that came before: the secrecy, the desertion, the binoculars, the machinations with my internship. I forgave him and cursed myself for denying our bodies the pleasure they could have enjoyed for weeks now. I deserved the torment he was heaping on my poor, exposed sex.

“Please, no more,” I begged from behind his hand. “Please, just let me come.”

“I don’t think so,” he said with a chuckle. “Not this time. Not after all the time you denied me. Maybe later, if you’re good.” He rubbed my clit a little longer, a little harder, just to drive me those last few inches to insanity. As I strained back against him, he whispered in my ear. “Don’t you wish you could come? Don’t you wish I’d fuck you hard and fast, until your walls clenched around my cock? Don’t you want to feel that release? That bliss?” His fingers traced around the petals of my clit. “I wanted it. But you wouldn’t give it to me. Bad girl.”

His fingers ceased their wandering and clapped over my held-open pussy with a squeeze and a firm slap. A tear escaped the corner of one eye and slipped down my cheek. I wanted to come so badly, but he wasn’t going to let me, and I didn’t dare do it on my own. I was so weak. He was so much stronger. I was in so much trouble, and now I was getting what was coming to me.

He let me go, waiting a moment to be sure I didn’t collapse. I almost did. He straightened me and gave me a look. Now that I could see his face, the gleeful sadism in his eyes, my humiliation was complete.

“Stay right there, naughty slut. No, keep holding yourself open. Don’t dare rub your clit.”

It took all my brazen determination not to scream at him to go fuck himself while I wildly masturbated myself to orgasm. It would have taken about six seconds from the place I was now. But I didn’t scream at him or masturbate, for two reasons. First of all, I was scared of what he’d do to me in reprisal. Second of all, I knew any orgasm I gave myself would be a mere shadow of the orgasm he would give me. Please, God. He was going to give me an orgasm, wasn’t he?

He went into the bathroom. I heard running water, the sound of him washing all my messiness off his fingers. I could have masturbated now without him seeing me. I knew it. He knew it.

Still, we both knew I wouldn’t do it. That wasn’t the way we played our game. He came out of the bathroom with his sweater off and his pants undone. His cock jutted from the front of his fly, thick, straight, hard. He worked his palm up and down the length of it, and leaned over his phone.

I salivated, watching. Put it in me. Please. I’ll never, ever deny you sex again.

“The others want to go to dinner,” he said in amusement. “I am kind of hungry.”

Oh God. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes,” he said, reading me his response as he typed it. “I’ll tell Chere.” He turned back to me. “Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

I shook my head in agonized dread. His laughing gaze raked over me. How did I look, close to tears, on sexual display for his amusement and pleasure?

“Can’t…go to dinner…now,” I managed to say.

“You can and you will, my horny little penitent. But first…”

He pushed me down on my knees. When I tried to reach for him under my own power, he made a noise that stopped me.

“Keep your hands behind your back.” He showed me what he wanted, making me grip my forearms with my pussy-slickened fingers. Then he tipped my face up and looked at me as if searching for some answer.

I had no answers, only questions. Why are you doing this to me? Why do you love hurting me, and why do I love being hurt by you?