Page 39 of Ezekiel
“I have a gorgeous fucking pussy,” I panted. When he spoke those words, they aroused me. When I spoke those words, I felt on fire with a combination of embarrassment and the most intoxicating lust imaginable.
“Good little slut. What a precious pussy for me to open and explore, to torment and torture, to pleasure and to devour.” I didn’t have a moment to respond before his lips lowered onto my dripping sex, licking and flicking at the nub of my clit rapidly. My toes curled, my back arched, and I keened. My hands reached for him, threading through his short curls and pulling him into me more fully.
“Hands above your head. Do not move them,” he barked out at me, his words vibrating against the sensitive folds of my pussy. I obeyed immediately, locking my hands together and holding them high above me on the bed.
“All stretched out for me, so beautiful, so willing and wanting.” His words only made me drip more for him. I felt that ache intensify, low in my belly. My hips shifted beneath his questing tongue, willing him to go faster, to lick deeper, to push me towards the climax that was already building deep in my core.
Just as I felt the tingling sensations of orgasm take hold of my clit and push me towards that precipice, he was gone.
Then, the touch of something heavy, yet soft, ran over my thighs.
“I feel something heavy. With lots of… pieces.. to it? I’m not sure how to describe it,” I muttered, still panting from the denial of my near orgasm.
“More,” he encouraged, trailing the item over my stomach and my breasts. I arched into the sensual feel of it.
“It’s smooth, cool. It feels like leather,” I groaned as one of his hands found its way between my thighs, lightly toying with my clit as he ran the item over me.
“Good job, beautiful. It is leather. It’s called a flogger,” he explained. I immediately tensed. I knew what flogging was.
“Isn’t that used to hit someone?” I said with trepidation.
“Traditionally, yes. But it doesn’t have to hurt. It can feel like a massage if done right. Listen to me, angel. I promised you I would not strike you tonight. That promise stands. Trust me.” I took a deep breath, grounding myself in the trust I was building with him. With my husband. With Sir.
“Take another deep breath, angel,” he guided, and I obeyed.
“Sir!” I nearly shrieked as sharp little pinpricks of sensation sent electricity up my thigh.
“Breathe, Angel. Breathe and use your words,” he commanded, that firm set to his tone calming me, sustaining me, and grounding me at the moment.
“Its sharp.” My voice trembled, but he did not stop, running the instrument up my inner thigh and then down the other.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, adding the nails of one hand to the thigh he was not torturing with the pricking item.
“Yes… no… wait…” I stammered out, trembling beneath the sensation. “It feels like all of my nerves have come alive. But it doesn’t hurt. Well, it doesn’t hurt-hurt.”
“How about now?” he asked, the sultry timbre to his voice making my head fuzzy as his hand moved up my thigh, his thumb toying with my slickened clit.
“Mercy,” I groaned, writhing under his touch. “Please, Sir. Please!” I begged, unabashed and unashamed, as the orgasm built within me.
“I’ll have you begging for mercy before this night is through, my needy little thing.” His fingers slid inside of me, stretching my tight channel. The pricking sensation ran up my thigh and on towards my stomach. He slowed its ascent as he neared my breast, running it up towards my nipple.
“Promise?” I teased, smirking and knowing that I was egging him on. The sharp pinpricks ran over the tightened bud of my nipple, making me nearly come up off the bed as the sensation exploded through my breast like electrical shocks of pleasure.
“It’s a fucking guarantee, angel,” he nearly growled. The pin-pricking instrument went away, and his hands were on me, rough and needy.
“Fuck, I need you. The way your body quivers under my touch. It’s addicting. I cannot get enough,” he groaned, filling his hands with my breasts, palming them roughly. He pinched my nipples, pulling them away from my body until I arched and keened at the intense sensation.
“I feel your fingertips on me, pulling at my nipples. Your fingertips are rough, but only just so,” I panted out as he began twisting my nipples just enough to make me see stars dance behind the blindfold. I longed to see his face, to see how all of this affected him.
His fingers released my nipples, moving down my body and pulling my legs even wider than before.
“Fucking hell, this pussy is just dripping for me, isn’t it?” he teased, and I groaned.
Smack, smack, smack!
He placed soft smacks against my inner thighs. I gasped, shocked at how good it felt.
“Use your words, needy little thing. Tell me how it feels,” he coerced.
