Page 133 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“Are you going to tie me up first?”
My girl loves her somerope.
I lean in and breathe against her earlobe. “When the time’s right, I’ll bind you up beautifully and then suspend you from a hook. You’ll scream. You’ll come until you can’t remember your name. But tonight, we compromise.”
I brush my lips over her shoulder.
She squirms.
I land a soft smack on her ass. Not punishing. Just enough. Then wait for the anticipation to crawl up her spine. Five seconds. Ten.
She can’t help herself and breaks, shifting her body.
I smirk.
She’s mine to teach. Mine to torment.
I flick on the vibrator. The hum fills the air.
Her breath catches.
I smack her again. A little firmer. Then I pick up the flogger and move behind her, keeping her guessing.
Still, I wait.
There’s an art to foreplay. And I’m named after a goddamn master of eroticism.
Tonight, Fina will fall apart so slowly, she won’t know where she ends and I begin.
The bench has her at the perfect height and angle, and I take full advantage, running a finger from her knee to inner thigh, warming her to my touch.
She arches sideways, trying to get my finger on her clit.
I tap her inner thigh with the flogger’s handle, signaling her to spread them.
She does, and I reward her with a light glide of the vibrator across her sensitive nerve bundle.
Her hiss is music to my ears.
I sink down, needing a taste, and lick the same spot, the thin white bikini a barrier between her sweet pussy and my tongue. I’m not having it, and do what preoccupied much of my earlier thoughts, nipping the material with my teeth and, with a backward tug of the head, ripping the bikini offher.
Then I go to town, alternating between licking and driving inside her warmth and rolling the tip of my tongue against her sex.
“You could do that all day,” she moans.
Yeah, I damn well could.
I feast some more before amping up our play, stepping back, hiking her up by her hips and positioning her just so. I snap the leather flogger against her glistening lips. Her body jumps, nerve endings igniting into a coiled, delicious mess.
She gasps, a sharp, trembling sound that vibrates through me. Every shiver, every quiver of muscle, every small catch in her breath tells me exactly how she’s burning—anticipation, defiance, hunger. Her hands flex against nothing but air, searching, testing, aching for the source of her delicious torment. The faint tilt of her head, the slight arch of her back, the way her chest rises and falls, all of it spurs me on.
I brush the handle against her.
The leather comes back wet.
With a wicked grin, I flick my wrist again and bring the flogger down across her ass, a second, sharper sting. She gasps, but before the sound fully leaves her lips, I slide the vibrator inside her, slow and deep.
She moans loud and primal.
