Pleasure

Warning +18

“Slow” He growls, his eyes fix on my body, his full interest on me. My dress came down first, my hands guiding the sleeves down, till I was left with only underwear. I unclasp my bar, finding it way easier now tand faster than I have ever down. It fell down.

My hands found my hips, round my band and slowly I thug it down, once it got to my knee, I only had to move my legs till it drop. He smiled, pleased and his hands toss something towards me, purple. 

I caught it at the right moment, looking at it and my eyes widening. “A vibrator”. “You are going to fuck yourself, and base on how well you perform, I will fuck you, fail me and I will leave you begging for more and not getting it” He whispered, standing up, walking close to me, too close, with barely any room to breathe. 

His hands head something silver, and he put it in front of my mouth.”Suck” He ordered and my tongue was already rubbing it, round, he pulled it out. “Turn around” He order, his hands on my neck, pulling me down in one fast swift. 

I felt his hands, circling my ass, down, stoping at the second hole. The ball touch my skin, cold and inserted in, till I could take all of it. Leaving the stop top settle perfectly. 

“How does it feel” He asked, his grip on my neck pull me up slowly. 

His grip on my neck tightened, just enough to make the room narrow to the size of his pupils.

"Full," I whispered.

The word came out stretched, almost drunken. The plug sat deep, unyielding, a silvered weight that turned every small shift of my hips into a reminder of who had put it there. My thighs pressed together, seeking friction I wasn't going to get.

"Good." He released my neck. Stepped back. The loss of his heat made my skin prickle.

I heard him move behind me—the soft creak of leather, fabric rustling, the exhale of a man settling into a chair. "Turn around."

I did. Slowly. The plug shifted as I pivoted, and a sound caught in my throat—not quite a gasp, not quite a moan. Something between. He'd positioned the armchair facing the bed. Three feet of floor between us. His legs were spread wide, trousers straining at the crotch in a way that made my mouth dry and wet all at once. The purple vibrator lay on the cushion beside his thigh, waiting.

"Sit on the bed. Legs open. Facing me."

I obeyed. The mattress dipped under me. Cool air met the heat between my legs as I parted my thighs, and his nostrils flared—just slightly, just for a second—before his expression smoothed back to command.

"Pick up the toy."

My fingers closed around the silicone. It was heavier than it looked, curved at the tip, with a bulbous head that caught the lamplight.

"You're going to make yourself come," he said, voice low and even, "and you're going to do it slowly. I want to watch every second of it. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

The question hung. His thumb traced the outline of his erection through the fabric of his trousers—deliberate, unashamed.

"Yes, Sir."

He nodded. "Begin."

The vibrator hummed to life on the lowest setting. I pressed it to my inner thigh first, letting the buzz travel through skin and sinew, watching his hand stop mid-trace. His jaw tightened.

Careful, I thought. He said slow.

I dragged the tip upward, skirting the place I wanted it most, circling instead. The sound of my own breathing filled the space between us. His fingers curled around the arms of the chair.

"Good girl," he breathed, and the words landed somewhere low in my belly.

The vibrator kissed my clit.

My hips bucked—involuntary, electric. A noise escaped me, sharp and unguarded. His lips parted.

"Again. Hold it there longer."

I pressed the silicone flush against myself. The vibration hummed through nerve endings I didn't know had names. My free hand fisted the sheets. The plug shifted inside me with every clench, a counter-rhythm to the buzz, and my head fell back.

"Look at me."

Lifting my head took effort. His eyes were dark, fixed, hungry. The bulge in his trousers had grown more insistent. His knuckles were white on the armrests.

"Faster."

I clicked the setting higher. The sound changed—deeper, angrier. I circled the vibrator in small, tight spirals, the way I would if I were alone and chasing the edge. But I wasn't alone. I could feel his gaze like a second set of hands.

"How close are you?"

"Close," I managed.

"Then stop."

My hand froze. The vibrator whined against empty air. A whimper—mine—filled the silence, and I watched his composure fracture just a little, a crack running through the marble.

"Please," I said.

"Please what?"

"Please let me finish."

He leaned forward. "Not yet. Put it inside you. Just the tip."

My hand trembled as I guided the vibrator lower. The bulbous head pressed against my entrance—drenched now, embarrassingly wet—and I let it sink in inch by inch. The plug in my ass made everything tighter, fuller, a geometry of sensation that bordered on too much.

"Now," he said, and his voice had changed. Rougher. The authority still there but frayed at the edges. "Now fuck yourself."

I did.

The vibrator slid in and out with obscene ease. The dual fullness—silicone thrusting, silver anchored—blurred the borders of my body. I forgot to be watched. I forgot the chair, the room, the performance of it all. My hips rolled, chasing, greedy.

"Faster," he rasped.

Click—the highest setting. The vibrator became something alive inside me. My moans turned ragged, my spine arched, and through the haze I saw him: leaning forward now, elbows on knees, one hand pressed flat against his own thigh as if to keep it from moving.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Look at how well you take it."

The edge approached—not a wave but a tightening, a gathering, muscles winding toward breaking point. My rhythm stuttered.

And he said, "Stop."

I pulled the vibrator out. It glistened in the lamplight. My chest heaved. Between my legs, a desperate, aching emptiness.

"Why?" The word came out wrecked.

"Because I want to taste you first."

He stood. Crossed the three feet between us. Dropped to his knees.

His mouth found me before I could process the reversal. Tongue flat and slow, dragging upward, collecting everything. My hands flew to his hair—thick, dark, softer than I'd imagined—and I held on.

He didn't rush. He licked like he had all the time in the world, like I was something to be savored rather than devoured. The vibrator was still buzzing somewhere beside my hip, forgotten. The plug remained motionless, a constant, grounding weight.

When he pulled back, his lips shone.

"I need to be inside you." Not a command anymore. A confession. His voice cracked on the last syllable. "Please."

Please.

The man who'd ordered me to strip, who'd inserted that plug with clinical precision, who'd made me stop twice—begging.

"Say it again," I whispered.

"Please." He was already unbuttoning his trousers, movements less controlled now, more desperate. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, the tip beaded with a pearl of moisture. "I need to fuck you. I need—"

"Then fuck me."

He was on me in a breath. Missionary. My back hit the mattress and his weight followed, his cock sliding against my slickness before finding where I opened for him. One thrust and he was buried to the hilt.

The sound he made—guttural, shattered—was nothing like the controlled voice from before.He didn't build slowly. There was no teasing. He fucked me hard from the first stroke, a punishing rhythm that pressed the plug deeper with every impact. The headboard knocked against the wall. My nails raked down his back.

"Harder," I heard myself say.

He complied. Sweat slicked his shoulders. His face hovered above mine, eyes wild, mouth open, every thrust forcing a grunt from somewhere deep in his chest. The vibrator was still on, buzzing against my thigh, and I grabbed it, pressed it to my clit while he drove into me.

The synergy shattered something. My orgasm hit without warning—a clench, a scream, my vision whitening at the edges. He felt it. Groaned against my ear.

"Not yet," he gasped. "Not inside you."

He pulled out. Flipped me onto my stomach. Doggy. His hands found my hips, fingers digging into flesh, and he entered me from behind with a single brutal stroke.

The angle was obscene. Deeper. The plug an insistent pressure that made every nerve ending sing in stereo. His thrusts grew erratic—shorter, faster, losing their rhythm.

"Where?" he panted. "Tell me where."

"On me. Come on my tits."

He withdrew. I turned, dropped to my knees in front of him, and his hand wrapped around his cock—slick with me, glistening—pumping fast now, eyes fixed on my chest.

The first rope hit my collarbone. Hot. Thick. The second streaked across my left breast. The third, my right nipple. He groaned through clenched teeth, milking every last pulse, until pearlescent trails decorated my skin like some obscene necklace.

He stood there, chest heaving. The plug shifted as I breathed.

"Now," he said, and his voice was returning—the control creeping back, the command. "Lick every drop. Now." I looked down at the mess on my skin.

Then I looked up at him, my tongue already moving toward the nearest streak.

"You'll wear the plug tonight," he added, fingers finding my chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. "And tomorrow morning. Don't think for a second you're finished earning your punishment."

His thumb traced my lower lip. Slowly.

"So you'd better make this count."