It’s another week on the BDSM Dungeon Crawl and I thought I’d share something a little lighter this week. The last couple of excerpts have been quite intense with lots of anticipation so this week I decided to share the er… climax of a scene.
This one’s from Coming, Ready or Not! Three Tales of Tease and Denial again, and here Abby is having trouble obeying Will:
Your fingers slip between the soft folds of my labia, a passing tease on my clit and then back inside me. In and out, in and out; drawing me close so quickly. It takes hardly any time at all before I am holding on for dear life, back on the edge.
What was I thinking about before? Something to do with pain? No, paint. Hold on, Abby. Hold on.
Your fingers tease me inside, then you go back to circling my clit slowly and tenderly with just one finger.
Oh God, no. I can’t… I can’t hold on. Paint, plaster. That was it. 
The crack in the kitchen ceiling and the hall. I hope we haven’t got damp. Damp. I’m so damp, I’m sitting in a pool of my own… Stop that. The hall. Yes, we need to paint the hall. What colour shall we have? Will I even get to pick with the mood he is in?
I close my eyes, screwing them up tightly, concentrating so hard on not going over the edge, not coming. But that is worse. In the blackness behind my eyelids, there are no distractions from your touch, from what you are doing to me. Too easy to focus only on those torturing fingers.
I open my eyes and look away from you, not at you. That would be too much, to look into your eyes and see how much you are enjoying this, to know that even if I beg it will make no difference until you are ready.
You stop, thankfully, mercifully.
Oh I wish you would carry on, wish you would give me release, but I am also grateful for the pause, the break. The faint chance that I might be able to collect myself and hold on.
I get only a short respite and then you begin again. This time you start off by teasing my nipples, squeezing my bottom, spanking my pussy hard – just your hand this time, no crop, but the effect is the same.
I know! Think about work! That should help if anything should. Boring spreadsheets in the office, works of art hanging on the walls. I try to go round the gallery and name all the artists. It makes no difference. No matter how hard I try, all I can think about is you painting red hot, angry strokes on my skin.
And then my worst nightmare happens. I feel your breath on my inner thighs, your tongue flicking over the now crimson skin of my pussy. You lick ever so gently all round the edge of my labia and then your tongue plunges inside me and I cry out.
“Oh Sir. Please, Sir.”
Your finger presses against my clit again, and you look up long enough to say, once more. “Not yet. Don’t you dare.”
You don’t think you’re going to be thinking about the laundry and DIY in the middle of sex, do you? Painting the hall, plastering the kitchen? It never occurs to you that you’d think about any such things. Perhaps your parents might do that, but not you, oh no.
And yet, here I am, mentally counting and pairing socks while the evil, sadistic love of my life licks me so delicately inside and out; his tongue lapping at my clit, sucking it and… No! Don’t think about that. Socks! Green ones, blue ones, black ones, the pink ones with the little white flowers (mine, not Will’s!). Think about so… sock… No. Oh no. Ohhhhh. Nooo.
“Soooooooooooooocks,” I yell, as if my life depends on it.
Oh no. Please no.
Buying Links:
Loading InLinkz ...