K. Bromberg: Bend

“Ah, you are dripping for me, no? You like fire and ice?”

My body trembles as he slips two fingers in me and bends them before pulling them slowly back out. My eyes roll back and a moan comes from deep within as he continues his assault, plunging into me and then curving to hit my g-spot perfectly on their way out. He draws sensations from me that are so intense, so powerful, that there is no way I can suppress them. I begin to writhe, begin to lift my hips for him, grant him access as my body begs him to sate the need he’s created.

“If it spills, you’ll be punished,” he warns as his fingers withdraw completely causing me to suddenly feel empty and dangling on the brink of release. “… You will make me go back on my word not to hurt you.” He tsks. “I don’t like to be forced to break promises.”

My mind registers his forewarning, but my body couldn’t care less when I feel something push into me. The water on my stomach, the heeded advice—none of it matters because all I can concentrate is the slow insertion of something ice cold, inch by thick inch into me. Chills race over my flesh. They are so severe I can feel the hardened wax pull from my skin as he begins to slowly pull the frozen object back out. I angle my hips, try to relieve the extremity of the temperature, when whatever is within me hits the soft nerve-laden spot within. I begin yanking my legs against my restraints. The intensity of the mixture—cold against sensitivity—is almost too much for me to bear.

The room fills with my cry and his chuckle—an odd juxtaposition of sound—as my body fights the sensations resulting from his machinations. His hand stills, the iced wand remains unwelcome but wanted within me, and the only sound in the room is the harsh rasp of our panted breaths.

“You failed.” That tsk of his is back, chilling my insides just as the ice does my outsides. “Now, Lilly, you weren’t a very good girl.” It’s all he says but the disappointment in his voice causes a random mix of emotions to swell within. Fear of the punishment, despair over the situation, self-loathing that I was so attuned to what he was doing to me elsewhere that I forgot his singular demand.

I suck in a breath as the bed shifts, unsure of what his definition of punishment is since he said he’s not going to hurt me. My mind frantically flickers in its schizophrenic haze, the deafening silence of the room only adding to my unrest. I try not to squirm at the cold between my thighs, but whatever it is, is thawing from my heat. The chilled liquid is seeping out and trickling down my perineum, dripping onto the bed beneath me.

“So many options,” he murmurs against my ear, his sudden nearness unexpected and shocks the hell out of me. I hold my breath at the same time his feathers against my cheek. His quiet scrutiny unnerves me, my eyes darting back and forth beneath my blindfold trying to sense his next move.

Trying to predict my punishment.

Punishment. Pain. A small thrill jolts through me right before I realize how seriously disturbing that is. My core clenches and tightens around the object as I try to rationalize the sick, demented part of me that is aroused by this all. And I’m not allowed to finish the mental chastisement because I feel him climb over my torso. I fall motionless as his muscular thighs press against the sides of my rib cage, his shaft rests between my breasts, thick and heavy.

I fight the forbidden desire that pulses through me at the feeling and try to focus on what he’d said. Punishment. Fear comingles with desire and causes my muscles to constrict with such vigor that I push out the ice within me. A deluge of cold water comes with it, but I fight the gasp because if he’s facing me, then he doesn’t know. And if he doesn’t know then that means that he might not require my penance for that too.

But why do I secretly want him to?

His peppermint breath is back on my lips, his erection squeezed between my breasts as he leans forward. My nipples harden, the swelling increasing the pressure between the clamps. “What I’d give to make you take my cock all the way to the back of your throat. Feel your wet tongue on my dick and suck me dry.” Saliva pools in my mouth at his words, my tongue darting out to lick my lips in reflex. His chuckle resonates again, and I can feel his scrotum tighten and release with its sound. “Ah, you want that, no? Well I don’t quite trust that your bark is worse than your bite just yet,” he says, followed by a quick tug on the clamps.

The release of pressure is sudden but then comes a searing sting as blood flow returns. His weight on my torso stifles my immediate urge to twist and turn as a means to absorb the oddly pleasurable pain tearing through me and manifesting into a deep ache in my lower belly. I moan out and yank my arms and legs against the restraints, trying to relieve the overwhelming sensation somehow, someway.

“You like that, no?” he whispers, his weight shifting so his mouth barely brushes against mine when he speaks. “You see, I need to punish you.” He traces his tongue over the seal of my lips. “I need to have my cock buried so fucking deep in that beautiful cunt of yours that when I punish you, it clenches around me. So that you tighten and tease and pull me over the edge with you.” I feel the bed shift some, his hips tilt up as he leans back and his fingers enter me hard and fast. Unexpected and invading. The startled cry is muffled on my lips. “I will own this. Your pussy, your orgasm, and every ache, breath, and moan in between.”

His fingers thrust in and out momentarily. The room fills with our panting breaths, the slick sound of wet flesh being manipulated, his soft grunts of effort and my pleasured moans as the friction heats up my frozen walls. A liquid warmth starts to spread through my body. The unique combination of my throbbing nipples, the inimitable scent of maleness as his cock thrusts closer to my face, and the claim he takes by fingering me causes my body to seize up and prepare for the climax I fear will rip me apart.

Pray will rip me apart.

“Oh god,” I moan out incoherently as my body floats in that suspended state before the eruption of bliss. My head angles back and lips fall lax, my breath hitching and mind stuttering over thoughts as I try to grab and let them go all at once because I’m such a mix of contradictions. The tremors of sensation slowly escalate toward a full blown earthquake when his fingers pull out, and before I even have a chance to respond, the wide crest of his cock is thrust between my parted lips. I’m so shocked from being denied the release my body desperately craves that I can’t even react fast enough to deny his thick shaft as it hits the back of my throat and pulls out.

The guttural grown he emits only adds pressure to the denied orgasm weighing heavily between my thighs. I’m turned on, desperate to come, and his musky taste overtaking me only adds frenzy to my fire. And just as quick as he fills my mouth and unintentionally blocks my airway, he withdraws before I can rationalize what he is doing or where my teeth should clamp down.

I gulp in a draw of air as he shifts from the bed once again. His body leaves mine, the slide of his dick across my nipple is oddly arousing, and I want to cry out for him to stop. To come back. To fuck me good and hard because my muscles ache and my need is unsated.

If denying me my orgasm is his punishment, then holy hell, I’ll take more wax.

I want to yell at him, insist that he finish me off, but I catch myself before the words tumble out. I realize that such a demand would be giving him exactly what he wants— exactly what I want —but under his terms. He has enough of an upper hand in this whole situation and I need to keep something. For what? I’m unsure, but the thought gives me enough gumption to keep my mouth shut despite the ever increasing ache.