Obedience – PT1 (MF) (MDom / Fsub)

*”I’m not going to cum until you touch me.”*

In the beginning, it was easy. My sex drive is fairly average. I go through swings of wanting to be left well enough alone save for a night of cuddling to needing to be bent over the arm of the couch, fucked rough until I’m moaning, with lots of in-between. On those in-between days, I might draw my fingers between my thighs out of boredom or to help fall asleep. Other days I’ll be perfectly content with reading, gaming, cooking…

After a touch starved while, the in-between days begin to vanish, especially when I’m around you. This is a callback to my admiration at your attention to detail: your pristine suits, moderate temperament. Everything is measured. I would love to say that I have the ability to make you abandon your self control, but I have no such sway over you. If I do, you do a very good job of hiding it, letting it only show through when your hands are woven in my hair and your lips are on mine, kissing me until we are breathless and needing.

Lately, with this promise I have made you, you’ve begun to break me. Before, I would take the orgasm that’s mine in a heartbeat: fervently circling my clit as soon as arousal tingled from my pussy to my toes. Now? I touch myself slowly and at your discretion. The other night left me gasping and full of need as you dragged me to edge of ecstacy and held me there even though I begged you for release. Do you remember? You proverbially grabbed my hand when I was right there… “Not so fast, I want that pleasure.” You might as well have growled it in my ear.

I stopped. I stopped twitching my fingertips against my so sensitive clit, panting, my mind racing with all the ways I could beg you for release. And then we started again. Talk of how you would fuck me when you get your hands on me. My pussy was already so wet, but when you told me you’d use me against the wall – lips against my ear, your fingers curled around my throat, I almost lost myself in the moment. I wanted you to smack my ass in the worst way and you told me you would. You requested I touch myself faster, I did. I abandoned the tempered self control which was exactly what you wanted. 12 minutes passed in between speeding up and my almost giving in to the trap you’d laid.

*”Please? I’m going to snap, I feel like a bow pulled taught and muscle memory is dragging me to the edge.”*

You asked me if I needed it that badly. I did. I was battling myself from uttering *”I’ll do anything.”* Instead; however, I stopped touching myself. I bit my pillow and moaned into it, but wrenched my fingers from my sopping pussy and tasted them for you. Musky, earthy, sweet. You would love how my honey tasted. You rewarded me for my obedience, *Good girl, I love you so much.* Your praise is the best high until you will let me cum.

A two day reprieve from being drawn to the edge. You thought you were being kind to me. In reality, I wanted to fuck so badly it had begun to permeate my dreams. I would never tell you, but the night you dreamt of your fingers digging into my hip, pushing my face into the pillows while you railed me, I dreamt it too. I dreamt you used me, fucked until exhaustion and didn’t let me cum until I begged you. In my dreams you broke me, but the next morning I was resolute. You intended to fix that.

*We’ve already visited how I’d get a brat to behave. Taking you to the edge and denying you until you break. How best to go about it though?*

You’d have me strip and sit on your vanity. The last time I was anywhere near your vanity, I was bent over it, legs spread. Your fingers were curled into my sex and I was so close to cumming you asked if I’d like to. I have goosebumps remembering it. I was drunk with lust and broke so quickly. But now, sitting on your vanity, hands at my sides. You’d rob me of touching you so that you could lick, kiss, and nibble wherever your heart desired.

“Why can’t I touch you?” A simple enough question.

“This is about me using you.” An even more simple answer. You continued, “perhaps if you ask nicely, I’d let you touch me, but you need to earn that first.”

My expression gives way to puzzlement, “and how do I do that?”

Your smirk is wicked, taunting, as you point out the obvious, “by being good and keeping your hands at your sides while I touch you.” You rub your chin, thoughtful, head tilted slightly, “or do I need to restrain you to keep you from trying?”

A trap disguised as a test. One that I saw through and side stepped without blinking, “a tempting offer, but that won’t be necessary.”

Your kisses knock the breath from my chest, but it is like living my favorite dream. Two hearts beating as one; you are gentle with your kisses this time. Your hands are on my creamy thighs, lazily drawing your fingers in patterns over them. My fingers are against the edge of the vanity, I am white knuckled. You kiss the corner of my mouth and across my jaw, pulling my nipples between your fingers deftly.

I’ve never had a problem sitting still before now. Like the inability to moan aloud making the want that much greater, being told to sit bearing my body to you for you to use makes me antsy. I want to drag my fingers up your front and reciprocate your kisses: along your jaw, nibbling at your neck. I want to rub my hand across your cock and stroke it until you’d fuck my face. But you haven’t made it that far yet.

You kiss your way down my neck and along my collarbone, murmuring your appreciation for my tattoo. You sigh against it and draw your fingers up and down my side. I want to grab your hand and put it between my thighs, instead I tilt my head back and moan. This only serves to encourage you, you seemingly reading my mind and scratching at my inner thighs softly.

I part my legs, forcing them further apart than they already are because I so want, no, need your touches. I half expect you to praise me, but you don’t. You reward me, instead, by kissing from my collarbone down my front. In doing so, you pause to lick and blow on my nipples, sending a shiver down my spine. I arch my back and square my shoulders, forcing my breasts out for you. You chuckle, replacing your mouth with your fingers and continue to kiss down my front. You kiss my thighs and drop your hand to rub each one while you lick and bite them.

The last time you bit my thighs, I bruised for a week. The first day after, I was especially sore, the ache in my thighs matching the handprints on my ass from when you painted it red. This time, each lick and bite make me grip the vanity even harder than I am and bite my lip, a moan escaping my lips. You are not gentle when you rub my clit with your thumb. I think it is to counterbalance your ministrations to my thighs and I am breathless none the less.

I feel your gaze, but cannot do anything about it. You blow softly on my cunt and I bite my lip, a frustrated moan barely escaping. “May I touch you?” In the past, I would never ask, I would just do. Yet another way you have slowly planted obedience and discipline in me.

I can feel your smirk against my thigh. You blow on my clit again, making me arch my back with a whimper, but you oblige me, “you may.”

I am so thankful to take my hands from the edge of the vanity, but my thoughts are thick with lust. Where do I touch first? Where do you like being touched? I can barely think straight while you directly rub my clit with your thumb, taking pleasure in how my leg involuntarily bounces. Ultimately, I settle on scratching lightly at the back of your neck and you moan. My touches do not distract you from licking and sucking on my lips, however, and I am having a hard time keeping my legs spread for you.

You have your hands on my thighs, rubbing over the developing bruises and you pull my clit in your mouth making me gasp a moan. The first time I came on your face, it was because you did exactly this, now I am struggling to ignore the heat spreading through me and I moan aloud a plea: “let me be your wonton slut.”

You stop, stand and admire your handiwork: my cheeks are flush, my breasts are rising and falling from my quickened breathing, I have pulled my lip in between my teeth. You do not relent and curl your fingers around my throat, murmuring in my ear, “You are my wonton slut, Kitten.” You punctuate your point by slipping two fingers into my cunt, crooking them in a come hither motion, your thumb rubbing circles on my clit once more.

My thighs are slick with my arousal at this point and I lean in to you, kissing my arousal from your lips. I move my hips against your hand, my self control, my discipline, waning. I am just about at the point of no return and I contemplate taking what’s mine. You tolerate this for a few short moments and then pull away, just out of reach. Your eyes are dark, dangerous, and you ask quietly, “whose slut are you?”

“Y-Yours.” It is more moan than word and it tips from my lips faster than I can stop myself from saying so. This is both my undoing and how you will break me. You are grinding away at my feisty behavior, shaping it, making me want, knowing my need to please you is stronger than my want to cum. A quiet, disobedient, delightful thought crosses my mind, *what’s to stop the brat from taking what’s hers? Be it a kiss or an orgasm.* I lean in, cup your cheek and kiss you greedily, another moan escaping my lips as I do.

You push me back easily, holding me by my neck. “Say ‘I’m your little slut’.” Your command comes with the cessation of your fucking me with your fingers.

I groan in frustration, but my frustration gives way to curiosity: *how far can I push you?* “Saying *Yours* wasn’t enough?”

“Not nearly..”, You say grinning at my attitude. You then take a few steps back licking and sucking at your fingers looking at me. “Turn around and bend over.”

I move from the vanity, turning, legs spread, and bending over, propping up on my elbows, “you’re not going to let me taste myself?”

“I don’t think you’ve earned it,” you pace behind me, but stop, arms crossed thoughtfully while you contemplate how to deal with me.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/elibcx/obedience_pt1_mf_mdom_fsub