I sit astride the small wooden coffee table. I am naked.
In my fantasy you have tied me with my legs parted, helpless and vulnerable.
In reality I am in that exact pose but held only by my own desires.
I have moved the coffee table to the small cramped hallway facing my front door. My spread knees touch either side of the frame. The muscles of my inner thighs ache.
The door is locked. No one can see in but I can hear the street sounds outside. I can feel the cold draft from around the door like a ghostly hand caressing my warm wet sex. It makes me feel exposed, on show, makes every touch more intense. Makes control harder.
Fingers first, just my own hands. Practised movements across my labia and clitoris, stroking, teasing. Adding to the heat and wetness. Years of practice. I know exactly how much I can take. I’m cruel, ruthless, as I take myself to the brink. Touching and teasing until I have to change technique. Fingers sliding across the flesh around my clit unable to take direct contact there now.
The wooden table top is sticky with my sweat as I squirm. My feet weakly kick the door frame.
I’ve done well haven’t I? Gotten myself so close. There’s no need for anything else.
The vibrator? No, you know what that does to me. You know how hard it is for me to keep control. I’ll use my hands again but not the vibrator.
I imagine your laughter. It makes my stomach tighten.
The vibrator on my inner thighs moving closer and closer. My vagina clenches as the humming plastic traces the curve of my mound.
Not on my clit. Not on my clit. Not on my clit.
I distract myself wondering if the soft buzzing can be heard through my door. If it can would anyone realise what the sound was?
These thoughts help me control myself at the almost pain sensation of the vibrator at it’s target. I writhe and shudder but I hold myself at the edge.
Let me turn the vibrator off. Take it away and I will use my hands again. I make myself whimper for you just let me turn the vibrator off.
Thank you.
Hands again..then..no.. vibrator…no…again..hands… vibrator…please….turn it off…I’ll come..I can’t take it…I’ll come…hands…let me stop…please
Thank you.
I’m panting. Wet. Swollen. Desperate. My legs are spread wide. If I close them. If I squeeze I’ll come and we both know that’s not allowed.
My one consolation is that I am too far gone. The vibrator is too much to use now, even my hands are too crude a touch. Any contact will send me over the edge. You have to let me rest.
The feather? No!
The feather. The tiniest most fleeting of touches redefining where the edge is. Tickling touches whisking across my clitoris until I buck and sob.
The feather used until my wetness clogs the fine hairs and makes the feather too dull an instrument.
Ive been good. I didn’t come. May I stop now?
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/xi4wn2/negotiations_with_nobody_bdsmedgingfemsubsolo
Really nice story, you want to chat? F30