“Figure it out yet?” Master persists, waving the damn blue feather into the hollows of my armpits.
My first three guesses were all wrong, and the hell of it is, I’m not sure guessing right means this torment will end. Because whatever it is he’s doing to me ranks number two on Master’s Kinky Hit List.
“Making me squirm, Master? Ayeeeeeeee!” Torture, sweet torture.
“Hmm, you’re getting a little bit closer with that one. Maybe I’ll give you another hint.” Fortunately, he moves the feather to my chest, teasing at the tips of my nipples. After the leather gloves, the feather feels like a soft cool breeze. It’s pleasant at first, and welcome relief to my much-abused underarms; I’m not nearly as ticklish anywhere else on my body. But then, the insistent but ethereal flutter just becomes a building need, a tantalizing extension of Master’s touch without actually being Master’s touch. And it occurs to me, he has yet to actually touch me, except for feeding me and …petting me. There’s been no contact with his skin since last night, really, and that is what I crave more than anything.
But that is not what Master is providing right now, so I accept the feather as a poor substitute.
“I think I just saw a light bulb go on above your head, princess. Care to try again?” The feather drags lower, Master’s eyes are locked onto mine. Down it slides, down toward the opening that has yet to be touched with even a wisp of a feather.
“You want me to beg, Master? For the tiniest lightest brush of the feather?”
He moves closer, not touching my body, but puts his mouth right up next to my ear and whispers, “Where, Isabella?”
“On my clit, Master.”
This is rewarded with a flick of his hand that brings the tip of the feather exactly where I’ve requested.
Sweet Jesus, the airy sweep of the feather where I’m beyond sensitive at this point.
“Okay…now what?” he prods.
Now? I’m supposed to think? I cannot think. He’s standing so close. His bare chest would feel so great against mine. Or just the touch of his warm hand on my stomach, or dare I fantasize…lower.
I answer with a slight whimper, frustrated not only by his denial but also because I cannot seem to decode his mysterious clues.
“What is it, princess? Do those beautiful breasts need some attention, too?”
“Yes, Master,” I hiss, adding, “Please,” for good measure.
He regards my chest wistfully, as if he’d like to touch me, but retreats once more to the coffee table. At once, I realize my misstep. I’ve been greedy, and payback is a bitch, in the form of two metal nipple clamps, which Master somehow manages to fasten without even touching me. He takes up the feather once more. “Better, pet?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
Master steps close again, right in my face, and cups my cheeks in his hands. Uh-oh.
“Your words say the right things, but I’m not sure your heart’s in it. I’m going to ask you again, sweet Isabella. Is that better, pet?”
Gulp. Called out and grateful for the second chance to do better, I soften and remember my place. The clamps are painful and they’re not what I was hoping for, but do I love that Master used them on me? That he’s teaching me …something—I don’t know what, but I’m sure it’s important—with them? Am I ecstatic that I get to be the lucky sub bound up here like this for him, receiving whatever it is he wants to give?
“Yes, Master. Thank you for the clamps.”
“Better,” he says with a brief nod. It seems one of those moments we’re almost having a sidebar conversation, my generous Master allowing me a do-over. Be worthy of it, Bella.
“Hold this for a sec?” I tease, tucking the quill upward under the belt and adjusting the wispy tip so it just barely makes contact with the top of her opening. That ought to keep her on edge while I get ready.
First, I grab one of the side chairs from the dining room and set it down right in front of her; then, it’s off to the kitchen for the oil cruet and a dish towel. Opening the button and zipper of my jeans, I sit down and draw close enough that my exhale causes the tiny feathery threads to sway.
“You look so beautiful all trussed up and teased, princess. Have you had enough yet?” Let’s see how she handles the tricky question.
“Your wish is my command, Master,” comes her response.
“Well said, my sweet subbie. Well said. My wish…is to bring you to the very edge…where you don’t think you can stand it for one more millisecond.”
I reach into my pants and release my erection, stroking myself lightly and drawing her eyes to the movement. “Mmm, feels so good.” I pause to slide down my jeans, not bothering to kick them off my calves. Tipping the oil into my palm, I pour out enough to allow for a smooth slide of my hand, up and down my shaft, a lazy, self-indulgent motion.
“Join me,” I invite her, reaching forward to take the feather back, waving it across her slit, back and forth. She swoons and licks her lips and all the signposts point in that one delicious direction. Needsville.
“Getting hot, princess?”
“Yes, Master,” she pushes out, her voice shakier.
“Mmm, me too,” I add, milking the moment porn-star style for all it’s worth. “Don’t forget to ask permission to come, Isabella.”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice rises, breathy.
Swish. Swish. The feather brushes rhythmically, just a touch too light to do her any real good.
Slosh. Slosh. My hand is insistent and actually feels pretty darn good, especially since I haven’t had to do much of this at all since Isabella dropped into my world. But Master needs to keep his wits. This is about the scene.
Brush. Brush. A wee bit harder. “Mmmmmmmm,” she moans, her entire body straining forward into the feather.
“I know, princess. Feels so good, right?”
Pump. pump. “Nnnng,” I echo her groan with one of my own.
I drop the feather to the floor and make a show of placing my left hand behind my back. Holding my right hand between us, I sit up straight in my chair. Isabella looks confused and more than a wee bit disappointed.
“Here’s the thing, princess. I only have one hand. It’s either you…” I skim my hand down her belly, ever so slowly, with that same feather light touch, stopping just above her opening and barely touching her clit with my thumb. Her breath catches and she makes a loud hissing noise. I move my hand back on my hard, needy cock and stroke myself. “…Or me.”
Once more, I pet her softly, teasing her with my thumb, causing her to swoon and sway in her bonds. “You…” and move back to my cock, “…or me.”
Placing my palm flat against her abdomen, I pose the question, “You tell me, princess. What does Master wish? Your pleasure, or my own?” My thumb inches down, so close. I wiggle it back and forth.
My poor subbie works out her answer. Her mouth has dropped open, her eyes are two half-closed orbs of desire, her entire body is tensed and expectant, and her pussy is positively begging for it.
Without responding, I pull my hand from her body and resume stroking myself. I slouch back in my chair, close my eyes, and stroke with the fingertips, the palm, the heel of my hand. Up and over, slick with oil and my own pre-release. I grunt and tug and groan and pump, again and again, certain she’s riveted to my performance, as I would be if the situation were reversed. Just before I reach my peak, I open my eyes to watch her watch me. With a loud growl, I encircle my shaft and pump myself, the sweet release spilling over my hands and onto my stomach.
I smile at Isabella as I gently stroke myself afterwards, my heart rate settling back to normal. “Very good choice. Your Master is quite fulfilled.” I bend over and retrieve the towel, and while I clean myself, I ask, “Was it good for you, princess?”
Now, admittedly, on the surface, this is a somewhat callous remark, though I’m prepared to explain to her exactly why this experience of sub choosing denial for self plus fulfillment for Master lands itself second on my list. I’m certainly not expecting the warmest reception from my frustrated, bound, clamped, and desperate submissive to this seemingly rhetorical question. And that is why the fact that she answered at all would have given me pause in and of itself, but her affirmation stops me dead in my admittedly cocky tracks.
“Yes, Master,” she answers, her voice arresting in its sincerity. There’s not even the tiniest hint of the earlier bitterness in her voice, but I have to stand up to see for myself. I need to see fully into the depths of her eyes.
“It really was good for you, wasn’t it, sweet princess?” Master asks, drawing one tantalizing finger around the curve of my hairline and tucking it away. His palm caresses my cheek and there’s no escaping those dense fields of green boring into my own eyes.
“Yes, Master,” I answer again.
His warm lips close over mine before I have a chance to gather my breath. And in the same moment, he releases first one nipple clamp and then the other, massaging me with his soothing hands and swallowing my surprised groan. And I’m right back there again on the edge, only this time, it’s embellished with pain tempered by the touch of my Master. So many competing emotions and sensations, my brain can’t sort them quickly enough; it’s all a jumble.
“You’re perfect,” Master assures me, pulling back slightly from our kiss, only to close in once more. His hands continue to knead and comfort, and the motion continues even after he stops kissing me again.
“I want you to know I really wasn’t planning on doing this,” he informs me, sinking into his chair in front of me. “But your devotion has truly moved me, and dammit, I can’t help myself.”
Next thing I know, Master’s soft, plump lips are between my legs. My knees buckle at the sudden unexpected attention. It’s barely more pressure than the feather, but it’s him; sexy, giving, warm, skillful, teasing, and always unpredictable.
My head becomes fuzzy and everything tilts. I feel the slick glide of his tongue inside me, lapping at me, caressing me, ratcheting up the heat. The tension mounts through my whole body as Master grips my thighs to support me. I’m nearing that precipice again, and this time, I don’t know how I’ll manage if he denies me again.
“Please, Master,” I wail. “Please, please, please may I come?”
Of course, all the attention stops long enough for him to authorize it, but the brief intermission is worth what follows. Master’s tone urgent, he tips his beautiful face up to me and says, “Come hard for your Master,” just before he dives back in and draws me out. He catches me as I sway forward as much as the simple pulley system allows. My orgasm seems to go on for minutes as Master’s tongue draws out every last ounce of pleasure.
“Let’s get you down from there,” is the next thing I hear, and all the tension is released as Master removes his belt from my waist. “Follow me,” he commands, walking me over to the couch and seating me on the floor in front of him.
“Remember this?” he asks, clicking the remote for his iPod and filling the air around us with O Giovinetto!
“Yes, Master, of course, from Turandot.”
“Close your eyes, princess.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this until I feel a trickle of oil, followed by warm hands massaging my shoulders. And I definitely love where he’s gone. “Mmm,” I moan appreciatively, causing him to chuckle behind me.
“Listen to the music,” he admonishes.
As Master’s fingers knead and soothe my weary upper body, I sink into the opera, the music and Prince Calaf’s pleading tenor voice drawing me into a semi-trance. Master’s thumbs press into the column of my neck, working out knots with small insistent circles while his fingertips slide toward my collarbones. A loud sigh broadcasts my massage-gasm.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he commands with a whisper at my ear. The iPod clicks to the next selection, the warmth of Master’s body behind me shifts, I’m turned slightly and stretched along the floor. He smooths his warm hands down my arms and sets my palms to the floor. Don’t move.
The trio of voices is somewhat familiar—I recall Ping and Pong but the third escapes me (Pung? Pang?)—and I remember their pleas to the naïve Prince Calaf to turn away from the deadly Princess Turandot before it’s too late. Just then, my ankles are spread slightly and I feel a pair of hands run up my calves, knees, then thighs. The opera is accompanied by a tinny buzzing and before I can catch my breath, a small, cool, plastic vibrator touches gently between my legs.
Up, up, up…pause…doooowwwwn. Up, up, up…pause…doooowwwwn.
It’s the pause that kills me, and Master knows it, stilling my hips with his firm hand across my abdomen. His patience is maddening, and again I marvel at my Master’s gift for self-control, which I do not seem to share. How can I be so needy, when I’ve already come not once, but twice? The urgent, pleading voice of Liù trying to knock some sense into her secret love seems to express my own growing desperation.
My idea of a perfect scene would be five orgasms for my submissive tonight, but if I can get her to four, I’ll go to bed a content Master. Accompanied by three of my own in the process, by the way. As an added bonus, tomorrow night at the opera, my sweet, not-so-innocent girlfriend will be squirming in her seat next to my parents, recalling the multiple pleasures heaped upon her, choreographed to the score of Turandot.
Liù's poignant begging is answered by Calaf's tender response, “Don’t Cry, Liù” and Master replies similarly to his submissive’s silent pleas for relief by drawing the miniature vibe to the top of the opening and settling it on her clit, ever so lightly, so as not to kill the goose that’s laying the golden O’s.
Isabella visibly strains with the effort not to open her eyes, not to move, not to respond to the emotionally charged music floating around us. As other voices join in, the tension mounts on all fronts. Her fingertips claw at the carpeting. Her jaw drops open while her chin tips back, elongating her graceful neck. The muscles of her belly grow taut under my hand. I’m a poetic bastard, so I wait for the moment just before the sounding of the gong.
“It’s time to come again, princess.”
She practically loses it at my words alone, and when I reveal her sensitive bud by opening her with two fingers, she hardly needs the soft touch of the vibe to get her off. Her hips lift right off the floor as she adds her own track of pants and squeals to the crash of the gong.
I move off her pussy and leave her to recover—briefly. Very briefly.
“You may open your eyes now,” I inform her, lightly trailing a couple fingers through the short scruff of her new pubic hair. "That's three," I smile, and she returns my glee with a lazy grin.
"Thank you, Master."
"Well, sweet Isabella, your gratitude is always appreciated, but these are all for me tonight. You get that, right?"
She looks slightly puzzled, but she'll understand later. I'm certain of that. With the background of In Questa Reggia, Turandot's aria about the suffering of her ancestress at the hands of a brutal king, I settle my knees between Isabella's thighs and stroke myself.
"All the orgasms tonight belong to your Master. Yours, mine and ours. We're just getting to the 'ours' part." Isabella's eyes drift to the hard cock in my hands, and I see the apprehension cross her eyes. "I know you're nervous you might not be able to come again right now, even from your Master's cock, which we both know you love more than anything." I pause to wink. "And that's okay, princess. This one is not a requirement; consider it extra credit. No consequences if I solo here. Now flip over onto all fours and set your forehead on this pillow."
Having learned my lesson the hard way about carpet burn, I toss a pillow near her head as she flips and scurries into place. Face down...check! Knees spread...check! Back arched...check! "Now that's the way to show your Master you want to please him."
This is going to get rougher, but I start out slowly and pour soft, encouraging words across the expanse of her back as I begin to gently pump the tip in and out. "That's it, my sweet subbie, feels so good to have Master inside you now, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Master," she answers into the pillow.
"Oh, Isabella, you feel so amazing wrapped around me. So...tight! So...wet! So...deep!" The words match the tempo of my thrusts. Grasping her hips, I increase both the pace and the force behind each thrust. "Would you like to earn those bonus points and come all over your Master's cock, princess?"
"Mmm. Mmmm," she answers, opening up and shaking her ass.
"You love that, don't you, girl?"
"Mmm, YESSSS!" she grits out.
"Come on, squeeze me. Show me you want it!" The aria eggs me on, the outrage of Turandot's ancestor about to be spelled out in a musical climax I'll match with my own. My own equipment is sensitive and raw from all the earlier action, and the tingling adds a not-entirely-pleasant edge that urges me on; I know the reward will be that much sweeter.
Curling my fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, I pound into her, reaching that pleasure spot deep within. Her low grunts match my own, the tension building. "That's your Master...feel me... claiming every inch of you...inside and out!" I pound relentlessly, imposing a punishing rhythm on both of us. My hips meet her ass with a loud thwack on each stroke, though the soprano's expressive voice demands our attention as she tells her story.
My fingers clamp down, nails pinching into her side. "Here we go, princess!" I roar through my final thrusts, pulling her harshly against me as I finally lose myself in a whirl of burning release.
I didn't come.
When Master's assault on my insides ended, he swatted me affectionately and settled my hips to the floor, telling me, "Relax while I get ready for the grand finale."
I know I'll tell him the truth if he asks me, and though he said there would be no repercussions, I can't help but feel the sting of failure. And speaking of stinging, I don't know how my pussy is going to handle anything “grand” without detaching itself from my body and running to hide.
"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart," the golden voice of my Master is soothing, yet his words are troubling, especially in my current face-down position. Spent and anxious, I nevertheless obey. I'm rewarded with a warm cloth where I'm weary and leaking, and Master gently dabs away the residue of our recent coupling while sliding his body alongside me on the floor. He fingers my loose hair affectionately and tucks a handful of strands behind my ear, then palms my neck and pulls me to his lips. He's tender now, but even had he not warned me there's more to come, cue groan, the eyes of my Dark Prince would've tipped me off: we're still in scene.
Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa...
"You heard the man, principessa, 'None shall sleep! Even you.' Up you go now, onto your feet."
Relief washes over me, though I admonish myself to stop trying to second-guess him, or worse--fail to trust him to know exactly what I can manage.
"It's not that I don't trust you, my sweet subbie," he raps smoothly, while clicking wrist cuffs in place and linking them together behind my back. "It's just that this last one might become challenging for you, and I don't want to give you the chance to disobey me." He spins me around so we're facing each other before grinning knowingly and adding, "Involuntarily, of course."
Ed il mio bacio scioglerà il silenzio che ti fa mia!
"Ah..." His eyes gleam with recognition, leaning forward to capture my lips with his. "Here's the part about my kiss dissolving the silence to make you mine. I love the Prince telling her how it is, don't you?"
Master makes a show of walking to the coffee table where all his implements are laid out and reaches for the large vibrator, the Hitachi that plugs in and never runs out of battery power. The one they used on that poor slave in the video he made me watch before teasing me relentlessly. My aching pussy quivers, and I fight down the dread. Not so much for the inevitable workout I'm about to receive, but because I fear I really may not be able to produce the desired result. Meanwhile, Master walks the perimeter of the room, holding the vibe in one hand and the cord in the other.
"Hmmm," he muses merrily. "Where to plug you in? Ah, here we go." Master sets down the Hitachi and retrieves the chair he used earlier. A warm flush washes over me as I recall his earlier masturbation display on said chair and the intense feeling of arousal he inspired in me with his sexy self-loving. He situates the chair about ten feet from the wall--How lovely of the Hitachi folks to be so accommodating with their generous length of cord--facing the middle of the room. I'm prepared to be ordered to the chair when, surprisingly, he seats himself there instead and curls one finger in a 'come-hither' motion. Master takes the vibrator in his right hand and kicks the cord off to the side before inviting me/ordering me to his lap. Holy shit.
With my hands tethered behind me, I need some help with my balance, and Master obliges by easing me onto his thighs. "Welcome to the chair of pleasure, my dear," he says with a bit of an evil cackle. I'm sure I will never be able to look at this chair again without turning bright crimson, and I intuit immediately that my boyfriend will undoubtedly use this point against me when his parents are here.
Master wraps his vibe hand around my waist, locking me tightly against his chest, while the other comes around and explores my exposed body. Not sure if this is just a reconnaissance mission to measure my arousal level or something designed to tease or inspire, I simply allow myself to sink into his body and feel: the warmth of his own spent body beneath and behind me, his hairy legs tickling against my own smooth skin; the security of his hand on my abdomen; his firm chest at my back and his teeth at my shoulder; and his insistent fingers at my breasts, circling, pinching, tickling.
Calaf's intense pleading swirls around our chair, and Master slides his hand to my neck, tipping my head back to rest on his shoulder. As his fingers glide down my torso again, he splits his legs apart, bringing mine along. "Spread wide open for me, princess," Master coos into my ear, as he presses open my thighs, leaving my feet dangling uselessly to the sides. With hands trapped between our two bodies and the rest of me open for the taking, I tremble with anticipation, surprising myself with a stamina I can only describe as a second--or third--wind.
“This next one might have a bit of a sting to it, but it would make your Master very, very proud to know I could get you off again tonight. What would this be, princess, number four?"
Gulp. He's asked, and he already knows the answer, or he would've said five. Furthermore, he does not sound the least bit disappointed about it, making my honest response that much easier. "Yes, Master."
At this close range, I see the proud nod of his head, the acknowledgment that his submissive has accepted and shared the truth. "Four's a mighty fine number, princess. Personal best for you?"
The cocky bastard…and yet he elicits my gushy response. "Master, everything you bring me is a personal best. There was nothing before you."
“If you really can’t bear it, use your safe word. Otherwise, I want to hear you scream. Understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I answer, holding his eye to let him know that this time, he can trust that I will not put myself at risk.
“Good. You have my permission and my blessing, princess. I’d advise you to make it quick; it’ll be a lot easier on you. Here we go!”
He switches on the vibe and presses it lightly to my clit, the other hand softly caressing my inner thighs. Despite the light touches, my impulse is to pull my legs together and bolt. Though I do neither, he senses my struggle.
He kisses the side of my neck and chuckles. "Easy, girl. You're not going anywhere until you give your Master what I want. I believe someone had a fantasy about forced orgasms?"
Oh, he cannot make me beg for this? A harsh pinch at my thigh tells me otherwise. "Yes, Master," I answer quickly, before I get myself into more trouble.
"So..." he coos into my ear, "trapped and helpless...utterly finished...not an ounce of desire left in you, then?"
That just about describes it. Except for...his words and his touches and dammit, the very fact of the circumstances he's just detailed...I have to admit to a stirring. "Maybe an ounce, Master."
Again, he laughs at my admission. "Focus on that ounce, then. It'll help with the pain."
No sooner do the words leave him, then he presses the vibe firmly against my vulnerable bud. His other hand provides a confusing counterpoint of soft tickling between my legs, while his lips press soft, whispery kisses behind my ear. The pressure on my clit is maddening, making me wish for more and less at the exact same time. The stinging increases, and again, I doubt my ability to reach another climax when all my pussy begs for is rest.
"Feel that burn?"
"Yes, Master." I answer the only way possible, with complete honesty.
"That's a good girl. Take that for your Master."
His words draw me further into the unpleasant sensation, but the idea of feeling it for him allows me to reframe my physical response. When he presses more firmly, I find that I want it this time, and a low groan alerts my Master to my inner shift.
His voice changes to warm honey. "I knew you would love this, Isabella. You love taking the pain for me, don't you?"
"Yes, Master," I admit, surprising myself with the simple honest admission. I can't begin to sort out my feelings right now, just need more. The fireball gaining force beneath the cruel, relentless vibrator is taking over every nerve ending and brain cell, leaving me a hot mess of raw need.
"You're gonna come so hard for me, princess. You're gonna shake in my lap and leave your juices all over me." He slides his palm under the wand and presses against my abdomen, dragging his nails through my hair. My head rolls back and forth along Master's shoulder. So much pressure, so much sting.
"Tell me you want it harder, Isabella," he commands.
"I do, Master. Please. Harder, please."
"You do it. Press into it. Push yourself into the burn...for your Master."
A shiver shakes my body as I do as he has ordered. How many times have I fantasized exactly this scenario and had to force myself because there was no strong hand to hold me down and no strong voice to command me? Master seems to have reached into my brain again and twisted the scene into a write-your-own adventure, only so much better. Because I know there's no shying away this time, no escaping the burn at the other end of that wand.
I tighten my thighs and abs and lift into the hot buzzing. He holds firm, causing the sensations to vibrate all the way through my rattling bones. My clit is crying out for me to back down, but I can't. Master pulses--firm, then lighter--and slides his free hand beneath my ass to support me.
"Oh, how much more can your poor pussy take, princess? Don't you want to let go?"
"You're holding on for more pain, now, aren't you? Don't worry, now that we know you like a little pain mixed in with your pleasure, we can have all sorts of fun!"
"Why you sweet, sweet girl! Here, let me just turn it up a little more for y—”
All I hear is the whoosh of hot air rushing between my ears, drowning out Master and Calaf and even my own guttural groans. The rumble starts deep within my core, and it's a runaway train picking up speed and uprooting trees and houses in its path. I literally see stars before my eyes as the intensity whips through, sending a dizzying rush of oxygen to my brain and leaving me completely breathless.
A split second later, the burning becomes the dominant sensation and I collapse onto Master's lap to escape the vibrations. He quickly pulls it away and wraps his arms tightly around my middle, steadying me with a blanket of warmth. I feel his soft tongue on my neck, lapping at the sheen of sweat coating my body. My ears pick up the final strains of Nessun Dorma.
Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincero! Vincero, vincero!
"Thank you, princess," he whispers into my ear.
"Thank you, Master," I barely speak above a whisper.
He turns me side-saddle in his lap, my face now buried in its favorite hiding spot, at the base of his neck. He pulls my body against his chest and holds me tightly. "I love you, Isabella."
I sigh a great breath filled with all kinds of mixed emotions to be leaving this scene. "I love you, too, Edward."