The ropes were soft.
Silk, wine-red, and looped precisely around her wrists and ankles—binding her to the headboard and the edge of the bed, spread open like an offering.
She wasn't afraid.
She was burning.
Breathless.
Bare.
Thighs trembling just from the sound of his belt sliding off.
He stood over her, fully dressed—buttoned shirt, trousers, no rush in his fingers as he rolled his sleeves up.
"Tonight's lesson," he murmured, running a single finger from her breast down to her slick center, "is not about what you feel.It's about what you can't have."
She gasped as his fingertip brushed her clit.
Then he pulled back.
She whined.
"Please…"
"No."
His voice was calm.Too calm.
He climbed onto the bed, knees beside her ribs, cock hanging hard and heavy just inches from her mouth.
"You'll beg to come tonight," he said, stroking himself lazily."But you won't.Not until I decide."
And so it began.
He started with her nipples.
Hot wax dripped in a line between them—sting, shiver, moan.
Then his mouth followed—sucking, biting, tugging until her back arched off the bed.
She clenched the ropes.
"Please," she whispered.
"No."
His hand moved down.
Two fingers—inside—just barely.
Curling. Stroking. But never enough.
He watched her hips lift. Watched her mouth open.
"Right there, right there—" she gasped.
And he stopped.
"No," he whispered into her mouth.
Minutes passed.
Or hours.
She lost track.
Her body glistened with sweat.
She was gutted—a raw, throbbing ache between her legs that pulsed with every beat of her heart.
He kissed her stomach.
Licked the inside of her thigh.
Spit on her clit—wet, hot, cruel.
And still—no release.
"Do you know what I see?" he asked, voice low."I see a good girl who thought she knew pleasure.But now you're feral.Now you're dripping, begging, coming apart without a single climax."
Tears pricked her eyes.
Not from pain.
From need.
"Please, I'll do anything—just let me—"
"No."
His hand gripped her throat.
Not tight—just enough to make her moan.
"You don't come until I say.You don't even breathe for your own pleasure anymore."
She was sobbing now.A mess of spit, sweat, and soaked heat.
"Say it," he growled.
"I don't come until you say."
"Again."
"I don't come until you say!"
He paused.
Looked at her.
Opened her.
Then finally, softly, cruelly:
"Come. Now."
And she exploded.
Her body convulsed.Hips jerking.Thighs clenching.Nipples tingling.
A waterfall release—violent, loud, wet.
And he watched.
"Good girl," he whispered, untying the ropes and pulling her to his chest.
"Tomorrow, you'll thank me.Because now—every orgasm will feel like your first."