sighing—he must know how he’s affecting me.
“Is this good? No clicking yet?” Sure enough, his voice is in my ear, checking.
I respond by arching my back, thrusting my breasts farther out, into his hands. He kisses my mouth again before dropping his head farther, taking my left nipple between his lips. He runs his tongue roughly around it before sucking, hard. He presses the engorged bud against the roof of his mouth and the exquisite pressure is beyond anything I have ever felt. The pleasure is almost too much, too intense. I’m panting, rigid as he continues to work my distended tip mercilessly.
Then when I’m sure I must need to click, I can’t bear any more, he lets me go. Only to latch his mouth around my right nipple and repeat the performance. This time though his fingers are rolling my already erect left nipple, keeping the pressure on, building the sensation there as he brings the right tip up to the same heightened level of intense sensitivity. Moisture is pooling between my legs, my wetness increasing with every tug on my buds. My legs are free to move, and I try vainly to squeeze them harder together, somehow, trying to create the friction there, to sooth the throbbing in my clit.
Nicholas realizes what I’m about and puts a stop to it. “Oh no, little sub. You haven’t earned that yet. Your clit can wait its turn. Until I’m good and ready.” He releases my sore tip and crouches at my feet, quickly securing my ankles so that my legs are spread wide.
Then he stands, and although I can’t see him and he’s no longer touching me, I can feel his presence, his eyes all over me, admiring me, admiring his handiwork.
“Have you worked out where you are?”
I think I might be on the St. Andrew’s Cross, but I’m not certain. I shake my head slowly.
“Think. Think harder. You do know, don’t you? And you know what you’ve seen happening here, to other subs. Don’t you, Miss Stone?”
I start to shake my head again, but he takes my face in his hands, holds me still. “Now, Freya, you know how things can get if you’re not entirely honest with me. No games, no evading. Now, I’ll ask you again. Do you know where you are?”
I nod.
His closeness is comforting, reassuring, despite the veiled threat of a moment ago. “The St Andrew’s Cross, right?” His voice is low and sexy, and right by my ear.
I nod again.
“And you have your back to the wall, so you can be sure, this time at least, I don’t intend to whip you. At least, not a punishment whipping. This is all about arousal, sweetheart. And it starts here, with these.”
He takes both my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling at first but quickly increasing the pressure, squeezing and pulling until I’m gasping under the onslaught of pain. “I’m going to do this until you click. I want to know how much you can take. When it becomes unbearable, let me know. Okay?”
I grind my teeth, stiffen against the straps holding me in place as he relentlessly twists, squeezes and pulls my nipples. And after a few seconds he has what he wants. I click my tongue, and he stops increasing the torment. He doesn’t release me though, just holds me in that place between intense pain and—what—exquisite pleasure dancing just out of reach. Confused, maybe just a little frightened, I chew my bottom lip as I’m held there, helpless in his hands, waiting to feel whatever comes next.
I almost sigh with relief as he lets go of my nipples, only to jerk back to full, alert awareness as something bites down hard, first on my left nipple then on the right. It’s not sharp, but it’s tight and mean and the grip is vicious. A weight is tugging at me, dragging my nipples downwards. I try to move, but the pressure increases, the heavy object swinging, pulling, tormenting me. It’s awful, frankly awful. I can’t bear it.
“Don’t struggle, just let your nipples adjust. It feels strange now, but you can do this.” His voice is gentle,
“Is this good? No clicking yet?” Sure enough, his voice is in my ear, checking.
I respond by arching my back, thrusting my breasts farther out, into his hands. He kisses my mouth again before dropping his head farther, taking my left nipple between his lips. He runs his tongue roughly around it before sucking, hard. He presses the engorged bud against the roof of his mouth and the exquisite pressure is beyond anything I have ever felt. The pleasure is almost too much, too intense. I’m panting, rigid as he continues to work my distended tip mercilessly.
Then when I’m sure I must need to click, I can’t bear any more, he lets me go. Only to latch his mouth around my right nipple and repeat the performance. This time though his fingers are rolling my already erect left nipple, keeping the pressure on, building the sensation there as he brings the right tip up to the same heightened level of intense sensitivity. Moisture is pooling between my legs, my wetness increasing with every tug on my buds. My legs are free to move, and I try vainly to squeeze them harder together, somehow, trying to create the friction there, to sooth the throbbing in my clit.
Nicholas realizes what I’m about and puts a stop to it. “Oh no, little sub. You haven’t earned that yet. Your clit can wait its turn. Until I’m good and ready.” He releases my sore tip and crouches at my feet, quickly securing my ankles so that my legs are spread wide.
Then he stands, and although I can’t see him and he’s no longer touching me, I can feel his presence, his eyes all over me, admiring me, admiring his handiwork.
“Have you worked out where you are?”
I think I might be on the St. Andrew’s Cross, but I’m not certain. I shake my head slowly.
“Think. Think harder. You do know, don’t you? And you know what you’ve seen happening here, to other subs. Don’t you, Miss Stone?”
I start to shake my head again, but he takes my face in his hands, holds me still. “Now, Freya, you know how things can get if you’re not entirely honest with me. No games, no evading. Now, I’ll ask you again. Do you know where you are?”
I nod.
His closeness is comforting, reassuring, despite the veiled threat of a moment ago. “The St Andrew’s Cross, right?” His voice is low and sexy, and right by my ear.
I nod again.
“And you have your back to the wall, so you can be sure, this time at least, I don’t intend to whip you. At least, not a punishment whipping. This is all about arousal, sweetheart. And it starts here, with these.”
He takes both my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling at first but quickly increasing the pressure, squeezing and pulling until I’m gasping under the onslaught of pain. “I’m going to do this until you click. I want to know how much you can take. When it becomes unbearable, let me know. Okay?”
I grind my teeth, stiffen against the straps holding me in place as he relentlessly twists, squeezes and pulls my nipples. And after a few seconds he has what he wants. I click my tongue, and he stops increasing the torment. He doesn’t release me though, just holds me in that place between intense pain and—what—exquisite pleasure dancing just out of reach. Confused, maybe just a little frightened, I chew my bottom lip as I’m held there, helpless in his hands, waiting to feel whatever comes next.
I almost sigh with relief as he lets go of my nipples, only to jerk back to full, alert awareness as something bites down hard, first on my left nipple then on the right. It’s not sharp, but it’s tight and mean and the grip is vicious. A weight is tugging at me, dragging my nipples downwards. I try to move, but the pressure increases, the heavy object swinging, pulling, tormenting me. It’s awful, frankly awful. I can’t bear it.
“Don’t struggle, just let your nipples adjust. It feels strange now, but you can do this.” His voice is gentle,
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