april
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,253
- Points
- 63
Your phone buzzes again.
Another message from Sam.
"I think I'll tell you what I plan on doing to you Friday. But not yet...soon."
Your heart trips in your chest, stumbling over itself. The words glow on the screen, loaded and heavy, before fading into the silence of your room. He doesn't elaborate. Doesn't explain. Instead, he turns the conversation back to something utterly casual; weather, errands, trivial chatter. As if he hasn't just set your pulse on fire.
Then, twenty minutes later...
"I'm still pondering what I'm going to do to you."
You suck in a sharp breath, curling tighter against your pillow. Hes playing with you, you realize, drawing it out, letting the suspense gnaw at you.
"Stop it!" You type quickly, your fingers trembling against the keys. "The anticipation is killing me."
His reply is maddeningly calm.
"Is it? Perhaps then I won't tell you just yet. Keep you in suspense a bit longer."
The ache in your chest deepens. He knows exactly what he's doing.
Time crawls. Another ten minutes pass. Your phone lights up.
"Or maybe, I should be nice and tell you. Should I? Have you been a good girl? Do you deserve to know?"
Your stomach flips. Your throat is dry. You fumble the phone, nearly dropping it as you scramble to answer.
"Yes. I've been a good girl."
His reply is Immediate, sharp as a hook sinking into your skin.
"Will you be submissive for me on Friday? The entire afternoon? You'll be my good girl, won't you?"
Your dominant streak thrashes inside you, screaming for control, but you cant fight him this time. Not when he has you wrapped so tightly in suspense you can hardly breathe. You surrender to it. To him.
"Yes, absolutely," you write. "I'll be your good girl. I'll do as you ask."
The silence stretches long enough to make your chest ache. You're clutching the phone so tightly your knuckles are white, every nerve pulled taut, waiting.
Then finally, finally the notification lights your screen.
"Alright," the message begins.
You hold your breath.
"I'm going to make you sit on my lap, where I'll tickle you until you're trembling and breathless against me. Then I'll order you to my bedroom, where you'll strip for me and wait. When I'm ready for you, I'm going to put you in restraints. When I have you nice and tied down, I'll tickle every sensitive spot on your body and edge you until you can't stand it. I'll do it again and again until you beg me to untie you and fuck you. And I'll just keep tickling you while I give you the pleasure you desire."
Your whole body shivers as though he's already touching you, the phantom of his hands ghosting over your ribs, your sides, your thighs. You cant move. You can barely think.
Your phone lights up one final time.
"You won't know when its going to happen. It could be the moment we walk through the door. It could be in the middle of the afternoon. I can just stop whatever it is we're doing at any moment and pull you against me. You're going to live and breathe anticipation before the night is over."
All you can do is stare at the screen, heart hammering, breath fast and shallow, as the reality sinks in; Friday belongs to him.
Friday
The afternoon had been playful, deceptively innocent. Hours of chatting, card games, laughter and teasing wrapped around you both like a warm blanket, but every sneaky tickle Sam slipped in kept you on edge. His calm patience, those gentle brushes of his fingers, those sly smirks, were all part of his plan. You had been sassing him all afternoon, breaking your promise not to brat, and with every promise broken, he'd just chuckle like he was keeping count. The anticipation was a heavy, humming presence in the room.
When he laid down his final hand, his voice cut through the quiet like a gavel.
"Gin. I win."
Before you could even process the words, his hands were on you.
He pulled you swiftly, effortlessly across his knees, your body sprawled face-down, bottom up. The soft comforter on the floor pressed against your palms as you tried to catch yourself, your heart hammering with the sudden shift.
One of his hands rubbed slowly over your bottom, the warm, broad strokes both soothing and threatening; a promise more than a comfort.
His voice was calm but edged with steel.
"Do you think you've been a good girl today?"
The answer hung in the air. You knew he already knew it. You stayed silent, your breath caught in your throat.
"Answer the question." His voice deepened, leaving no room for escape.
"No." The word slipped out as a shakey whisper.
The crack of his hand against your bottom was sharp, echoing in the room. You gasped, the sting flaring into a moan that betrayed how much you liked it. He gave you no chance to recover. Two more smacks landed quickly, burning hot over your skin.
Then his palm soothed, rubbing gently over the sting, spreading warmth back into your flush. The duality of his touch; discipline and comfort, sent shivers curling low in your belly.
"Do you like this?" He asked, a knowing weight in his words.
"Yes." The concession tumbled out before you could even think.
He rewarded you with three more firm spanks, harder this time, heat blooming across your skin.
For a heartbeat the room fell silent again, except for your ragged breathing. Then. A sound. Low. Vibrating. Menacing in its simplicity.
Bzzzzz.
Your head snapped up on disbelief. An electric toothbrush. You had no idea when he'd gotten it, or where he'd hidden it, but it was in his hand; buzzing, alive, and ready.
Before you could protest, he pressed it against your freshly spanked bottom.
The sensation ripped through you like lighting. The nerves, already raw and tingling from the spanking, magnified the tickling tenfold. You shrieked, writhing helplessly across his lap, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.
"No...no, please! Sam!"
Your pleas only fueled him. One strong arms clamped around your waist, keeping you trapped firmly across his knees. You kicked and squirmed, but you weren't going anywhere.
The toothbrush buzzes mercilessly against your tender backside, and you bucked against him, moaning and laughing at once, the mix of sensation overwhelming.
Just as you thought you couldn't take another second, he lifted the toothbrush away, only to bring his hand down hard again. Three sharp smacks lit up your skin, each one making you cry out, each one building the tension deeper.
Then the buzzing returned.
The toothbrush danced back over your stinging flesh, cruelly exploiting the sensitive nerves he had primed with his palm. The ticklish torment was unbearable, yet intoxicating, your laughter spilling into the air, ragged and desperate.
His arm never wavored, his control absolute. You were his captive; helpless, laughing, moaning, pleading, and he knew exactly what he was doing.
The buzzing stopped. Relief was only a heartbeat longer. Because suddenly, Sams free hand was everywhere.
He tickled with a speed and precision you hadn't felt from him before, rapid and merciless. His fingers darted along your ribs, tracing every trembling space with tender cruelty. Then they shot up into your underarms; gentle but maddeningly accurate, finding those sensitive hollows with surgical intent.
You thrashed helplessly across his lap, laughter exploding out of you in ragged bursts.
"I can't take it! I can't take it!" You wailed between shrieks. "No more! No more!"
He chuckled darkly above you, his voice rich with amusement. "Oh, you want more?" He teased, twisting your plea into fuel for his game.
Before you could form a protest, his palm cracked down across your backside. Once. Twice. Three times. The sharp, stinging smacks echoed in the room, forcing cries out of your throat. Then again, three more times in quick succession, each one punctuating your helpless writhing.
Six in total.
Then his hand was soothing again, slow, tender, rubbing the burn away, coaxing warmth back into the heat he'd built.
His voice was calm, cool, commanding. "Do you want more?"
Your anwser came without hesitation, breathless and needy. "Yes."
But instead of another smack, his hand darted lower.
His fingers found the backs of yiur thighs, gripping and spidering up and down in quick, merciless succession. You shrieked, your laughter rising into deep, uncontrollable cackles. The ticklish agony shot straight through you, twisting your body against his iron hold.
He slid lower, his fingertips grazing behind your knees. The sensitivity there was unbearable; each touch a lightning strike of sensation that had you howling, your legs jerking in frantic spasms.
And every time your legs kicked up in reflex, he was ready.
The moment a foot lifted, his fingers scribbled across your soles, teasing, tormenting, driving you to wild new pitches of laughter. Then back again; thighs, knees, feet. Over and over, an unrelenting cycle.
"Please! Please! I'm begging you!" You gasped between helpless fits, again and again, but the torment only continued. Methodical. Merciless. Endless.
The moment your laughter shifted from wild to breathless, Sam stilled his hand. His control was absolute; he knew exactly where your limit was, knew how to stop before the edge tipped too far.
His voice, firm and low, washed over you. "Are you going to be my good girl now? Do as I say?"
"Yes! Yes, I'll be good!" You blurted out, desperation rushing through your words, eager to please.
In an instant, his hand left your thighs, and he lifted you effortlessly against his chest as though you weighed nothing.
Then his mouth found yours.
A slow, deep, consuming kiss. His lips pressed hard and possessive, yet meltingly sweet. You could feel his control in his pace; unhurried, deliberate, his tongue teasing yours until you were left breathless, gasping into his mouth. When he pulled back, leaving you wanting, your lips tingled and your body ached for more.
"That's my good girl." His words wrapped around you like honey and steel.
He set you gently on your feet, turning your body toward the hallway with the kind of surety that told you there was no arguing. Then a subtle push.
"Go to my room. Strip. Wait for me on my bed."
The tone left no space for hesitation.
Your body obeyed before your mind could. You padded quickly down the hallway, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and need. The moment you entered his room, you shed your clothes, each article tossed aside in hurried compliance. The sheets were cool against your warm skin as you laid down, body thrumming with adrenaline and desire.
But he didn't follow.
Minutes passed.
First five. Then ten. Then fifteen.
Every second stretched unbearably, winding the anticipation into a tight coil in your belly. The longer you waited, the more restless and aroused you became, your body twitching, your mind racing with what he might do when he returned.
By the time the door finally creaked open, you were already trembling with need.
Sam stepped in slowly, his calm almost unnerving. His face gave nothing away, his expression unreadable. No playful smirk, no sly grin. Just dominance, pure and quiet, radiating from his every step.
And then you saw it.
Something glinting in his hand.
Cold. Shiny. Metal.
Handcuffs.
They looked heavy, serious. Not the playful, flimsy kind, but real, unyielding steel. Menacing in their weight, their authority.
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering fast.
He saw your reaction immediately. Saw the way your eyes widened, the way your lips parted in nervous realization. A slow smirk curved his lips, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes at your surrender without a word.
Sam crossed the room in deliberate strides and climbed smoothly onto the bed, straddling your body. His presence was overwhelming, his weight above you, his calm gaze pinning you down even before he touched you.
He lifted one of your wrists delicately, almost reverantly, and slid the first cuff into place. The cold bite of metal against your skin made you shiver. The second cuff followed, locking your wrists securely.
In his other hand gleamed a small key. He inserted it carefully into the first cuff, and with a distinct click, you felt the mechanism shift, ensuring it wouldn't tighten further no matter how much you thrashed. The second cuff clicked the same way; precise. Intentional, final.
You were bound. Going nowhere.
He slowly raised your arms above your head, pressing them into the mattress. The cuffs were heavy but comfortable; their weight was more psychological than physical, a reminder of how completely you belonged to him in this moment. One hand gripped firmly at their center, holding you down in an unshakable grasp.
And now, finally, he smiled. That slow, knowing smile that told you he had every detail planned, and you were simply along for the ride.
"Do you remember your safewords?" His voice was calm, serious, but not unkind.
You nodded, your nerves prickling now that reality had settled in. He studied you for a moment, savoring the sight. Calm. Patient. Like a predator drawing out the final moment before the pounce.
Then, with excruciating slowness, his free hand began to move. His fingers traced down the soft underside of your arm, feather-light. You shivered, the sensation already enough to make your body tense. He reached your underarm and lingered...just resting there at first, letting the anticipation spiral. You could feel every nerve in your body screaming awake.
Then, ever so gently, his fingertips began to move. Not fast. Not hard. Just lazy, teasing circles that barely grazed the skin.
It. Was. Unbearable.
Your body bucked against the cuffs, laughter spilling out in desperate bursts.
"Saaaaam! No! Nohoho!"
His grip on the cuffs didn't falter, he simply smiled down at you, watching every reaction in quiet delight.
He dragged his hand down, each fingertip like a whisper over your skin. From your underarm to your ribs. He paused there, right at the sensitive cage of bone, and began tapping lightly with two fingers. Little rhythmic pokes, maddening in their precision.
You squirmed, twisted, tried to roll away, but the cuffs and the weight of him kept you anchored, stretched, helpless. Your laughter burst out deeper now, rawer, your body arching up against his.
Then his fingers slid lower, dragging across your navel. He drew slow, deliberate circles around it, never quite dipping in. The anticipation of that touch was almost worse than if he had gone straight for it. You whimpered, your giggles tangled with pleading cries.
"No, no, no, no! Please...please, not there!"
His smile didn't falter.
The sensation was sharp, unexpected, horribly ticklish. You shrieked, your belly jerking under his touch, laughter breaking bright and unbidden. He didn't rush; his finger swirled inside your navel in calculated circles, slow as honey dripping.
"Nohohohoho! Not there!" You wailed again, but he only continued to smile, his calm expression betraying nothing but amusement.
He dragged his finger out, circled the rim of your bellybutton, then slid it back in, over and over, each motion impossibly teasing. Then more fingers joined. Two, then three, spidering across your stomach, one dipping back into your navel as they passed back and forth, unrelenting. Your body bucked, legs kicking uselessly.
He never rushed. His hand slid back up to your ribs, his touches deliberate, measured, drawing out the torment second by second. He danced back and forth; underarms, ribs, navel.
Every time you thought he would stop, he returned to your underarms. There he teased with feathery strokes that forced squeaky, breathless giggles from your lips. Then to your ribs, where he pressed in with firmer, relentless scribbles, that broke you into deep belly laughter. Then your navel, where he slowed, circling, dipping, circling again, until your laughter turned into shrieks.
The cycle was unending. Slow. Torturous. Masterful.
Sams voice was low, taunting, yet never mean. "You said you'd be my good girl. Good girls take what I give them. Don't they?"
All you could do was nod frantically between helpless waves of laughter, every nerve lit on fire, your body quivering beneath his control.
"Beg me to take these cuffs off and fuck you."
His voice was deep, serious, no trace of playfulness now.
You broke instantly.
"Please! Please!" The words tumbled out of you, raw and desperate, your body aching for him as much as release from the cuffs.
He didn't hesitate. With deft, deliberate movements, Sam unlocked the cuffs. The cold weight slipped free of your wrists, and he set them neatly on the floor beside the bed with a metallic clink.
Before you could catch your breath, his hands were on you again. In one smooth motion, he slid his arms beneath your thighs and lifted your legs high, guiding them over his shoulders. You gasped as the shift left you wide open, utterly exposed, your calves draped along the strong lines of his neck.
And then he entered you. Swift, sure, filling you with one deep, claiming thrust. The stretch, the fullness, the suddenness of it made your breath catch, a moan spilling free without restraint.
But just as he had with your laughter, he controlled the rhythm. He moved achingly slow, every thrust drawn out like a deliberate tickle, a stroke designed to keep you quivering on the edge. His hips rolled with measured patience, each withdrawal teasingly shallow, each return filling you with devastating depth.
The slowness was torture. The pleasure spread in waves, like heat radiating from a flame, growing stronger with each languid thrust. Your body arched toward him, begging for faster, but he gave you only the pace he chose. Your eyes fluttered shut in frustration.
"Look at me." His voice was low, commanding.
Your eyes flickered open and locked to his. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, spreading you wider, pressing you deeper into the mattress with every thrust. He shifted slightly, and the angle changed, sudden sparks of pleasure shooting through you. You gasped, moaning his name, your voice breaking on the sound.
The plea hit him like a spark to dry tinder. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his steady rhythm faltering for the first time all night. His jaw clenched, his brown-black eyes darkened, and without warning, he was pounding into you.
The suddenness ripped a raw moan from your lips, your body jolting under the intensity, your head tipping back, hair spilling across the pillow as pleasure surged through you in wild, consuming waves.
His breath grew heavier, each exhale hot against your skin as your legs trembled against his shoulders. His grip on your thighs tightened possessively, anchoring you down and he thrust harder, deeper, no longer patient, no longer teasing.
It hit him suddenly, his control snapping like a bowstring. His pace faltered for a split second, then he burried himself deep and climaxed hard.
The sounds that poured from him were nothing you'd ever heard before; low, gutteral moans that broke into a deep groan, breathy exhalations layered with sharp, helpless gasps as he spilled inside you. It was raw, unguarded, and devastatingly sexy.
But even at the height of his release, his hips never stilled. His thrusts slowed for only a heartbeat, then kept rolling, steady and insistent. He rode the waves of his own orgasm, while building yours higher, each thrust hitting deep, relentless, demanding.
It broke over you in a tidal wave. Your shoulders arched off the mattress, your legs tightenening around his neck, every muscle clenching as the climax ripped through you. Pleasure flooded every nerve, your body convulsing beneath him. You were shaking, trembling, the orgasm rolling on and on as he continued to thrust through it, prolonging it until you thought you couldn't survive another second.
The last tremors of your climax still rippled through you when Sam finally slowed. His thrusts gentled, easing you down from the intensity he had driven you through. His chest heaved, his breath hot against your skin, but his hands softened immediately; no longer holding you in place, but stroking comfort into your trembling thighs.
He eased your legs from his shoulders and lowered them carefully, guiding you back onto the bed with reverance, as though you were something fragile and sacred.
Without a word, he slid beside you, gathering your exhausted body into his arms. He pressed a slow kiss to your hair, and then another on your temple, letting softness replace the intensity.
"I've got you." He said tenderly.
And you believed it completely.
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