“Go ahead,” he whispered. "The bars need humping, don’t they?“
Her eyes glazed slightly as she looked at them, thoughts swirling in pretty tangles inside her head.
“Go on,” he encouraged again.
She walked forward to squat in front of the gate.
Inserting her legs between the metal slats was awkward at first; they pressed almost-too-tightly against her thighs. Undaunted, she continued to inch forward until she could feel the middle post caught firmly between them.
Bracing her hands against the ground, she arched her back and thrust her hips forward. At first, the texture of the metal seemed strange as it rubbed against her sex – cold and smooth, with tiny ripples in the finish. As her legs lifted and lowered her by tiny fractions of an inch, however, the quick, tight motions left her freshly damp.
He watched the light glistening of sweat appear, and her legs tense. "Careful. Relax,“ he murmured, his tone cautionary. She checked herself, and took a deep breath, slowing her pace.
After a moment, she reached down with her fingers to carefully spread her lips wider. Gliding slowly, she began to stroke in larger motions, coating the pole with her own dripping lubricant as she rocked against it.
Her skin began to flush with exertion, and her mouth parted in a soft gasp. She thrust swollen, sensitive flesh against the bar time and again.
Monitoring herself carefully, she felt hope swell up. She was nearly there. Almost at the edge. So close…
“…And, stop.”
With a despairing little squeak, she dropped back to the ground. Her cheeks flushed as she turned to him for approval.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Very nice – but there are still so many bars yet to go, aren’t there?”
She nodded, slowly, her eyes lowering as she conceded.
“…And you need humping, don’t you?”
It’s that day again, so be my good little girl and show me how desperate your little cunt is. Rub it on everything you can, my little slut. NO touching today… only humping like a crazed little animal.
I did a guesstimation, and I think there were 55 bars in her backyard fence.
I’d been showing her orgasm denial, and she was starting to enjoy it. She hadn’t embraced it yet — she still clenched and swore when it was time to stop touching, but had started to fantasize about being denied, forced to edge for hours.
So I skipped a few steps. I told her she was not allowed to cum, until she edged once, on every bar in her backyard fence. The house over was rent-shared by some other girls: young, working professionals. Needless to say she will not want to be caught.
Maybe she’ll find a time when they’re all out of the house. Maybe she’ll edge in the darkness, late at night. The bars cold. Her pussy soaked.
Looking at her expression after I told her, I understood right away what she was going to do. She loved the idea, but couldn’t see herself doing it for a single day.
The moment I left, she was going to rub herself silly imagining it. She’d figure out something was wrong in the first 20 minutes, but convince herself she was just a little nervous. It might take her hours of desperate rubbing to realize there is no way out.
That I’m far too deep into her mind to be disobeyed. That she won’t ever be able to push herself over the edge. Not without meeting my conditions. That she’s going to to spend the next two months dripping, stressed and humiliated.
The moral of the story is that wet, weak girls don’t get to have a choice.
That they make more entertaining toys, when they are helpless to obey.
Don’t you agree?
MindlessFucktoy 