A needy sub will listen more readily, hanging on your every word in the hopes one of them will give them a path to release. A needy sub will likewise be much more responsive to touch, arching themselves back into your hands at every opportunity, learning how sensitive denial can make them. And, to their own great shame, a needy sub will more readily violate their own soft limits in the hopes of pleasing you. A needy sub is an easy one to train, especially once you’ve addicted them to your touch and attention. 

Some might even find themselves enjoying this heightened state of arousal more than the alternative. They grow to love the extra sensitivity it brings, or maybe they just enjoy how laser focused their minds become on my pleasure, my enjoyment.

You would think this is the perfect kink for me, but it never really clicked like others have.

I’ll spend the time learning their bodies, finding every sensitive spot it has to offer. I’ll allow them the joys of release frequently, watching them spend themselves across my hands or toys. I’ll make sure they’re covered in little love marks they’ll catch constantly in the mirror. Each one a reminder of a night of pleasure they still can’t get out of their head.

Once they’re addicted, I’ll spend the days, the weeks, teasing them day and night to build them to their highest point. I’ll learn every one of their tells so I can pull away at the last moment. Keeping them wound, keeping them aching. Denied everything but my touch.

I’ll teach them to beg.  I’ll teach them to lean on that burning core of heat in their bellies, to distance themselves from all the shame they might have had about vocalizing their desires. Until they openly plead with tears in their eyes to finally be granted permission. 

I let them.

“You’re doing so well for me, I’m so proud of you baby.  That’s it, cum for me. You’ve been so good for so long, sweet thing. There we go…” They shake, muscles spasming down their thighs and legs. Hands find my hair, or some other purchase, just needing something to anchor them in reality. They empty themselves out for me, finally getting to bask in the glow of something they’d worked so hard to reach. Something they’d earned.

It never takes long for them to realize that I haven’t stopped, even with the slick feeling of their satisfaction clinging to my fingers, I’ll keep going. I don’t care that they’ve cum, that their hyper sensitive body is twitching at every touch. I don’t stop just because they’re arching away from my touches, instinctively trying to escape the stimulation that’s overwhelming their thoughts.

They started the evening begging for what I now heap upon them in excess. More pleasure than their body and mind can handle. What were once cries of joy, shift into choked sobs and powerless whines. Tears pour openly from their eyes. Desperately they gasp for air, trying to fill their lungs so they can beg anew, trying to find some new combination of words that will finally make me stop. While I just keep pushing them. Past what they enjoy. Past what their body can handle. 

I’ll offer them an out, eventually. I’ll tell them it will stop if they promise to never cum again. Or maybe I’ll make them beg for the very toys that terrify them, savoring the way they struggle to think past the overstimulation. So desperate they’ll agree to anything just to make it stop.

I’ve always been a sadist at heart.

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