#no touch

"no"

Sometimes, when I really miss touching myself, I'll look at porn with women playing with their cunts and think back to how good it used to feel when I could do the same.

It's been so long now but I can remember exactly the sensation of slipping my hand down between my thighs, finding my cunt already wet and dripping, and stroking my slick fingers up and across my clit. I remember exactly how I would move them to tease myself, to get myself closer to coming, and to push myself over the edge. I remember how it felt to fly over the edge and be able to draw out my orgasm by pressing my fingers a little harder or rubbing my throbbing clit at just the right angle.

Watching other woman enjoying what I don't have doesn't make it any easier. Instead, it just reminds me of the scale of what he's had me give up to him. All that pleasure, all that power, it's all his now — he controls every bit of pleasure that my cunt feels. He hasn't even used any toys on my cunt — no vibrators, no dildos, nothing except his hands, his cock, and his mouth. Every single second of pleasure my cunt has experienced over the past 16 months has been at his discretion and has come from him.

Among many other things, it's created a powerful connection in my head between my pleasure and him. If I want my cunt to feel good, I need him — I can't do it on my own. I can't even squirm and squeeze my thighs together to steal some sensation for myself. It makes me feel even more eager and compliant, because I want to do everything I can to earn his attentions.

It's also strengthened my understanding of my ass as my center of pleasure, as he puts it. When I'm frustrated and pent up and he's not here, I think about how good it would feel to fuck my ass with a big dildo and, if I'm allowed to train my ass that day, I'll spend a long time doing exactly that. Sometimes, instead of reaching down and playing with my clit, I'll reach down and tease and stroke my asshole, focusing on the sensation there, telling myself that the ache in my clit is actually centered on my asshole and that playing with it helps to ease the frustration. My cunt has essentially become something for him to enjoy — my ass is my true source of pleasure.

Sir will see the results and weigh your opinions

Sir Pentious fumbles his wrench out of his hands when you enter his workshop with just your nightgown on, the soft skin of your legs revealed, only for his eyes.

His breath hitches when you slowly stride towards him, arms outstretched to embrace his body. He stumbles back, averting his eyes and drawing them back to your body with a nervous smile on his face, sweating a little at the desiring expression on your face.

He felt a little guilty, wanting for you so deeply just because you bit your lip and smiled at him. It made him feel not only guilty, but a little dirty. It took so little.

— "N-now now dearest! Don't be hasty now! You- I- Y/N.. I am.. rather busy at the moment! M-must be.. are you hysterical?!.. | don't-you-"

He swallows thickly when your fingers run up underneath the backside of his long black locks, caressing the back of his head gently as you push your body flush against his.

The feeling of your frame flustered him even more. He shudders when you push him against his desk, accidentally tipping the quill and ink over, staining his hands and the blueprint paper on his workshop table.

— "Come on.. you've been at that all day. You need to take a break."

— "W-well.. what if I loose my train of thought?! I- I had something going here I-"

— "Oh hush, your plans are-."

The plans lay ruined by ink, stained beyond vision. Your hands slip down, allowing you to effectively wrap your arms around his neck.

— "They'll be back."

— "Wha-"

He stutters, looking back. He doesn't get a chance to fret over his blueprints before you drag him in, gripping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you before your lips meet his.

He melts into the affectionate gesture, gripping the desk behind him with a whimper and closed eyes. He grew so flustered, blushing face and shaky hands.

It was so easy to work him up. He was just so sensitive to everything. Touch, emotion, flirtation.. no matter what it was he reacted so nicely to it.

— "Y/N-M..-You-mm.. mpfh.."

He tried to protest through your kiss, wanting to fix his work; but he knew he'd never be able to focus again now.

Panting and small sounds filled the room, his gasps and whimpers overlapping with the sound of tongue meeting tongue.

His hands lace themselves around your waist, shakily pulling you closer. He tried to keep his composure, but the lower your hands went, the further his brain went from his head.

He felt all nervous and fuzzy. The growing arousal in his navel had caused a small mess in his trousers. He was straining against his pants already.

He clung to you, trying to pull you in as close as possible. So when you took his hands off you, he opened his eyes in confusion.

— "Keep your hands to yourself. No touching."

His jaw dropped slightly. His lip quivers when he process your works. He was apprehensive to nod. For him, half the aspect of sex was being close. That and.. well. It's 1888 in London, what do you think?

He swallowed thickly, apprehensively resting his hands on the desk. He looked away, nodding.

— "I-If you say so I suppose.”

You smile sweetly before pulling into a needy kiss, sloppy teeth and tongue. It was the kind that always riled him up the most, oh you wanted him to know there were consequences to overworking yourself.

He whimpers softly, hands shaking and cock twitching in his pants.

He watches in embarrassment as you undo his cravat and discard it elsewhere on the floor, kissing down his neck. Your kisses were wet and intimate. You left mark after mark on his neck, and by the time you were done, he was trembling with tears threatening his waterline.

He was breathing heavily and shakily. Then, you decided to trail your kisses down his chest while your hands caress his waist on the way down.

He watches in horror when you get down on your knees and lick his cock over his trousers, letting out a small whimper with his shaky exhale.

He grips the edge of his ink stained desk so hard it caves a small bit trying to not tangle his hands in your hair in order to ground himself.

He leans his head back in order to try and aid in his predicament of having to keep his hands to himself when you unbutton the hem of his trousers.

That goes out the window when he feels his trousers fall to his ankles.

— "D-dearest.. I don't- I know you said- said not to touch.. but-I don't know if I can do this!."

— "What, you don't wanna behave for me?"

— "W-well I-"

— "You remember what happened the last time you didn't behave?"

He shuddered, quieting down immediately. It was hours before he'd cut last time. It was agony. Then once he finally did come, you'd made him cum another four times in a row before he'd used the safe word.

So yes. He was going to listen, and keep his hands to himself.

His pretty dark strands fell backwards and flown beautifully onto his desk, the ends of his hair becoming as messy as his hands.

He cries out softly when your lips finally wrap around the tip of his cock, circling your tongue around the head.

When you hold his hips with your hands and lick around his tip once more, his hand covers his mouth while he whines softly when you take him in. He gasps and shudders, gripping his hair tightly with both hands and pulling tightly.

— "Hah.. Y-Y/N.. s'sensitive, it- you-ah!-"

He chokes on a sob whenever your head pulls back and your tongue drags along the sensitive underside of his cock. He tries to rest his hands anywhere but you.

Usually he'd be gripping your hair or shoulders. Sometimes he'd even reach under your chin and caress your face. Now this time though.

Without being able to use his hands it just felt so.. so empty.

Usually he wanted to feel close to you because, mainly he loved you, but mostly because it distracted him from the pleasure a tad, so it wasn't so much he couldn't handle it.

But now he felt all of it, every last bit of it. He writhed under your tongue, moaning in short whiney sounds.

— "Ah! Hah!- ah!-m-mnn….Ah! Y-Y/N..! I can't, can't even- slow down-a-allow me me moment!- I-"

The sounds were a wide range of vocals, everything from high to low and rich to sharp. How pretty was he?

His hands shook as he tried to muffle his sounds with his hands. The two of them were clasped over his mouth, eyes closed and head tossed back.

You bobbed your head up and down consistently, having his brain fuzz out every now and again. He trembles as the coil in his gut tightens.

— "I-y-you know-g-gonna!-"

You hum softly in acknowledgment, the vibrations of your voice crawl up his spine, causing his to choke on a sob, releasing an almost pornographic sound as he came.

He had snapped off a piece of his desk earlier, so he had a splinter in his hand, a headache from yanking on his hair, and the blissful feeling of an after orgasm.

He whimpers as you pull off him, wiping your lips clean of his cum. When you stand up with wobbly pained knees, you brush his messy hair from his face, kissing him lovingly.

His hands grip the sides of his pinstripe top. He sighs in relief when you finally grasp them, and guide his palms to vour waist.

He whimpers, not in need—but in relief as he grips you tighter than he ever has before. Tears stain his cheeks, the desperate tongued kiss with the taste of him still in your mouth was lingering in your minds when you pulled away.

— "You did so well for me sweetie."

— "T-thank you."

He was always so well mannered. Even if he had just been throat deep in your mouth.

Best believe that was the clingiest and softest aftercare of your life.

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So.. who wants that aftercare scene?.. or do you whores want the edging? You do don't you. I know bbys. Mama bee will deliver if we desire.