He grinned. “We’ll see.”
It has been four days since he fucked me, the vibrations are always too much and send me over the edge before he gives me permission. I am dying to feel his cock again, for him to lose control and finally take me. But he won’t, even when I press myself up against him.
Clayton stripped me and ordered me onto the bed, and I obeyed him.
Over the last six months of our marriage, we’ve fallen into a perfect rhythm. We are equals in everything. The employees at the ranch respect us equally, and there isn’t a moment when I feel less valuable than him. We are partners in chores and in business and in life. Except when it comes to sex.
And I love every damn second. Handing over the reins to him gives me the freedom to feel the pleasure he offers without any guilt or worry, and Clayton revels in the control that I offer him. It fulfills us in ways that we can’t explain and don’t question.
He’s never crossed a boundary I set, and he takes care of me, as well as giving me nearly impossible pleasure. And I am dying for that pleasure now. Sure, I came the last three days, but it’s not the same. They weren’t from him.
Clayton changed it up today, unravelling the rope and tying me face down to the bed, spread as far as I could go. He straddled my back as he blindfolded me, whispering in my ear. “Do you have permission to come, my little pregnant wife?”
“No, sir,” I managed to say.
“Good,” he said. “Because you haven’t been able to control yourself, tonight you don’t even get to ask. You may not come until I tell you. And if you do, we start over.”
He slipped the fabric of the tie that he’d warn to The Larder between my lips, and I groaned. The gag tightened, and it just made me hotter. I wanted to do this for him. To complete this challenge and prove to him that I could make it. That I could hold out.
Then the sound started. He slipped inside me a small vibrator that curls around to the outside and has a little piece that sucks on my clit. It makes me see stars every time he turns it on.
But tonight is a special occasion, and I am determined. He placed it perfectly and left it, the bed pushing it even harder against my clit. Clayton holds the remote, and he knows exactly how to use it.
He brushed a kiss to the place where my shoulder met my neck—the same place he first marked me. “Good luck,” he said, and then his weight left the bed.
I never know where he is when we does this, leaving me blind and bound. He never goes too far, not willing to leave me completely alone and restrained, and I feel safer having him close. I think he goes downstairs, maybe just sitting in the living room and waiting, playing with remote to tease me. Maybe he even takes out his cock and strokes himself.
Shit. With that dirty image in my mind the vibrator picks up intensity, and I fight against the impulse to come. I fist my hands in the sheets and pull at the ropes, but there is no give. It feels like I’ve been trapped in this pleasure purgatory for hours, but truly I’ve lost track of time. Time ceases to exist when we do this.
I am allowed to scream, and I do, moaning against the gag in my mouth and cursing Clayton and his delicious dominance. The struggle won’t make a difference to him. He ends it when he ends it and not a second before.
No, no, no. It is too much. I’m not going to make it.
Moving my hips, I try to get away, to have any relief from the sensation, but there isn’t any. I scream, and hold on, and the vibrations fade into nothing. Fuck. Fucking hell.
From somewhere in the room I hear Clayton’s low laugh. I shiver, goosebumps running down my spine. My husband owns every part of me, and I love him for it. He lets me breathe for a moment before the power turns back on, rising in intensity until it is on its maximum setting. I am seconds away from coming, falling through pleasure, every muscle taut with the effort to not let myself go. I think I scream again, but I hold on with every ounce of will until he turns off the vibrator, my head collapsing onto the pillow in exhaustion.
Slowly, the vibrator is taken away. I gasp in pure relief, my body still on a hair-trigger.
Hands smooth up my back, and then Clayton’s mouth follows. I feel his cock at my entrance and begin to make a sound. “No,” he says, already knowing. “You don’t get to ask. I will tell you.”