* * *
The temptation totouch myself is strong, almost overpowering. He hadn’t told me that I couldn’t. He said to kneel here, without getting up, without changing position. But I don’t have to change position for that.
He hadn’t even acknowledged the possibility, but he’d known. He’d known that he’d aroused me. I’d seen his eyes widen, as if he’d seen some shift in my body language, felt a change in the air. Smelled my desire.
My cheeks flush hotly in the darkness, so much so that I think if anyone were in the room, they’d be able to see the blush on my face. The thought is humiliating—and even more intensely arousing.
I can feel it slipping down my thighs, my bare pussy drenched with it. Between my swollen folds, I can feel my clit throbbing, aching to be touched, and I squeeze my thighs tightly together, shifting so that I can get a little bit of friction. I’m amazed that he didn’t tie my hands behind my back, order me not to touch myself, and prevent this somehow. Tell me that I couldn’t come. But other than last night in the bath, as a direct result of Yvette’s baiting, Alexandre has never acknowledged anything sexual between us.
Still, it feels like a test.I’ll know if you move,he’d said. Will he know if I do this? Even if I don’t actively touch myself, will he know?
I can’t help it. I squirm on the rug, kneeling there, my hands planted firmly in front of me and then clenched by my sides in fists. The desire, nagging at first, spreads through me. Denying it makes it worse. It makes it bigger, more demanding. Telling myself that I shouldn’t feel this way, that his treatment of me shouldn’t have turned me on, doesn’t help. Telling myself that I shouldn’t want him doesn’t help.
He’s protecting you. Keeping you safe. Preventing you from making mistakes that could get you in trouble. He didn’t hurt you. As angry as he was, he didn’t hurt you. Can you say the same about others? This punishment is uncomfortable, but it’s for your own good.
Your own good.
Those last words sound like Alexandre’s voice in my ear, as if he were in the room with me. I shift away from it, as if I can escape my own thoughts, almost daring to move from my position on the rug before I catch myself. There’s a pattern in the rug, and Alexandre is keen enough to notice if I’m kneeling in a different place. I have to stay here, in this spot.
Kneeling, with my legs aching and my pussy dripping down my thighs.
He didn’t say not to touch it.
I hold out for as long as I can, knowing that I shouldn’t. Knowing it’s a test or a trap. But I can’t stand it forever. I don’t know how long I kneel there in the darkness with my eyes streaming tears and my pussy aching before my hand drifts to my thigh, pushing up my skirt. Before it slips between my legs, my fingers delve between my slick, drenched folds, instantly finding my clit.
This isn’t about teasing myself to a climax like last night. This isn’t hesitant or unhurried or for Alexandre’s eyes as much as my own pleasure. He could come back at any moment. This is about sheer, burning arousal, the hard throbbing clit under my fingertips, and my desperate need to orgasm. I press my fingers against it, pushing back the tiny bit of skin so that they’re directly against my most sensitive flesh. I bite my lip hard to keep from moaning as I rub hard and fast, my thighs quivering as my hips grind against my hand.
I don’t change position. I stay right where I am, my hand cupping my pussy as I massage my clit, my teeth sunken into my lip. My other fist clenched as I force myself to stay absolutely silent even as the intense pleasure crashes through me, taking my breath away.
It takes a matter of seconds. I come hard and fast, my hot, wet flesh pressed against my hand. At that moment, I don’t care if he knows. I don’t care if he finds out and punishes me. The pleasure is too much, too good, my clit hot and throbbing against my wet fingers, my entire body tense and quivering, and it’s everything I needed. It’s worth anything that happens. I want to plunge two of my fingers into my drenched, clenching pussy and fuck myself to another climax, but I don’t dare. I can’t shift my position enough for that. All I can do is grind against my hand, drawing out the pleasure as long as possible before my clit becomes too sensitive, and I pull my hand away, gasping.
It’s not until the urgency of the need fades that I know what a terrible mistake that was.
There’s no way he won’t know. My fingers are sticky with my cum, my pussy and thighs even more drenched than before, my skirt crumpled up on my legs, my face and chest flushed and hot. I know exactly what he’ll see.
A disobedient pet that came without permission, even though she knew better, simply because he hadn’t explicitly said “no.”
A bad girl.
Hisbad girl.
A flutter of excitement quickens in my chest, and I crush it as fast as I possibly can.
I kneel there in the darkness as the minutes tick by.
When the door opens, I smell food. Alexandre’s brought me dinner, and my stomach rumbles. The light from the hall floods in, outlining him, and I see him stride towards the Tiffany lamp by the couch, reaching for the switch.
Oh no.
He turns to face me, and I see the flicker of realization on his face. His nostrils flare as his eyes flick down to my reddened chest, my wrinkled skirt, and very slowly, he sets the plate of food aside on the side table.
“Pick up your skirt,petit,” Alexandre says calmly. “And spread your thighs. Show me what you’ve been doing.”
His tone brooks no argument. My heart races in my chest. I know he’s going to be angry. He’ll punish me. But how?
I’ve pushed him again. Pushed someone whose limits I don’t know, who hasn’t hurt me yet, but could.
We could play with her together.