Denial... and the good it does the soul.

When she had wet the tip of my cock with her mouth, I instructed her to got into the quiet room and assume a suitable position. It was late in the third month of our arrangement, and there was no longer any need for me to be more specific.



Ms L, already scented with arousal, rose from her knees, licked her lips and padded off down the short hallway. She did not ask me how long she would be required to wait. If she had, I would not have obliged her with an answer.



Following our previous meeting, my thick cum dripping from her arse, Ms L told that she had been dreaming of strangers. They would come to her in the night and fill her with their cocks, she said. They were not gentle. Rough men, she said, and with filthy mouths. She trembled as she spoke of it, though it was nothing like fear in her eyes.



“They fuck my mouth,” she whispered.



“And my cunt…. And my… arse…! And especially my arse…! Almost fighting over who will get to fuck it next. And sometimes, in my dream, it feels almost like there’s more than one inside… I feel so… full… but that’s not possible… is it?”



She looked at me then as though seeking assurance that it was not possible. Or, perhaps, she was seeking assurance of the opposite.



“It hurts,” she said.



“God... it hurts! But I can’t stop… cumming. I can’t. And I wake up… soaked, and wanting... needing my arse… filled. Needing… the ache… the burn of it… the almost… unbearable, beautiful… agony of it…”



Ms L had been far more reticent about her fantasies when she had first arrived. In part, I think, she had always found them to be rather shameful. More recently she had begun to revel in her capacity for shamelessness. Already aware of my answer she had asked permission to stretch her arse with the dildo I had gifted her on our third meeting.



“Just when I wake… like that.”



I denied her request. Denial, I told her, was good for the soul, and besides, I did not want her to be too tender at our next meeting. Ms L lacked the discipline, in my opinion, not to abuse the privilege (in all senses).



In the quiet room Ms L had arranged herself, quite neatly on the little table in the corner. Her crisp cotton blouse, while still buttoned at the neck, had been opened sufficiently to reveal her breast. The modest skirt, woollen and knee length, had been hoist up over the pale cheeks of her arse.. Her cunt, swollen, glistened in the light from the tall window.



I positioned myself so that she could see how hard my cock was, and how the stem of it pulsed as I wrapped my hand around it.



“Spread your cheeks.”



Ms L, I thought a little reluctantly, reached back and pulled drew her cheeks open so that I could inspect her.



“Have you been playing with your arse?” I asked.



“No…”



It was a lie, and we both knew it. The rim of her anus was ruddy, and it was clear that it had been fingered recently.



I took up the crop and brought it down sharply on her thigh.



Ms L gasped, and shivered.



“Yes…!” she confessed.



I took her hair in my fist, drawing her almost upright and administered an even sharper blow to her breast.



“Fingers…” she insisted, through gritted teeth.



“Only fingers…,” she rasped.



I struck two more stripes across her tits, and one more across her thigh.



“How many… fingers?” I demanded.



“Two.”



I struck again.



“Three…! I needed more… but I was… good. I wanted my whole fuckng fist inside… but I was… good…!”



I pushed her head downwards and slapped her mouth with my cock – almost playfully.



“Assume the position again.”



She arranged herself back on the table, exactly as I had found her: knees to elbows, arse up, the left side of her face pressed to the table-top.



I laid several more stripes across her buttons, then rested the leather against her cunt.



“Don’t you dare cum,” I warned, tapping the leather even more firmly against her clit.

“If you want my cock to stretch your arse before you leave this room… do not dare cum.”



I eased her legs off the table until her feet were flat on the floor. I spread her cheeks and soothed her raw rim with the tip of my cock – almost dripping with pre-cum by then. Ms L tried to press herself back onto that slick head, but I held her fast.



As I had told her earlier: denial is good for the soul.

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