The relief is short-lived though as my thoughts immediately return to her. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I fuck her. And even then. Once won’t be enough.
It is a battle unlike any other - to not go into her room and spread her legs wide to taste her.
But I am in control - and she will learn that one way or another.
She’s fucking perfect.
Over the next two days our games escalate.
The more I try to control her the more she fights back, purposefully dropping things, bending over, wearing that fucking lingerie thatI chose.It’s as though I was testing myself by giving her that weapon.
The more she tests me - the more I punish her - determined to not give her what she wants until she is crawling on the floor begging for it.
Misha is in the kitchen making a cup of coffee when I walk in one morning.
She is wearing a T-shirt and nothing else. No panties. It’s obvious because the shirt is too short to cover the bottom of her ass cheeks and when she lifts her arm to retrieve anything from the cabinets above her, which she is suddenly doing frequently, the t-shirt drifts even higher - teasing me with the sight of her perfect ass, and if she bends forward enough, the little pink curve of her pussy.
My cock hardens despite me pretending not to notice anything.
But I am pulled towards her like a magnet, anyway.
I step right up behind her and push her, facing forward, into the kitchen counter.
She gasps quietly and arches her back against my throbbing cock.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Would you like a coffee, sir?” She asks.
“Yes. Dark. Sweet. And don’t make a mess, little slut, while you are begging for my cock.” I say slowly, pushing my cock against her, letting her feel what she cannot have.
She moans softly and moves her ass in a slow circle and I almost cave in. Fuck. This is insane. She is dangerous.
For a moment I am left questioning whoisin control here.
But I step back and prove again that it’s me. She ismine. She won’t get what she wants until I give it to her.
The relief she’s so desperate for -I own it.
I own her and I own that perfect, pink little pussy of hers.
She will learn it eventually.
I step back, leaning against the counter and watching her make the coffee, reaching for the mugs and bending down to pick up a dropped teaspoon.
She is begging. And I love it.
But when the coffee is finished, sitting on the edge of the counter with steam drifting off the surface - Misha glances over her shoulder at me, slides her hand slowly over the counter and pushes it over the edge like a mischievous cat. The mug smashes onto the floor and coffee spills across the tiles.
“Oops.” She says, as innocent as ever.
She turns to face me and in two steps I have closed the distance between us and wrapped my fingers around her throat. I lift her by her neck and push her ass onto the counter, spreading her legs wide I force her open as she cries out and tries to tilt her head away from my iron grip.
My fingers dig into her soft skin, pressing against her windpipe and cutting off her air.
I push my cock against her pussy and growl against her ear.
“You clumsy little fucking slut. Must I use my cock to punish you? Must I impale you and make you scream in pain before you learn to be good?” I snarl.
She is whimpering, but she can’t speak, my fingers too tight around her neck.
