He released her labia, leaning back to look up at her as she bounced up and down on a dildo, the bells he’d forced her to wear adding a frantic soundtrack to her desperate fucking.
“No.”
She froze, staring at him. “No?” Surely, he meant not yet.
“Don’t. Stop.” He rose to stand beside the bed, hand fisting her hair. “Fuck yourself until I tell you to stop.”
He tugged down, forcing her to either bend back or sink down on the dildo. She lowered herself, whimpering her apology. He finally released her hair, and she immediately popped up, almost letting the dildo slip out of her pussy. At the last second she realized what would happen, and that to get thedildo back in she’d need to take her hand off her head. She froze again, dildo luckily still inside her.
She felt sweaty and awkward and frustrated.
Not just sexually, though she was desperate to come. It was a deeper frustration.
She wasn’t in control. Yes, BDSM meant the power exchange, willingly giving him control, but what they did together, no matter who made the commands, always felt controlled. Dark, depraved, but elegant and beautiful.
This was inelegant and awkward. She was thrashing and bouncing on a floppy rubber dick while the sound of bells rang like a herd of cats with bells on their collars bouncing off the walls.
The chiming, tinkling sound was making her nuts. She wanted to rip them off. She wanted this to be one of their regular scenes where she knew what would happen. She wanted to be bound by rope and leather not just by his commands.
“Leon,” she sobbed. “Please let me come.”
“No.”
She gripped her own hair, pulling until it burned. “What do you mean, no?!”
He yanked her hands out of her hair, forcing them to the small of her back. He grabbed her jesses, wrapping them around his hand and pulling up. Since they weren’t on her wrists but on her forearms, it forced her arms to bend, her elbows up toward the ceiling.
“Don’t. Stop.”
Tears of frustration slid down her face and she hunched forward, trying to move without feeling like she was dislocating her own shoulders. He gave her a bit of slack, letting her arms sink down once she was back to being obedient.
Her face was wet with tears and sweat, her knees were starting to hurt, and her nipples burned.
“Don’t like this, do you?”
“N-no, Master.”
“Why not?”
“Out of control. It’s out of control.”
“I assure you, it’s not. I am perfectly in control. Look at me.”
Blinking, she looked over at him, view partially obstructed by a strand of hair that had fallen over her eye and stuck to her wet face.
“You may feel like you’re spinning out of control, but I’m not. I’m right here, baby.”
Something slid and shifted inside her. Her frantic pace slowed as she looked over at him.
She’d done what he ordered. She was naked, bound, belled, and fucking herself at his command.
Yet part of her held back. Part of her refused to let go, because she couldn’t bear to be truly out of control. If she didn’t hold herself tight, she might spill apart. The nature of the universe was chaos, not order.
But Leon was in control. He could be the order she needed if she let him.
The epiphany was there and gone, filed away for later examination, as she let herself sink into his gaze.
Cessie submitted. Submitted in a way she hadn’t in a long time. She didn’t care that she was a sweaty mess, or that none of this was quite right—from the too thin dildo to the constant, maddening sound of the bells.
