I skated my hand back down, slithered my palm down his belly, skirting around his cock from hip to hip, teasing him. Leaned in, kissed him. Bit his lip so hard he grunted in surprised pain, a sound that turned to a moan as I took his burgeoning erection in my fist. One, two, three slow strokes and I felt him thicken, lengthen, harden in my hand.
When he was appropriately hard, I crouched down and picked up the tube of lube from where I’d left it, just under the chair I’d been sitting on. I squirted some into my palm, and smeared it all over Nick’s partial erection, glopped it on and stroked him a few times to make sure his length was coated. And then I crouched once more and grabbed the cock ring I’d ordered.
Small, tight. Perfect. I guided the ring to the broad tip of his dick and fitted the ring on and slid it down. Carefully, I worked it on, further and further. Nick grunted as I seated the cock ring home, as far down his shaft as I could get it. And good lord was it tight.
“Fuck, Layla. What the hell is your game?”
“My game? My game is pretty simple, Nick: I’m going to use you as an experiment. I’ve always said I don’t have an orgasm threshold, right? But we’ve never tested it. I turned off all the phones, locked the doors, and told the guys we’re out of commission until we contact them. I’ve got you all trussed up like a Christmas present to my pussy, and I’m gonna have myself a good old time, riding your cock and sitting on your face. I’m gonna use you like a flesh-and-blood dildo to make myself come as many times as possible, until I either get sick of the game, pass out, or stop being able to come, whichever comes first.”
“We’ve had all-night marathon fuck sessions, and you’ve still been raring to go afterward.”
“Exactly. I’ve got supplies, Nick. I brought snacks and juice boxes and several bottles of lube, and even some Viagra. Just in case, you know—you’re not up to the task.”
He snarled. “Oh I’m up for the fucking task, woman. Don’t you doubt that.”
I reached out and petted his penis. “I figured you would be. But men have their limits. Even you’ll need some refractory time at some point.”
“This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”
“I very much hope so, babe.” I climbed onto the bed, straddled his chest. I grabbed the headboard between his outstretched hands and slid my pussy over his face. I crouched above him, holding onto the headboard for balance. “Get lickin’, stud. I’m keeping count.”
His tongue flicked out, eagerly. Found my clit, circled it. Stabbed in, flattened. His lips pinched the bud, and he suckled. Then he returned to licking, a quick, steady rhythm, just how I loved it best.
Within seconds, I was on the edge, gasping. The man had a wicked tongue, knew just how to lick me to get me there fastest. Usually he would draw it out a little, play with me, edge me, use his fingers. But this time, it was only about getting me to climax. And god, did he ever. That motherfucker hit like a ton of bricks, an orgasm blasting through me like a tidal wave, spurred on by his tongue.
“One,” I gasped.
I slid down his body, straddling him still then reached down, took hold of his rock hard cock, and brought the plump, springy head against my clit, rubbing in circles. Planting my hand on his chest for balance, I used that beautiful dick of his like a dildo on my clit. But it was better than any sex toy, because this was Nick, my man, my love. And while this whole thing was to get back at him—I didn’t intend to let him come until the last possible second, and as few times as possible—it was still about us, about me and him and the bond between us.
He just had to remember that he couldn’t pull that kind of bondage bullshit on me and expect to get away with it.
Number two seared through me within minutes of the first, and while the orgasm crested, I sank down on him, impaled his thick cock into my throbbing pussy. And fuck, fuck, fuck, that sent number three tumbling through me, because that first thrust, when he pushed into me for the first time, filled me, stretched me, sinking so deep our hips bumped together and his balls gently slapped against me and he couldn’t’ possibly get any deeper. That’s the fuck best feeling in the world, isn’t it? I fucking love that. I love it so much sometimes I come from that feeling alone.
I leaned back, found my balance. Lifted up, way up, and then slammed down, and Nick shouted a curse. He yanked at the bonds, wanting to grab my hips and jerk me down, lift me up, work me hard to get himself deeper. But this wasn’t about him. This was about me. And I wasn’t ready for hard and fast yet.
Oh, no.
I sank deep, rolled my hips. Relished the feel of him inside me. Fluttered a few shallow thrusts, just to tease him. Lifted up, sank down. Every time I pressed down, I rolled my hips, spread my thighs as wide as they would go, so he shoved in deeper and deeper. Fuck, so deep.
So good.
I felt a tremor then so I flicked my fingertips against my clit and began to rock on him, fingers circling my clit, fingers pinching my nipples, one and then the other. I moved harder, faster. Harder, faster.
And when number four ripped through me, I leaned forward and buried my face in his neck, then kissed his bearded jaw, his cheekbone, and his eyelids. I found his lips and kissed him as I rode him through numbers five and six.
God, with that cock ring keeping him from coming, there was no need to hold back or worry about technique. I rode him, then, long and hard. Slow, then fast. Shallow, shallow, teasingly shallow until number seven hit, and a shallow-thrust orgasm is a wild thing, fierce and fiery and subtle. And then hard, fucking-like-animals hard. Slamming down, flesh slapping. Number eight. Jesus, number eight was a doozy.
I’d only been on top of Nick for twenty minutes, maybe, and I was going slow and hard as numbers nine and ten broke through me.
“Jesus, Layla. Fuck….It hurts. I need to come, it hurts so bad.”
“No way, babe. I’m just getting started.”
“I need to come.”
“Oh, you will. When I let you.”
I pulled off him, crawled up to his face, and rode his tongue across numbers eleven through thirteen.
