Honor

“Don’t move, don’t you dare move a muscle until I give you permission to do so,” he growled at me, his face pressed against mine and his hand in my hair.

He’d positioned me exactly so, naked on the bed with my feet pressed together and my knees spread like a butterfly’s wings. I was comfortably resting with my head on a pillow, and he’d placed my hands deliberately, my fingertips gently tickling the soft skin just above my hip bones. It was torturous to be told I couldn’t move, my hands were so close to the spot I wanted to touch, just a few inches lower and I could access my spread cunt. I knew better though. He told me not to move, so I wouldn’t.

I heard him reach into a drawer and the sound of items being placed on the bedside table echoed through the silent room, the soft clunks and clicks of plastic on painted wood. He joyfully hummed an indiscernible tune as he gathered what he needed. I didn’t know whether his singing was a good sign or not, was he about to give me pleasure or tease me with sensuous pain? The feeling of having my cunt spread open and the anticipation of what was about to happen made me want to squirm, I wanted to grind my hips into the mattress, but I didn’t move a millimeter.

I felt the tickle between my cunt lips as moisture began to leak from inside me, my skin was sprinkled with goosebumps as the feeling spread. My nipples hardened and I so badly wanted to reach up and grab them, pinch them between my fingers and roll them around, arching my back into my own touch. I wanted to dip my finger between my folds and gather a sample of my clear slippery wetness. I wanted to bring it up to my mouth and suck it off, feeling my warm tongue swirl around the padded tip. I kept still, like a stone resting in the same spot for centuries.

I could feel the muscles in my thighs quiver involuntarily, like a jolt of electricity willing me to disobey. The tips of my fingers felt like they had wings, delicate insect wings that were itching to take flight.My head felt like a balloon, tethered only by a thin string to keep it from floating into the clouds. I stared straight ahead, and only in my imagination did I move my hands down between my legs and tend to that growing need.

He was silently standing over me, his eyes wandering over my entire body, watching for a twitch or a wiggle. He reached his hand between my legs and lightly brushed his fingertips over the skin of my thighs, a tempting tickle that did nothing to quell my desire. He moved slowly upwards, trailing squiggles across my soft flesh until they reached my cunt.

“You’re soaked,” he stated the obvious as if it were note to be taken down and marked on the calendar.

I flushed, and it took all my will not to push myself into his hand and buck my hips up to meet him, finding a pressure that would give me some relief. I didn’t move, but the electric jolts in my thighs became more insistent, the wings on my fingertips began to beat harder, and the balloon of my head seemed to insistently jerk against it’s string.

He stood over me on the bed, the weight of his feet peeled the mattress from either side of my hips, his left hand braced against the wall and his lubed cock bounced over me, teasing me like an insolent child. Nah nana nah nah! He spit, slowly allowing his saliva to drip from his pursed lips onto his cock, the remnants dripping onto my chest, and then he sheathed his cock in a silicone tube. He jerked slowly at first, his breath a whispered moan.

His grunting got louder and his fisted hand became faster as he got closer to coming. The toy on his cock made a sound like a fingers in wet spaghetti, slimy and slurpy. I kept my eyes on his cock, waiting hungrily for the spurt of come, a colorless fireworks display, white and wet and just for me. It was beautiful, shining ropes of come shot from the tip of his cock and landed on my chest, dribbled on my chin, and dripped down the edge of my ribs, tickling my skin as it found its way to the sheets.

He knelt down, his softening cock now free of the silicone pleasure tube rested right between my stilled fingers.

“You have permission to move, but only to clean yourself up. Use your hands and your mouth. Then, I might allow you to touch yourself and take care of that puddle between your legs!”