Page 74 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“You feel so good—your greedy little pussy gripping onto my fingers like this. I can’t wait to see how it feels to have my cock buried inside you,” he says, his voice impossibly low.

“Please,” I whine. “Damien, please fuck me.”

“Not today,” he says, getting back onto his knees and forcing the angle of his fingers deeper as my knee hooked over his shoulder causes a change in my position. Instead of sitting upright, I’m sort of half-lying down, the upper part of my back curving at the bottom of the backrest.

He pistons his fingers into me, kicking up the pace. “But since you asked me so nicely, I’ll give you a little bit more friction,” he says.

I want so much to touch him—to touch myself. But I force myself to keep my arms locked at my sides. It’s almost as good as being bound—this sort of psychological bondage—these rules I can’t break.

My breaths hitch and that coil of pleasure grows more and more taut as he fucks me with his fingers. I clamp down around him even tighter and Damien lets out a little laugh before he says, “Lillith, are you going to come?”

“Yes,” I gasp.

“Did I tell you that you could come?” he asks.

I meet his eyes, horrified by the menace and glee in his expression. “B-but—”

“You better not come before I give you permission to do so, Lillith,” he says. “You won’t like the punishment for that.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. I try to relax my inner muscles and as I do, he slips in a third finger, increasing the pace while replacing the full feeling I had just been trying to ease.

I grit my teeth. “Not. Fair,” I grind out, my head lolling back as I try to slow my breathing and stop myself from coming.

The result is a sort of inebriated, full-body pleasure that emanates from deep within me, warming my whole body. I am just about to languish in it, my eyes closed and my mind blissful when I feel the brush of Damien’s soft hair against my inner thigh.

I have mere seconds before he swirls my clit with his tongue. He lifts his head just enough so that I can see the way the two halves of his tongue tangle against the peak of my center. The sharp sadism in his gaze is enough that I’m immediately back on the edge of climax.

“No, no, no, no. Stop, stop—” I whimper.

“Safe word?” he asks, his labret piercing dragging against the tender bud.

“No,” I cry and then he takes my clit into his mouth.

He sucks and moans as his tongue flicks at it. I dig my fingers into the sofa so hard that I feel one of my false nails pop off. My toes curl, and I realize that I’m not going to be able to hold it off. My release is a tsunami careening right for me and my only hope is to get permission.

“Please let me come. Please let me come. Please, Sir, I’m s-s-so sorry. No more secrets. No more,” I whimper.

“You may come—but only after you count to ten,” he says.

Filthy sounds come from between my legs as he fingers me faster, his tongue torturing me.

“One,” I whimper. “Two. Three.”

He presses my clit against the edge of his teeth, not so much that it hurts, but enough that it creates such delicious friction that my legs twitch in time with it.

“Oh, fuck. F-four. Five. S-six.”

I feel his finger start to push at the pleated tightness of my other hole, and I gasp. If he fills my ass while he finger-fucks me, it’s all going to be over. I feel him slide his fingers through the frankly embarrassing wetness before he starts to slowly press into me.

“Seven, eight. No—no—nine.”

I feel the burning pressure of his finger sliding into my back entrance and he takes every last moment to alternate the rhythm between my pussy and my ass as my thighs tighten around his head and I cry out a triumphant “Ten.”

I come undone. I make sounds that I have never heard myself make before. Sounds I thought women faked in videos for male audiences. But this is real. Toe-curlingly, thigh-shakingly, head-spinningly real.

He moans into me as his fingers coax out every bit of pleasure, coming to a slow and gentle stop as I slacken beneath him.

I’m still catching my breath as I whisper. “Can I please touch you, Sir?”