Lingering on the edge

More details.
In my comments on yesterday's post, I promised more details.

Edge play.
Keeping him on the edge of cumming for over an hour.

It's by his choice, of course.
His directive.
His training.
Never up to me.
He knows what he wants.
He taught me how to deliver.
And gets from me even more.

I do it with my mouth.

With my hands, too, of course, but especially with my mouth.
With my lips and my tongue and my teeth...
And my words.
My breath.
My sighs.
My moans.
My whimpers.

Get one of your recent toys, he said.

I should have picked the latest one. The new purple rabbit. I needed another session with it. You'll read about that tomorrow. But instead I reached for the LAYAspot. I think I may be growing fonder of it than I wrote in my review. And it's perfect for what I knew my Master wanted.

To watch me.
To watch me arouse myself.
To listen.
The noises I make...
My voice, my breath, they do something to him...

I spread out an old red bathmat, to keep from staining the carpet with AstroGlide and pussy juice. I spread my legs, turned on the lubricated little clit vibrator, and pressed it gently against me.

He watched.
With concentration.
He watched and I started rising...
It seemed like a long time but I guess it wasn't long enough.

"I may cum, Daddy. If I'm cumming, may I cum for you?"
"Don't rush," he said gently.
"Don't reach for it."

I let myself fall back.

I never did cum.

I felt his eyes on me.

I began to talk.

I felt as if I were in a peep show. Behind glass. Not because I wanted to be working there, but because I had to. I felt eyes on me. Other men's eyes, though sometimes he came to watch, too. At times I felt the chain... around my neck, on my ankle, pulled taut so I felt constrained, restrained... not that I would have refused, resisted, but to be sure I felt that none of this was for me. It was all for those watching, who got off on knowing that I felt their eyes, that I felt them watching.

That I knew I was no one.
That I had no volition.
That I was there as a slave.

And that if they fucked me, if later they fucked me, they would use me as if I were one of those masturbation toys for men that simulate cunts and mouths and tight little butt holes.

At one point, as these words leaked from my lips without my intention even as I knew that they'd please him, the sadist leaned forward in his throne of a chair. I was on the floor before him, and he leaned forward and observed me with the detachment of a researcher. He observed me. He listened. Closer, he caught every little morsel of sound.

Later, I sucked his cock. Or maybe before and after. I can't really remember. It's all part of my service. Taking as much time as he wants. As much time as he has. Teaching me to feel. To feel him feeling me. Have you tried that yet? I felt what his lips and tongue felt as they enjoyed my mouth. I felt what his cock felt as my mouth traveled up and down over him, pulling, sucking, pressing my tongue down against the base before suddenly releasing him and running my tongue or finger tips over his balls.

"Bitch!"

He cries that out sometimes when I suddenly desert his cock.

But it's what he wants.
To take him up and back.
To lead him along the path of pleasure
and keep him teetering on the edge,
only to pull him back
before leading him to the edge
again
and again
and again.

Until it's time.
And then he cums.
And I'm his sweet baby girl.

I lay my head in his lap,
and wrap my arms around his waist,
and he strokes my hair
and he feels all soft and sweet
and he tells me how good I made him feel
but he doesn't even have to say it.
Because I know.

All his tension is gone.

And my only regret is that soon he'll have to leave.

PS - I left some things out...