Club Mephisto(27)

She obeyed, clenching her fists and willing herself to stillness. Then, without warning, he pinched the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, and she yelped and shifted jerkily. Immediately she felt a spray of hot stinging pricks across her ass cheeks and upper thighs. She cried out, not realizing at first what he'd done to her. She thought of barbed wire, vampire gloves, needles. He put his hand on her back again. "Still."

She sobbed softly, and her mind returned to coherence. The wax. He was holding her still while the candle burned down and the top filled with a pool of hot liquid. The predicament was obvious. If she stayed still, it slid harmlessly down the side of the candle. If she moved, it splashed out onto her skin. Already the first volley of drips had dried and cooled, but the memory of the pain lingered. She just had to be still. She had to be still. She felt onerously burdened and unbearably controlled. Don't talk. Don't beg. Don't move. Don't shift. Don't come. And above it all, his immovable hand pressed to her back, fixing her to the bed by pure power.

Then he released her, and the responsibility was hers. Don't move. Don't move. She saw the crop disappear from the bed beside her, heard the whistling sound of it in the air, just giving her milliseconds to brace—

But stillness was impossible as the fiery pain sliced across the middle of her thighs. She jerked and felt the spill of hot wax land just at the apex of her leg, below her ass cheek. Two horrible pains to process at once, and nothing to do but lie still to prevent more pain. Mephisto, she wanted to cry. Demon! He was so evil. But in the midst of her pain her clit was alive with longing. She turned her head, knowing more pain was coming. He was making her wait for it. Another crack of the crop again her left cheek, and she pulled away, spraying wax across her right buttock. Two types of burn, but the wax burn was worse because it spilled and spread in an unpredictable pattern that was never the same.

His hand was on her back again, soothing her. Making her wait while the hot liquid built up again. Her pussy ached, empty and unused, while her ass clenched on the waxy instrument of her own torture. "This is fun, isn't it?" he asked lightly.

Her answering moan of protest was met by the soft buzz of the vibrator being switched on. "Now, this will be more fun." She felt his fingers parting her pussy lips, and she trembled with the effort it took to stay still. He nudged the tip of the vibrator against her clitoris, barely touching her. She could be still for this. She could endure it, with self control. The low hum was a pleasant tingle, arousing but not unbearable.

But as ever, he was patient. He swirled it around, a trail of teasing sensation, and then centered it again on her clit. She took quick, panting breaths. She could be still...but if she didn't move away from the delicious contact, her body would come with or without her intention. She whined, pleading in the only way she could for his mercy, but he only started the swirling, taunting movements again. She waited, steeling herself, trying to will the arousal away, trying to deny the peak that was coming, but then...

She groaned and jerked her hips away, feeling wax spray across the backs of both her thighs. She suffered not just the pain of the wax droplets, but the horrible physical frustration of the denied orgasm.

"Good girl," he said, brushing a hand down her back before pinning her still again. "Such an obedient slave. Your Master is pleased."

So let me up. Please take the candle out and let me up. Then please stick your cock in my pussy. Or my ass. Wherever. Make this ache go away.

Buzzz... A moment later the vibrator was back again. Three more times he brought her to the edge, forcing her to punish herself doubly by pulling away from the very orgasm she desperately craved. Her buttocks and thighs were spattered with wax, some even dripping down into the sensitive cleft between her ass cheeks. The last time she burst into tears of frustration. Not because she'd missed another orgasm—she was resigned to that torture, as much as it plagued her. No, it was because she'd almost given up that time. She had been mere seconds from just allowing herself to come after all these many days of denying herself for him.

To come at this point, before he allowed it, would crush her completely, not to mention disappoint him beyond bearing. Perhaps there was something in her miserable crying that moved him, or alerted him to the fact that she could not be would up further, because he switched off the evil silver vibrator. She felt the whisper of his breath across her ass as he blew out the candle. The tension of stress left her body in inching degrees, so she felt for the first time the scratchiness of the linen square underneath her, and the softer feel of his sheets beneath her cheek. They smelled of him. With the panic and tension gone, her senses came alive. And still, the arousal remained, a nagging weight in her pelvis. An empty, excruciating longing not to be fulfilled.