Making a Masochist Part V

–Start Making a Masochist at the beginning, get a refresher with Part IV, or jump right in.–

The shrill call of my alarm wakes me, and even though my limbs ache, and my bum burns, I haven’t felt this rested since… possibly ever. The ten hours of sleep probably have a lot to do with it. I’m also hungry as hell. Not surprising considering I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. What can I say? I had better things going on.

With my hands combing through the mess of knots that is my hair, I stumble into the shower. The hot water burns delectably as it flows over my ass, and regardless of the ointment or the bath, I know I have stripes littering my flesh. I wash, taking longer than usual to lather my breasts as the memory of the clamps comes rushing back. My hand drifts between my thighs and I gasp at how sensitive my clit is. I know with just a few tight circles I could unfurl the ache in my belly, but I pull my hand away, knowing Ian will be proud that I held back. The thought gives me pleasure of a completely different sort.

As I towel off, I take stock of the damage to my rear in the mirror. There are a couple of deep purple splotches from the paddle brush, but most of the evidence of Ian’s attention is the deep pink and purple bruises that line my thighs. The insides of which are littered with darkened spots that are likely same size as Ian’s fingers tips and I know they are from being held down while he licked me, which does nothing for the raging arousal that seems to permanently reside within me.

On the kitchen counter, I find a bottle of water, two acetaminophen, and a note from Ian, saying he’s left some fruit and cheese in the refrigerator for when I wake up. Like always, he’s thought of everything. Except for giving me permission to come.

I make it to Friday without an orgasm, but barely. It’s been a long three days. My panties have been constantly moist, and I’ll likely need to wash an extra load of knickers — as Ian calls them — before my usual laundry day. It’s kind of embarrassing, really.

My eyes are on the clock from the minute I step into my first class at nine, and I’m sure I’ll need to get someone’s notes. I don’t hear a single word of my lectures. At noon I pass Lisa en route to the campus café and stop in my tracks when she gives me a pointed look with such confident dominance that I worry I may combust, the arousal I’m barely battling rushing to my center. Apparently, my cunt no longer cares about gender. Good to know.

Three o’clock arrives and I still haven’t received so much as a text from Ian. I’m edgy and a bit twitchy. The lace of my bra caressing my nipples keeps them hard as rocks, and more than a few of my peers have taken a proper peek at them. I’m thinking about creating a warning sign when my phone dings.

Be ready by 5:30. Dress nice. I hope you like to dance.

Dance? What the…

“Savannah!”

I turn, not at all surprised to see Lisa. I’m more shocked it took her so long to talk to me. Aside from the eye fucking in the hall, I haven’t seen her all week. Even at study hall.

“Hi. Uh,” I say tentatively.

“Lisa is fine, Savannah. Until tomorrow,” she says with a slight chuckle that sparkles in her eyes.

I give her a tight smile, not wanting to be rude, but needing to go get ready for Ian.

“So, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with the arrangement, you know, without Ian around. I realize I shouldn’t but, he can be… intense.” Lisa says, studying her shoes at the word intense, and I can’t help but laugh.

“That, he is. I enjoyed myself, Lisa. Really, and it doesn’t seem weird. Just try not to be bossy in public, okay?”

“Sure thing, Savannah. And thank you for agreeing to help teach me.”

“No problem, we can learn together,” I reply, pulling Lisa in for a hug.

“See you tomorrow, slut,” she whispers in my ear, laughing as my face reddens. You’d think she’d be used to it by now. You’d think I would be too.

Ian arrives at exactly Five-thirty, a small black box in hand. He looks handsome as hell in a fitted charcoal suit, and I suddenly wonder if I’m underdressed in a simple red satin wrap dress. His fiery gaze says maybe not.

“Hello, slut,” Ian says, his voice a rough timbre that turns my core to liquid. “You look lovely. Good choice on the dress.” He traces the “v” of the deeply cut neckline, making goosebumps raise on my arms as my nipples extend. “Easy access,” he continues, sliding his hand beneath the fabric, smiling widely when he discovers I’m braless before rewarding me with masterful pinch. When I groan at the brusque contact, Ian steps away.

“I brought you a gift,” he says, holding up the box. “Something for you to wear while we’re dancing.”

“Dancing, Sir? Is that a good idea? I can barely walk when I’m around you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. It happens that I am an excellent dancer, so you have nothing to worry about, as long as you follow my lead.” Ian gives me a pointed look, and I know he’s talking about more than dancing.

“Yes, sir.”

He hands me the box and I open it with no small amount of hesitation. The last “gift” Ian left me ended with a bruised bottom and Lisa watching him fuck me in the library. The sudden clenching in my core says my traitorous pussy disagrees with my reluctance.

Inside is a simple set of Ben Wa balls, surrounded by a silicone casing. The orbs tinkle as I pull them from the package by the thin tail and hold them up. I watch, with a dubious expression, as they swing between us.

“This will not help me not come.” I say, handing the contraption over to him.

“Good,” Ian replies. “Now turn around and lift your dress. I want to see what you have under it.”

I do willingly, even spreading my legs and bending a bit to give him access to where I want him to touch me most. Of course, he knows this, so he ignores that part completely, wrapping his hand around my ankle instead. Ian traces the seam of my thigh high, before dipping his finger inside the elasticized top and following the hem until my legs shake.

Warm air kisses the bare skin of my hip and thigh when he says, “stockings. Nice touch, slut. These are very pretty too.” Ian’s hand brushes over my ass cheek, and I shudder as his fingers slide beneath the dampened lace that shields my core. “But you won’t be needing them.” With as little contact as possible between my heated flesh and his hand, Ian pulls the scrap of fabric down my legs. I can’t help but smile as he slips them into his blazer pocket after I step out of them.

“Bend over with your hands on the wall. Time to try your present.”

I don’t need to be told twice. Hands in place, I bend ninety degrees and push my ass out, wiggling it for good measure. Ian’s hand comes down firmly and he tells me to “behave,” but he quickly rubs out the worst of the sting.

He runs his fingers through my folds, collecting the moisture he finds there, and spreads it from my center up to my clit, rubbing with lazy circles until I’m pushing back, trying to increase contact. He slaps my ass again and I mutter a low, “please.”

“Your cunt is very wet, Savannah. Tell me what you need,” Ian says as he sinks two fingers into my liquid heat.

“I need to come. Please, sir.” I push back into his hand as the sound of wet thrusting surrounds me.

“Soon, Savannah, soon. Just a little longer,” he says and removes his hand. I release a frustrated sigh and almost burst into tears.

“Stay still. We’ll get these in and then we’ll go. The sooner the evening begins, the sooner you can have that orgasm you so desperately need.”

The balls slide in with such ease; I worry they may not remain in place. But Ian’s experimental tug of the string confirms they’ll stay firm, at least for a while.

After smoothing my skirt down over my ass, Ian helps me stand. The added weight pressing inside me feels weird, but it’s manageable. I take a single step and immediately stop when the balls shift. I take another step uncertainly, covering my mouth as I gasp and focus on Ian. “No. Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, Savannah. And I’ll remind you, you’re still not allowed to come.” With a sadistic smile, Ian opens the door. “After you, slut.”

The drive is thankfully uneventful. Ian talks a bit about work, and I do my best not to reach under my skirt and rub one out while I watch his lips move. His hand remains on my leg the entire time, his thumb sensually massaging my outer thigh in gentle, what I’m certain is intended to be soothing, circles. They are not. They are simply a distraction from the vibrating balls between each bump.

A quick jaunt into the restaurant tests my ability to multi-task; first, walk and second, not melt into a puddle. Each step in my four-inch heels sends vibrations fluttering deep into my core and by the time we get to the hostess station, a new batch of moisture glazes my upper thighs.

I gingerly take a seat beside Ian in the booth. We continue chatting about the past week until the server arrives, opening a bottle of wine and pouring a small amount for Ian to taste. Once approved, he fills two glasses and walks away.

“What will you have Savannah?” Ian asks, lowering his menu and leaning toward me. I’m about to answer, but a vibration erupts from my core. It takes me a second to realize it’s coming from inside me. I bite my lip as I stifle a moan and glance at Ian through my lashes.

“Didn’t I mention it vibrates?” Ian asks with a smile that’s all teeth. “I thought I’d said so.”

“No,” I reply, knuckles turning white as I grasp the table, “I don’t think you did, Sir.”

“Oh. Well, sorry about that, slut.” His expression of utter joy says he’s anything but. “Look, here comes the waiter.” I assume he’s going to turn it off, but instead, the vibrations increase.

I’m aware of the server’s voice drifting over us and Ian’s lower-pitched reply, but can’t distinguish what their individual words are. Any lack of concentration and I’ll come, I know it. Ian knows it too, judging from his extended discussion with the server. When thankfully, he orders for me, I have a brief thought that maybe he has a heart inside his sadistic chest after all.

I’ve been holding my breath for so long, stars are dancing in my eyes and when the waiter finally walks away, without a glance at me mercifully, I sag in my seat, releasing a long moan. The woman at the table beside us looks over and my face flushes. I avert my gaze and turn back to Ian, who appears to be having the time of his life.

He looks around before sliding his hand up my leg, under my skirt, and directly to my center. I bite my tongue to stifle my groan, knowing I’m at the end of my endurance. He circles his fingers, once, then twice, then grasps my chin with his other hand. Ian’s mouth moves to mine, and I lick my lips, feeling triumphant at the heat in his eyes as he watches my tongue peek out. Just before we connect, Ian whispers, “come. Now, Savannah.” It takes less than a second, and God, do I ever.

He swallows my cries as he turns the vibrations to high. My eyes roll back in my head and in my attempt at being quiet as I climax uncontrollably, my moans turn to grunts and something closely resembling a growl. Ian kisses me until the last mewls become soft whimpers and finally the pulsing inside me stops. The sudden lack of stimulation makes me twitch and my knee connects with the table with a solid sounding thwack, causing the glasses and silverware to rattle, which makes other patrons glance our way as I blush furiously, and Ian laughs.

Ever the gentleman, Ian blocks the majority of the obtrusive glares from my view and looks down at me with a wolfish grin. “Feel better, slut?” he asks.

I’m breathing hard and need to swallow once, then lick my lips before I can reply. “Mmm. Yes, Sir. Thank you.” My words are the slightest bit slurred.

Ian smooths his hand down my shaking leg to my knee, then looks me in the eye and says, “I’m glad. But I wouldn’t get used to it. The night’s still young.”

To be continued…

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