I wanted him to restrain me and force me to come more than I’d ever experienced, more than I could ever make myself come.
I wanted to feel that vibrator grind even harder against my clit when I told him to stop, to feel that vibration punishing my pussy when I said it was too much.
I wanted to beg for mercy the way I imagine it when I’m masturbating. I just didn’t realise how intense it would be after the first time I came, how my body would be turning on itself for allowing it to endure this, the battle between what my body can handle and what my mind craves.
It was only seconds after asking him to please let me come that the words ‘please stop’ escaped my lips. With every orgasm, I’d ask it again, hoping that the words would take new meaning to convey what my tensed muscles and trembling limbs could not. I want him to feel for a second what he’s doing to me, to understand what I’m going through, whether that would make him a little merciful. To feel such pleasure that surpasses that moment of devastation and veers into agony.
But the part that resides deep within, the part that imagined this while I masturbated and edged myself to the fantasy, that part wants it never to end.
Content created by: PleasureTorture
Image source from: NewSensations