Seven Days of Service - Day 02

I asked her then, "Do you want to use either of them?"

Just as my fingers reached her pussy, she whispered loudly, "No! You won't beat me like this."

She'd flinched as I touched her soppy lips, but defiantly thrust her hips back into position as she made her last statement. I now had what I'd hoped I'd have, but she hadn't begged me for a finish yet, whether by hand or by . . . well, you know.

With her trembling in place, blindfolded and with her arms bound behind her back, she was definitely in an awkward position. On the other hand, she seemed to be enduring the 'sweet torture' I was inflicting on her quite well. I did note however, that I'd lost my new title in this newest test of wills, something I was determined to regain before the night was over.

My hand was still firmly pressed against her dripping cunt, and she had nowhere to move, at least that she could see. I slowly began moving my hand back and forth across her pussy lips, allowing them to lubricate my fingers with her wonderful juices. Although her hips were moving about in response to my ministrations, I couldn't tell whether she was trying to avoid my touch or to chase my movements simply to increase her pleasure. One thing I did notice however; she was keeping her feet apart during my quiet invasion of her body.

Her groaning increased as I continued to massage her pussy lips with my hand, her breathing now coming in deep gulps. She began to give herself up to the moment and her hips began to take short jerks back and forth, increasing the friction and speed with which I attended to her cunt.

I could hear her talking to herself now, "No, no, no," over and over again, interspersed with, "Not now, please not now." Wanting to make sure that I could hear whether she was going to utter either of the escape words, I stopped abruptly and listened carefully.

Her hips were still moving against my hand, but when I stopped she let out a long groan, and burst out, "Oh god, please keep going; don't do this to me. Please!"

"Please what?" I responded. I began to move my hand once more, but very, very slowly.

What I could see of her face that wasn't hidden by the blindfold was bright pink, almost red, and her lips were compressed in what I could only guess was frustration at this point. I began to slip my forefinger between her lips, but stopped just as the first digit entered her body, and waited.

Trembling, Cathy blurted out, "Please keep going . . . SIR!"

Satisfied, I continued to press my finger into her cunt, adding another when I was convinced that, in her excited state, she had no problem with lubrication. As I reached the limit of my fingers inside her, she began to shudder, building up gradually until I curled them upwards into the roof of her vagina. As soon as I touched her on the inside, I brought my thumb down onto her clitoris, gently pushing the protective hood back into her body.

The shuddering became a spasm, and I watched as her abdominal muscles became rigid. Several things happened nearly at the same time, and I was hard pressed to keep up with them.

She finally brought her legs together, effectively trapping my hand in her pussy, and letting out a loud final groan, sank down to her knees in front of me. Unable to back away from her—and quite frankly I didn't want to—I was able to provide support for her face as she fell over my arm in exhaustion. With my free hand, I caressed the back of her head, occasionally reaching under her chest to caress her lovely breasts.

Finally she managed to catch her breath once again, and faintly whispered, "Stop."

This was the first opportunity that I had to be able to give her confidence in the safety of the escape word. I gently helped her upright on her knees, and then to her feet.

Moving behind her, I unsnapped the cuffs, and removed the blindfold. Her body was still trembling, and there was a light sheen of perspiration over her body. I stepped back and gave her time to adjust her eyes to the light and rub her wrists, and I asked her if she wanted to freshen up in my bathroom.

Shaking her head no, she began to sob and tears rolled down her cheeks. Sensing that I'd finally stepped across the line with her, I told her she could get dressed and go home. I watched as she quickly grabbed up her sweatshirt, jeans and shoes. Throwing them on in a flurry she headed out the door without so much as a word.

What now, I thought? Despite my apprehension about the future of this exercise, I was still compelled to relieve myself from the intense sexual tension that had accumulated in my balls this evening. Without even leaving the living room, I dropped my shorts and began a thoroughly therapeutic jack-off session with my angry friend, an exercise that had become all too familiar these past few years.

As I finished relieving myself, it occurred to me that she'd never uttered the "deal-breaker" word. She never said, "Uncle."

(To be continued in Seven Days of Service -- Day Three)