Page 59 of Mob Knight

“Yes, sir.”

I put the blindfold back in place and start with them pretty loose.

“As I tighten them, tell me when to stop. You decide.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I clip the first one on and slowly tighten it, surprised at how many twists of the small knob it takes before she finally lets me know she wants me to stop. I repeat it on the other side. When I’m certain they’re secure and are pinching without harming her, I move around to stand behind her. I brush the hair away from her back and over her left shoulder.

She can’t see what else I have in my hand. I kiss along her shoulders, up to her neck, then to behind her ear.

“Do you have any idea how ravishing you look like this? Do you have any idea how envious everyone is that I have you chained and ready to go?”

“Sir, I think that really is an exaggeration. I’m pretty positive plenty of people are way more interested in their partner than in me.”

“Maybe a few,cailín, but I’m the one who can look around.”

It’s true. There are several people looking at us. It’s likely the drastic difference in our sizes. She’s about five-two, and I’m six-three-and-a-half. She weighs possibly a hundred-and-twenty pounds, and I weigh two-hundred-and-forty. We are apples and oranges, or maybe I should say peaches and bananas. Since she’sso petite compared to me, I’m even more alert to how much force I use in every contact I make with her. She’s athletic, but she’s still smaller.

I kiss behind her ear again before I take the Wartenberg pinwheel and graze it down the center of her back along one side of her spine, then up the other. I move it in a zigzag pattern back down to her hips. I bring it from left to right, then over each arse cheek. I’m careful not to pinch her skin when I run it along her horizontal crack. When I bring it up to her right ribs, I drag it over them around to her belly.

I moved slowly before, but now I set an excruciatingly slow pace as I move the tiny, spiked wheel over her tits. I run it around her clamped nipples, then over the tips, before bringing it down to the inside of her hip to where her leg forms the joint. With her pussy bare, I can torment her even more.

It rotates along her pussy lips and around her clit, but I never let it touch where she most wants my attention. Her hips jut forward, begging me to touch her where she’s neediest. It’s the one place I won’t. Yet. Her breathing grows shallow with her growing frustration.

She leans her forehead against the inside of her arm, trembling as I play with her nipples again, running the pinwheel over the exposed parts. The one that isn’t getting attention from the tiny implement gets attention from my mouth. I switch back and forth between rolling the sexual tormentor and my mouth over the tightened buds.

My free hand cups her pussy; the heel right above her clit. My fingers spread like I’m making the Star Trek greeting, so I’m not touching her clit. My fingers stroke the outside of her cunt. Her hips rock more insistently, and I observe her every breath and movement. I’m attentive to any sign this might go from pleasure to real pain, either physically or emotionally.

“Little girl, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine, sir. Keep going.”

Her voice trembles, but it doesn’t sound as though it comes from sadness or fear. It’s still frustration. I never want to hear it get to defeat. I move my hand to flick her clit three times before I allow the heel of my hand to finally press against the tiny bundle of nerves. My index finger and pinky continue to move outside of her pussy, and my middle finger taps against her arsehole.

I don’t enter her, but I tease her. She can’t tell if she wants to press her hips farther forward into the heel of my hand or tip her hips back to my finger. That’s a good sign she won’t just enjoy anal sex, but other butt stuff, too.

I keep the pressure light as my hand rubs circles over her clit. It’s the motion she’ll need to get off, but not nearly the pressure to do it. She moans, and it’s music to my ears. Between her panting and her moans, I am driving myself crazy. Just as her fingers claw in the air, I step away.

“No!”

“What’s that, little one? You issuing me a command?”

“No, sir. I just don’t want that to end.”

“I know that. That’s why it did.”

“Is that what my punishment is? You’re going to edge me?”

“That’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“Something else. You’ll know when we get to it.”

I want to give her something to think about. Not as fear, but as something to focus on when her frustration grows. She knows it’ll be some other type of orgasm denial. But she doesn’t know whether it’ll be harder or easier than what I’m doing now. She might fear it’ll be worse, but there’s also the prospect it could be better.

I lower myself onto one knee, flicking my tongue against her clit. She’s already soaked, but I’ve purposely kept her cream away from her clit. Now, I lave it over and over and flick itseveral times before sucking. Anything to tantalize and torment her. Each of her moans is like a symphony of angels to me.

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