Page 48 of Deviant Obsession

I hear him pacing away again, and then there's silence. The expectation is almost unbearable. I strain my ears, trying to figure out where he is, what he's doing.

Suddenly, his fingers are between my legs, teasing along the scalloped edge of my bodysuit. I gasp, jerking involuntarily against my restraints.

"So sensitive," Dean growls appreciatively. "And already so wet for me. You look absolutely delicious like this, kitten. Spread out and ready for whatever I choose to do to you."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal through me. I wish he would just get on with it already, the waiting game is driving me mad. I whimper, pushing back against his hand, seeking more.

"Ah ah," he chides, withdrawing his infuriatingly light touch. "Not yet. You haven't earned that pleasure." He unclips the fastening at my crotch, baring me fully to the cool air of the room. "There’s that pretty little cunt," he murmurs, almost to himself.

I can’t help but squirm a little at the filthy praise, I’ve never been with anyone so vocal. I’ve never been with anyone who would dare utter the depraved things Dean likes to whisper when he toys with me. His fingers return, stroking flirtatiously along my slit until I let a deep moan slip. He has touched me often enough now to know exactly how to drive me crazy, like he’s memorized every inch of me.

Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside me, making me cry out and clench around the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck, I love it when you squeal for me."

He pumps his fingers slowly, building a steady rhythm that has me panting and writhing against my bonds. Just as I start to lose myself in the pleasure, his fingers withdraw. I whine at the loss, but my protest turns into a yelp of surprise as I feel those same fingers, now slick with my arousal, circling my asshole.

"Dean," I gasp, tensing involuntarily.

"Shh," he soothes, his other hand coming to rest on the small of my back. "Relax for me. You know I'll take care of you."

I take a deep breath, trying to will the tension away from every muscle. We've done some anal play before, but he usually gives me more warning before starting the scene. Still, as I told Nat, I trust Dean implicitly.

Slowly, carefully, he works a finger into my ass. As usual, the stretch burns slightly, but it's not unpleasant. As he continues his ministrations, the discomfort fades, replaced by a building heat of the best kind.

"That’s it, my gorgeous girl.” He works me open gradually, adding a second finger when he knows I'm ready. I start to forget the hard discomfort of the bench, the slight ache blooming in my knees and shoulders, until all I can think about is the steady thrust of his fingers into the place only he and his brother have ever been.

But I barely get another minute to enjoy it before he pulls away again. I let out an exasperated huff this time, wondering if all the stopping and starting is part of the punishment. I’m suddenly terrified he could go on like this for hours, working me up before backing away, leaving me desperate, wanting.

"Patience," Dean says, amusement clear in his voice like he can read my every thought. "We're just getting started."

I hear him moving around the room again, then drawers opening and closing, every small sound seeming magnified in my blinded state. My muscles lock up again, tensing against the invisible threat of what he might do. I trust him not to hurt me without warning me first, but I can’t seem to convince my body that he’s not about to lash me with a cane out of nowhere.

Finally, I hear his footsteps approaching once more. There's a pause, and then the unmistakable sound of a bottle being clicked open and squeezed. Lube, I realize. He must have more plans for my ass.

Before I can even conjure an idea for what those plans might be, I feel something cool and hard pressing against that tight ring of muscle. I tense, a small gasp escaping my lips.

"Relax," Dean commands again softly. "Breathe through it."

I force myself to take deep breaths, willing my body to let him in. Dean continues to apply steady pressure with the object—some kind of metal plug, I assume.

"That's it," he encourages. "You're doing so well. Just a little more."

With one final push, the widest part of the foreign object slips past my rim. I whimper at the sudden stretch, wondering if I’ll ever get used to being filled like this.

"Good girl," Dean groans. "Look at you, stuffed full and spread open for me. I could just stare at you all night."

His words send a fresh wave of butterflies sweeping through my stomach. I shift slightly, testing the feel of the plug inside me. It's larger than anything we've used before, the fullness bordering on uncomfortable but not quite crossing that line. What I can’t figure out is why it feels unbalanced, like there’s a weight attached that threatens to pull it right back out.

"How does it feel?" Dean asks, his hand caressing my ass cheek.

"Weird," I manage to gasp out. "So full."

Dean chuckles darkly. "All will become clear soon enough."

Before I can react to that slightly ominous revelation, he’s moving again, his steady stride getting closer to my head until his fingers brush against my neck. "One final touch.”

Something soft and leathery encircles my throat. A collar, I gather with a jolt of excitement. Dean adjusts it carefully, making sure it's snug but not too tight.

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