Page 57 of Devious Delusions

“Fuck,” she breathes out and stretches her neck back.

I can barely make out the color of the paint or the buttons on the wand from how layered her binds are. Her stomach tenses and she’s already close. My excitement skyrockets at the thought of the mess she’s going to make on the floor. There’ll be puddles, fucking rivers flowing in my honor.

The toy is hers, but I’ve made my own modifications to it, and I pick up the new remote control and power cord. Her eyes are still closed, and she slowly drops her chin to her chest. I fuckwith her and use more force than required to insert the power cable. Jolting it for good measure, I can’t contain my laugh as she groans.

I have to move away to plug it in and it comes to life as soon as the pins click into the power outlet. Buzzing fills the air, mixing with her mumbled cursing.

“Fuck, oh fuck.”

Holding the small remote control against my fingers, I slowly roll my thumb over the ball to alternate the intensity while I watch her. She shudders and works so hard to escape the restraints I’ve made. They pull tighter around her skin to the point her flesh bulges at each edge where the plastic wrap ends. The wooden chair legs creak and she continues cursing as she screws her eyes shut.

I watch her skin turn red as I walk to the back of her chair. The binding around her tits makes her look flat when she has the perfect handful, but it would distract me from looking down her body and being able to see just how swollen her clit is from the vibrations.

She’s not where I need her to be yet, and I gently push my fingers through her hair until my palm is flat against her scalp and my wrist is flat against her nape. She lies too sweetly.

“It’s too much, I can’t take it.”

My fingers tighten against her scalp, each strand of her hair getting stuck against the latex, and my voice is rougher at her thinking she can tap out.

“Stop fucking lying. We haven’t even started playing yet.”

A low whimper stutters against her lips but she doesn’t have any other bullshit argument. One thing Delilah knows is that she needs this, she needs to be broken and fucking used. Only ever by me.

She pushes her head back into my hand as I undo my belt. Her eyes open and she looks around, trying to entice me. All shehas to do is be honest and I’ll bury my dick in her throat again. But she doesn’t. She looks at me, waiting for me to snap and do what she wants. Whoever crafted her demonic soul made it the most fascinating and addictive thing in existence.

Soft features, bright eyes, a soothing voice, everything that tricks people into thinking she’s innocent.

The leather swishes through the loops until I hold it loosely in my fist and Delilah’s heart thuds against her chest. I can hear each chamber constrict in a repetition of two and the plastic wrap creaks as her chest rapidly rises and falls.

A scream vibrates around the kitchen as I roughly push her forward with my hold on her head. She sways on the two front legs of the chair, and I take my time wrapping my belt around my fist with the buckle against my palm. Her fingers intertwine with each other as I tighten my hold on her head and the change in position pushes her into the vibrations.

But that’s not what has my attention.

It’s her ass pushing through the frame of the chair without the support. Red lines have formed on the backs of her thighs from the pressure of sitting on it and her beautiful ass is left out, free of any marks.

My arm cocks back and the leather cracks against the back of her thigh. She screams, again. Such a beautiful fucking sound and I lean her further forward. It takes every ounce of control I possess not to tip her over and fall to my knees at the sight of her glistening thighs.

“Who am I?” I ask.

She tries to shake her head, but I pull against the strands. It causes her to moan, and I can’t keep the awe from my voice.

“My filthy little pain whore. Who am I?”

“I don’t know!” she screams.

I sigh and cock my arm back again, this time aiming where I want the belt to hit and give more slack. It curls up, the tipsnapping against her cunt as the flat edge hits her tight little asshole, and her groan is more of a low keen.

Pulling her back, I rip my hand out of her hair as the chair legs slam against the floor and jolt her body. Her tits can’t shake with the way they’re bound and she tenses when pain usually helps her, but I have to change my plan and I step around her seat to take my own.

Her cheeks are flushed, bottom lip all pink and puffy from where she’s been biting it, and there are already tears in her eyes. A masterpiece.

Leaning back in my seat, I take out her phone and load the camera. Her eyes are brighter with the tears, and she tries to straighten her shoulders as the shutter sounds echo through her moans. It’s too easy for her, too effortless, to be so beautiful. I hate it and I increase the vibrations as I slowly pan down her body.

“Look at you,” I say low in my throat. “Swollen already when that soul-sucking cunt hasn’t even been filled.”

I can’t resist her and stretch my arm forward to circle her entrance. She whimpers and looks down, watching how she soaks my fingers as I drop her phone into the box.

“Who am I, koukla mou?” I whisper.

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