Page 24 of Shameful Needs
I tugged experimentally at the restraints, finding them completely secure. My arms were confined, not uncomfortably, but enough that I couldn’t bring my hands anywhere near the lower half of my body. The helplessness was immediate and overwhelming.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice muffled against the wall. “This isn’t necessary. I won’t touch myself again.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Master Paul replied, and I felt his hand settle on my hip, the touch sending unwanted electricity through my body. “Your body has needs, Heather. Needs you’ve been used to satisfying with your naughty showers for a very long time. The temptation would be too strong.”
His hand began to move, sliding slowly down my thigh, and I gasped at the contact. After the intense orgasm he’d givenme earlier, my body was hypersensitive, responding to even the lightest touch with desperate hunger.
“But I can touch you,” he continued, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. “Your husband has given me complete authority over your body. I can do whatever I want to you, whenever I want.”
I tried to press my thighs together, to deny him access, but his hand was already moving between my legs. When his fingers found my pussy, I cried out at the contact, my body betraying me instantly.
“Think about what this means, Heather,” Master Paul said, his voice taking on an almost hypnotic quality as his fingers began to explore my most intimate flesh. “I can touch your pussy whenever I want. I can make you wet, make you desperate, make you beg. But you…” His fingers found my clit, circling it with maddening precision. “You can’t touch this warm, sweet slit now.”
I pulled against the restraints, my bound hands flexing uselessly above my head. The leather held firm, keeping me completely at his mercy as his skilled fingers worked between my legs.
“Your husband owns this,” he continued, his touch becoming more insistent. “Every part of it belongs to him. And he’s given me permission to use it, to train it, to prepare it for his pleasure.”
My hips began to move against his hand despite my attempts to stay still. The position on my side, arms confined before me, made me feel completely controlled. I could feel myself growing wetter under his ministrations, my body responding with the same desperate hunger it had shown earlier.
“Please,” I whimpered, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. For him to stop? For him to continue? For release from this maddening cycle of arousal and denial?
“Your body knows what it needs,” Master Paul murmured, his fingers sliding lower to tease my entrance. “Even if your mind fights against it. You need to be taken in hand, don’t you? You need someone to take charge of this needy little pussy.”
I bit my lip to keep from crying out as he pushed two fingers inside me, his thumb continuing to work my clit with devastating efficiency. I felt completely at his mercy, and my body was reveling in it.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice warm with approval as I began to pant. “Show me how much you need this. Show me what a desperate little wife you really are.”
His fingers curled inside me, finding spots that made me gasp and arch against the bonds. The pleasure was building steadily, that familiar tension coiling in my belly as he worked me with expert precision. I could feel myself climbing toward the edge, my body preparing for the release it craved.
Then I heard it—the sharp beep from his handheld device. The same sound that had preceded my earlier orgasm, the sensor’s warning that I was about to climax.
“Perfect timing,” Master Paul said, and before I could process what was happening, his hand was gone.
“No!” I sobbed, my hips bucking desperately against nothing. “Please, I was so close?—”
But he was already standing, adjusting his clothes with the same calm efficiency he’d shown throughout our encounters. “Good night, Heather,” he said simply. “Try to get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 12
Heather
I laythere in the darkness, my body still humming with unfulfilled need, trying to process what had just happened. The leather restraints held my wrists securely in front of my face, and no matter how I shifted or twisted, I couldn’t bring my itching fingers anywhere near the aching heat between my legs. The position forced me to lie on my side, facing the cold white wall with my hands clasped as if in prayer.
My mind raced as I stared at the blank surface inches from my face. Master Paul had left me here, desperate and wanting, with no way to satisfy the hunger he’d deliberately stoked. The casual way he’d brought me to the edge and then walked away seemed somehow more devastating than anything that had come before. At least during the spanking, there had been purpose, structure. This felt like pure torment.
I tested the restraints again, pulling gently at first, then with growing desperation. The leather was soft enough not to chafe, but absolutely unyielding. My shoulders already ached a littlefrom the position, and I knew it would only get worse as the night wore on.
The worst part was how my body continued to throb with need. Every small movement sent waves of sensation through me, reminding me of what I’d been denied. I pressed my thighs together, trying to create some friction, some relief, but it was useless. The position made even that small comfort impossible.
I thought about Ryan, probably asleep in our bed at home. Did he know what they were doing to me? Had he watched Master Paul touch me, tease me, leave me desperate and bound? The thought made my cheeks burn with shame even as it sent another pulse of unwanted arousal through my core.
I found myself thinking about Chad, about the way he used to tie me up in his apartment. But even he had never been this cruel, this calculating. When he restrained me, it was always as a prelude to using me, to taking his pleasure from my helpless body. This was different. This was designed to break me down, to make me understand my complete powerlessness.
I awoke with a whimper from a hot dark dream that had seemed much too real, very disoriented. In my dream Ryan had stood there in the darkness, his face transformed by an authority I’d never seen before. His gentle blue eyes had turned cold and commanding as he loomed over me with a leather whip in his hand.
“You’ve been lying to me,” he’d said, his voice carrying a steel I’d never heard from my husband. “About everything. About what you need, what you want, what you’ve done before.”
The whip had cracked across my bare bottom, and I’d cried out, my body arching against bonds that felt different from the ones holding me now. In the dream, I’d been tied spread-eagle to our bed, hands and feet splayed, arranged for my husband’s use.
