I was able to suppress a smirk, just barely.
"I've been very good," I said, softly. At this point, I could hardly move my fingers at all.
Every muscle was clenched in anticipation, waiting, ready for the tension to explode. I pulled
my hand away, breathing hard. The temptation was too great. "I've been practicing just like
you asked, and I..."
The room was warm, but the air felt cool on my dampened, overheated flesh. I hissed
and closed my legs. With my thighs pressed together, I could feel exactly how slick and
swollen I'd become.
"What's wrong?" he asked, softly.
"It's too much," I whimpered. "I don't...I don't think I can calm down."
"You would eventually," he said, his tone cool again. "If I left you long enough, tied up,
so that you couldn't do anything to stoke the fire."
I whimpered again, wordlessly, but I'd run out of ideas. I didn't know what I could do
or say to make him understand my desperation. I wanted to be better, but my body betrayed
me at every turn.
"Breathe," he said. "Remember. Deep breaths. Every exhale should be twice as long as
every inhale. Count it out in your head. Breathe in for five seconds, out for ten."
This felt impossible, torturous, but I did. I closed my eyes. One, two, three breaths like
this, each one like an eternity. But he was right. By the end, I no longer felt like my body was
a live wire.
"Are you ready for more?" he asked, when I opened my eyes.
I nodded, lifting my hand, but he shook his head and stood up, raising his arm in a stop
gesture. "Take off your shirt." I obeyed, my heart instantly throwing itself against my ribcage at the thought of him touching me. I wanted it more than anything, but I was terrified I wouldn't be able to stop myself.