I was taking a two-week vacation, just so I could focus on Emily. I still had a key to her apartment, so I planned on getting myself in there while she was at work, fucking with her some more, leaving a shirt of mine, spraying some of my cologne under her pillow. Her senses were seriously astute, and I knew the smells would remind her of me, exactly what I wanted.

After I had left her that night, she called my cell phone like fifty times, leaving me messages about closure, and could we just talk, and all that kind of bullshit that goes along with an unforeseen break up. Of course I wasn’t going to give her any satisfaction. I ignored her calls altogether, thinking that in a couple of days, I’d maybe pick up to at least let her hear my voice. Truth be told, I’d probably be wanting to hear her voice by then too. She had this raspy kind of thing going on and spoke really softly. It was sexy as hell, pretty much no different than the rest of her. I always joked that if her art career and teaching didn’t pan out, that she could always find a job giving telephone sex.

One of the things I loved about Emily was that she had no idea just how sexy she was. It was that innocent thing. She’d be in fucking sweatpants or something, just a normal t-shirt, and her body just made me fucking nuts. When we’d go out in public, men stared, until I made eye contact with them, like back the fuck off, and they would control themselves. She was just plain gorgeous, and she didn’t even try. The more she tried to hide her body, the more people wanted to look. It was always right there, brimming underneath her clothes.

By Day Four into my devious plan, Emily’s calls were dying down, and as I had thought, I was kind of craving her. She had been calling me relentlessly. I knew that the next time she called, I would pick it up, start our slow climb back together. Bingo, just about 3:30, my cell rang. She must have been heading back home from the college.

“Hi,” I picked up on the third ring.

“Hi,” she breathed. I could hear relief in her voice.

“How are you?” I filled the silence.

“Not good,” she said matter-of-factly, not a shred of pride evident. I could feel my cock swelling. “How are you?”

I paused. How was I? Good question. I was doing pretty well, plan in place, riding it out as predicted. But it had only been four days, not my two weeks I had envisioned, and already, I wanted to have her back in my bed. “Okay,” I didn’t lie.

She sighed, and paused. “I wanted to remind you that my art show is tomorrow night. You think you might still want to come?” I could tell she was struggling to ask, like bracing herself for my answer of denial.

Why not? I thought to myself. Good place to tease her. “I’d love to,” I said, way too sweetly. Most people would be thinking that I was so full of shit. But not Emily.

“Really? Really, Jonathan?” So much fucking hope in those three words. I had to stifle laughing out loud.

“Of course. You know I love your work.” Again, it was like I had taken some truth serum or something. I did love her work. It was risqué and sexy and thought provoking. I knew she had been working on it for months. I had forgotten it was this week. I was a bastard to choose this week to break up with her, but hey, what do they say about the tortured artist? Her work would probably be the best it had ever been.

“I dedicated the show to you,” she almost whispered it. “I had worked out all the logistics and put in the copy for the program before our . . . ” I could tell she was about to cry . . . “our, break up.”

“Send me the details over email, and I’ll be there! Gotta run, Emily. Take care.”


But I hung up. I knew she was going to cry. Best to leave her alone with that, and I had to take care of my swollen cock, which I did quickly and efficiently, Mary Palm style.

The next day, I snuck into her place. Holy shit. The place was in shambles. When I went into her bedroom, tissues were everywhere: on the bed, all over the floor. Jesus, the poor thing. On her night stand was a journal of some sort. I couldn’t resist, so I opened it. All kinds of sketches, of her, tied up, pencil sketches, some words, poetry underneath the drawings.

One was a pencil sketch of an outline of a woman, hands tied over her head, on her side. It was a front angle, the outline of the breasts, truly exaggerating how much larger they were from the rest of the body. The detail on the woman’s face, though blurred slightly on purpose, showed her emotion. It was a line between pain and lust. How brilliant Emily was to be able to show this through art. It read underneath: Swollen in lust, betrayed by emotion, needing it back. I would have just written: Emily’s torment.

Jesus! Too fucking easy. I jacked off to the pictures in the journal, thinking of smearing it onto her pillow, but even I thought that was too much. Instead, I came to do what I intended. I sprayed my cologne–the cologne she loved, the cologne she had picked out for me, the cologne where she would moan my name and say, “Oh, Jonathan, you smell so good”—in the room, under her pillow, and left one of my white t-shirts behind, near the row of shoes I knew she would choose from tonight to wear. She wouldn’t be able to miss it.

I arrived at her art show, a little late, hoping it would make her uncomfortable to wonder if I were truly coming. Our eyes met from across the gallery, her delicate figure pressed into a black dress that made me actually want to take her out to my car and fuck her right then. She never showed cleavage, too self-conscious, and I loved that. But tonight, the entire back of the dress came down in an open V, exposing her entire milky back for the wanton touch. The front was plain, except for a tiny red belt that cinched her waist in and then fell into a full skirt, just above her knee. She looked fucking sexy, her hair in a loose bun, some pieces falling out, and I didn’t know if she did this on purpose to torture me for a change, or if it was just Emily, naïve, innocent, and so unaware of her sexual desirability.

She held a white wine in her glass, and even from a distance I could feel her trembling body just looking at me, but I gave her credit, she remained steadfast in place, talking to a small group of three women, next to a large canvas she had painted.

I needed to get her out of my head, and I grabbed a wine myself from the waitress’s tray walking by, grabbed a handful of stuffed mushrooms, and tried to tell myself to focus on the art, and then I casually walked over to a large portrait that was garnering much debate.

I found myself standing in front of the sketch I had found in Emily’s bedroom, larger, life-like, sexual lust and torment more clearly defined in the taut position the woman was forced into through bondage. While still in muted tones, it looked like she had used charcoal, the work was beyond intense. People mulled about discussing its true meaning, whether it was literal or metaphorical.

My cock started to swell, knowing how true to life this portrait really was. Suddenly, from behind, Emily wrapped her arms around my waist, startling me. It took guts, and I couldn’t believe she was doing it.

“Do you like it?” she whispered from behind me, as I tried to peel her arms off of me to turn to face her.

I couldn’t contain my smile. And before I could say anything, she kissed me, hard, long, as if she had been saving up for months, and it had only been about a week. Making her wait to be back in bed with me was a delicious thought. I pushed her away. I couldn’t give in this soon. I needed to see her squirm a little bit. “Is that you, Emily?” I teased, whispering, breathily in her ear, full well knowing it was, nodding up to the drawing.

I could tell my rejection of her flustered her a bit, and she tried to gain her composure back. “Yes, of course it is. But only you and I know that.” She backed away a little, feeling embarrassed at her bold actions only a few moments before.

As I looked more closely at the artwork, the title was simple and it read: LOVE. I looked back into her suffering eyes, and I wanted to scoop her up into my arms and congratulate her, tell her I loved her, but I couldn’t deny the joy I was getting from seeing her like this, wanting me, craving my touch. Soon, I promised myself. All good things to those who wait.

I got excruciatingly close to her, so close I could feel that she was holding her breath. I touched her cheek, and bent down to whisper in her ear again. She still wasn’t breathing. “It’s beautiful, Emily, just like you.” I removed my fingers from her cheek and ran a sole finger from the back of her neck to the bottom of her back, in that indentation I loved, and her body involuntarily shivered. Intimidatingly, I said, sternly, “This dress sends mixed messages, Emily.” As I walked away from her, I could hear her exhale, and I chuckled silently to myself.

Within minutes, she had a swarm of admirers around her again, and I snuck out. I needed to get the fuck out of there before I did something stupid. I decided to leave her a message on her cell. “Sorry I had to leave early. Thank you for inviting me. Your show was a huge success. I am proud of you.”

I was. It was true. And yet, those fucking doe eyes of her, lust-filled, longing for me, was what I really remembered, and I thought I should probably get laid tonight before I caved. Instead, I took care of it myself, again. Actually caring for someone, sucked.

When I woke up the next morning, Emily had left me a message. “Could we please talk? I want to offer you my painting, the one you so admired. I’d like you to have it.”

God she was fucking sweet. I tormented and tortured her, and she wanted to give me a gift. I am sure many of the men at the gallery last night would have paid a lot of money for that piece. In fact, many of her pieces had “Sold” signs under them. This one mustn’t have been for sale, clearly. At the end of the message, she added, “Oh, and I think you left a shirt here a few weeks ago. I found it in my closet.” She sighed and hung up. I didn’t return her call. I hoped that shirt was driving her crazy.

When Monday rolled around, I called a chick I banged before I met Emily. Yeah I was a prick, but I was a faithful prick, even during our “break up,” I didn’t sleep with anyone. She answered on the first ring.

“Johnny? Hi!” She was eager, always a little too eager to please me, but I knew she would make the perfect companion today as I “ran into” Emily.

“Hi Steph. You busy today? I’ve been thinking about you lately. Thought you might want to do lunch?”

Stephanie was a rich kid, had been spoiled by her parents all through college, and never had to work a day in her life. She ran a small jewelry shop three days a week, and then did who knows what with the rest of her mindless, insipid time. So different from Emily. “I could close the store for a couple hours. What did you have in mind, you kinky bastard!”

She was a real piece of work. I toyed, “Lunch, actually, and then, hmmm, we’ll have to see.” I had no intention of touching her in any sexual way, but I knew she wanted to, so why not lead her on and have her serve my purpose: getting Emily ruefully jealous. She was everything Emily wasn’t: blonde, blue eyes, all ass and no tits, and woefully dumb. But she could suck a dick like no other. That was the only reason I kept her around as long as I did.

“I’d love to! Where? When?”

I knew Emily went to the Strip for lunch every Monday with her coworkers, kind of a Monday blues kind of tradition. I would just have to figure out which joint they were going to. I’d have to trail her and then call Stephanie somehow.

“Not sure. Somewhere down the Strip. I have some errands. Can I text 15 minutes before we meet?”

“Absolutely. Can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long.”

I went to the college parking lot and waited for over an hour before she walked out with her small group, Kevin in the group. I had kind of forbidden her to hang out with that dick. Mr. English professor, all poetic and romantic and shit, spewing love poetry, like fucking Shakespeare or E.E. Cummings or something, writing his own shit and sharing it with her. I knew he wanted her, wanted her bad. She didn’t think so, but I found it quite interesting that the moment we broke up she was saddling up right beside him. That would cost her a little in penance when I got her back where she belonged.

I trailed them, like Magnum PI for Christ’s sakes, saw them walk into a sushi place, and texted Steph: “Sakuro. See you in 10.”

I sat down in the front, near a window, Emily and her gang tucked away in the back. I didn’t want her to see me until she left. Hopefully, she would be devastated a bit. After seeing her with Kevin, I was hoping it would crush her.

Stephanie bounded in. Holy shit! Did she turn heads! I literally thought some of the men would have to pick their tongues up off the floor, as if made of cement. I was one such man not too long ago, but that was before I met Emily and actually fell in love. But close up, she really wasn’t all that great, wore too much make up, and again, was so vapid, she didn’t even know that Alaska and Hawaii were US states. No shit.

She sat down, skirt inching up so high, I thought I’d get a peep show, and my cock could certainly use it. But I needed to focus on the task at hand. “Hi,” I said with my best seductive smile. “Don’t you look . . . enticing.” Beautiful. Gorgeous. Not quite the right words. Slutty, yes, but I was trying to work my magic here.

“Oh, Johnny, I’ve missed you and our fun,” she purred, leaning in to kiss me. I turned my cheek. I really had no interest in her, even though I was a red-blooded, horny, self-deprived man, I still didn’t want her. Don’t get me wrong. We had some spirited times. She was sicker than I was and loved to be edged on the verge of orgasms for days. One time, she said she had read about some women whose men were keeping them in a constant state of orgasm denial, and I quote, “Like infinitely, like forever. How cruel would that be?” But she beamed, as if hopeful.

But no. Like I said, too eager. I liked my women willing, yes, but I also liked my sexual torment and torture to be worth something, to be on my terms. I wanted them to suffer until I decided to give in; I was the one in control, always. I was most turned on when I kept them on edge in every way, never letting them figure out my twisted thought schemes and mind. Some days or even weeks I was in a more sadistic mood than others. There was no road map for my behavior. Believe me, enough psychoanalysts had tried to figure me out. I couldn’t figure myself out. It was a deep-seated part of me, one that I learned to accept and embrace quite a long time ago. No sense in going through life unfulfilled in any way, mentally, sexually, physically. It didn’t make sense to hold back, especially with a willing victim.

Emily was the perfect blend for me. She couldn’t handle the torment mentally and certainly not physically, yet her body screamed for more, betraying her. A sort of love/hate relationship with her feelings and her body’s ultimate reaction to the sadistic charms I had to offer. Dripping wet in denial, was how I often described her. When I would finally let her come, release her from my sexual teasing and torture, she would blubber how she had never felt such powerful emotions. Her mind was exactly how I needed it to be, and much to her chagrin, it was right where she wanted it too.

Nope. I liked my women begging for real, on the verge of mental crucifixion. That was my bread and butter, and to hear a woman beg for me to tease or torture her more was a complete turn off. I needed the opposite. I needed them to beg me to stop and to really mean it. Because, I had learned from experience that complete mind control was only a flick away. And I fucked with Emily’s mind as much as I could. A huge smile spread across my face just thinking about it.

“You look well. How’s the jewelry business?” I tried to make small talk with Stephanie, until Emily would be forced to walk right by my blonde bimbo of a bombshell and me.

She rattled on. Something about a month here, a month there, a trip to the Cayman Islands, blah, blah, blah, and then I saw Emily coming, led by Kevin. I was starting to steam up by the shit-eating grin that pompous bastard always wore on his face, and Emily froze, as I put all my attention on Stephanie, leaning in close to her face.

I wasn’t sure if Emily was going to actually stop, and I was trying to make it look as if I didn’t even see her. It was dickhead Kevin who spoke up. “Hey, Emily, isn’t that your friend, Jonathan?”

Friend! Ha. Ya right. Keep telling yourself that Mr. PhD. Bury your nose in another fucking fantasy book. She tapped me from behind on the shoulder. “Hi, Jonathan.” I saw her eyes watering up a bit, as she bit her lower lip. If she bit any harder, she would have drawn blood. I wish I were biting that lip.

I acted surprised, feigning embarrassment. “Oh, hi, Emily. Shouldn’t you be teaching?” I tried to make it sound like how could I have fucked this up, that of course I would think she’d be teaching at this hour.

“Actually, we just got a late start today. Kevin read some poetry in the quad, and I pieced together a little art exhibit, with some of my work from the art show the other night. I haven’t heard from you about the portrait. Let me know if you want it.”

“Of course, Emily, I’ve just been busy. I will be in touch,” and I drew my finger along my lower lip, slowly, a private joke between us. In public sometimes, I would use that as a signal that I was dying to touch her real lips, her pussy.

She couldn’t speak, and I saw her try to breath. Her breathing was shallow. She gripped the table to steady herself, and I instinctually stood up, becoming a little nervous that she might actually pass out, as all her natural color drained from her face.

Jesus. Maybe I was going a little too far, even though from the moment I looked into her dark eyes, I could feel my cock perking right up. Was I torturing myself or her? Was I so sadistic that I was sadistic to my own self? I had to wonder that in this situation. Usually, I’d break it off with a woman, and then either say fuck it, and never see her again, or arrange for a make-up sex session that was usually the best sex of my life, or stick it out a little longer, until I was bored and then done with her completely.

I grabbed her by the elbow. “Emily, are you okay?”

Her eyes were pleading, passionate pieces of coal, and she shook her head, no. She couldn’t even fake it. And then she lost it. She just started to cry, and I caught her in an embrace.

Kevin swooped in, probably having no idea what the fuck was wrong or why she was acting like this. Emily was very private in that way. He shot a glance at me, like what should I do, and in that moment, I fucked up and overreacted. “I’ve got it Kevin. You guys go along. I’ll take Emily home.”

She literally stuffed her face into my shoulder and sobbed. I really knew right then and there, that I was going to take her home and fuck her brains out. My cock was on fire from her torment, but believe it or not, my heart felt bad. I looked at Stephanie and mouthed, “Raincheck. So sorry,” and she just shook her head in understanding, but slightly confused, as I gave her a couple $20′s for the lunch.

I told Emily to breathe on the ride home and to lay her head on my lap. I stroked her hair. She was calmer now, stifling small cries, the hyperventilation subsiding. I loved to hear her like this during our sexual adventures, when I’d tie her up. It was so strange how almost completely inseparable these two feelings were, sexual lust and longing sadness, so intertwined, so full of passion and emotion. Oh. The sex was going to be amazing. And I was afraid she’d feel my erection under her head, as I tried to calm myself down for different reasons.

We entered my house, and I immediately made a fire for her, but I wasn’t going to be able to wait too long before I slammed into her. We could talk after, make up, and then we could go back to normal, tormented, sex in bondage. I had plans for an exceptionally long session, a weekend of edging her and teasing her, but first thing was first. I needed some relief.

If I was being honest, I needed her. Fuck it; I might as well be completely honest. I was having trouble working through these new feelings. I had never really felt attached to any woman beyond sex. I even fantasized about marrying this one. I was really becoming a pussy. It made me a little angry, but I tried to squelch it.

“Here. Sit down. You want something? I know it’s the middle of the day, but you want a glass of wine? Some brandy? At least a glass of water?”

“Yes. Brandy would be great.” She paused. “Jonathan, I’m so sorry. I will go as soon as I’m done drinking that. I don’t know what happened back there. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.”

“Emily, it’s okay. You can stay as long as you want,” and I walked out of the room, into the dining room, over to my liquor cabinet. I had almost confessed that I missed her. Couldn’t allow myself to do that.

I came back with two glasses of brandy and a glass of water. I sat ever-so-closely to her and began to remove her adorable, button-down, pink sweater. “Drink your water first,” I instructed.

“Jonathan, no,” she protested. “Leave on my sweater.”

“I am just helping you to get comfortable,” I lied. If she hadn’t been on the verge of passing out at the restaurant, I would have made her strip her clothes off right then. All in due time.

She shook slightly and just sat perfectly still beside me. I could feel her sexual tension building. I knew her body like my own. She wanted me, but I needed to be a little more delicate than usual.

“Are you scared, Emily? Cold?” Is there a reason why you’re shivering?” I tried to sound sincere, even though I wanted to chuckle. I could take full advantage of her if I wanted to. And I wanted to.

She blurted, “Jonathan. I’ve missed you. Yes, I’m scared. Yes, I’m cold, inside, without you. I don’t know what happened between us, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I just don’t understand. Please help me to understand.” She was rambling, getting herself worked up again.

“Sssh,” I said and began to kiss her. God I loved this shit. I was sick and unscrupulous, and I knew it. But I made no apologies about it. It turned me on to know how much she wanted me, needed me, craved me. I was a bastard, but she needed to feel the excitement, the turmoil, the passion. In that moment I wanted to feel her slit to see how aroused she was, even in her anguish. I knew she’d be dripping.

She kissed me back in such desperation, it took all of my energy for me to stifle my chuckles, and I stopped her for a moment and said, “Take off your pants.”

She panted and stared into my sadistic, blue eyes. She was looking for something. Tenderness? Love? Trust? I’m not sure if she saw any of those, but I know that she saw unapologetic lust staring her down, unflinching and not taking no for an answer. “Jonathan, who was the girl you were with today? Does she mean anything to you?”

I chose not to answer. Let her imagination fill in the blanks. I never knew if I’d need to use Stephanie again.

“Do you still love me, Jonathan?” she tried a different tact, breathing heavily, eyes welling up with fear.

I actually did. Never stopped. Knew it was all a sadistic game for me, a total mind fuck, a game to get me right where I was, right here, hard as a rock. I wanted to dive deeper into her psyche, to make her addicted to me in an unsettling way. But I didn’t lie as I said, “I never stopped loving you, Emily.”

I kissed her gently. And then I grabbed her face and said, “Pants. Now,” in a voice that said, if you don’t do this right now, you will regret it.

She trembled. I loved her involuntary reactions to me. And she fumbled to take off her pants. I stared down at her beautiful legs, and laid her down on her back on my couch. I lied on top of her, putting my full weight on her. She moaned. Oh. I had missed that sound. I kissed her neck and chin and then her lips. I kissed her ears and her cheeks, licking up her salted tears, as she wiggled under me. I let her feel how hard my cock was, as I grinded against her underwear through my jeans.

I stood up and commanded she follow suit, by making a come here gesture with my pointer finger. She stood up in front of me.

I slowly, painstakingly removed her top, a white, see-through button-down blouse, revealing a tight-fitted bra that matched her black, lace panties. She tried to control her moaning, her squirming, a direct response to the longing she felt for me because of the break up. I felt bad, a little, but it was so endearing, so sweet, her attempts to do as she thought I pleased. I could see her eyes trying to question me; I knew she was struggling with her fear to let go, her emotional pull so strong she couldn’t control it. She wanted reassurance so desperately. Oh. My Emily, my sweet, tantalizing Emily.

I made her stand there, in front of me with in her bra and panties. I wanted to savor looking at her body. Her tits were just as I had envisioned them as I jacked off to them all week in my mind. Huge, her nipples engorged through the lace fabric, and ready to be touched.

“Go stand in front of the fire, back to me,” I smiled wickedly at how easy it was.

I stood behind her and started to kiss her neck, as her chest heaved up and down from desire, from nerves. My hands traveled along her bra, tickling her nipples with my pointer fingers simultaneously, over the fabric, as her head tilted back onto my shoulder. “Jonathan,” she moaned, and then spun around. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked. What on earth could she be apologizing for? But I let it linger in the air. “Turn around. Don’t turn around unless I ask you to, Emily,” I warned.

Her breathing picked up again, as I trailed my hands down her stomach, taking my sweet time, tortuously slow, as I made my way towards her pussy.

“Aaah!” she spilled out between her lips, and I felt her tense. She was so trained, thinking I would stop. Not today. I wanted her bad. And I was going to have her. I would have the next weekend to really play with her, cruelly, teasingly, selfishly.

But I didn’t reassure her.

I positioned a finger at the top of her pussy and held it there, not moving a muscle. She followed suit, panting a bit erratically. “Sssh,” I whispered behind her ear. “Would you like me to move my finger?”

She hesitated, and I took my finger away from her body. She crumpled slightly.

“Stand up straight, Emily,” I ordered. “What do you want?”

I lightly stroked her pussy through her underwear, a bit shocked at how brutally wet they were. I smiled broadly. I used all of my fingers to tickle over her underwear, and she really started to squirm. Some habits die hard. Emily would never be able to control her movements.

“Do I need to tie you down, Emily?” I teased. My cock was never going to wait that long, but she didn’t need to know that. I relented for three seconds and then began again.

“Fuck me, Jonathan, please, fuck me.”

“Take off your panties and bend over.”

She did in record time.

“Touch your toes and spread your legs,” and I smacked her ass, first on the right cheek, and then on the left cheek. Then I smacked inside each of her thighs. Finally, I alternated between touching her slit, from her clit all the way up to her puckered little asshole, to slapping her pussy. “Don’t you dare move. I did not appreciate your date with Kevin today. You will pay for that at some point very soon.” And she would. But I knew it wouldn’t be now.

I continued slapping her, stinging her skin, listening to her agonized breathing. After about 10 minutes, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I slammed my cock into her hot, slippery hole, over and over, rubbing her clit the way I knew she liked. She yelled out my name and told me she loved me, and I spewed cum all over her ass and back, her long, dark curls dancing around in it. I kept my fingers on her clit as she spasms a few more times, completely bent over, touching the floor.

She was convulsing in orgasms at this point and said hysterically, “Please don’t ever leave me again. Please, Jonathan. I love you. Please!”

I said nothing but when her pleasure subsided, I picked her up, yup, that was the fucking romantic I was, and carried her into my bedroom. She still had on her sexy bra as I put her on my bed. She was crying. I sat next to her.

“Lie down. Breathe, Emily.”

She complied and lied down on her back, and I lied down next to her. She looked up at the hook and rope and restraints and all the other paraphernalia I always kept in my room, on my bed, available at a moment’s notice. I smiled, thinking about how I couldn’t wait to have her in some of them.

She drew herself into a ball facing me and hesitated to look up into my eyes. I lied on my side, looking at her intently. She looked a bit like a lost puppy.

I could tell she wanted to talk, and I saw her struggle to find the courage. It was tempting to ask her to leave, but having her back in my bed, smelling her hair and watching her tits squeezed into that lace bra, I knew my latest mind fuck would have to end and a new begin. “Do you want me back? How can we make this work?” she asked, trying to seem calm, in control of her emotions, but those fucking emotional eyes of her. They were so easy to read.

I wanted to make her squirm, so I just started to lightly kiss her face and her lips. I didn’t want to let her fall into that sense of relief just yet. The fact that she gave herself over to me like that, without any promises, showed what a vulnerable state she was in. Regardless of Emily’s sexy good looks, she had only been with three other men, and none of them had ever given her an orgasm, a confession she probably shouldn’t have told me, but she simply had no idea I would use that information against her.

She tucked herself into a tighter ball, fighting what appeared to be real physical pain. I stroked her back, lingering on her lower back, tickling the top of her ass crack, as she swayed a bit, back and forth, hoping I’d answer her questions or not kick her out. She had no idea which way I would go, and I loved knowing that. Keeping her on the edge was undoubtedly my favorite past-time. I grinned at the irony.

If she knew how I really felt, how fucking addicted I was to her. How I just wanted to lock her to my bed and never let her leave again. If I truly fulfilled my sadistic fantasies, Emily would have become my sex slave a long time ago. She was getting the better deal; she just didn’t know it.

“Come on,” I said, and unbent her body.

“Do you want me to leave?” She couldn’t even look at me, her trembling body forcing itself to breath. She seemed skinnier at the waist in the short time we had been apart. I liked that. Her tits and ass were like two distinct and separate entities of pure sexuality.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I finally said, putting her out of her misery. “But I should probably take you home so you can rest and go back to work tomorrow.”

“Will stay there with me? Even just for a little while?” She was trying not to plead but was failing miserably.

“We’ll see,” I couldn’t help but continue to fuck with her. But I would stay. I wanted to be with her.

“My house is a mess,” she said a bit humiliated. “I haven’t exactly been myself this last week and a half.”

I wanted to say, oh, I know, but I said, “I don’t care about that. Come on. Up you go.”

“Will you pack a bag? Sleepover?” She implored, not even trying to mask it anymore.

“Doubtful. But I do want to make you an offer.”

“Yes. Anything.”

“Spend the entire weekend with me?”

“What about this week? Will I see you? Do you want to see me?”

“I need to think,” I lied. “But I would love to spend a weekend with you.” I already had my devilish plans spinning in my mind. I could see her tied up and helpless, begging to come, and I had to shift my cock under my briefs to remain in control.

“I would spend an eternity with you if you asked me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” I winked. “Get dressed. Let’s go. You have the rest of the week to think about all the things I’m going to do to your body.” And your mind, I said to myself.

She dressed as I watched. “Don’t watch,” she scolded. I loved how I had just had her bent over, playing tongue football with her toes, and now she got all shy and conservative.

“I will not and you know it.” I sat firmly on the bed, embarrassing her with my stare as much as I could. I watched her wince a little as she lifted her drenched panties back on. I laughed out loud.

“Very funny,” she laughed too.

“You’re the type of sight, I could never tire of, Emily.”

She looked at me confused. “Jonathan, why did you break up with me? I’m scared you’re going to do it again. Are you?”

The chick was insightful, I couldn’t deny that. “No, Emily. I guess I made a mistake. I was concerned I was getting too intense for you.” God I could really fucking lie. “Was I, Emily?”

She blushed. I wanted her to admit that she loved it, that she didn’t want to love it, but she did. Her vulnerability, her helplessness, it gave her incredible orgasms. I wanted her to say it. I loved my ego to be stroked, and I loved to watch her humiliation.

“I love what you do to me. It makes me feel so . . . alive, but . . . “

There were no buts, she could tell herself whatever she wanted, “But what Emily?”

“The devastation I felt when you broke up with me makes me question if it’s worth it. I realized that sometimes the way you torment me sexually, tease me, is close to that same feeling of devastation, if that even makes sense. I feel like maybe something’s wrong with me, like I’m unnatural or something.”

She looked up to me for encouragement, and I nodded.

“When you let me come, I literally feel like I have entered a state of Nirvana, but when you’re not letting me, I feel like I’m in Hell. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t have one without the other . . . what I mean is that I don’t want one without the other, though I don’t feel that way during the . . . the torment.”

I felt like she was putting into words exactly how I felt about it and her. She was so much more pensive, introspective than me. I just needed to watch her suffer to get off; my reasoning was simple. She almost couldn’t tolerate it, and yet also needed it in the end. Maybe I would be able to take her farther than I ever had before. Torture her sexually the way I really liked to. This weekend. My cock was rock hard again.

I grabbed her before she could finish getting dressed. “Suck me,” I ordered. “Don’t stop until I come again.” I knew that could take a while, and I didn’t care. I had a lot of imagery floating around in my perverted head to enjoy. “On your knees.”

She got down on her knees and starting to lick my cock, slowly, beautifully, licking the tip of my head, with flicks and then licking all down and around. I had trained her well to suck my cock. When I first met her, she was adequate, but needed a few tips.

That last time I took her for a weekend of torment did the trick. As I had said, I had come many times, and she had done it for me through her mouth most times. Playing with her drenched pussy and clit, not letting her come, got her really good while she sucked me off. My false promises of letting her release, put her cock- sucking skills into the Hall of Fame before the weekend was out. I’d promise to let her come if she continued, but then I’d say, “I never said when I’d let you come! I’m sure I’ll let you come eventually, at some point. Good thing you’re an art professor and not a lawyer,” I would tease.

She began to deepen her sucking, taking more and more of my cock into her mouth, down her throat and back up. She was groaning a bit, at times stifling a gag when I pushed her head down deeply. “Take your tits out of that bra.” I wanted to see her nipples. I could see how hard they were through the bra, and now I wanted a full view while she sucked me off to completion. I couldn’t help but pinch her nipples.

She licked and sucked and used her teeth a little in the right places and I started to build. “Swallow every last drop, Emily. I don’t want to have to punish you tonight, so soon after our make-up.”

“Yes! Come for me,” she said so sweetly, so sexily.

And I blew my load, gripping her head tightly.

When I was drained, I told her she could get up.

“I love you,” she said to me, and wrapped her arms around me, snuggling into my shoulders.

I whispered into her ear, “I love you too.” And I knew I had to really get myself back in control next weekend or I feared I would be pussy-whipped for life. “Let me take you home.”

“Okay. Will you stay?”

I wanted to be icky sweet this week, so I really laid it on thick. “Not tonight. I’m afraid of what I may do to you. I will save that for the weekend. Would you like to know what I have in store for you Emily?”

“Yes,” she said again, and let out such an exhale, it felt like two weeks’ worth of air.

“Hmmm. I just might need to stay over then, so that I can give you enough details.”

“Oh, yes, Jonathan. Please. I would love that.”

I pictured lightly touching her, tickling her in her favorite places, as I gave her just a few details of some of the things I would do to her. “Let me drive you home, and I’ll think about it on the way.” I silently chuckled about the last time I had her in my car, and how I left her alone, standing outside of my car, as I drove away.

When we walked into her apartment, she went into the bathroom. Smart girl. When she came out, I ordered her to her bedroom. She complied, and I followed.

“I will tuck you in and tell you a bedtime story,” I teased. “Off with your clothes. But first get me a scarf.”

She moaned, as she rummaged for a scarf. I lied down on her bed, amidst the dirty tissues. Some people would be grossed out; I was somehow aroused, knowing the torment she had been in. I chuckled when I saw my white, t-shirt tucked under her pillow in a ball. She had been sleeping with it like a child with a stuffed animal. She came back with a long, blue scarf and immediately tried to tidy up her room. I let her.

“Come here,” I ordered. “All of your clothes off. Then, come lie down on your side, facing away from me.”

“Oh, Jonathan,” she whimpered.

She didn’t know what I was planning, but I did.

I tied her arms behind her back, tautly with the scarf, and then I rolled her over to face me. She was already having trouble controlling her breathing.

“So, I can’t stay tonight, but before I go, I’d like to give you some things to fall asleep thinking about.”

I began to lightly caress her face, her cheeks, her chin, kissing her lips, gently, taking in her needy body, listening to her moan in my mouth. I stopped kissing her and let my hands travel over her tits, under them, around them, trailing around and around, watching the intensity of desire grow deeper in her eyes.

“Look at me, Emily. Do not stop looking at me or I will leave you alone and tied up tonight. I may not come back for hours tomorrow. I am on vacation, but you, you have eager minds to fill, to what is it? Light a fire?” I paraphrased William Butler Yeats. Take that Kevin. Thinking of him, slightly pissed me off, but no matter, I would let her suffer those consequences soon enough. I was always a jealous bastard.

“Okay, Jonathan. I promise,” she struggled to find words, as my fingers found her belly, her ticklish, sensitive, erogenous belly. Oh how I loved her torment. She squirmed as I continued to tickle.

August 2018
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