Tonight, I am really horny for someone to touch my tits. While I can make myself come with vibrators, playing with my own boobs isn’t quite as good as someone pinching my nipples and twisting them until I yelp and beg them to stop, and then do it just a little more because they know it will make me wet… Oops, I’m getting distracted: on with the smut!
I might have got a little bit more than I bargained for when I asked her to play with my tits.
The chastity belts keep both of us from touching our greedy cunts, and I hope that she’ll be nice and help me out, in a gesture of subby solidarity. It wouldn’t be enough to get either of us off, but it would be a distraction from the ache between our legs. Gentle touches and squeezes: that’s what I want.
“Lily, will you play with my tits, please?”
I push myself up from the mound of pillows on the huge double bed, so I can make big, pleading eyes at her. I know she has the key to my chastity belt, but the beating Sir has promised her if she unlocks me without his permission meant that I won’t be able to persuade her to free me – even to tease me more, let alone give me the orgasm I’ve been craving all day.
Nothing is stopping her from touching my tits, though.
For a second, I think she’s going to say no, or to make me beg prettily in the manner that turns her on so much. I’m actually quite surprised when she puts her book down and stands up, assessing my body with a slow, calculating gaze. She’s just as naked, just as denied, as I am, but standing at the end of the bed, eyes devouring me, she seems very powerful.
Then she pounces.
She pulls sharply on my ankles, so I slide off my throne of pillows and down the bed. She then clambers on top of me, straddling my hips, and pins my arms either side of my head, her hands heavy on my wrists. I am trapped by her weight, and a delightful shiver runs through me at her playful grin.
It vanishes when she bites my boob.
She doesn’t bite or suck at my nipple with the intent of giving me pleasure: she nips at the soft flesh of my boob. And she laughs when I squeal. She bites me again, and again, until I’m squirming and thrashing beneath her, wanting to get away from the stinging pain. She holds me down more firmly, giving me her best sadistic grin between bites, and everything she does makes me more desperate to touch my cunt.
She knows it does, of course; that’s why she’s doing it.
Deciding that she needs more hands to play with, she pulls her headband off and wraps the soft, elasticated cotton around my wrists. Guiding my hands to the headboard, she helps me curl my fingers around the cool railing and tells me that I will regret it if I let go. She gives me a second to compose myself, and then she slaps my tit. Hard, the way I beg for it when Sir is toying with me, and I’m trying to convince him I can take more because it’s so good – but when I’m still covered in bite marks the change in sensation almost makes me scream.
Her hand is over my mouth before I can, stifling my scream and making it hard to breath. She keeps it there for a second longer than I’m comfortable with: long enough to make me pant and struggle. She knows that the struggle will turn me on, and so she pushes my shoulders down to keep me in place as she leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Sssshhh, little slut. I’m going to slap your tits, just how you like, and you’re going to be a good girl and take it for me.”
I try to throw her off me, but she’s stronger, and I’m still holding on to the headboard because I know she’ll tell Sir if I am a bad Kitten and deliberately disobey her. Being bratty and struggling is different; she likes showing me that she’s stronger and deserves to be in control and play with me. All she does is hold me more tightly and slap my tits harder. I wiggle underneath her, but I know she’ll accept the whimpers I’m making as encouragement. And they are.
My legs are spread now, with her between them, and I thrust my hips uselessly into the air. I growl with frustration, and she just laughs at me.
“Bad Kitten. You know that your cunt is locked away, and you won’t be coming tonight… but I will.”
“Please,” I begin to beg, but she just shakes her head and switches to twisting my nipple, so the rest of my words disappear into a moan. She gropes and squeezes, alternating light kisses with sharp pinches, until I am a writhing mess beneath her. She leads me in a dance along the line between pain and pleasure, laughing and teasing at me, especially when I beg.
“Stop. Please stop? You’re hurting me.”
“But I thought you wanted me to play with your tits, Kitten?”
Her voice is utterly innocent, and someone who didn’t know that she’d been sucking on one of my nipples (while plucking at the other one) a moment before might have believed her. Her words, though, are perfectly tailored to make me even more aroused, and they pull another moan from me.
“Did you prefer before, with just the biting? I can go back to that if you like…”
The door to the hotel room opens, interrupting my string of desperate ‘no’s that we both know I don’t really mean.
“What are my filthy girls doing?” Sir asks, looking amused at the scene before him.
“We’re eating Kitten’s boobs!”
“Excellent. Let me take my coat off and then I’ll join you…”
When I fall asleep, hours later, my cunt is still dripping wet and aching, and my tits are covered in marks from their teeth.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.
