HIS CURVY OBSESSION

Bottle play.

I just came apart without penetration. Really felt my whole body shake

“𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘧𝘶𝘹𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶?” My ex boyfriend had said multiple times .

I lift and look up at Banks, tears threatening to drop.

“Thank…” I try to appreciate but fall back when he pushes three fingers inside me at once. My hands grab the sheets in response.

“FFFFUUUCCK!” I lift my body, stretch out my legs- sole of my feet dis-arranging the sheet.

My head falls on the bed as he rolls his fingers in me while his other hand grab my breast.

"Mine to destroy" He says, thrusting fast and brutal. Far different from the earlier one.

“Mast… Ffucckplease” Tears I hold back merge with pleas, as he continue the painful and pleasurable thrust of three fingers in my p***y while fondling my breast like he wants to milk it dry.

“Damn” His curse is deep and rough. Edged with want and impatience. Letting go of my tit, he pulls my legs onto his shoulders and rolls his fingers inside me, thumb stroking my c******s.

My eyes roll and I dig my nails into his wrist, yet he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let me understand what he’s doing to me.

Not even when I grab his hand, then his hair, then scratch his arm. He continues pushing and twisting, rubbing his thumb on my c******s, eyes on me like my disembodiment is a pleasure to him.

“Filthy cunt for me” He lowers himself to face me, making his fingers go knuckle deep in me. cutting my insensible blabbering as he push deeper in me, then SLAP.

The sting blossom on my tit.

“Yes… yes… yes!” My heavy moans and grunts fill the room, joining the slurping sound of his thrusts. I push back toward him because my body has stopped consulting me on its decisions. I feel another wave rising.

“My…Master…” His motion on my c******s increases, and the thrust of his fingers reaches a pace and a depth I never thought existed. I grab the sheet when I feel him reach the hilt of my p***y, digging the soles of my feet into his back and grabbing his hair as he goes rogue in me.

“f**k!” I scream as another release hit. My c*m drips down my thigh while I shake against him. I move my body up and down, taking as much of him as I can while my orgasm rolls out

He stops.

The sudden absence of his hands and weight is a void I feel immediately.

“Hands on the bed. Ass to me.”

I move without question. I can’t locate the part of myself that would argue. I can’t wait for his d**k inside me, and his husky, deep voice shows he feels the same.

But he doesn’t push into me as expected.

I turn my head and watch him walk to the wall, where he presses a button, and the walls rattle a bit.

Something grips my chest tight as I watch the rail he was holding earlier drop down. Revealing grid iron bar.

“Master…” The word drop like tiny plea as the iron bar descends fully. It divides the width of the bed from the rest of the room: lined with four rows, spaced enough to contain the shape of an ass pushed out.

Banks wheels another tray to the edge of the bar. From my periphery, I catch sight of what’s on it: cuffs, a whip. My throat goes dry, and I turn fully.

He’s now only in his briefs, which snag against his groin so tightly my n*****s go taut.

I look at the tray again: a leather belt, n****e clamps, a huge c**k simulator, mouth gag and different toys I don’t think I’m ready to be used on me fill it.

“Master..”

He’s holding an almost empty alcohol bottle.

“Position.”

Oh, f**k me. This is looking like a bad decision.

Regardless, I obey and face forward.

The wall before me is lined with a frameless portrait: a mist-covered forest, dark and still.

My knees and elbows press into the bed.

My back is arched, ass pushed out, ears are open to every sound behind me and my heartbeat finds a new rhythm:

One heavy slam of heartbeat. Three seconds of silence.

Another drop that grips my chest and echoes in my ears. Three more seconds of silence.

"I.... "

I am rethinking this,but a smaller, hungry part of me wants to have him do everything to me. Use every tool in his arsenal.

My body shakes as residue of my orgasm rolls. I move my hand lower and flap it. The ghost of air does nothing to ease the burning pain and pleasure coiling in my p***y.

“Finger yourself.” He’s close to me. s**t.

I lick my lips to calm my trepidation. When he says nothing more, I spread my legs wider and dip my middle finger in. I close my eyes at the feeling.

“Three.”

I move to look back, but he yanks me by my hair, pressing my head against the iron bars.

“Disobedience and delay breed pain, Anor.” I close my eyes to savor the richness of his voice and nod. I add my index and ring fingers; a splitting pain sears through my entrance, my knees close tight before realization hit.

“Words.” he orders.

“Okay, Master,” I manage to reply, twisting my fingers inside. He tugs my hair tighter, the sides of my head pressing against the iron then he leans into my ear.

“Bring them out.”

Reluctantly, I do and he grips the wrist.

My p***y clench and unclench. Chest tighten and n*****s give a light pain as it grazes the sheet. The absence is unfair. I’ve never used more than two fingers, but now I crave it.

“Spread your legs, you slut.”

Tremors rush through me at the vulgarity. I lower myself then stop still; watching something drop down against the portrait while something thick slips into my hole.

My head falls to the bed and I clench, while the cold pressure mounts against my p***y walls.

“Master.” My breathing quickens as he pushes the cold object deeper.

Finally, the portrait is replaced by a large mirror. I blink twice, it’s real and the image staring back at me is a stranger.

I look ready to be fucked

In the reflection, I see him… and finally what’s pushing inside me.

“Mmmmm mmmm, Master, please,” I moan, moving forward to escape the intrusion.

He isn’t holding my hair, nor am I restrained, but I look at the mirror and it’s confirmed: he’s thrusting a whiskey bottle inside me.

“You can say stop,” is all he says. My heart drop. I don’t want to chicken out.

I look at him through the mirror and clench against the bottle till it aches.

Banks smiles then push it deeper.

“Take it, you cunt.”

I lift my ass, and he groans as the bottle deepens until its shoulder touches my skin.

“Look how well your cunt holds a half-of-a-million-dollar scotch.” I do and I’m met with image of a deer on a long whiskey bottle. Its bottom sitting on the bed while its head disappears inside.

Behind me, he moves.

I watch the mirror as he picks up cuffs and spreads my legs wider, locking both feet to the iron bars. He raises his hand to pull down a rope, then takes my hands behind me and straps a leather belt around my neck. My head jerks back, but he stops my skull from spilling against the iron.

“f**k me, Master.”

Now my wrists are bound above me, velvet cuffs soft against my pulse points, arms stretched behind me by a suspension rope, my ass pressing against the iron bars. There is enough room to shift, but nowhere to go and it makes me hot.

I look down at the whiskey bottle pressing into my p***y and get wet.

My heartbeat races as realization I’m having a s****l moment I never imagined.

I look at him through the mirror; he’s staring back, whiskey glass in hand, legs crossed, one hand in pocket as he watch me bound.

He twirl the drink, the ice in it a soft sound that pulse underneath my skin. A faint smile on him like my helplessness is somehow more consuming than anything.