Erotic Teasers

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  He came in her ass, and she thought he’d turn her, suck her clit while the shower beat on her tits, but instead, he kissed her mouth and said he’d get her tea ready while she did her makeup. After tea and breakfast, he kissed her on her cheek and pressed her purse into her hands as she went out the door to work. There was a light in his eyes that made her pause; he was hard in his jeans and turned on in his brain, and something was going to happen.

  She got to work, and as she turned the key in the ignition, her phone lit up with a text. Look in the side pocket of your purse. She did. A thick plug and a packet of lube were tucked there in a pretty purple velvet bag. Her breathing sped up. She texted back: What do you want me to do with this?

  It was only a moment before there was a response. Use it, kitten. But remember. No orgasms for you until you have permission.

  It was an hour before he gave her permission to take it out, and she was panting at the sensation of being empty again. When she came home, sure he’d put her on her knees and give her what she was waiting for, he kissed her cheek and told her what a good girl she had been. Every time he said girl, not woman, she glowed with happiness; he’d been the first man to ever listen when she said the word woman had never made sense to her, and that demigirl was the one that fit around her skin. He was always so careful with her.

  He made her dinner and drew her a bath. He fucked her and told her to suck him off, but he never gave her permission to come.

  On Tuesday, when she came home from work, he was waiting with the blindfold, his belt looped in his hand. He leaned into her as he trailed the edge of the belt over the curves of her breasts. “You’re mine tonight,” he said. “You’re not going to come tonight. Do you understand? I’m going to fuck you and use you and fill you up and you aren’t going to come. Begging doesn’t matter. Pleading doesn’t matter. When do good girls come, my pretty pet?”

  Her voice shook, as aroused by the denial as she was by the sound of the leather over the fabric of her clothes. She fumbled for the words he’d used the day before. “Good girls come when they have permission.”

  He didn’t give her permission.

  On Wednesday, she woke to his strong hands pressed into her belly, his body wrapped around her, his morning wood pressed into her ass. “Morning, kitten,” he murmured in her ear, and as soon as she whispered, “Good morning,” back, his fingers were plunging down into her well-trimmed slit to find her wet and aching. She was absolutely sure it had been years since she’d had an orgasm, and she was on the edge of release within moments of his caress. “When do good girls come?” he asked again, and she had to fight to find the words.

  “When—they have permission, fuck—” She fought to find the balance between the sheer delight of his palm slapping into her clit in rhythm as he frigged her, and keeping her breath steady and soft to hold off the orgasm that was now looming over her, demanding and strong.

  When he slipped into her cunt from behind, his fingers still dancing over her clit, she had to bite the heel of her hand to keep control. He came in her fast and hard, and she saw stars trying to hold back. He held her so tight and kissed her so soft, and told her over and over again how proud he was of her.

  He didn’t give her permission.

  On Thursday, he told her in the morning that he was taking her out. She grinned; she loved dressing up like his cheap whore and going to seedy bars where they could play like he was a stranger picking her up and taking her home without bothering to ask her name. “Can I come tonight?” she asked.

  He shook his head a little ruefully. “I thought you’d learned better by now, kitten,” he said, leaning in and pressing a light kiss against her lips. His hand tightened hard in her hair, and he crowded her until she was pressed up against the wall, his thick cock obvious even in his jeans, making her whimper at the thought of being filled by him. He slapped her breast hard, but without any real focus or attention; he caught her nipple in his fingers and twisted hard enough to bring her up on her tiptoes. “When do good girls come?”

  “When they have permission,” she said, all in a rush, relishing the pain and the fizz and the strange interplay in her brain that turned pain into pleasure.

  “And when will I give you permission?”

  She stumbled here, managed to hiss out that she didn’t know. She thought he might be angry, but he smiled and leaned in and kissed her again. “It’s okay to not know. Good girls tell the truth, and when they don’t know, they say so. They ask questions. That’s how I keep you safe. But the answer to your question?” He twisted harder, making her gasp and curse and beg him to keep going. His voice was as calm and level and soft as it had been just a moment before. “I’ll give you permission when I’m ready to give it.”

  He didn’t wait longer; he yanked down her pants, pulled her panties halfway down her legs, and put her over his lap. He spanked her with his bare hand until her ass was bright red with the marks of his fingers, and then he put her on her knees and came down her throat.

  After that, he pulled up her panties and told her there was a change of plans: she should do her makeup nice and find a classy outfit. They were going to a sitdown restaurant. And every time she shifted, she was to remember that he still hadn’t given her permission.

  On Friday morning, she woke up panting from a dream where he’d been sucking her clit while he fucked her with his fingers, twisting deep inside in a rhythm that drove her absolutely out of her mind. She was two quick flicks of her fingers from a screaming, raucous orgasm, a quick press of her thighs from one that probably wouldn’t even wake him up where he lay next to her.

  But he hadn’t given her permission.

  She clenched her hands into fists and spread her legs and forced herself to pant out the energy until the sheer need to come faded.

  He hadn’t given her permission.

  On Friday night, when she came home from work, his face was serious, distracted. She went to him, kneeling at his feet and focusing her gaze on the tip of his nose so that she could hold it for longer without the sensory overwhelm digging into her bones. He smiled softly, his hand stroking her hair, wrapping the long ponytail around his fist. “You’ve been a truly good kitten this week,” he said. There was a deep rumble to his voice that resonated all the way down her spine. “Would you like to be my toy tonight?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said back, nodding.

  “Does the word no have any meaning tonight, kitten?”

  She took a long, slow breath, running through an internal checklist to feel certain that she could handle the emotional intensity of what he was proposing. “No, Sir,” she said.

  His soft smile flipped into the intense, impassive expression he wore when he was completely focused on her. “That’s the last no that means anything tonight, you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  His hand tightened so hard that she cried out, and he bent her head back to expose her throat. “Try again.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Better.” He pulled her to her feet and bent her over the arm of the chair he’d been sitting on. He flipped up her skirt, squeezed and pulled at the dark bruises he’d left on her ass, and then spread her lips wide as he worked his zipper. She felt the head of his cock at the opening of her cunt and groaned, shifting her hips. He slapped her ass hard, no warning, right on the bruised and aching handprint. She cried out, burying her face into the cushions. He yanked her head back again, his hand in her hair; if he’d pulled her any farther it would have been hard to breathe. He took her just far enough; he always took her just far enough.

  “I want to hear you, toy-girl. I want to hear every sound you make. Don’t hide from me. Don’t pretend you’re something you’re not. Don’t pretend you don’t want this.” He ran his cockhead through the slick wetness of her pussy, and she groaned at the sloppy sound. “This wet, this soft, this hot? You can’t tell me this isn’t something you want.”

  “I want it,” she managed to whimper. Her cunt was aching, she w
as painfully empty, she was quite sure she was going to actually die if she didn’t get fucked soon. “I want it so much.”

  He laughed, the sound dry and mirthless. “It’s good that you want it, toy-girl,” he said. “But I wonder if you realize.”

  “Realize what?”

  His words pierced her at the same time he speared her with his cock. “That it wouldn’t matter to me if you didn’t.”

  He drove into her without mercy or preparation, slamming into her cunt, his hips slapping against the sore and aching flesh of her ass. His cock wasn’t exceptionally long, but god he was wide, thick and full and getting fuller as he fucked her, spreading her cunt until she ached. Until she wondered if she could actually take him at this speed, without begging him for the bottle of lube she was sure was stashed somewhere nearby. God knew they were stashed all over the house at this point. They’d fucked on nearly every flat or upright surface, and plenty of the slanted or curvy ones as well.

  He was groaning into her, as close as she was. He had stamina for days, so she knew without a doubt that he was only this close because he wanted to be. He was looking for a fast fuck, a furious one, something to drive out whatever monsters had taken up residence in his mind while she’d been at work. He tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her up higher, until she had to brace on her hands to keep from actually hurting herself. She could feel herself closing in on orgasm, on coming messy and sloppy all down his cock, and she fought it off as best as she could. But he slammed into her so hard, with no mercy, never slowing down, and Christ it had been so long now, and surely he’d let her—

  “You don’t have permission,” he hissed, his voice tightening as he closed in on his own release. “If you’ve forgotten that, if you forgot what it means to be a good girl and do as you’re told, I will ruin every orgasm you could have in a night. I will make sure you never forget what it means to be a bad girl. When do good girls come, my pet?”

  “God—when they have—fucking permission, Sir,” she managed to choke out, and he broke over her like a wave, her name on his lips as he ground his cock into her, pulsing with his release, his hand tracing a soft path down her spine as he relaxed slowly from the tension of their fucking.

  Somehow it was that touch that undid her. She’d been edged for so many days, and she was crammed full of his cock and his come, and that soft touch on her spine when she didn’t expect it was a lit match on a fuse that was incredibly short. She cried out and bit her palm and tried to breathe through the wave of sheer pleasure and need, but she couldn’t keep from being bowled over by it any more than she could stand against the ocean’s strongest tides.

  There was one strong ripple of her pussy around his cock, and then he yanked himself out of her, pushing her thighs wide, giving her nothing to grind against, nothing to fuck, no way to draw out the pleasure and give her the release she so desperately needed. She whimpered and cried at the searing displeasure of her cunt, the sensation of her clit transformed into pain and want. “I warned you,” he said, but there was no heat in his voice, just a soft, sad sort of ruefulness. She felt his breath for just a heartbeat before his mouth latched onto her clit. She squealed in pain and tried to get away, but his arm clamped down on her ass and held her in place. He was gorgeous on her clit, tight and sweet and licking and biting in the ways that would send her over the edge in a glorious heap of whimpering toy-girl if she hadn’t just had an orgasm that was days in the making so painfully ruined.

  He kept licking and teasing her through the pain, until the heat came back, until she was twisting her hips into him for a completely different reason. Until she was grinding into his face. He rubbed and circled her clit with the thumb of one hand, fucked her with his tongue, and fingered her ass with the other hand. When she started to scream at the pleasure of it, he told her to stuff her fingers into her mouth, make her his own personal gangbang.

  He waited until she got close, edging her again, until she was twisting and eager. “Come for me,” he whispered, but when she did, his mouth fell away from her, his fingers disappeared, and she was fucking air again, the ruined orgasm turning into agony in her desperate clit. He didn’t bother torturing her clit this time; he stood up and pulled her to her feet by her hair, then waited until she went to her knees on her own. “Clean me off,” he said, and she did, tears streaming down her cheeks as she leaned forward, licking and sucking until the taste of her cunt had disappeared from his cock. He was shifting against her again by then, his cock wet with precome. When he got close, she redoubled her efforts, ready to take him, to swallow him down, but he pulled back. He came on the floor at her feet while she whimpered at the loss of what she could have had. If only she’d held on just a little longer.

  He came twice more that night, and ruined hers until she was sobbing, but she did not get permission.

  On Saturday, she thought she would lose her mind.

  It had been a full week. Her pussy ached and throbbed with sheer need. She hadn’t gone this long without an orgasm since she’d started dating him. She knew all the way through herself that if she told him she couldn’t do this anymore and safeworded out, he would respect her, tell her she was a good girl, kiss her, cuddle her, let her come or help her come, whatever she wanted. He was always kind about her limits, always loving and sweet, thanking her for helping him keep her safe.

  But she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to be the kind of good girl who could hold out until she got permission. If it had actually hurt, if it were turning her brain inside out, she would have stopped. But just wanting to get fucked? She could handle it.

  But he spent Saturday in her space. Tiny little touches, sweet little caresses. The kind of contact that, on another day, would have felt like loving and caring. Somehow, it was worse than being edged and having her orgasms ruined. She couldn’t put her finger on why.

  She didn’t even think of asking for permission.

  On Sunday, there was something in his eyes as soon as he woke. He was iron hard in the morning, but when she offered to take care of him, he smiled and kissed her and called her a good girl, but said he’d be fine. It didn’t taste like rejection, which was good, but she found herself wondering why.

  It was a quiet sort of day between them, spent reading and talking and loving each other, and when he took her by her ponytail in the late afternoon, she sighed happily at the tight grip he kept on her. His mouth nuzzled into her neck as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “I want you,” he said, his voice soft velvet wrapped around the granite weight of his need. He moved her into the bedroom, and she saw everything laid out there. Soft rope in his favorite shade of blue, a blindfold he’d had dyed to match. Plugs, crops, floggers, vibrators, all of their favorite toys prepared and ready.

  She saw all of it and her breath went light and thready. “Please, Sir,” she said, and she heard the smile in his voice.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Good kitten. But I want you to see something first.”

  She tilted her head and waited while he lifted his shirt, dropped his shorts, and let her see him. His cock was thick and full, the head wet and shimmering with his arousal. She licked her lips and looked up at him.

  “I’ve waited all day for you,” he said. “You mean this much to me. You are worth waiting for. Do you understand that?”

  Part of her wanted to demure, to shake her head so that he’d keep complimenting her, but being honest was better. “I didn’t before,” she said. “I do now. Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he said, and traced his finger under her jaw. “Do you want to be a good toy for your owner?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Please, yes.”

  He stripped her and bound her, rope wrapping around her arms and her ankles, containing her and keeping her safe. She collapsed into the sensation of being held, something deep inside of her freed and released in the space between the knots. He took away her vision and she sagged deeper. He plugged her ass and she shivered, delighted and invaded by the fullness. When the crop
fell on her ass, she cried out, whimpering at the pain and eager for the next blow. When the vibrator brushed against her clit she controlled herself with her breathing, feeling the rolling waves of pleasure that she did not allow to peak. She could feel his pleasure, his delight in what a good girl she was, and she savored the approval. She made it hers, luxuriated in it, let it drive her higher; made her control so much more hers. Good girls didn’t come without permission, and he hadn’t given her permission.

  That was when the ropes came away, when the blindfold was gone. He dove between her legs, teasing her clit and fucking her with his fingers while she arched and ground into his face, panting hard. “Close,” she told him, “so close,” but she didn’t beg. She just wanted him to know.

  “Good girl,” he said, and licked her harder, dragging his teeth over her clit until she thought she’d scream.

  When he stepped away, pulling her hips to the edge of the bed so he could fuck her, she was pure, bright sensation; when he filled her to the hilt, she cried out, arching into him, driving him deeper, chanting his words to herself over and over—good girls don’t come without permission—like she recited the Lord’s Prayer in church.

  He slapped her tits, hard, fast enough that the bright points of pain drove her pleasure higher, harder, until she was gasping with every breath at the sheer need for release. He fucked her without mercy, slamming into her, splitting her open. “When do good girls come?”

  “Permission,” she managed to say, light bursting behind her eyelids at the pleasure that was burning her into cinders.

  “Say it.”

  She wasn’t sure how the words came out; talking was hard and not coming was hard and doing both at once felt impossible. She did it because he wanted her to and because she wanted to. “Good girls come when they have permission.”