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An oil massage for 'thigh clenchers'.

"You need it?" he questions me, "or do you want it?"

The time for a reply is lost in a moan as his fingertips wiggle against the slippery protrusion of my cervix. "I love watching you squirm," he tells me with a chuckle. Returning to his movements, "You can do better. Tell me what you are." he commands.

Struggling to form words between pants, "Yours!" I shout, "I'm your little fucktoy." The words have become a part of my identity. As much 'me' as my pale blue eyes, and fair skin.

"What do you want little fucktoy?" he teases me.

"I want to cum for you," I manage to eek out.

His eyes narrow, his tone more forbidding than his words, "Don't you fucking dare cum until I say," he warns.

A whimper and the writhing of my body is the only reply I manage as I try desperately to obey. My arms shake with the effort of holding my hands to the sheets above me, I want to grab at the sheets, to dig my nails into them, but instead I squeeze my tightly laced fingers against each other. I'm not sure I can resist any longer, my body is a traitor stalking pleasure like a ravenous animal.

My breath holds in my chest and my mouth falls open in the moment before release. His eyes meet mine, fury and warning painted across his face. He withdraws his fingers and clicking off the vibrator places it beside me.

"Not yet little fucktoy," he tells me firmly.

Crawling over me, hovering above me he bites at my earlobe. Hard. It stings and I pull away. Grabbing my chin he brings me back, leaning down to soothe the sting by pulling my earlobe into his mouth.

His green eyes meet mine when he stops. With lips close enough I can feel his breath on me, and his erection pushed against my sex, he grazes my cheek with a loosely curled fist. In this moment I am his, and he is mine. My Master. I fear him, but he is also cherished and I can't shake the love from my gaze when I look at him. Even when he is pushing me to do the uncomfortable. Even when I am begging or crying love sits there in the blue laced blackness of my eyes.

"You are so beautiful," he tells me.

I open my mouth to speak, but before my lips can form the words his hand is on my nipple, twisting fiercely and the words are lost. Instead an "Oow!" falls from my open mouth as I wince.

He slides down me and somehow reaches to my side and produces a silver chain I know well. Dangling from each end are the sharp toothed clamps I fear. He knows what they do to me, the lengths I will go to avoid their bite, but he grins anyway as he brings the first to my right nipple.

I shut my eyes and groan as he extends the pinked flesh upward and the metal teeth bite at me. Giving the chain a soft tug he moves to do the same with my left side before tugging at that one as well, ensuring a firm grip.

My eyes gloss as he pulls again. The bite of the clamps brings no pleasure, only a sharp punishing pain that makes me want to remove them. They tempt me with disobedience. The urge to release them, to move my arms from overhead and relieve myself, is strong, but looking to him again I hold myself still as his lips meet mine in a hungry kiss.

The slow torture of my nipples has ignited a fire inside me, fanned by his kiss. His closeness allows me to breathe him in. It's the same scent that laces his pillow, and that ragged sweatshirt that I love to borrow. It is so uniquely him and I want to carry it with me always. I murmur a soft "Mmmm," of satiety. When our kiss breaks he places the chain between my lips.

"Hold this for me?" he asks with a smirk, as if I would dare deny his request.

I nod my head with a tiny movement.

"Is that a yes my little fucktoy?"

I nod again, but as I do I feel his hand reach into my blonde locks and grip my hair firmly, moving my head farther so that it bobs violently in an exaggerated nod. The chain pulls taut each time my head raises and tears are pooled in my eyes as he releases me.

He growls a low guttural sound as he drops between my legs.

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