Promise Fulfilled

by Miranda Shepard 3 months ago in fetishes

Martin Gets Some Satisfaction at Last

Promise Fulfilled

Read parts 1, 2, and 3 of Jess and Martin's story now.

He keeps his promises over the next year; first Martin seduces me into his bed.

Then, a few weeks after that reunion, he asks me to set a safe word, and drags me into the back of his car, grin getting wider with every second that goes by; I don't use it, even when he pins me down and physically tears my thong off.

He fucks me until my knees shake behind closed doors, and now and then, in a secluded area, and is kinder than any man I have ever known.

Now he's smiling, winding a silk rope around his hands and blinking slowly, slowly, calmly as if trying to lull the hammering, staccato rhythm of my heart.

"You're ready?" He asks,

"Yes," There's no question about it; I get wet every single time I think about it.

"What's your safe word?" He asks, and I reply without hesitation, "and if you're gagged?" I show him the agreed motion. "Good girl..." Martin says with a smile then crooks his finger, "come here."

I stand.

"No."

I crawl, slowly, letting him watch my ass as it wriggles from side to side. He shifts, undoing his buckle, pulling himself free, already hard, and buries one hand in my hair,

"Good girl," Martin whispers, and lets his head fall back as I start at the root of his cock, and lick my way up to suck the head, and slowly work him down into my throat, taking him deeper and deeper until my eyes water, and my knees shake, "oh you are a very fucking good girl."

Those words shouldn't make me weak, but they do.

He holds my head and starts to gently thrust in and out, giving me time to breath and adjust before speeding up. Eventually he stops and pulls free, running a hand down to squeeze my breast gently.

"Ready?"

"Yes," I say and he nods,

"Chair or bed?"

I toss the options in my mind,

"Or counter?" He asks with a cheeky grin,

"Whichever you prefer." I shrug my shoulders, trying to hide the way I shake at his feet. Martin grins and takes a fistful of my hair, pulling me along beside him. In the living room there's a low ottoman stool; he pulls me to it, and pushes me to my knees before bending me over it. My knees don't touch the floor once he has positioned me, very carefully, and tied my legs to it.

Martin pulls my arms behind my back and ties my ankles to my wrists, pushing a pillow under my ribcage for comfort.

I've never felt so helpless; I drip onto the carpet.

There's a long, slow moment where he says and does nothing. I can't see or hear him, then his boots come into view and he leans to kiss me.

"Wait here."

He pulls a second stool over, resting a pillow on it so I can lie my head down comfortably.

I can almost relax like this, cool breeze tickling me now and then, but I strain to hear his footsteps at every creak and sound, and there's a fizzing, delicious heat between my legs.

When he comes back, Martin kneels behind me, and slowly cuts my panties free before running the broad flat of his palm across my wet cunt. A low chuckle, and a hiss are all I get before something presses against me, then slips in. Not him, something cool and thick; I gasp, arching my back as a ripping sound fills the room. Tape. Duct tape; he uses it to secure the toy inside me, attaching the tape to my lower back, hips, and belly by urging me to lift just a little.

When he comes into view, he pulls the second stool back and sits on it, resting my head in his lap,

"See this?" He shows me a grey, oval of plastic with buttons on it. I nod, "a remote. I need you to understand, Jess..." he strokes my hair, "I'm going to fucking ruin you. And you're going to beg me to cum inside you by the end."

I say nothing... what can you say to that?

When he clicks the button, the vibrator starts to hum and twist inside me, making me yelp and twitch. It's a sudden introduction, but effective. He kneels on the floor and pushes his cock into my mouth, thrusting slowly as I moan and squirm.

The muscles of my legs and shoulders start to burn, and then, as my eyes begin to water, he clicks the remote twice and pushes my head down until his cock is lodged in my throat.

I can't breath, can't think, can't do anything but squirm and moan as the vibrator drags me to the edge. Just as my vision blurs, he pulls out and shuts it off, leaving me to gasp and moan, trying to grind, trying to find anything that will get me off. There's no satisfaction. Just empty air, and drool running down my chin.

"You still good?" He asks,

"Yes."

A firm kiss, but he doesn't wipe the spit away. Just grabs my hair,

"You look so fucking pretty," He says, and we laugh together for a few seconds before he turns the vibrator back on,

"Oh God, Martin," I gasp and kick, "please."

"Begging already?" He tuts, "shit, you're not going to last long."

He turns it off and I wail.

"Please."

"Fine," He pushes his cock back into my throat and thrusts hard and fast for a few seconds before turning it up full. If I had the strength of will, I'd marvel at how well he has tied me down; I can squirm and kick, but the low, wide stool never moves. There's no escape.

The moans become garbled sounds, interlaced with the wet, obscene noises of his cock sliding in and out of me, then, again, it all stops, and I fight back a sob, shaking and shuddering.

Three more times he does this before sitting back onto the sofa and looks at me, sobbing and drooling, pussy milking the vibrator as if it was him, and looks at me,

"You want to come," he says rather than asks,

"Yes. Please. Please, Martin."

"You know what I want," He says.

We both do. It's part of the deal, that's why he got tested for me. It's why I'm off my pill. He's been patient, the ring on my finger attests to that; our honeymoon is proof of that. He has bit his tongue every time he came on my back, breasts, stomach, thighs instead of where he wants.

He's fulfilled every fantasy of mine.

Now it's time for his, but he wants to earn it. He wants to drag it from me.

"Yes."

"Are you going to give me what I want?" He works his cock with one hand,

"No."

He turns the vibrator back on. Ramping it up until I'm screaming,

"Shh," He pushes his cock into my mouth again. "Shh, Jess, don't want the neighbours coming here to see what the fuss is... they might want a shot at you."

I shudder, eyes rolling,

"And I don't share."

I'm so close. I try to hide it, but he knows. God he knows. And he stops again, just before I get release.

"God, please."

"Yes?" He tilts my chin up.

"No."

As if in frustration, he rips at the silk ropes and drags me onto the floor, depositing me roughly, and wrestles me into submission before tying one ankle to each wrist.

"This is going to happen," he says, "you're my wife. It's my right."

God, it's so close. So close,

"No," I gasp, though all I want to scream is yes,

"Yes," He says it for me and pushes his trousers down, rubbing himself on my clit. "You're going to beg for it. Because the only way you finish is with me inside you."

"No."

"Fine," he says, "then you won't get to cum."

I wait for the vibrator, but it doesn't turn on. He pulls the duct tape away, making me hiss, and then pulls it free, making me whimper, and then pushes the tip into me.

"Oh, God," I gasp, shivering in anticipation.

But he doesn't move. He makes a ragged gasp, and when I open my eyes he's working himself with one hand. With his other he fondles my breasts. I gape, losing the thread of the play and moan, throwing my head back.

"You like this?" He asks, "you like when I jack off into you? You like being bred like a bitch in heat?"

"No," I manage to grasp the thread again, and when I open my eyes again the shock must show on my face; he's smiling a big, toothy grin.

"I think you do," He moans, and pushes his head back, then presses his thumb to my clit, working it until I'm moaning and wriggling, cunt desperately trying to massage him, though only the head is in me. He brings me to the edge, and holds me there.

"Yes?"

"No," I gasp despite every nerve in my body saying yes.

And he growls in frustration, then works his cock three times, jerking as he does so, and letting out a low, long groan as he pulls out and spills onto my cunt. I can feel it drip out on to the carpet as he pulls away.

This time he works the vibrator himself, working me over and over while I scream and beg for mercy, grin spreading across his face until, all of a sudden it becomes too much.

"Stop, stop," I gasp, fumble for the safe word and scream it. The world goes soft as he throws it to the side and unties me, pulling me onto his lap and wraps us in a soft blanket.

"Are you ok?" He asks, heart hammering against my back.

"Yes," I manage to say,

"Sure?" He kisses my cheek gently,

"Yes, it just got too much. I'm fine," I kiss him back, running the tip of my tongue across his lips softly, "I'm fine," I murmur, and he presses back. His tongue flicks across my lips and he slips it into my mouth, hands wandering across every inch of me.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he moans and his cock twitches under me,

"Please." I manage to gasp out, and he nods, lifting me slightly,

"Yes?" He presses his cock against my slit.

"Gently," I say and nod.

"Thank God," He laughs and pushes into me slowly, gently, and presses his fingers onto my clit, working them in small circles, "come on, baby, cum for me."

The high, weak moans must do something for him, because his breaths are getting shorter, his thrusts a little harder, and when I pitch over the edge he lets out a shaky moan,

"God yes, come on," he presses his forehead to the back of my neck, "yes? Please? Yes?"

I brace on his knees and work up and down, rolling my hips from side to side,

"Yes."

He stands shakily and I lean forward to brace on the stool as he pushes into me, all the way to the hilt, and holds my ass tight against him as he twitches and spills into me, hands hard on my hips.

The moan he lets out is animal, guttural, and he runs one hand down my back. I think back to the pool. The sound of frustration, and I smile.

Now that promise has been fulfilled, too.

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Miranda Shepard

Writer, reader, life-long student. Socialism, witchcraft, and chill. 

See all posts by Miranda Shepard