Have you learned your lesson?

She was in her favorite chair, the pink one with the antique-style upholstery and the thick wooden arms.  It was a flea market find that she had squealed over when she spotted it.  She adored it - she simply had to have it.

He had adored it, too, but for a very different reason.

The moment he spotted it, he could picture her tied there - legs open and affixed over the thick arms, hands tied below to the stout legs, back rounded into the seat so her cunt was open, visible, available, and immobilized.

That’s how he had her tied now, with the addition of a gag to muffle her noises.  He bent over to kiss her stretched lips while he reached down to stroke her pussy.  It was already damp, and when his finger slid up the underside of her clit, the whole organ convulsed.  She whimpered appreciatively.

He kissed all over her cheeks while he swirled her juices around her tiny nub.  Kisses down her neck made her squirm with pleasure in her ties, muscles tensing to no avail against his knots.  Fingers from his free hand roamed over her jawline, up her cheekbones, over her throat.

Finally he pulled a small vibrator from his pocket and switched it on just as it touched her clit.  She made a strange noise of surprise and pleasure as she was suddenly pushed much more quickly toward orgasm.  He rubbed the toy up and down, flipping her clit up and down with its tip as it travelled, and her eyes widened.  Her breaths came in heavy pants and he whispered, “You can cum for me.”

The climax washed over her in a wave.  Her head threw back and her hands clenched into fists in their ties.  He dotted gentle kisses on her cheek while she strained.

Below them, at her cunt, his steady strokes with the vibrator never stopped.  At first they pushed her orgasm higher, driving her into the peak of that wave, but then it crested and she was pressed higher, then higher still.  She groaned into her gag and might have squirmed away if she could have, but he was too good at tying her up for that to be a problem.

All the while, he kept dotting those little kisses on her cheek.  He watched her chest redden from the exertion of overstimulation.  He watched her legs strain in their desire to close.

The second orgasm hit her like a train.  She froze for an instant before it struck, as if suddenly caught in its headlights, and then bellowed like a beast while her whole body convulsed.  He knew she had no control over these subsequent orgasms, so he didn’t worry about giving her permission.  That was the point - his hand was the only thing in control of her orgasms now.

A trickle of liquid reached the ground first, then it turned to a hydrant-strength spray that shot from her body in time with her orgasmic pulsing.  She coughed dry sobs into her gag - she hated squirting.  She hated the humiliation of the liquid being forced from her body.  She hated the puddle of shame that she left.

Through it all , he kept kissing her cheek, kept steadily stroking her clit.

When she realized that he meant to continue, she shook her head frantically.  Her legs and hands writhed desperately in their ties.  A fire built painfully in her crotch and her body strained involuntarily to relieve it, but there was no release.  He decided when she’d had enough.

The third orgasm was as painful as a muscle cramp, an explosion of tension in her groin.  Her clit stabbed through her like an ice pick.  She could articulate every nerve in her bulging labia.  Her asshole gaped and puckered with every contraction.  Liquid pricked at the corners of her eyes as there was nothing she could do but groan into her gag and wait for the end.

She was still pulsating when he pulled away, her pussy and asshole gasping open like a landed fish gulping for air.

She was still pulsating when he returned and knelt in front of her, snatched her twitching clit by its hood, and started scrubbing it with the pipe cleaner brush.

She wasn’t prepared for that - her eyes had been closed, she had been panting and recovering from her orgasms.  Her first shriek was unfiltered, her body’s first jolt nothing but an instinctive reaction to pain.  He ignored it all and kept up his steady strokes, as steadily as if he was cleaning a filthy dish in the kitchen.

The brush’s sharp bristles scraped up and down over her sensitized clit, reddening it until it resembled a tiny tomato.  She moaned continuously into the gag, eyes pinched shut tight as if that would help lessen the agony.  A single tear spilled and trailed down her fair.  When it seemed he’d had enough, he pulled away and slapped her cunt a few times, rapidly, then paused.  Then he seized her clit and began rubbing anew to a fresh set of whimpers, only more desperate this time since he had tricked her to think the worst was over.

When he stopped again, her clit was so sore it took a moment for her to notice.  She felt the warmth of his body close to hers again and opened her eyes to find him bent over her again.  He dotted kisses along her cheek and she melted into him.

“Have you learned your lesson about touching yourself without permission?” he whispered into her ear.

She nodded eagerly, rubbing her face against his in desperation.

“Don’t answer now.  You need some time to think about it.”  Then a fresh scream from her as a clothespin bit down on her raw clit.

He stood to watch her writhe, the clothespin bobbing only slightly from her squirming.  Then he turned the light out and shut the door behind him as he left her to ache and think about her transgressions.