I did as he said, pulling, twisting, and yanking them until I screeched in pain.
“Good. Again.”
Tugging them hard, I repeated the task until I hollered out again, and my body was covered with a light sheen in response to the exertion and pain. He commanded me to do it five times in total, and by the time I was finished I was panting.
“Tuck those fingers down underneath you, and I want you to diddle your clit until you come.”
“But the blocks…” The retched things jabbed against my forearm, distracting me from the task at hand.
“Do it!” he growled, and I knew he wanted me to fight through the discomfort and come for him.
“Yes, Sir,” I groused, but I meandered my fingers between my legs and rubbed hard circles across my little nub at the same time that I flipped my feet up hard, which thrust the cock deep into my vagina.
“I want to hear you when you come. I want you to tell me how greedy you are.”
“Yes, sir. I’m a greedy girl, and I need my cunt to come.” He’d drummed those words into my head so many times they came as readily as reciting the pledge of allegiance.
The tremors of my climax started in my thigh muscles. My legs began to tremble and my climax was building. “Oh yes, I’m going to come, sir! May I, please?”
“Do it.” His voice had taken on the hoarse quality that I associated with his orgasm, but surely he wasn’t about to come. He only did that at the end of our session. He’d usually take me through several orgasms during a session, but I’d only known him to come at the end, and I hoped we weren’t done for the night. I still wanted to try the candles.
A few more flicks of my fingers and I forgot, at least for the moment, everything except the spasms that wracked my body. “Oh, I’m coming. Thank you, sir.”
“God, I love to hear you come for me.”
“Yeesss,” I moaned in response.
“Keep playing with that little clit. Stroke it, make that cunt come again, longer.”
I did, and my orgasm seemed to go on and on. Wave after wave of bliss rippled over me, my body suspended in a dream world I never wanted to wake from. But eventually I came back down to earth and he said, “Move the blocks. Can you do that with the cock still embedded inside you?”
“Yes, they’re still in the cardboard box they came in, just without the top. I can slide them to the side.”
“Good. Do that and I want you to tape that candle to the back of the chair. Is the chair sitting next to your bed?”
“Yes. Just a minute.” As spent as I’d been a moment earlier, the possibility of finally exploring the wax gave me a fresh burst of energy. He explained how to position my body—lying on my back, cock still buried in my cunt. He wanted me to bind myself with the jump ropes that were tied to the posts on either side of my headboard.
He requested I light one of the candles then wrap the jump ropes around each wrist so that I was bound, his hapless prisoner. Symbolically, if not in actuality.
“I want you to fuck that cunt of yours, and don’t stop until I tell you. When those drops of wax start falling, you have permission to squirm, but keep those ropes wrapped around your wrists.”
The first drop of molten wax dripped on my abdomen just below my breast. “Oh!” Crap, that sucker hurt! I’d expected it to be hot, but not that hot.
Another drop fell near the first. “Ouch!” I shrieked.
“Where did it land?” he asked, and I recognized his desire to get a visual of the entire scene.
“My stomach.”
“Move around. Let it hit you in different places. Play with it.”
“Okay.” Afraid to let it hit my breast, I wriggled up slightly so the next drop hit my mound. It hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker. I let some fall on my arm. That was a slight improvement. After some gymnastic moves, I realized the pain was less intense when it fell on places where my skin was usually exposed to the world—like my arms and legs. And to my surprise it began to actually feel pretty good, especially when it landed on my breasts and nipples. But when I moved and it dripped on my ribs, it really seared.
For the rest of the session, MC told me what to do, instructing me where to let the wax dribble. It was intoxicating, the control he had over me. Without him, I wouldn’t have done any of this. I wouldn’t be sitting in my bedroom dripping scalding candle wax on myself. I loved him making me do these things, and feeling helpless. It was why I loved bondage. I’d found someone I trusted enough to allow him to control me and my sexuality. It was an amazing thing.
Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew this arrangement was rather odd. I didn’t really know MC. What did I really know about him? And there were many things I might not be able to trust him about. But so far, under these limited circumstances, he’d shown himself to be worthy of my trust from a D/s perspective. For me that was rare, and I trusted him more than I ever trusted Spencer.
The wax continued to drip onto my skin, each drop heightening my arousal.
“Now I want you to imagine you’re taking my cock in your mouth.”
“Mmm.”
“Fuck that cunt with that cock. And open your mouth for another one. You can’t get enough cock, can you?”
“No, sir.” My arms were stretched above me, and I closed my eyes, thinking what it would be like to be filled in two holes, my mouth and my cunt, being fucked while hot wax ignited my senses. That fantasy pushed me over the edge.
“Come for me. I want you to come for me hard.”
I complied, my skin stinging from the molten torture, and I gasped as the pleasure-spiked pain wracked my body with the exquisite shivers as I climaxed. My drenched channel tightened around the toy inside me, and as the spasms ebbed, I drifted into an adrenaline-laced rapture.
When I heard the catch in his voice that told me that, he too, on the other end of our connection had found release, unadulterated happiness permeated my consciousness. I pictured his cock erupting, ejecting white liquid ropes of cum, and wished I could be with him to lap it up.
Afterward, we fell into our usual pattern of rehashing the evening’s events—the cyber equivalent of smoking a cigarette post-coitus. I loved how he talked to me during those times. At the beginning of our sessions he was mean and harsh. But by the end, after I jumped through all his hoops like a good circus pup, he was usually quite engaging. Sometimes even nice.
I blew out the candle with one big whiff, uncurled the ropes from my wrists, and ripped the tape off my ankles. It took a few moments to remove all the tape and untangle myself from all the accoutrements my online Dom had me use during tonight’s extended session. When I was done, I reached for a super-soft wine-colored throw and burrowed underneath it, tucking my knees to my chest and hugging myself while my heart rate slowly returned to normal.
“How am I going to get all this wax off my skin?” I asked him.
“Ah, it is a rather messy endeavor. Sorry about that. Probably one of the reasons we won’t be doing it for every session. But it should peel right off.”
“All right.” I had gobs of wax still attached to my body but I’d clean it up later, after our debriefing. In some ways, our talks at the end were the best part.
“So what did you think?”
“Other than it being messy, I really liked it. It was a nice long session, and I like that you pushed me past where I would have normally gone.”
“I love the way you fucking danced for me. My cock was raging hard, listening to your anguish.”
I sat up. He wasn’t usually this forthcoming about his own desire. “Really?”
“Yes, raging hard, fucking chiseled. So hard my thick vein was popping out and throbbing in my grip. Hot wax can be agonizing at times, but it can also be extremely pleasurable if you’re getting fucked hard at the same time. I’d love to take you from behind, drip that wax on your back, your ass, and feel you force that cunt against me.”
“That sounds heavenly. I feel like I’m doing better about coming when you tell me to.”
“Is it easier for you to let go?”
“Yes. I think part of that is how you pushed me. It felt like we went further than before, and since I can tell that you push me just the right amount, and not too far, I trust you more, which makes it easier to relax and let you guide me.”