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She thought she could do it and he would never know.

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As I stand, I hear you gasp out, "One, mistress." I deliver the next few blows in a slow deliberate manner, waiting a silent five count between each one. I take care to alternate the lashes from one cheek to the other, making sure that the full brunt of the strike doesn't come down on the piece of steel rising from the cleft of your ass. Until the sixth stroke. I'm more gentle than I have been so far, but I aim directly for the plug. You cry out, an animalistic scream of pain and lust and flinch with your entire body before you remember yourself, taking a few gasping breaths to reestablish control and stretch your arms and legs back out to where they were before. "Six, mistress," you pant.

We continue, your ability to stay still and keep the count while being so terribly aroused makes me so proud of you. With each blow, you become wetter and wetter, your juices dripping out and sliding down toward your abs and coating the insides of your thighs. The smell of your arousal is overwhelming in our room. It takes every bit of willpower I possess to continue your punishment instead of simply bending down and plunging my tongue as far as I can get it into that fountain of ambrosia.

But continue I shall. The strike targeting the plug continue randomly, but with an increasing frequency. The last five all aim for the shining target, standing out coldly against the bright red skin surrounding it. The count comes now not as gasps, but as cries and sobs.

"Thirty, mistress!" you cry, your voice rough and ragged. "Please, mistress," you beg incoherently. Tired of denying both of us, I answer your plea, rolling you forward out of the pose you've held so long and pushing you down on your back, the carpet scratching your flushed skin.

"Arms straight out over your head, pet," I order, waiting for you to move them, surprised by the speed of your obedience before kneeling between your spread thighs. I take a deep breath, your scent filling my nostrils. I've always found this aroma to be more pleasing than the finest perfume and more appetizing than a deliciously fragrant meal. I'm no better than Pavlov's dogs, I think with a grin as I lower my watering mouth to clean all around your open, swollen vulva with my tongue, moving in slow, flat strokes, trying to draw every drop of the thick, succulent fluid into my mouth. Your hips begin to thrust involuntarily, tempting me to come closer to where you need me. I wrap my left arm around your right thigh and throw my forearm over your hips, my hand pressing down firmly to still your movements.

I look up at your red face, covered in beads of sweat, your normally perfectly styled hair totally disheveled from your thrashing. "Patience, my pet," I say in a firm voice. You groan and try to thrust against my grip a few more times before your writhing subsides and I hear you whisper, "Yes, mistress," in a shaky voice.
After a few more licks, I'm satisfied that you're as on edge as you can be. I quickly swipe my tongue over you, starting with a broad flat stroke but ending with a hard pointed flick to your clit. You cry out, an incoherent outburst of pleasure as you come hard and fast, your hips jerking up and your shoulders curling up off the floor. I'm pleased to note, though, that while they bend slightly, your arms stay more or less where I want them.

I give you a few seconds to recover before diving back in, using my tongue to manipulate your entire vulva, from top to bottom.

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