Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

At last his own need, curled tight and flushed against his belly, ended that round of torment.  Tristan’s fingers pulled free of my sheath.  His thumb continued to draw lazy circles around my clit as he sucked the honey he’d gathered from his thick digits.  He sighed with pleasure.
“Tasting good as always, little lady.”
I felt so empty without him.  Incomplete.  I poured emotion into my eyes, begging him to fill me again.  I wanted his long, thick cock with a desperation that made me cry anew.
“Poor girl.  My Brandilynn needs to come, doesn’t she?”  Tristan smiled sympathetically.  “In a little while.  You’ve been a good girl so far.  Just a little longer now.”
I warmed at his praise.  He knew how hard I’d tried.  He was pleased.  Now if he’d just shove his sex into mine…
I was so happy as he crawled forward to crouch over me.  Yes.  I was eager for him to screw me silly, but I had to keep still, keep quiet.  I wasn’t going to ruin this when I was so close to getting what I needed.
Tristan pressed gentle kisses all over my face.  He rubbed my nipples, still trapped in the clamps, to make me stiffen with reaction.  He chuckled indulgently and rubbed harder for a moment.   Then his hand traveled down, moving between us to grasp himself and position for entrance.
A thrill shivered down my spine to feel the hard heat of him part my nether lips.  Then he was slowly pressing in, filling me with his length.  The gradual possession was as tormenting as the feeling of his fingers driving quick into me.  I was crying again with the need to be taken with strength, to be drummed against until I came, allowing me to release all the pent-up exhilaration that almost hurt with its intensity.
But Tristan was determined to make me wait, to keep me excruciatingly aware of who was boss in the bedroom.  If you’ve never had a man who looked at you with a confusing combination of love and ruthlessness, then I can’t explain the stomach-churning emotion I was feeling right then.  And I kept my place as the obedient submissive, accepting what my master deemed I may have.
But gosh, how I wanted more.
He slid into the body I had given him, his possession until our lovemaking was through.  I lay there quietly, trembling, crying with need as he crept further and further in.  I wanted to groan with relief when he finally reached the end, our bodies at last pressed as close together as they were allowed.   The pleasurable pressure of his cock greeting my cervix had me bright with impending climax once more, and a slow convulsion waxed and waned in my pussy.  Tristan’s eyebrows lifted.
“You will wait for my permission, sub,” he warned, his voice cold.  A hard palm smacked the side of one breast, which only got me hotter.  But I made myself go utterly still.  Control, I coached silently.  Control it.
Tristan propped himself up on his hands, like he was about to do pushups over me.  He looked down, down to where our bodies became one.  He began to draw himself out, watching as he emerged shiny wet with my juices.
He took me slowly, watching his cock spear my pussy over and over.  I watched too, loving how he stabbed in and out, taking me so completely, possessing me as a man was made to possess a woman. 
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