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**Her POV**
His cock slaps wet against my inner thigh when he pulls back again, the bastard. "That's four," he says, low and rough, like he's counting sins instead of strokes.
I squirm against the ropes, the chair creaking under me. Leather straps bite into my wrists, my ankles, but it's the fucking *waiting* that's worse. "Just—just fucking let me—"
"Five." He shoves back in, thick and slow, and my head knocks against the chair's high back. The air smells like sweat and him, something dark and hungry underneath. Outside, rain ticks against the window. Inside, my heartbeat's loud as a drumroll where my thighs clamp around his hips.
"You don't get to beg yet," he tells me, thumbs pressing bruises into my hipbones. "Not until I say."
His cock drags out of me again—six, fuck—leaving me clenching around nothing. I can feel how wet I am, hear it when he smears my slick across his shaft. My breath comes in sharp little gasps. "Asshole," I spit, but it sounds weak even to me.
"You like it," he says, and his voice is all teeth. The head of his cock nudges my clit, circles once, twice, then disappears again. "Seven."
I groan, twisting against the ropes. The leather's gone tacky with sweat, and every shift burns. His free hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back. "Eyes open," he orders. "Watch what you can't have."
The bastard's right—I do like it. My thighs tremble when he pushes in to the hilt (eight, god, eight), my cunt fluttering around him. The room's too hot, the air thick with the sounds of skin on skin, my choked-off whines. He leans down, lips brushing my ear. "Gonna make you count every one," he murmurs. "Gonna make you remember who let you come."
"Fuck you," I pant, but my hips jerk up to meet his next thrust (nine).
He laughs, low and mean, and pulls out completely. The sudden emptiness is worse than the stretch. "Ten," he says, stepping back. His cock glistens in the lamplight. "Now we start over."
I buck against the restraints. "Bullshit—you can't—"
"Oh, I can." He swipes two fingers through my slick, holds them up for me to see. "You're dripping, sweetheart. You could take another ten rounds easy."
The words punch a whine out of me. My thighs are shaking, my cunt pulsing around nothing. He watches, cruel and patient, while I pant. Rain drums harder against the windows.
Then he's on me again, shoving in without warning. "One." The number rasps against my throat as he bites. I arch, crying out, but he pins me down. "Louder."
"Two," I grit out, hips jerking when he rolls his thumb over my clit. The pleasure's a live wire under my skin, sparking sharp enough to make my teeth ache.
He slows, dragging the next thrust until I sob. "Three." His breath scalds my shoulder. "You gonna break first or you gonna count?"
I want to bite him. Want to scream. The ropes creak when I yank at them. "Four, fuck, four—"
"Good girl." He rewards me with a snap of his hips that knocks the breath from my lungs. "Five."
I'm wound so tight I could snap. Every inch of me throbs—his hand fisted in my hair, his cock splitting me open, the ache where I need to come. "Six," I whimper, thighs clamping around him.
His groan vibrates through me. "Fuck, you're greedy." He licks a stripe up my neck. "Gonna milk me dry before I let you finish."
The threat coils hot in my belly. "Seven," I gasp, and his teeth sink into my lip.
He fucks the next number out of me. "Eight—ah!—eight—"
"Almost there." His thrusts turn uneven. "Nine."
I'm so close I taste it, metallic and desperate. "T-ten—"
He stops.
My scream rattles the walls.
"Wrong." He pulls out, spits on his palm, strokes himself slow. "Now it's zero."
I thrash, the chair legs screeching against the floor. "Fucking *monster*—"
His hand clamps over my mouth, fingers pressing into my cheeks. "You wanna try that again?" His cockhead bumps my clit, a taunting grind. "Or should I leave you like this? Dripping. Empty."
I whine against his palm. My cunt clenches hard enough to hurt. He smirks, slides two fingers into me instead, crooking them just *there*—
"One," I moan, hips jerking.
"Louder." His teeth scrape my collarbone.
"One!" The word shreds my throat.
He slams back inside me. "Two." His hips snap sharp, punching the air from my lungs. "Three." My nails dig into my own palms, the rope burning raw. Every thrust drags oversensitive flesh, lighting nerves I didn't know I had.
Rain lashes the windows. The lamp flickers. His sweat drips onto my chest.
"Four." He pistons into me, the slap of skin echoing off the walls. My thighs are slick where they press against his hips, my pulse hammering in my cunt.
His thumb finds my clit again—rough, relentless—and I shatter. Or I would, if he didn't wrench his hand away. "No," he growls against my ear. "Not yet." The denial coils tight in my belly, hotter than his cock.
"Five," I pant, voice wrecked. The ropes bite deeper with every jerk of my body. My vision whites out when he pinches my nipple—sharp, sudden—then comes back to the sight of him smirking.
"Good. Keep counting." He drags his teeth down my throat. His free hand grips my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. They're black with want. "Six."
I sob when he bottoms out, my walls fluttering around him. My clit throbs where his cock grinds against it. The air reeks of sex, of desperation, of the storm outside.
"Seven," I whimper. My knees shake. My toes curl. He fucks me through the number, his rhythm brutal.
He slows at eight, dragging the thrust until I scream. The sound bounces off the walls. His laugh is dark. "You sound pretty when you break."
"Nine!" I arch off the chair, muscles straining. The orgasm hovers just out of reach, a fucking *tease*.
He stops.
My scream cuts off in a choked gasp. His cock twitches inside me, buried to the hilt. "No," he murmurs, lips against my temple. "Not yet." His fingers dig into my hips. "Ten."
The number punches out of me. His hips snap forward once—hard—and he spills deep, his groan vibrating through my bones.
I thrash. "You—you *bastard*—"
He pulls out, his cum dripping down my thighs. The emptiness is worse than before.
"Now," he says, crouching between my splayed legs. His tongue swipes through the mess. "Let's see how loud you scream when I *do* let you come."
The first lick has me seeing stars.
His tongue is flat and hot against my oversensitive clit, lapping up his own spend like I'm some kind of fucking dessert. I jerk against the ropes, a broken noise tearing from my throat. "Fuck—*fuck*—!"
"Taste that?" He smears his fingers through the mess on my thighs, holds them up to my lips. "Open."
I clamp my mouth shut, glare through the sweat-damp hair sticking to my face. His other hand slides between my legs, two fingers plunging into my still-quivering cunt. "*Open.*"
I do—gagging on his fingers as they shove past my teeth, the salt-bitter tang of us flooding my mouth. He crooks them against my tongue, mimicking the thrusts below. "Count," he orders, voice wrecked.
"One," I choke out around his fingers. My hips stutter when his thumb finds my clit again, circling just shy of the pressure I need. The room's a blur of lamplight and shadows, rain hammering the windows like it's trying to get in.
His tongue replaces his fingers, broad and relentless. "Two." The word shudders out of me. He hums against me, the vibration shooting straight to my spine. Every flick is calculated, every suck designed to unravel me further. My thighs tremble where they're strapped apart, the leather straps biting deeper with every jerk of my body.
"Three." It's a sob. His nose brushes my clit as he tongues my entrance, drinking me down like I'm the last fucking thing on earth. The pleasure's a live wire, frayed and sparking. I'm going to combust if he doesn't—
He stops.
"*No!*" I yank at the ropes hard enough to tip the chair, but he catches it, rights me with a grip on my throat. His thumb presses down on my windpipe, just enough to make the world waver.
"Four," he murmurs, and his mouth is back on me—sucking my clit between his lips, teeth grazing just *so*—
I come with a scream that shreds my throat, back arching clear off the chair. He rides me through it, fingers plunging deep, tongue licking up every pulse. The orgasm crashes over me in waves, brutal and bright, wiping my mind clean.
When I slump back, boneless and gasping, he wipes his mouth on my thigh. His grin is all predator. "Now we start over."
I shake my head, still shuddering with aftershocks. "I can't—"
"You can." His fingers trail up my soaked slit, gathering slick. "You will." He circles my clit—once, twice—and I jerk like a puppet on strings. "One."
The ropes creak as I twist away. "Fuck your counting—"
His slap lands sharp across my ass. The sting blooms hot, mixing with the wet slide of his cockhead nudging my entrance. "One," he repeats, voice like gravel.
I bite my lip until copper floods my tongue. "One," I spit.
He sheathes himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. My cry bounces off the ceiling. "Two." The bastard's breathing ragged now too, his hips stuttering.
Rain sheets against the windows. The lamp gutters, casting shadows that writhe with us. His sweat drips onto my breasts, salt-sharp where it slides between them.
"Three." My voice cracks. His thumb digs into my clit, rough and perfect. The pleasure builds too fast—a freight train with no brakes. "F-four—!"
He withdraws slowly, leaving me clenching around nothing. "Too close," he murmurs. His palm smacks my cunt, the shockwave radiating up to my ribs. I yelp. "Five."
"You—*ah!*—you sadistic—" His fingers plunge back inside, crooked hard.
"Six." He scissors them, stretching me wider. The stretch burns, delicious. His other hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back. "Say it."
"Six," I sob. My cunt pulses around his fingers, greedy.
He chuckles, low and mean, and adds a third. The fullness punches a moan from my lungs. "Seven."
I'm split open, raw, his knuckles grinding against my front wall. His free hand wraps around my throat. "Eight," I gasp, vision tunneling.
He squeezes. "Nine."
Stars explode behind my eyelids. I'm floating, untethered, until his teeth sink into my shoulder—sharp, grounding. "Ten," I choke out.
His laugh vibrates through my bones. "Good girl." His fingers withdraw with a filthy sound, leaving me clenching around nothing again. "Now hold still."
I barely have time to register the click of his belt buckle before the leather wraps around my right thigh, snugging tight just above the rope already biting into my skin. The second strap cinches around my left, pulling my legs wider apart. My breath hitches—I can't even squirm now.
"Better." His palm lands heavy on my inner thigh, fingertips pressing into the sensitive skin there. "Let's see how long you last this round."
The first flick of his tongue nearly makes me scream. He laps at me like a man starving, broad strokes from clit to entrance, humming against my flesh when I jerk against the restraints. My hips stutter uselessly, held fast by the new straps. "Fuck—*fuck*—!"
"One." His voice is muffled against my cunt.
I gasp when his teeth graze my clit—sharp, brief—before his tongue swirls around it. The pleasure coils tight in my belly, white-hot. Every nerve feels scraped raw.
"Two!" My voice cracks. Rain lashes the windows, a counterpoint to the slick sounds between my legs.
He flattens his tongue, dragging it up in one long, slow stroke that has my toes curling. "Three." His breath ghosts over my soaked skin.
I'm trembling, sweat dripping between my shoulder blades. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me down as he sucks my clit into his mouth—*hard*—before releasing it with a pop.
"Four!" The word's a sob.
He pulls back, lips glistening. "Too loud." His fingers slide into me, crooking just right. "Five."
I choke on air when his thumb replaces his mouth, rubbing tight circles. The orgasm builds like a storm, inevitable, terrifying.
"Six—*please*—"
"Not yet." His free hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back. "Count."
His fingers fuck me faster, thumb relentless. I'm a live wire, frayed and sparking. "Seven!"
A growl rumbles through him. His mouth crashes back onto me, tongue lashing my clit in quick, brutal flicks.
"Eight—*god*—eight—"
He doesn't let up, doesn't slow. The pleasure crests—
He stops.
My scream echoes off the walls.
"Nine." His breath scalds my inner thigh.
I buck against the straps, muscles burning. "*Ten!*"
His chuckle is dark. "Wrong."
His palm lands sharp across my clit. I see stars.
"Now," he murmurs. "Let's try that again."
His tongue hits my clit like a fucking lightning strike—wet, hot, *perfect*—and I shatter with a scream that tears through the storm outside. The orgasm rips through me, raw and blinding, my back arching so hard the chair groans. His fingers plunge deep, crooking just right as his mouth seals over me, drinking down every pulse like I'm the last goddamn thing he'll ever taste.
"*Fuck!*" My thighs shake violently against the straps, my vision whiting out at the edges. He doesn't let up—tongue flicking, fingers pistoning—dragging the pleasure out until it borders on pain. Tears streak down my face, mixing with the sweat pooling between my breasts. "I can't—*I can't*—"
"You *can*," he growls against my cunt, and sucks harder.
The second climax hits like a wrecking ball, stealing my breath, my thoughts, everything. I'm nothing but sensation—the bite of the ropes, the slap of rain, the brutal drag of his tongue. My body bows off the chair, a broken noise ripping from my throat as I come *again*, the aftershocks shaking me apart.
He pulls back just enough to watch me unravel, his lips slick with me. "Count," he orders, thumb circling my oversensitive clit.
I choke on the number, my voice shredded. "O-one—"
His fingers curl inside me, rubbing that spot that makes my toes curl. "Two."
The third orgasm crests before I can stop it, a tsunami of heat that drowns me. I sob, my cunt clenching around his fingers, my nails drawing blood from my own palms. He licks into me like he's memorizing the taste, his free hand pinching my nipple *hard*.
"Three," I gasp, hips jerking uselessly.
He doesn't stop. Doesn't let me breathe. His mouth is relentless, his fingers ruthless, and when the fourth one hits—*four, fuck, four*—I black out for a second, my vision tunneling.
I come back to his teeth sinking into my inner thigh, his fingers still working me open. "Again," he demands.
I whimper, shaking my head. "I—I can't—"
His slap lands sharp on my clit. "Five."
The fifth orgasm is less a wave and more a fucking earthquake, tearing through me with teeth. I scream until my voice gives out, my body seizing, my cunt pulsing around his fingers. He watches me break with dark eyes, his breath ragged.
"Good girl," he murmurs, finally pulling away. His fingers glisten in the lamplight as he holds them up. "Now swallow."
I pant against the ropes, wrists raw, thighs trembling—but I open my mouth like the fucking wreck he's made me. His fingers press against my tongue, salt-bitter and slick, and I gag as he pushes them deeper. "Six," I choke out, the word muffled around his knuckles.
He laughs, cruel and low, watching me struggle. The storm outside howls, rattling the windows as if trying to get in. His thumb traces the seam of my lips, smearing wetness. "Seven," I gasp when he finally pulls free, strings of spit connecting us.
His palm cracks across my cheek—stinging, sudden—and I *come* again without warning, convulsing against the straps. The shock of it whites out my vision, my scream scraping my throat bloody.
"Eight," he growls, pinching my clit between rough fingers. The orgasm rips through me, violent and endless, until I'm sobbing—broken, spent, utterly *his*.
His lips brush my ear, teeth grazing the lobe. "Now sleep."
And like a puppet with cut strings, I do.