In which Sapphire praises the handcrafted, handpainted, and optimally frozen, glass dildo.

She surveyed the room from her vantage point. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, you might think.

Except that she couldn’t move her hands. They were bound by leather cuffs to a bar suspended from the ceiling. Moving them beyond a vague, swinging motion would have required super-human strength; or at the very least, badly attached Velcro.

She smiled at him in anticipation. He smiled back, and then his face darkened into an expression with which she was familiar, and which sent delicious chills down the back of her neck.

His hand moved swiftly towards her ass, but instead of slapping her exposed buttock and pulling away, he spanked it hard and held on tight, revelling in the reddened softness.

“I love this… this… flesh. You have beautiful flesh… do you know that?”

She inclined her eyebrows to acquiesce; her eyes not straying from his. She could see that he had something concealed in his other hand, but couldn’t quite tell whether it would be an instrument of torture or pleasure.

As if there was more than a hair’s breadth of difference either way.

“What are you doing? What do you have in store for me?”

His eyebrows drew closer together; his dark eyes flashed. Ostentatiously he placed the hand concealing the mystery object behind his back.

“Stand still. And spread those legs. I have a surprise for you.”

Obediently she stopped swinging, and planted her feet firmly on the floor, apart. Her cunt was a little tender, and throbbed incessantly from much previous fucking that day, but she still felt it awaken with desire and anticipation once again at the thought of him.

He moved towards her, not taking his eyes from hers, until she was straddled across him, but not touching him. One hand behind his back, he ran an insolent finger up her inner thigh, and watched her visibly shudder with excitement.

“Gonna make that pussy wet again. Dripping wet. Literally.”

She moaned softly, and then sighed with joy when he revealed the contents of his hidden hand to her. A hand-crafted glass dildo. Cold from the refrigerator. Their eyes locked again.

“You want this, you dirty little girl?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me. With that.”

“And what else?”

“I want you to make me gush… again.”

“Dirty girl. Nasty little slut.”

“Your nasty little slut.”

“Yes. Yes! Very much mine!“

On his last syllable, he slid the dildo straight into her cunt, and she couldn’t help but gasp at the deliciously cold hard feeling. He held it in place for a second, until he felt her relax around it, and then, steadying himself by again spanking his palm down on her ass and holding her still, he thrust it into her, hard. He hit her g-spot square on and began a steady rhythm, fucking her with the dildo, and feeling her grind onto it.

“Hold it in there. Hold it!”

She clenched her pussy muscles tightly around the glass, stopping it from falling — but only just.

She heard the whirr and click of a camera as he photographed it protruding from her glistening pussy. “That’ll be one for the album,” she thought aloud, and received another thwack on the ass as a result.

No talking then. OK.

He moved himself around to the back of her, and reached between her already slippery thighs to continue his pumping rhythm while he simultaneously tickled her clit. He did this oh-so-softly, but it was still enough to cause her moans to rise several decibels.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! OH MY GOD!!”

This kind of speech was apparently acceptable. She felt her orgasm grow closer and closer.

“You love it, don’t you? You love when I fuck your. Hungry! Wet! Pussy!”

Each burst of speech indicated a further and deeper thrust of the dildo. With a wail of abandon, she came. She shuddered and gasped as the orgasms faded, and then rose again to a further crescendo as he ruthlessly continued to pump and thrust the dildo onto her g-spot and she came again, gushing like a fountain and raining come all over his hand, and the floor.

She panted, and gasped, trying in vain to catch her breath.

“Oh. My. God. Fuck. Whoa.”

He laughed. “Articulate in post-orgasmic haze — it’s like a classic painting, but in audio.”

She grinned, and panted some more. Eventually, her breathing stabilized, and she stopped gasping. She whispered something under her breath, and he strained to catch what she had to say.

“What was that? You’re mumbling.”

She smiled at him.

“Nobody does that like you do. Nobody, not ever. Nobody fucks me like you do. And certainly nobody has ever made me come like you do.”

His evil grin intensified.

“Just wait until later tonight. We can test that claim, when my friend comes over.”

“Your (pant, pant) friend?”

“Yes. The one who you’re going to fuck. On my command.”

(But that’s a different story.)