On The Edge

She can feel the rope biting deep, wrists pulled tight behind her back. That brunette hair hangs wild in her eyes. His fist works slow, squeezing just below the crown, keeping that cut head purple and throbbing. He watches her thighs shake, holds her right on the brink, then stops. Starts again. Her hips jerk, chasing the friction, but he’s faster, always pulling back just before the surge. Sweat beads down her belly. She’s panting, pleading without words. He doesn’t blink. Her release is his to grant or deny, and tonight he’s feeling cruel. Every stroke brings her closer, every pause steals it away. The ache sits heavy in her balls, tight and demanding. He grins, thumb sliding over the slick head, edging her again and again until her whole body quivers and the only thing left in her mind is the next denied rush.