After having great fun at Smut Wax Play on Saturday, I had to write something wax inspired for today’s Masturbation Monday. So enjoy the following exclusive and brand new piece of Blisse flash fiction filled with edge play.
Each drop was a mystery, hot or warm, stinging or soothing, she didn’t know until it hit her skin. Wax covered her from shoulders to waist and over her butt and thighs.
“Stand up,” He commanded, “Stand by the wall.”
She took a deep breath and followed the command. Wax creaking and loosening with her movements. It was out of the ordinary, to be commanded to move before the wax was removed. She wondered what was coming next and felt her shoulders hunch and tighten with the anxiety and excitement of what might actually happen.
“I want you to masturbate, my pet, because I know you’re hot and wet and craving an orgasm. There is a catch. You’re not allowed to come until all the wax has been removed from your skin.”
She knew there would be something, some challenge to conquer, some rules to adhere to but how long was he going to make her wait?
Knowing there would be more punishment for hesitating she slipped her hand down between the wall and her stomach to press her fingers between her folds. He was correct. She was soaking wet and eager for orgasm.
She was so lost in finding the perfect position to find the peak of her passion that she squeaked with surprise when she heard then felt the swish and thump of a flogger on her back. And another strike, harder with following explosion of shattering wax.
The shock of impact stilled her fingers for a moment but as soon as she came worked out just what was happening she continued to finger herself, knowing that’s what he wanted. His strikes were even and calculated. It was one of his heavier floggers as it was making contact with a real heavy thump, punch like in its intensity.
She wasn’t sure how she’d climb to the pinnacle of climax with the constant pain, changing only in the location. The hurt comes with its own pleasure, that delights her masochistic little heart but the two pleasures, from pain and from her own manipulation seem to play off each other, fighting for dominance.
The smack and throb of the flogger moves down from her back to her buttocks. The initial impact was dulled by the wax, but as it cracked and shattered her already tender flesh began to burn and sting. The trail down her back was hot and prickling. She revelled in the blows he showered on her and suddenly the pain and pleasure battle morphed to lovemaking. The pain actually heightened the pleasure.
“Is it all gone, Sir?” She asked, so very close to completion.
“Not yet,” He replied, breathily from exertion or arousal she didn’t know but suspected both. “Are you going to come?”
“Not yet, Sir” She groaned, “I hope!”
He hit her hard, one buttock then the next, over and over ‘til they screamed with heat and pain. She tried not to add any extra pressure to her strumming fingers. Tickling lightly she was holding out on the brink of ecstasy but any moment she’d not be able to stop the oncoming orgasm.
“Is it all gone, Sir?” She asked again, willing all the wax to be on sheet covering the floor.
“Not quite, I’m going to have to use the knife.”
Her breath caught in her throat as his steps came nearer. His closeness excited and terrified her. His touch on her back was calming, until she felt the gentle pressure of his sharp knife pulling away from it.
“Keep touching yourself.” His low whisper was as commanding and fear inducing as a shout. She pressed against her clit, whimpering with the escalation of pressure.
He moves his hand and scraped higher with the knife, he moved again, each time scraping the blade down, rolling wax off and gently tensing her skin.
“Sir, has it gone?” She groaned, so close to orgasm her knees were trembling as she tried to hold off pleasure and not jerk against the blade.
“One last bit.” He whispered, stroked down her back with the vicious edge and moved in closer to her. She felt his erection through his trousers against her naked arse and suddenly the blade was at her jawline, just below her chin, his other arm over her shoulder, his free hand cupping and holding her chin still. “Now come.”
“Yes,” She gasped, the fear of being cut balanced against the relief of all the wax being gone. “Yes, Sir.” She clamped her mouth closed, tried hard to hold herself straight and unmoved as the ecstasy flooded through her. The orgasm rolled and rolled, her chest heaved, she sobbed. She knew she was safe in his hands.
“Good girl.” He purred, putting the knife away and encouraging her to turn into his embrace. “My very good girl.”
© Victoria Blisse