FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are of legal age of consent.

Chapter 1

The Turbokat didn’t so much land as collapse onto the hidden runway. Metal shrieked in protest, a sound that set T-Bone’s teeth on edge even through his rebreather. Smoke, thick and oily, trailed from the portside engine, which coughed out a final, pathetic sputter and died as the tires squealed on the tarmac. The faux-junk mound that hid the entrance to the hideout slid into place behind him, cutting out the worst of the smoke as the jet slid awkwardly down the runway, lighting strips turning red along the tunnel as the fire suppression system kicked in.

The nose cone barely brushed the back wall of the hangar by the time the Turbokat came to a stop, and T-Bone’s moment of relief was utterly interrupted by white clouds of chemical foam spurting from the nozzles situated along the ceiling.

When the mist cleared and T-Bone slid the canopy open, he jumped to the deck on his lonesome. For a long moment, the only sounds were the ping-ping-ping of cooling metal and T-Bone’s lone footsteps as he crossed the flight deck removing his helmet and unzipping his flight suit. The burly cat’s fur was a frizzy mess, making him look more homeless than an ace vigilante pilot. But then he lived on a junkyard, so it was sort of par for the course.

The battle with Dark Kat had been long and brutal, and the Turbokat had absorbed the worst of it. Monstrous clawmarks, bullet dents and blast damage ripped horrible rents across the hull. One engine was still smoking, but the other two didn’t look much better. The entire array of ordinance had been depleted, and T-Bone was not looking forward to the reload and repair his gal would need. Exhaustion felt like sand in his joints.

Ideally he’d have some help for the chores that came next, but his weapon’s specialist hadn’t flow back to the hideout with him. They’d become separated in the battle, with Razor taking to his cyclotron to run ground-side interference against Dark Kat’s forces.

He keyed the comms. “Razor? Come in, buddy. What’s your twenty?” Static hissed back at him for a moment. “Razor. Sound off.”

A crackle, then a voice, familiar and almost annoyingly casual. “I read you, T. I’m in the city. Had to take the, uh… scenic route.”

T-Bone barked a laugh. “Yeah, I bet. How’s the city looking from the ground?”

“Things have calmed down. The enforcers cleaned up nice.” Razor’s tone was light, but there was an undertone of worry. “TurboKat make it home?”

“Barely. She’s gonna be in the shop for a week. You hurt?”

“Just my pride.”

T-Bone chuckled at that. He knew the feeling. It had been a while since a foe mopped the floor with them like this. But at least they’d come out of it on top. “Well you better get your tail back to base. We got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Yeah, copy that. I’ll catch a cab, be there in sixty.”

“Actually, double that. I’m hitting the rack. Don’t wake me unless the city’s on fire.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pal. See you soon.”

The comm link cut out. And as T-Bone face-planted flight-suit and all straight into his cot, echoes of afterburners and missile fire fading into his dreams; Razor snapped his own communicator shut.

Leaning forward and setting his hands back on the handlebars of his cyclotron, he smirked and revved the engine a few times. He didn’t have any intention to head straight back to the hideout.

Kicking the vehicle into gear, he tore out of the alley, the city lights blurring into streaks as he turned to a quiet detour. People were still locked in their homes during the aftermath of Dark Kat’s rampage, and the road was clear for Razor; all the way to a particularly fancy penthouse high-rise in central Megakat City.

Chapter 2

The climb up the service lattice on the outside of Callie’s building was a familiar ache in his muscles, a welcome distraction from the battle-fatigue in his joints. If only because this strain promised good things to come soon. He moved with a practiced silence, a shadow against the glass and steel. The window to her bedroom was, as always, unlocked. He slid it open, the whisper of it lost in the hum of the city coming back to life thirty stories below.

He dropped inside, landing softly on the plush carpet.

The room was dark, lit only by the ambient glow of Megakat City streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline twinkled, indifferent. Everything was in its place: the sleek furniture, the tidy desk. But it was too quiet, the usual scent of her perfume permeating the empty air.

“Callie?”

No answer. A prickle of instinct, the same one that flared during a dogfight, traced a line down Razor’s spine. He took a step further into the room, his eyes straining against the gloom near the en-suite bathroom. The bed was neatly made. The wardrobe hung ajar revealing a lacy nightgown on the hangers inside.

Something shifted in the darkness to his left.

He started to turn, but he was too late, his reflexes slowed by fatigue. The shape launched itself from the deeper shadows in the corner of the room and hit Razor with surprising force. Tangled limbs of warm flesh drove the air from his lungs and they both landed on the bed’s mattress, the silk comforter absorbing all sound of the brief, fruitless struggle.

Before he could even get his bearings, his right wrist was snatched, yanked to the wrought-iron headboard. A cold, familiar click echoed in the quiet room. Then his left. The handcuffs, his own cuffs from his utility belt, were secured with efficiency so ruthless, it was almost choreographed.

He lay there, pinned, heart hammering against his ribs. The figure hovered over him, backlit by the city’s neon glow. The silhouette resolved into curves and edges he knew intimately.

Callie Briggs settled her weight on his hips. The low light caught the frames of her glasses, glinting, and illuminated the hungry, triumphant curve of her smile. Megakat City’s deputy mayor wore nothing else but a pair of impossibly high stiletto boots, the black leather gleaming from her calves down to the elegantly tapered toes.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice a low purr that vibrated through him.

Razor let his head fall back against the pillows, a slow, surrendering grin spreading across his face. The tension bled out of him, replaced by a different, warmer current. “Traffic was hell. You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Try me.” She leaned down, her powerful and alluring perfume enveloping him. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, bristling the rough fur there. “But first, you’re mine. The Deputy Mayor has adjourned for the evening. The constituents’ complaints can wait.”

Her mouth found his, and the last echoes of sirens and engine fire dissolved into the soft, consuming dark.

The kiss was deep and searching, her tongue tracing the line of his teeth before she pulled back just enough to breathe against his lips. Her hands worked at the clasps of his flight suit, peeling the stiff material down his chest with a slow, grating sound.

“Ow,” Razor wheezed through the kiss as her hands slid down to his bruised ribs. One of Dark Kat’s minions had caught him there good.

“Poor thing,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the injury. He flinched, a sharp hiss escaping him again. “Shhh. I’ll be gentle.”

“I don’t need your coddling,” he growled, straining against the cuffs, the metal biting into his wrists.

She laughed, a low, dark sound, and her mouth left a trail of wet, open kisses down the tense plane of his stomach. “Mmmmhhh, yes you do,” she purred.

Callie took her time, her glasses brushing his fur, until her face was nestled between his thighs. Her hands hooked into the waistband of his suit and briefs, yanking them down to his knees in one rough motion. The cool air hit his hardened cock, and he twitched, already leaking.

Razor had hoped for a relaxing night with his girlfriend, but this would do.

Callie didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, her breath a hot wave over the head of his cock before her tongue followed, a long, flat lick from base to tip that made his entire body jolt. She took him into her mouth slowly, her lips stretching around his girth, and he swore, a raw, ragged curse lost in the quiet bedroom. The wet, tight heat was an electric shock, a combat of a different time that had his head spinning worse the time T-Bone tried out one of his new and more dangerous aerial manouvres.

Unaware of his drifting mind, Callie worked Razor with a focused, brutal expertise, her head bobbing, one hand gripping the base of his shaft to holding him steady as the tip grazed the roof of her mouth and slipped effortlessly into the back of her throat.

“Callie…” he groaned, his hips trying to lift, met only by the unforgiving restraint of the cuffs and the solid weight of her other hand pinning his stomach.

Just as the pressure began to coil, tight and urgent in his groin, she pulled off with an obscene, wet pop. She stayed there, her breath coming in soft pants against his slick skin, not touching him. He could feel the ache of his own pulse in his throat, in his cock.

“What are you doing?” he managed, voice strained. “I was almost…”

“Patience,” she whispered, and then her mouth was on him again, a relentless, devastating suction. She brought him back to that knife’s edge three more times, his muscles shaking, pleas tumbling from his lips. Each time, at the last possible second, she’d retreat, leaving him gasping and empty, his need a physical pain.

“Please,” he finally begged, the word torn from him.

“Since you asked so nicely.” She climbed up his body, the leather of her boots slick against his legs, and positioned herself over him. Without ceremony, she sank down, taking him inside her in one slow, excruciating slide. She enveloped him with a velvety tightness that stole his vision for a second. She began to move, not working up to it up rather initiating a hard, demanding rhythm that rhythmically slapped her ass down on his thighs. The woman barely made a sound beside the satisfied sighs, the smile never leaving her lips as she worked her secret boyfriend.

She rode him like she ran the city, with absolute authority, her head thrown back, her pink nipples standing erect on perfectly perky breasts. Every drive downward was perfect, friction and heat and blinding pleasure. He was so close, she could feel it pulsing against her inner walls with readiness that made her tingle all over.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasped, the warning ripped from him.

“No.” The word was a whip-crack. She instantly lifted herself off him, his cock slipping out, wet and throbbing and utterly denied. The sudden absence was a torment.

She waited, hovering, until the most violent edge receded. Then she impaled herself on him again, resuming her punishing pace. Again, the pressure built, a tsunami in his nerves. “Callie, I’m…!”

“No.” She pulled off again, leaving him straining, desperate, his knuckles white where his fists were clenched. She smiled down at him, all predatory grace. “You don’t come until I say. You’ve been a naughty boy, making me wait so long for my favourite toy.”

Her hand closed around his cock to emphasise her point. But not to stroke, simply grasping it in a firm, possessive grip along the soaked and slippery shaft. Her delicate fingers pinched at the bulging vein running along the underside, making Razor shudder.

Callie held him there, a captive in her fist, while the frantic ache in his balls receded into a throbbing, contained pulse. Her thumb rubbed a slow, maddening circle over the slick tip, smearing pre-cum, but she went no further.

“Better?” she asked, her voice devoid of its earlier purr, now all business.

“Fuck you,” he breathed, but there was no heat in it, only surrender.

“That’s the plan.” She released him and rose up on her knees, positioning the blunt, wet head of his cock at her entrance. She sank down with deliberate slowness, a tight, burning inch at a time, her inner muscles fluttering as they stretched to accommodate him. Once she was fully seated, she paused, letting them both feel the consuming fullness.

Then she moved.

She rode him with a hard, efficient rhythm, bouncing her ass in his lap with a force that shook the bedframe. Each downward stroke was a masterpiece of friction, her wet heat squeezing him perfectly. The slick, rhythmic slap of skin on skin filled the room, a raw counterpoint to their ragged breathing. He could see everything—the shift of muscles in her thighs, the bounce of her breasts, the focused intensity behind her glasses.

The pleasure built again, a familiar, insistent tide. He felt his abdomen tighten, his vision narrowing to the sight of her perfect tits bouncing lightly with each jump. “Callie, please…”

Her pace didn’t falter and her manicured nails curled into his chest, digging through is fur and into his skin. But as the crest approached, as his hips strained upward to meet her, she ripped herself off him with a sudden, brutal finality. His spent cock throbbed in the cool air, painfully hard and glistening with their combined excitement.

“No,” she stated again, the word a terse command. “No cumming. If you can’t hold back, then no more pleasure for you.”

She swung a leather-clad leg over his body and stood beside the bed, looking down at his bound, aching form.

“Maybe you need a reminder of who’s in charge tonight. Stay.” She raised a finger at him to emphasise the command, then walked toward the bedroom door, the sharp click-clack of her heels on the hardwood fading, leaving him alone with the city’s silent glare and the brutal, unfinished need screaming in his veins.

He heard the tinkle of glass in the kitchen as Razor lay crucified on the silk, the chill of the room seeping into his sweat-dampened fur. His cock stood achingly straight, a throbbing monument to his denial. Each heartbeat pulsed through it, a fresh insult. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint, ordinary sounds of water running, a cabinet closing, the pop of a cork. The normalcy of it was its own kind of torture.

Time stretched, thin and sharp. He tested the cuffs, not to escape, but just to feel the metal bite, to ground himself in a different pain. The city’s lights painted shifting bars of blue and white across the bed, across his tortured body.

The click of Callie’s boots returned and when she reappeared, a single glass of red wine held by its stem. She didn’t look at him as she walked over, sipped the drink then set it down on the bedside table. she moved unhurried, swirling the drink in her mouth before swallowing softly, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the burn of the alcohol running down her gullet.

Only then did she turn. Callie’s gaze travelled the length of his body, lingering on the evidence of her work. A small, satisfied smile touched her lips as she set her hands on her hips, the city’s backlight glow tracing the curvy lines of her body. Her eyes were fixed on his cock, still hard and jutting straight up with a hunger that only she could satiate.

She crawled onto the foot of the bed, her movements a liquid, predatory grace. Her head lowered between his thighs. Her breath, warm and laced with the dark fruit of the wine, washed over his cock. He shuddered, a full-body spasm that rattled the cuffs. Then her tongue touched him. It was a flat, slow, devastating lick from the very base of his shaft, over the tight ache of his balls, all the way up the prominent vein to the swollen, leaking tip.

Razor choked out a moan that was ultimately pathetic for a hotshot fighter pilot of his calibre.

She ignored him. Then repeated the motion, again and again, her tongue a wet, lascivious paintbrush. She licked him like he was something to be savoured. She avoided taking him into her mouth, denying him the suction that would send him over. This was pure, unadulterated torture in the best way. Her hand came up, wrapping around the base of him, her grip firm. She used her thumb to smear the pre-cum beading at his tip, spreading it, working it in slow circles.

Just as he began to tense, his hips lifting off the bed, she stopped completely. Her hand stilled. Her tongue lifted away. They both listened to the ragged sound of his breathing.

“Please,” he whispered, the word stripped bare.

Slowly, she started again. The slow lick. The teasing hand. She built him back up with agonizing patience, each stroke of her tongue a whispered promise she immediately broke. He lost count of the cycles. The world narrowed to the feeling of her mouth, the grip of her hand, the metallic taste of his own desperation. His muscles coiled, burning. He was right there, balanced on a precipice she kept pulling him back from.

“I can’t,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. “Callie, please, I… I can’t…”

“You can.” Her voice was low, absolute. She took the tip of him into her mouth, just the head, and sucked. It was a direct, electric pull that yanked a shout from his lungs. At the very last millisecond, she released him with a pop.

She lifted herself, kneeling over him. Her eyes behind the glasses were dark, unreadable pools. She was flushed, her own breath coming faster. She reached for the nightstand, took another sip of wine, never breaking eye contact.

“And you will,” she said, the word finally leaving her lips. “Eventually. You’re going to stay nice and hard for me all night, and you’ll cum when I want you to.”

Chapter 3

The silence after her pronouncement was thick, broken only by the distant, fading wail of an Enforcer jet making a low, slow patrol pass between the tall city buildings. Razor’s chest rose and fell in ragged pulls, the cuffs giving a soft metallic protest with each movement. His entire world had shrunk to the agonizing throb between his legs, and the sight of her kneeling above him.

Callie finished the wine, the last swallow a slow, deliberate act. She placed the empty glass back on the nightstand with a precise click, then she looked at him, her gaze traveling from his bound wrists, down the taut lines of his torso, to the desperate, leaking member throbbing between his legs. A slow smile touched her lips.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice husky. “Nice and hard. Just for me.”

She shifted, placing one hand on his chest, right over his pounding heart. The other guided him, the wet head of his cock nudging against her soaked entrance. “Ready?”

She didn’t wait for an answer as she sank down.

It wasn’t the fierce impalement from before. This was a slow, inexorable descent, a millimetre of breathtaking, silken heat at a time. He felt every fraction of her inner walls stretching to accommodate him, a tight, velvety glove drawing him deeper into a feverish heaven. She took him to the hilt, until their bodies were flush, until he was buried so completely he saw stars.

And then she held still.

Absolutely, perfectly still.

Her internal muscles, deep within her, began to move. It was a subtle, deliberate ripple, a slow undulating massage that started at her core and travelled the entire length of his embedded shaft.

Squeeze. Release.

A slow, torturous pulse. It was like being milked by her very essence, a rhythm that had nothing to do with thrusting and everything to do with a deep, internal claiming.

“Fuck… Callie…”

She didn’t answer. She just watched his face, her eyes dark behind her glasses, as her body worked him. The ripples intensified, varying in speed and pressure, a masterful orchestration of internal friction. Each slow, internal clutch dragged him closer to the edge. It was an edging of the most intimate, devastating kind. The pleasure built up quickly into a relentless wave.

He could feel his balls drawing up tight, a familiar, critical tension coiling at the base of his spine. Razor’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. His hips tried to buck, to seek a faster rhythm, but she pinned him with her weight and the immovable force of her will.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Callie whispered, the words a chiding chain. “You sit still for me now, naughty boy.”

He was right there. The precipice wasn’t a cliff edge but a smooth, hot slide he was already beginning to tumble down. The world whited out at the edges, the city’s glow dissolving into a blank, pulsing need.

Just as the first, irreversible spasm began to gather in his core, she moved.

In a single, hurried motion, she pulled herself off him. The sound was an obscene wet, sucking slurp as his cock, slick and shining with her arousal, sprang free from her clinging heat. The sudden, cold emptiness was a physical shock, a brutal denial that wrenched a broken groan from Razor’s throat. He lay there, vibrating, teetering on the very peak, shuddering with the aborted need to erupt.

Callie didn’t give him a second to recover. She reached for the nightstand drawer, and she came back with a black polished ring. It was far too large for her dainty fingers, even Razors. Which meant it could only be for one thing.

“Open your legs,” she said, her voice all business.

Dazed, he complied with the faint hope that Callie would wear her own patience thin and let him erupt. She lowered herself, hands steady as she guided the cockring. She slipped it over the head of his aching, purple-tipped cock, then rolled it down the throbbing length of his shaft, slowly, inexorably, until it was snug at the very base. Then one of his balls at a time, she delicately slid them through the base of the loop. There was plenty of space, even though it didn’t seem like it at first. With some playing and rubbing her furry cheek along the underside of his wet shaft to keep him preoccupied, she managed to get his balls through the ring, settling it gently in place. It wasn’t tight over the base of his groin, but just snug enough that he could feel it there, threatening to pinch his tubes shut and clench on his orgasm if he disobeyed her.

Callie leaned forward, her breath hot on his skin. “Now,” she purred, “let’s see how long you can last.”

Her mouth descended.

Callie didn’t tease. She took him in one long, smooth slide, her lips stretching wide to swallow him whole. The head of his cock bumped the back of her throat, and she pushed further, taking him deep, her nose buried in the fur of his pelvis. The hot, tight, sucking pressure of her throat was a different universe of sensation.

She held him there, deep in her throat, for a count of three, his entire world narrowing to that incredible, tight heat.

Then she pulled back, almost all the way off, before plunging down again. She set a relentless, deep-throating rhythm, her head bobbing, her throat working around him with practiced, filthy expertise. Each downward plunge was a claim, a wet, slamming fuck of her mouth. The sounds were lewd and loud: throaty gulps, wet slurps, her own strained breaths through her flaring nostrils on every back stroke that deflated her slender throat. Spit dripped down his shaft, onto his balls, onto the sheets.

He was screaming silently. Choked, wordless sounds played across his mouth as Razor arched against the cuffs. The ring kept him mercilessly hard, amplifying every sensation, trapping the climax that her throat was so expertly demanding. It built again, a tsunami behind a dam, pressure with no release. He was so far over the edge he was in freefall, but Callie’s throat held him in that eternal, agonizing second before the burst.

She felt the frantic, twitching pulse of him against her tongue as his whole body went rigid beneath her. She pulled off with a final, slick pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening, imprisoned cock.

Callie slumped sideways, catching her breath, her cheek resting on his furry thigh as her large eyes watched his rapid pulse pounding in his rigid cock. Her hand, moving almost of its own volition, wrapped around his slick shaft. She began to slide her fist up and down with a torturous, slow rhythm, her thumb smearing pre-cum over the swollen head on every upstroke.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, her voice ragged from her throat’s efforts. “Just stay right there for me.”

Razor’s world was a white-hot line of sensation anchored to her fist. Every nerve ending was raw and screaming. Callie’s grip was a devilish promise, the friction of her soft palm unbearably intense, her fingers squeezing to deny him the mercy of release. He could only watch, mesmerized, as her hand moved up and down. His hips began to move in tiny, helpless circles, trying to push himself deeper into that perfect, maddening grip.

“I’m gonna… Callie, please, I’m so close…”

“I know you are.” Her rhythm didn’t change. Up. Down. A slow twist over the tip. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you get right to the very edge.”

He’d been there for a good while. It was a crystalline, terrifying moment of pure vertigo. Razor’s entire body tensed, a bowstring pulled past its limit. His breath hitched. A low, guttural roar built in his chest as the climax tore through him, inevitable and absolute.

And she felt it - the violent throb coupled with the sudden tensing of his iron-hard rod in her hand. In that split second before the eruption, she released him completely.

Her hand vanished from his cock, spalyed open expectantly above the tip, and his length sprang free. It throbbed violently, untouched in the cool air. The orgasm, like her touch, left him, recoiling with a physical force that made his vision flicker. A pathetic, broken sound escaped him as his hips bucked feebly, searching for friction that was no longer there. He spilled nothing, his body convulsing around a ghost.

Callie watched, a slow giggle bubbling up from her chest. She studied the furious, desperate pulsing of his cock, the way it jumped with his frantic heartbeat. “Not yet, hot-shot,” she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “No cumming for you.”

She gave him a moment, just one, to drown in the savage ache of denial. Then she crawled down the bed again, her movements lazy and predatory.

When his harsh panting had softened from a roar to a shaky whisper, she bent her head. She didn’t use her hands. Instead, she nudged the hypersensitive underside of his shaft with the cool tip of her nose. He flinched, a full-body shudder wracking his frame. She followed the vein from base to tip with her nose, a slow, teasing exploration.

Then her tongue emerged.

She gave him small, slow licks, the very tip of her tongue painting tiny, wet circles on his feverish skin. It was a casual, almost absent-minded gesture, as if she were tasting something delightful and in no hurry to finish. She licked a stripe up the side of his cock, then focused on the head, tracing the rim of his urethral slit with a delicate, focused precision that was its own form of torture.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, the vibration traveling straight into his core. She treated him like a complex confection, exploring every ridge and curve with languid, open-mouthed kisses and flicks of her tongue. She took the very tip into her mouth, just enough to coat it with fresh saliva, and then released it with a soft, wet sound, continuing her slow, savouring licks.

Razor’s head thrashed against the pillow. “Just let me come,” he begged, the words stripped and raw. “Please, Cal. I’ll do anything.”

“You already are doing exactly what I want you to,” Callie corrected mildly, her breath a hot caress on his damp skin. She finally left him, the absence of her mouth a fresh ache, and moved up his body in a fluid, cat-like stretch. She settled her weight across his hips, her inner thighs caging his tortured cock. He could feel the scorching heat of her against his side, a maddening proximity. “Just lay there and suck it up. Let me play and have my fun.”

She looked down at him, her glasses slightly askew, and smiled. It wasn’t a gentle smile. It was the smile of a chess master three moves ahead. Slowly, deliberately, she brought her hand between her own legs.

He watched, mesmerized, as her fingers disappeared into the fur of her mound. Callie’s eyes drifted shut for a second as she touched herself, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She rubbed slow circles through her slick, silken folds, gathering the wetness that gleamed in the low light. She painted it over her lips, her movements lazy and self-indulgent, before her gaze locked back on his.

“See how much fun I’m having?” she murmured, holding her glistening fingers up for him to see. Then she reached down and wrapped her hand around his shaft. “Cats alive, I’m so wet.”

Her grip was firm and possessive as she guided the swollen, leaking head of his cock through her soaked, velvety flesh. She worked him up and down the length of her slit, coating him thoroughly in her honeyed arousal, the sensitive head catching and dragging on her outer lips with each slow, torturous pass. The heat was incredible, a searing promise just outside his reach.

He felt the gentle, giving pressure of her entrance nudge against him once, twice – a ghost of penetration clutching only momentarily at his tip. She held him there, poised at her threshold, letting him feel the welcoming, molten warmth but denying him entry. His hips rolled instinctively, a frantic, small thrust trying to bury himself inside that divine, clenching tunnel.

“Ah-ah,” she tutted, pulling him back an inch. Her other hand pressed down on his pelvis, pinning him. “Calm down. There’s no rush.”

“Fuck your ‘no rush’,” he snarled, the cords in his neck standing taut. The cockring weighed heavily around his cock and the cuffs dug into his wrists, each implement a brutal promise of more maddening denial to come. “Just sit on it. Please.”

“What’s your hurry?” she asked, her voice a sweet, chiding sing-song. She resumed the slow, slick grinding of his head against her, a obscene, wet sound filling the space between them.

Callie leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, and kissed him deeply. Razor could taste the wine on her tongue, and underneath it, the faint, musky trace of her own arousal. It was a claiming kiss, one that promised everything and granted nothing. As their mouths fought, her hips began a slow, gentle undulation, rubbing her sensitive, swollen clit against the rigid, trapped length between them.

The dual sensation was exquisite torment. The soft, wet friction on his most sensitive part, coupled with the deep, drugging kiss, sent fresh, dangerous spikes of pleasure straight to his imprisoned balls. He groaned into her mouth, his hands straining against the cuffs until his wrists burned.

She broke the kiss, panting, a strand of saliva connecting their lips. Her own composure was fraying, her breath coming faster. She was riding the ridge of his cock like a toy, her hips moving in faster, tighter circles, seeking her own pleasure against him. Her inner muscles fluttered, empty and aching, each movement smearing her essence over his throbbing skin.

“You feel how wet my pussy is?” she whispered, her voice husky with her own need. “That’s how bad I want you inside me. But you’re not ready yet.”

With a final, shuddering rub that made her gasp, she lifted herself off him completely. His cock stood alone, glistening in the cool air. She knelt beside him, one hand trailing through the mess they’d made on his stomach. She looked at his face, at the utter devastation of unmet need written there, and her expression softened for a fleeting second.

“Take a breath,” she said, her finger tracing a manicured nail down the length of his shaft while another placed small, fitful circles across her own tingling clit. “I’m going to play with you all night long.”

###

This story was commissioned by ANONYMOUS.

Be sure to follow me on /ɛks/ (https://x.com/MChapel117) to stay up to date on when I’m open for future commissions or when I publish new stories.

My Business Card: https://mattchapel.carrd.co/

Stay sexy, peeps.

Matt Chapel.