Submission (18+) | Oneshots

Special Present (18+)

•FIRST PERSON'S POV•

Luke straddles my hips. With a whispered flutter, his meticulously pressed work shirt drops on bed behind him.

As he eagerly crawls on top of me, I fold my hands behind my head, smiling girlishly. There's nothing special about Luke getting home from work today, except that his birthday is a week from now.

But that's exactly what's special about it.

"What're you smiling about?" he remarks.

I just keep smiling. Further, his brow puckers as I make no move to touch him-not even to lean up. When he goes down to kiss me, I return it only chastely.

Eyeing me, he kisses again and again, but I refuse to let him deepen it. That's not like me. He leans back, and palms through my panties. I'm wet, but all he gets is me nibbling my lip.

He deadpans. "What do you think you're doing?"

That's the question I was waiting for-have been waiting for since this morning when I came up with this.

I lean up, and reverently kiss his forehead, then his lips. I can barely contain my excitement. "I have an idea for a birthday gift. One you'll like," I whisper.

...

A stranger on the street would care more about his birthday than Luke himself, and that's how I hooked him in. A mistake. He was a fool, in earnest, to agreeing to the game I made up. Between now and his birthday, I'd tease and edge him so that when the day came, he'd receive an incredible gift: me.

The condition? Obviously he was to be deprived of me. He'd soon realize he couldn't just not handle that, but after he agreed, I took out the cage. Flawless stainless steel traps his shaft. It squeezes the bottom of his sacs, so there's not a chance in hell he can get some relief at any time, let alone come. It's deceptively ornate, square cells just enough to let him receive the bare minimum of stimulation. A long silver line arcs down from his sacs, and ends at an especially mocking opening at the tip.

He hates this fucking thing.

As soon as I looked up from between his legs, smiling in that devious way that never fails to strike the fear of god in him-frustration was already alive and rising in him. What he thought at first to be an interesting game that would make him appreciate his birthday more would be much more challenging than he thought.

No attention below the belt for the next week. No squeezes or stroking. We might as well be teenage lovebirds taking it steady.

Another reason he agreed was that he had confidence in his own self-discipline. He prided himself on it. A week without sex was going to be no big challenge-not even that painful.

The first night wasn't so bad. The next morning (six damn days to go), he found himself squirming and huffing from the innocent pressure of my backside pressed back against his pelvis. I was still asleep for fucks sakes.

His lips would gravitate towards my neck, his hands to my waist, and my soft chest that threatened to spill over my bra as I dressed for errands in the afternoon.

Little by little, he finds his self-control wilting.

So as it turns out, the man with the endless patience doesn't last three days before there's an incident. At every turn, I gently and coyly wiggled away from his advances with an encouraging reminder that he "only" had so many more days to go.

That evening, Luke had been oddly avoidant after he got home from work-silent treatment and all. All I heard was a thanks for dinner before he padded upstairs, seemingly intent on making me cave.