Enduring 1

Radley is a sadist and his wife, Emma, is a service submissive. On Emma's request, they're exploring orgasm denial as a way to extend Radley's control over her. But just because she asked for it doesn't mean that Radley intends to make this easy for her...Sensitive content warning, 3.5k words.

Content Warnings/Tags: consensually violent sex (throat-fucking and choking during oral); use of misogynist/slut-shaming language in a kink scene; this story also heavily features service submission (i.e. a sub who is not a masochist but experiences satisfaction in enduring pain and distress purely for the pleasure of their partner), which some readers may find triggering or uncomfortable.

"Ohhh, fuck. Please, Sir, I can't take it any more."

Radley hummed in satisfaction at the desperation in his wife's voice and the tight clutch of her ass around his cock. She straddled his lap, riding him vigorously, the fluids dripping from her neglected pussy adding to the wet mess of lubricant between them.

He tightened his grip on her thigh and on her soft tit, kissed along her throat, and rolled his hips up to meet her movements, making her whine. "Baby, you told me you could last a month."

"Can't," she gasped, reaching down to brace a shaking hand on her pelvis, spreading her vulva to expose her pulsing, empty cunt. "I need to come, Sir, please."

"Are you sure? It hasn't even been three weeks yet."

She whined desperately in response. Radley reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away--not to prevent Emma from touching herself; he knew she would never disobey him, no matter how badly she wanted to. He only wanted to pin her more firmly in place so that he could fuck up into her, driving quiet, grunting cries of need from her throat.

Emma was astoundingly obedient, a true service submissive. Nothing made her happier than yielding to Radley's demands, even--especially--when those demands were difficult or even painful to obey. That was the whole point of this game.

Radley, a natural dominant and sadist himself, had long provided for his wife's desires in the typical ways. Spanking and figging, predicament bondage and throat-fucking were all standard parts of their sex life. He had a very good idea of how much rough handling Emma could endure, and just how satisfying she found it to be forced to endure.

But Emma had confessed, lately, to wanting more out of their relationship. Not more pain, but more control: something that went beyond the bedroom, that would carry her obedience and his mastership into her daily life.

Given that Emma worked long hours in a particularly conservative industry, most of the traditional options for twenty-four-seven play were off the table, but Radley had been willing to rise to the occasion.

His solution had been the introduction of two simple rules into their relationship. One: Emma was not to touch herself sexually unless Radley instructed her to do so, and two: she wasn't to orgasm without his explicit permission.

It was a big change. They had sex often, at least once a day, and climax had always been a big part of that for both of them; no matter how much discomfort or outright pain she submitted to, Emma was used to experiencing a climax--or multiple climaxes--along with it. The first time Radley had fucked her and refused to give her permission to finish, she'd cried.

So they'd started slow at first. A day of denial, and then a few days, and then a week. Radley alternated between teasing Emma's cunt and refusing her permission to come, and ignoring it altogether, instead making use of the rest of her body to satisfy himself.

At the end of the week, Radley had stuffed her ass with an uncomfortably large plug and then had fucked her hungry cunt hard, teasing her clit with his fingers until she was sobbing messily she begged for permission to finish, squeezing down on the plug to hold herself back every time he told her to wait.

When he finally gave her permission, she had wailed with the intensity of her pleasure, thrashing like she was seizing. Afterwards, she had told him that it was one of the most powerful orgasms she'd experienced in her life.

Just the memory of her messy, tearful squalling, the way she had fallen apart on his cock, made Radley's balls tighten now.

He groaned and pulled Emma close, rutting up into her with renewed urgency, and then grunted as his own orgasm hit hard. He shook with pleasure as he spilled into the tight channel of her ass.

"Please, Sir, please, please," Emma whined quietly, clenching around him, the pulsing of her body drawing out his pleasure.

"Fuck, that's good. Shit." He chuckled as Emma responded to his words with a hard squeeze, her body practically turning into a vise, her thighs trembling with need. "Yeah? You want to come too, baby? You're such a horny slut, you can't wait a full month?"

"Sir, Sir," she whimpered, squirming in his lap, as if she couldn't keep herself still. And no wonder; she knew well enough that trying to get out of a task early--without using her safe word--meant consequences, so she must be desperate indeed if she was resorting to begging him for mercy.

Radley reached between her thighs and rested his fingers on the hot, swollen slit of her cunt, feeling how it twitched in response to even the light suggestion of stimulation.

Emma sucked in a hard breath and then let it out in a long, whining moan when his fingers moved down to her thigh again. "Ohh, ohhh...Sir..."

"Poor Emma," he murmured, rubbing his fingers over her thigh, smearing her own fluids into her skin. "You must really think that you need it, to be begging me for help. Tell me about it. Tell me how it feels."

"Mmmmm," she whined as he pulled her off of him, his cock leaving her clenching ass empty again. "Every time you fuck me, Sir, my body burns...it leaves me so hungry, so sensitive, I can barely think about anything else. I can't even concentrate at work, my pussy just starts twitching and then all I can think about is how I'm not allowed to touch myself..."

"That does sound difficult," he conceded. "And why aren't you allowed to touch yourself? Remind me."

She bit her lip as she carefully situated herself on the couch, leaning on one knee to keep her wet sex off the fabric. "Because...because it belongs to you, Sir."

"What belongs to me?"

"My body. My pussy. My--my orgasms. All of it."

"That's right," he agreed, and then he leaned forward, pinned her to the couch, and slid two fingers into her wet cunt.

Emma shouted in shock at the sensation, her body straining towards him, muscles flickering and sucking at the digits.

He used his other hand to cover her mouth, silencing the cry to a desperate nasal whimper. He fingered her slowly, massaging her soft, sensitive insides, drinking in her muffled whines and moans and the desperation in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

"Don't forget, you need permission," he reminded her, the quiet gentleness of his voice at odds with the firm grip he had over her mouth, the masterful way he spread her cunt open on his fingers.

She whimpered into his hand and then blinked hard, her eyes rolling a bit in her head as he twisted his fingers.

"I know, you want to ask, hmm? You must be so close right now. Just wait. Good girl."

Radley played with his wife's pussy for as long as he figured she would be able to take it. Within a minute, his hand was absolutely soaked, slick all over with the thick fluids dripping out of her. Her body twitched and squirmed under him, her gaze alternately fixing on him with a poignant pleading expression and turning inward in a fuzzy haze of arousal.

The whimpering turned to low, guttural moans, and then to voiceless, ragged panting. Eventually, Emma had to squeeze her eyes shut, focused on the sensations in her body. Her squirming slowed as the tension in her body grew, the flickering of her cunt turning to a firm, ongoing squeeze. Radley recognized the signs by now of his wife struggling not to come.

"That's it. Hold on. Good girl," he murmured. He removed his hand from her mouth and reached down to touch her stomach, feeling the tight rippling of the muscles in her core as she fought back against what must have been a monumental climax trying to break free.

Emma took a few thin, ragged breaths, then groaned, "Please, Sir, may I come, please."

"No, baby. Not yet. Oh, yeah, that's hard, I know," he said when she grit her teeth and whimpered. He pressed his fingers in deep and wiggled them. "You're being so good for me."

Emma flinch and cried out, then gasped, "I c-can't, Sir, I'm gonna--mmmnn--" she tightened and trembled under him.

Radley decided that was close enough, and drew his fingers out.

Emma shouted again, this time in dismay, her hips lifting to try and follow. He pinned her down and held her, stroking her hips and flank as she squirmed and shuddered, hanging on to the edge of coming by the skin of her teeth.

"Sir, Sir," she begged, breathless and half-senseless.

He shushed her and leaned in to kiss her, swallowing her pleas.

When she had mostly settled under him, Radley sat back and took a moment to admire his wife. She was flushed and disheveled, her hair mussed where she pillowed her head on the arm of the couch, lips red from kissing and biting. Her gaze was unfocused, pupils dark with arousal, her breasts rising and falling with her heavy, deep breaths. Both her pussy and her ass were open and pulsing, recently-fucked and unsatisfied, inviting more.

"Beautiful," he said, and she blinked slowly at him. "You handled that so well, baby. I'm so proud of you. Take half an hour or so to cool down, alright? Then we'll talk about that orgasm you want so badly."

A complicated expression creased her face, suffering and pleasure at the same time, as if even the idea of waiting another thirty minutes was almost impossible to withstand. "Oh...Yes, Sir." As he pushed up off the couch, she grabbed for his wrist, holding him back. "Are you disappointed that I couldn't make it the full month? Sir?"

"No, I'm not disappointed," he assured her, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. "We're still learning your limits with this. Are you disappointed?"

"A little," she admitted.

Radley kissed her again, rubbing a reassuring hand over her shoulder. "It's alright. Let me worry about that. I'm not suddenly going to start going easy on you just because you're struggling." He gave her a sharp grin, and she flushed in response, but seemed reassured enough that he felt confident enough leaving her alone.

Which was good, because he needed some time to prepare.

***

It was more like forty-five minutes before Radley called Emma into the bedroom. He didn't need all that much time to get everything ready, but he wanted to make sure Emma's body had time to reset a bit, to get nice and sensitive again.

When she arrived in the doorway, he was pleased to see that she was just as naked as she'd been on the couch, though she'd taken a shower in the meantime.

"Hey, baby," he said, smiling. "Still think you need to come?"

Emma blushed, but nodded. Radley wasn't surprised; it wasn't often that Emma struggled enough with a task that she needed to beg out early, and her earlier pleas obviously hadn't come lightly.

"Alright. There are consequences, you understand, for not making it the full month, but I have two options." He nodded towards the bed, where he'd already placed a powerful wand vibrator. "For option one, I tie you face-down on the bed with the wand there pressed right up against your clit on high for eleven minutes--one for each day left in the month. I'll spank you eleven times as well, just for good measure. You'll have blanket permission to come as many times as you can during those eleven minutes."

Emma's face paled and her eyes went wide at the proposition. She struggled with the wand vibrator at the best of times--it was overwhelming for her, painfully overstimulating nearly as soon as she went over the edge. Eleven minutes of the vibrations would be torment, regardless of how many much-desired orgasms were forced out of her body in the process. "Oh," she whispered faintly. "Wh-what's the other option? Sir?"

"The other option is this." He picked up a clean, soft-bristled paint brush and spun it between his fingers, then used it to point towards the far wall of the bedroom. "You'll stand right there against the wall and I'll use this brush to stroke you twenty times, the number of days you've lasted so far."

"Oh, God," Emma groaned, the look in her eyes going slightly wild as it sank in that neither option was good. She struggled to have a proper orgasm while standing up, as Radley well knew, and typically was only able to ruin unless she was bent over to brace against something.

Since Emma was quite good at taking multiple consecutive ruined orgasms, Radley had used it in the past as a way of teasing her--fingering her on her feet to make her ruin over and over before finally bending her over and fucking her exhausted, desperate body to a full orgasm--but there would be no big finish on the table this time. Standing against the wall, using only a paint brush, there was practically zero chance of her experiencing true satisfaction.

Radley smiled again, showing a bit of tooth. "Do you understand the two options?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you have a preference?"

Emma chewed her lip, glancing between the vibrator on the bed and the brush in his hand. Radley waited, well aware that she might choose the secret third option and just use her safe word to get out of the dilemma altogether; it was always a possibility, when they were trying new things and testing limits.

Finally, just as he was starting to think that he should start counting down to force her to decide, Emma whispered, "Brush."

"What was that, baby?"

"The paint brush, please, Sir. And--and the wall."

"I see." He set the brush aside and unzipped his pants, revealing his cock--already half hard from their conversation--and sat on the bed. "Now come over here and convince me that you should get the one that you want."

Emma groaned and practically dove for his cock, landing hard on her knees between his feet. She sucked him down with sloppy abandon, coaxing him to full hardness swiftly. As soon as he was hard enough, she took him deep, voluntarily choking herself, her throat tightening appealingly around him.

"Ohh, good girl. You really don't like the idea of the vibrator, do you?" he murmured, burying his fingers in her hair.

She pulled off just enough to catch her breath and whimper at him, then sucked him down deep again, making him chuckle breathlessly.

"I'll be honest, that just makes me want to do it more. I can--mm--just imagine you screaming and crying while that vibrator pulverizes your poor, tender pussy," he said, keeping his voice low and intimate, his fingers alternately stroking through and tightening in her hair. "Imagine how many times you would come in eleven minutes! But then, I bet I can make you ruin more than once with the brush. Just like how we used to play, but no big come at the end. Your body will be so--ah--confused, so frustrated...Yeah, keep that up. Good girl."

Emma bobbed her head obediently, fucking her throat onto his cock with a violence that most women wouldn't be able to accomplish of their own volition.

As Radley got close, he tighten his grip in her hair. Then, without warning, he held Emma down, forcing his cock as deep into her throat as it would go.

She choked and twitched but didn't struggle, even as he held her for nearly thirty seconds. Her throat tightened and spasmed as she doubtless fought both her gag reflex and her need for air. Radley rutted into her in short, violent movements, bruising her throat and racing towards his second climax of the hour until it finally burst out of him and he spilled down her throat in sharp spurts.

Emma pulled back with a wet cough and a gasp when he let her go--then she immediately leaned in again to lick his cock clean. Her eyes were wide and pleading as she gazed up at him, moisture slipping down her cheeks where she'd teared up while choking on his cock. There was a curve in her spine from the tension of her arousal, her body attempting to angle itself as if to get fucked even as she knelt on the floor.

Radley laughed breathlessly. "Alright, enough. Go stand with your back against the wall, legs spread, hands on your head."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," Emma gasped, immediately scrambling to her feet and hurrying to obey. As she got into position, he could see that her freshly-washed pussy was visibly wet all over again, paradoxically and acutely aroused by the torment he'd promised her.

Radley took his time to collect himself. He tucked his cock away and buttoned up his pants, then found the paint brush where he'd set it down, letting Emma hold position as he put himself to rights.

By the time he stood to join her, her cheeks were bright red, and the relief in her expression had dripped away to a distraught apprehension as it settled in what, exactly, she had agreed to.

"Still sure this is what you want?" he asked, lifting the brush to touch it lightly, teasingly, to the tip of her nose.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, because it's too late to change your mind." He tickled her nose with the brush, then pulled it away. "One."

Emma blinked at him in confusion for a second, then let out a thin whine when she understood.

Radley ignored the sound, trailing the brush down the flesh of her breast next, circling around her nipple; it pebbled up in response, even as he refused to touch the brush to it directly. "Two." He did the same on her other breast. "Three."

"Sir," she gasped, shifting her weight on her heels, a new kind of desperation in her voice. She yelped when he smacked her sharply on the hip with his free hand.

"Keep still, now. No squirming, no dancing, no humping." He grabbed her hip and pushed it back into position. "I want your spine and both heels straight against that wall. And don't look so upset. I'm not going to play dirty. We'll get to your clit, I promise."

"Yes, Sir," she whined, settling back into position.

He rewarded her by pressing the brush to one of her perked nipples and twirling it slowly, letting the bristles slide over the nerve-heavy skin.

Emma bit her lip and took a slow breath, her eyes rolling up towards the ceiling like she was fighting not to press her chest forward into the soft, teasing sensation. Goosebumps pebbled on her arms.

"Good." He twisted the brush in the opposite direction, grinding the bristles into her nipple, then pulled the brush away again. "Four."

He continued like that for another five strokes of the brush, restricting himself to her breasts and nipples and occasionally the sensitive skin of her throat and face. By the time he counted nine, she was tense and trembling with the effort not to squirm, her knees quivering faintly and a long string of grool hanging from her untouched cunt.

"Eleven more strokes to go," he murmured to her, gentle and reassuring. "Aren't you glad that I haven't made you ruin yet, baby? Say thank you."

"Th-thank you, Sir," she managed. Her voice was getting rough, the inside of her throat succumbing to the bruising, but the raw need was still audible in it.

He reached down between her spread thighs, where her clit was just barely visible, a little point in her wet slit. He knew where the base of it was, though, hidden in the soft folds of her flesh, and he touched the paint brush there, dragging it slowly up until he could wiggle the bristles across the exposed, hyper-sensitive tip. "Ten."

"AH! Ah, ah, ah, S-Sir--" Emma squealed, her hips lurching abortively before she forced them back hard against the wall. Her knees splayed like they were trying to buckle, her tits heaving forward in response to the curve of her spine as her body tried to find some way to squirm itself into a position that would be more welcoming to the orgasm that he could see starting in her twitching stomach muscles. "S, S--ahhh," she whined, screwing her eyes shut as her voice broke on the final cry and she succumbed to a twitching, restrained pseudo-climax, falling apart in response to the very first touch of the brush to her clit.