She moaned. His fingers manipulated her flesh with exquisite control, wringing a steady litany of pleas and breathy moans from her open mouth.
She was on her hands and knees before him. Her nude form trembled under a soft sheen of sweat. He stood over her, still dressed. He pressed his leg against the length of her flank, letting her feel her bare skin moving against his pants.
He cupped her cunt with his hand, petted her there as if she were an animal, which she was. He alternately rolled her clit between his fingers and pinched it when he felt she was nearing climax. His finger penetrated her ass, boring into her, lubricated with the wetness leaking out of her cunt.
“Master, please, I need you,” she panted. “I need your cock. Please use me.”
Three of his fingers slid into her cunt. She cried out, lurching forward a little but holding her position. Her head hung down. She could see her breasts hanging down, nipples adorned with the bell clips which kept sounding out under the quivering of her body. She could see her owner’s hands between her legs, busy, busy hands.
He held his fingers inside her while his other hand slapped her ass. “Ride.”
She moaned and began moving, rocking her hips back, riding his fingers buried inside her cunt. He didn’t help her, just let her fuck herself on his fingers eagerly.
She was chanting something repeatedly. “Please fuck me, please fuck me, please fuck me.” He smiled.
“You know that’s not how it works,” he told his slut. “You have to earn it.” He smacked her again on the ass. “Now come on, get this ass moving back on my fingers.”
She rocked back and forth frantically, grunting with her effort. Next time, he thought, he would have her do this in front of the mirror so they could both watch her face. He had both driven her and denied her orgasm so many times that he knew what she looked like, but he never grew tired of it. From his experience, he also knew that it did something to her when she had to watch herself submitting to him. When he bound her and left her alone in the room, he usually made her to position her in front of a screen, upon which he would play one of the many video clips he had made of her.
The most humiliating scenes got her worked up the most and there was some footage that never got old. He often played her the video of her on all fours, her limbs doubled and bound so she rested only on her knees and elbows, receiving the enema he administered. The humiliation of her sobbing, her distended belly, the way she begged to be allowed to release the enema, stayed fresh even after multiple viewings.
Another video was of her eating from a dog dish on the floor, her hair tied up out of her face and her hands bound high up behind her back. She had learned to eat this way but it was still a messy process that smeared food all over her chagrined face. When she finished eating, she crawled over to a dildo jutting out of a footstool and bounced herself up and down on it, fucking herself to orgasm while he sound out of view of the camera and cropped her tits every time she begged him to hit her.
His girl was whimpering nonstop now, her cunt leaking copiously, soaking his hand. She seemed to be holding her breath, she was so on edge of climax.
He removed his hand. She moaned, sobbed. He crouched in front of her and gave her his hand to clean. She was shuddering. It took her a moment, then her tongue came out and she began to lap at his hand, still weeping at the denial of her climax.
This was the state he wanted her in - utterly wretched and desperate, feverish and near hysterical in her desire to come, so controlled by her sex that she would do anything to please him.
He stood up, his mind already on his plans for the evening. It was going to be something he had to film for her to watch later, one of the videos he would play for her again and again and never get old.
“Come along,” he said. “Crawl for Daddy.”
He walked ahead to her room, grabbing his video camera along the way, as she crawled after him.