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John wants nothing more than to touch Harley. To run his fingers up her bare arms, the column of her throat, into her hair. He wants to play with it, twine it around his knuckles, and bring it to his nose, breathe in the scent of her shampoo.
Yet he can't.
His wrists flex against the padded cuffs at his back. If only she'd let him touch her...
He wants to nuzzle the shell of her ear, to kiss the spot beneath her earlobe, to tell her how much he loves her – but all that makes it past the ball gag in his mouth is a muffled groan.
Peals of laughter ring in his head, making him giddy with it.
His brow is resting against her collarbone, hanging heavy, and he takes all the comfort he can get from the heat of her skin, the rapid pulsing of her heartbeat, the breathlessness in her voice.
"This feels so good, puddin'," she says, rocking in his lap, and he aches for more of her. Her hands are on his naked shoulders, helping to steady her, but it's still not enough. "Better than you could ever make me feel."
He shudders, as if she were riding him instead of the neon green toy she'd strapped onto him. From where he's leaning against her, he can't see it disappear inside her, but her thighs are clenching against his own and it feels so good.
"Your tiny cock would never please me like this," she adds, cruelly.
He should be offended, he really should, but all he can do is moan helplessly behind his gag once more. There's no way he could keep any sort of animosity towards her alive, not when his erection wants to react to her words and strains inside its cage. It hurts when it does, throbbing so hard against the steel trappings of its confinement that that alone ought to burst them.
It's not like he wants to get out. He meant it when he said it's hers alone to do with as she pleases. Which includes keeping him locked up for however long she deems fit.
He has yet to regret it. Except, there's nothing to regret.
She may be a cruel mistress, but she's his cruel mistress and he'll endure any sort of mistreatment she thinks of as long as it bring a smile to her face.
He wants nothing more than to please her, to see her face light up with joy, even if it's a joy derived from hurting him.
Case in point: her fingernails rake lines of fire down his back as she rides him, or her toy, harder. It doesn't matter which. The wooden seat of his chair is unforgiving against his smarting backside. She'd spanked him good before she ever shed so much as a single item of clothing. He was proud that he didn't rut against her leg as he'd wanted to. It would have brought him no relief in the cage anyway, but sometimes even trying to get off is better than suffering the constant reminder that he can't.
The harder she drives herself onto the silicone length, the harder it is for him to ignore not only the tenderness of his skin but also the butt plug she'd inserted earlier. It jolts sparks of pleasure through him whenever she sinks down, and he's starting to lose it.
By now, drool is dribbling from behind the gag forcing his mouth open, and his eyes are glazing over. He can barely make out her pretty, mean smiles anymore.
Yet he can still hear her beautiful laughter. That at least won't escape him. It ripples through him as she's grinding her hips against his own, crushing his face to her chest, and making it even harder to breathe. But it's fine as long as he's breathing her in.
"That's it, puddin', give it to momma."
He is in heaven.
Although he's not the reason for the orgasm that grips her, he's part of it at least, and that's as great an honor as she can ever bestow upon him. What more could he ask for?
Relief, perhaps, but he dares not do it. Not so soon.
She's quivering so deliciously, shock after shock sending tremors down her spine. He'd hold her and kiss her through it if he could, but she made certain he wouldn't forget his place by cuffing and gagging him. All of this had to be on her terms, or it wouldn't have been at all.
He's in awe of her. Her foresight, her cunning, and also the pleased grin settling on her face as her body trembles through the wake of this intimate act she shared with him.
He couldn't ask for more, even if he wanted to. It wouldn't be right.
As if answering his prayers, however, she takes off his gag and kisses him. A wave of pleasure crashes over him and he moans his surprise against her tongue. It feels so good sliding against his own. If he hadn't been caged, he might have come right then and there, but thankfully, he is spared that particular indignity.
He's panting hard by the time she releases his mouth again.
"You've been such a good little toy tonight, puds," she breathes against his swollen lips. "I'm inclined to give you a reward for your exemplary behavior."
He dares not hope too much, yet his ears twitch and his heart rate picks up simply to hear the suggestion in her voice.
"Now that this dildo is all nice and wet," she says, and sighs again as she rolls her hips in his lap, "I might as well fuck you with it, what do you say?"
He doesn't say anything. Can't, in fact. He's too aroused for words.
But he wants. He seeks out her mouth again to communicate this, however clumsily, and shivers when she giggle into the kiss.
Any way she wants to use him is more than welcome with him.
She tugs at his hair when she gathers her strength to stand up. His arms flex uselessly against his cuffs as the neon green length slips out of her. It wilts against his hip, spent and glistening. His nostrils flare as her scent assaults him.
He licks his lip, breathing heavily.
He'd love to bury his face between her thighs and eat her out for days. He wants to pleasure her with so much more than his tongue, but it's not his place to want things.
All he can do is accept what she offers, and accept it gladly.
And if what she offers is a good, clean fuck with a strap-on, who is he to decline?