Denial

I sit in front of you, your fingers fucking me while you stand back, cold and isolated, watching, your eyes hiding the warmth I know lives inside your soul....

I am your slut, dancing like a puppet to your hand's command. I writhe beneath your touch, my teeth biting my lips to remain quiet, doing what I can to obey commands of no noise, no sound. Sharp gasps quiver my jaw; I plead with my eyes, locked to your stone mask, begging to speak, begging for acknowledgement. With no smile, no show of pleasure or emotion, you nod.

"P-p-please? M-may I..." I whimper as your fingers pick up pace, "S-sir! Sir, m-may I..." another increase in tempo distracts me and my eyes flutter closed. A moan slips past my lips seconds before your free hand slaps hard on my thigh. My eyes snap open, focus slow to fixate on our face. "S-sir, thank y-you," I whisper, "for correcting me."

Your jaw clenches, your only sign of emotion. The fingers in my cunt continue without hesitation.

"Please, Sir," I begin again, "May I," I do what I can to suppress another moan, "come? S-sir? Please?"

Everything stops. I whimper as you pull away, "No."