Hooked On Coffee
Orgasms and caffeine, a great way to start the day.
I know what you're doing, I can hear the whirring of the machine, even with the wand buzzing relentlessly against my throbbing, oversensitive clit. And If I take a deep enough breath, I can get the faintest smell of the coffee you're making. I'd get a better hit of it if I turned my head to face the open bedroom door, but I daren't do that.
If I do, I'll pull the rope that's tying my messy hair back, the one that's attached to the hook buried in my stretched, pulsing arsehole. And if I do that, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold back the orgasm that's so close to taking over, that it's taking everything I have to hold it back. I'm not sure I can handle another one, not yet. My spread legs are already shaking on their own, and I can feel the wet patch from my last climax, just moments ago, spreading across the sheet beneath me as my body bucks and twists. My arsehole grips the hook and my limbs test the restraints that mark my wrists and ankles as I pointlessly struggle against them. I need to try and get my cum drunk brain to focus on something else.
In my mind, I can see you in just the sweatpants you pulled on when you climbed off the bed, moving around the kitchen with that smug smile on your face, deliberately taking your time just to make me wait even longer. You’d normally…
