"Okay," she answered, and that was enough consent for me. I reached for the candle and matches I'd stored in the drawer of the nightstand.
I massaged her labia, squeezed her clit, and fingered her juicy pussy—readying it for me. She squirmed underneath me, and I had to caution her to try to remain still. When she was dripping wet, I poked the tip of my cock into her wet slit. Her corresponding moan told me I was on the right track.
Pushing in a little more, I lit the candle. I could feel her muscles twitching around me. She was trying not to move, but it was clear she wanted nothing more than to scoot her ass back and sheath me completely. I grasped her left hip firmly to remind her not to move as I let the first droplet of wax land on her back.
She let out a shriek, more from surprise than pain.
After the second drop hit, I gave her another inch of my cock. The noise she made was nothing short of exquisite. That delicious combination of pleasure and pain—that was what I gave her. It was what she'd come to crave, and no one would ever give it to her the way I did. I would see to that.
I fucked her slowly, punctuating my thrusts with drops of hot wax. Between the mmms of the fucking, and the ouches of the scalding wax she didn't know whether to coo or cry, and that was just the way I liked her—captive in my thrall.
The smell of sweat and sex filled my nostrils and fueled my lust. Sophie's fingers clutched at the bedsheets as I dribbled wax on her ass and pummeled her poor little pussy.
"Does that feel good, whore? Do you like me to burn you while I take you?" I taunted.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
Her submission was the most incredible gift. No matter what our future held, in that moment, the bond between us felt precious yet solid.
"Do you want to come, slut?"
"Please, please may I come, Sir?"
"You can do better than that. Make me believe you."