I rolled over in my sleep, and for some reason I woke up. After a moment, I realized that the other side of the bed was cold. I had fallen asleep wrapped around her, and now she was gone. I missed her warmth, and her company, and her sexy little body. I could still feel a damp area in the sheets from where we had made it several hours earlier, and I smiled as I thought of her wailing through another orgasm before we collapsed into sleep.
I thought at first that she might have just gone to the bathroom, but I didn't hear any sounds coming from there, nor was the light on. I lifted my head, and I could see a glow in the hallway outside the bedroom, but it wasn't bright enough for a light. Puzzled, I decided to investigate, and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
As I padded out of the room barefoot, I could see that the light was coming from the spare bedroom, which was mainly used for storage. There was also a table and chair in there as a sort of desk, and her computer was set up on it. Sure enough, as I looked around the door frame, I could see her sitting in the chair, with the computer turned on. She was staring intently at a screen full of text, apparently on some kind of web site.
I watched her for a moment, and nearly burst out laughing when I realized that she wasn't just reading a story on the screen. She was naked, slouched down in the chair, with her legs spread very wide. Her left hand was squeezing one of her breasts, and occasionally pulling on the nipple, stretching it out until her breast elongated into a cone, letting it snap back, and then repeating the process.
Her right hand was busy in other areas. Right now it was rubbing her clit in a circular fashion, and her little ass seemed to be vibrating in time with her movements. After a moment, the circular motion became a vertical one, as her fingers slid up and down the length of her slit, dipping into her opening at one end and flicking over her clit at the other. Her breathing was matching her movements; she was panting every time her fingers started rubbing in circles, then taking deep breaths when she switched to the vertical motion.
I stood at the door watching her; she must have placed the text in auto-scroll mode, because her hands never left her body, and the text kept moving up the screen. Given how hard she was occasionally rubbing her clit, and the way her eyes never left the screen, I thought that the story must have been pretty good. During the next bout of working her clit, her rear began bouncing on the seat, and her right hand was a blur as it rubbed away. I was certain that she was about to come, and was on the home stretch to the orgasm when she suddenly slowed her movements, and lowered her rear back to the chair. I noticed that she was sitting on a towel and smiled to myself; she tended to get very wet when she came, sometimes practically squirting if the orgasm was strong enough.
She started talking to herself, and I was puzzled at first, then determined that she was referring to the story she was reading. She was talking to one of the characters in the story. As I listened, I realized that the story was about a girl being brought to the edge of an orgasm, then denied the release, only to be brought back to the edge a few moments later. It seemed that she was mimicking the action in the story, rubbing herself until she was ready to come, then stopping when the story's main character was denied the impending orgasm.
She had obviously gone through a couple of cycles already, as her fingers were very wet with her juices, and the inside of her thighs shone. I wondered how wet the towel was by this point. She started moaning, and I could see her fingers going back into their circular pattern, her ass once again lifting from the chair, humping toward her fingers. Her eyes were frozen to the screen, and her left hand moved to the other nipple, pulling it quite hard, and squeezing it tightly. I could see the handprints on her other breast, and was surprised at the obvious rough treatment she had been giving it; I never treated her breasts that roughly, but thought that I might have to up my game.
She let out a disappointed groan a moment later, and her rear settled back onto the seat, her hand moving languidly through her folds, her breathing ragged. I watched for a moment, then had an evil thought and smiled to myself. I went back to the bedroom, searching through drawers until I found what I was after, then returned to the spare room. She was back into an intense cycle when I got there, her ass once again in the air, hips churning madly in search of the elusive orgasm.
Her concentration was so focused on the screen and her clit that she never noticed as I tied a silk scarf around her left ankle, securing it to the leg of the chair. Her right ankle followed, still without her noticing. I tied a couple of loops in the remaining scarf, and waited for her to settle back down as the denial arrived again. When her left hand lifted from her breast, I slipped a loop over it, pulling it behind the chair. An instant later I had her right wrist secured in the other end of the scarf, and I pulled it behind the chair as well. I tied the scarf off to the back of the chair, then knelt beside her as she finally realized what was happening.
She looked around wildly, struggling against her bonds. I placed a hand on top of her thigh, then slowly slid it inward, feeling the dampness, reaching for her pussy. Her labia were soaked; she was even wetter than usual, and I thought the story must really have her under its spell. I easily slid two fingers into her, and rubbed my thumb over her clit as the fingers reached their limit. She let out another moan and finally connected with reality, looking down at me, her eyes wide with surprise, and smoky with lust.
"So, someone's not letting you come? I don't think you really want to come, or you would have done it. I think you like being held off. I think we should see how long we can keep you like this."
"No-o-o ... please. I really want to come ... but ... but the story..."
"You want to match the girl in the story ... what if she was being spanked ... would you want to be spanked too?" My thumb never stopped sliding over her clit, and her hips kept trying to drive my fingers in deeper, but I kept my hand moving in synch with her hips.
"No ... don't spank me ... make me come."
"I don't think you've earned the come yet. Has the girl in the story been allowed to come yet?"
"No-o-o-o ... please."
"Well, why should you be allowed to come if she can't?"
"O-o-oh, please ... make me come ... I need to come."
Her hips were still moving, and my fingers were still eluding her attempts to get more, but my thumb was in constant motion over her clit. I wasn't giving her enough pressure to make her come, but more than enough to keep her mind focused on the orgasm, and on the hot little button. "You don't need to come. You want to come, but I don't want to make you come. You still haven't told me why I should let you."
She gasped as I punctuated my remarks with a scissoring motion of my fingers inside her while still rubbing her clit. She was so wet that her clit felt like a marble in a pool of oil, and I started running the ball of my thumb in a steady circle around it, only ever rubbing its sides, and never its over-sensitive tip. I curled one of the fingers in her, bringing the tip to the front wall of her pussy, finding her little rough patch and rubbing it in time with the action of my thumb. She yelped, then moaned, and her hips snapped up off the chair, humping toward my hand.
I worked the spot with my finger tip, and increased the pressure of my thumb at her clit. She moaned again, hips moving in circles, whimpering, "Please ... need to come ... make me come ... need to come." I reached up to her now neglected nipples, and squeezed each one in turn, pulling on them the way she had been, harder than I usually did it. Her back arched as I abused each one, the little spark of pain adding to her arousal, her whimpering getting louder as her need grew.