Your hips strain, suspended in their raised, vulgar position, Frost’s words pounding in your head: “Don’t lose your electron.”

You repeat them like a mantra.

Don’t lose your electron. Don’t lose your electron. Don’t lose your electron. Vibrations race through you, like a million fire ants on the march. They burn and buzz in your core, an ever intensifying agitation that won’t let up.

Your brows furrow as your eyes flutter closed, feeling the escalation in your lower belly.  

Then a shock—a stinging smack on your ass cheek—and his sharp warning:  

“I didn’t say you could come.”  

Your entire body tenses at those words, his eyes daring you to defy them even as they spur on the tingling in your groin. A broken moan tumbles out of you, and you have to clamp your eyes closed again against the swirling buzz in your core as your arms fight to steady your trembling, swaying body. The ropes bite into your wrists as you struggle to keep yourself still. The pain is a welcome distraction from the pleasure that’s building inside of you, but it’s not enough.  Calm down.

You have to calm down. The tingling in your lower belly starts to ebb as you concentrate on slowing your breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

You can do this.

You have to do this. 

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